The Falcon Family; Or, Young Ireland: In One Volume..

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Chapman and Hall, 186 Strand., 1845 - 363 strán (strany)

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Strana 191 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Strana 96 - em. SONG. Who is Silvia ? what is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she ; The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.
Strana 150 - Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence.
Strana 302 - A maiden never bold ; Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion Blush'd at herself...
Strana 292 - Hail, old patrician trees, so great and good! Hail, ye plebeian under-wood ! Where the poetic birds rejoice, And for their quiet nests and plenteous food Pay, with their grateful voice. Hail, the poor Muses...
Strana 168 - Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath. That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music.
Strana 328 - How shouldst thou, fair lady, love me, Whom thou know'st thy country's foe? Thy fair words make me suspect thee: Serpents lie where flowers grow.
Strana 334 - Till the Ledaean stars, so famed for love, Wonder'd at us from above! We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine; But search of deep philosophy, Wit, eloquence, and poetry — Arts which I loved, for they, my friend, were thine.
Strana 16 - ... needles out of work-boxes with a magnet of amazing virtue, which he always carried in his waistcoat pocket. In a word, he was the darling of the darlings; secured the nurseries first, and there planted the artillery with which he often carried the dining-room ; which was, of course, the mam point.
Strana 120 - Oh, blessed vision ! happy child ! Thou art so exquisitely wild : I think of thee with many fears Of what may be thy lot in future years. I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitality. And Grief, uneasy lover ! never rest But when she sat within the touch of thee.

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