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appeared asked beautiful believe Blackwood called character comes Cork course dear death delightful died Doctor Donnelly drink English eyes fact fair feeling fellow give gone half hand head hear heard heart honour hope hour interest Ireland Irish John King lady late leave letter light living London look Lord manner March means mind Miss morning nature never night North once original pass perhaps person poem poet present published reader respect seems Sir Daniel song soul speak spirit Street sure sweet tell thee thing thou thought town translation true turn verse whole wine wish woman write written young
Page 91 - And gallop'd off with all his might As he had done before. Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig ; He lost them sooner than at first, For why ? they were too big. Now...
Page 148 - The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said: But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Page 193 - O, weep for Adonais ! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head ! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, And teach them thine own sorrow, say : with me Died Adonais ; till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity.
Page 198 - That light whose smile kindles the universe, That beauty in which all things work and move, That benediction which the eclipsing curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which, through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
Page 12 - Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir, Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers, This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were Torn in a scuffle.
Page 89 - So like an arrow swift he flew Shot by an archer strong, So did he fly — which brings me to The middle of my song.
Page 197 - Yet wherefore ? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep, Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep; For he is gone, where all things wise and fair Descend ; — oh, dream not that the amorous Deep Will yet restore him to the vital air; Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.
Page 198 - Fond wretch ! and know thyself and him aright. Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth; As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might Satiate the void circumference: then shrink...
Page 198 - And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, And love and life contend in it for what Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there, And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air.