Irish life [by I. Butt].

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84. oldal - O, woman ! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made ; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou...
166. oldal - Welcome to their roar ! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on ; for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
376. oldal - As Rochefoucault his maxims drew From nature, I believe them true: They argue no corrupted mind In him; the fault is in mankind. This maxim more than all the rest Is thought too base for human breast: ' In all distresses of our friends, We first consult our private ends; While nature, kindly bent to ease us, Points out some circumstance to please us.
262. oldal - Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then To those we've left behind us ! And when, in other climes, we meet Some isle or vale enchanting, Where all looks...
304. oldal - In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent rows the songless gondolier; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear: Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade — but Nature doth not die, Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!
63. oldal - Form'da vast buckle for his widow's gown: Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew, The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew; Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.) Boast not my fall (he cry'd) insulting foe ! Thou by some other shalt be laid as low.
304. oldal - She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers...
172. oldal - Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not Who would be free themselves must strike the blow? By their right arms the conquest must be wrought? Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye ? No ! True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, But not for you will freedom's altars flame.
14. oldal - The rich buffet well-coloured serpents grace, And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face. Is this a dinner? this a genial room? No, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.
303. oldal - My tables, — meet it is, I set it down, That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark : [ Writing. So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word ; It is, Adieu, adieu ! remember me.

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