Happy-go-lucky: A Novel

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G. W. Carleton, 1881 - 420 pages

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Page 387 - On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
Page 354 - What I do And what I dream include thee, as the wine Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue God for myself, He hears that name of thine, And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
Page 51 - Erin, an' scorned to sell It, A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet — Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day, With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay; An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all Was SHAMUS O'BRIEN, from the town iv Glingall. His limbs were well set, an
Page 273 - An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock, An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock. For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng. An' he looked at the bars, so firm and so strong, An' he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend, A chance to escape, nor a word to defend ; An...
Page 78 - This is the curse of life ! that not A nobler, calmer train Of wiser thoughts and feelings blot Our passions from our brain; But each day brings its petty dust Our soon-choked souls to fill, And we forget because we must And not because we will.
Page 363 - If Hope prostrate lie, Love, too, will sink and die. But Love is subtle, and doth proof derive From her own life that Hope is yet alive ; And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing eyes, And the soft murmurs of the mother dove, Woos back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies ; Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love.
Page 248 - Have met with much injustice in this world; No difference has been made by God or man, Or any power moulding my wretched lot, 'Twixt good or evil, as regarded me. I am cut off from the only world I know, From light, and life, and love, in youth's sweet prime. You do well telling me to trust in God, I hope I do trust in him. In whom else Can any trust? And yet my heart is cold.
Page 312 - Once the hungry Hours were hounds Which chased the day like a bleeding deer. And it limped and stumbled with many wounds Through the nightly dells of the desert year. But now, oh weave the mystic measure Of music, and dance, and shapes of light, Let the Hours, and the spirits of might and pleasure, Like the clouds and sunbeams, unite.
Page 309 - Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty...
Page 166 - The deeds we do, the words we say, — Into still air they seem to fleet, We count them ever past; But they shall last, — In the dread judgment they And we shall meet.

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