Irish Wits and Worthies; Including Dr. Lanigan, His Life and Times, with Glimpses of Stirring Scenes Since 1770

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J. Duffy, sons, & Company, 1873 - 346 Seiten
"A book of gossipping history, of which the scenes are laid out as much in Italy as in Ireland ... The principal figure introduced is Rev. Dr/ Lanigan, the learned ecclestical historian" -- Preface.
 

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Seite 66 - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand...
Seite 66 - From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, — Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.
Seite 143 - Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear : Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village- Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th...
Seite 154 - Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous...
Seite 13 - Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now, your gambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not...
Seite 154 - What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous; and we fools of nature, So horridly to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls?
Seite 239 - On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays, When the clear, cold eve's declining, He sees the round towers of other days, In the wave beneath him shining! Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, Catch a glimpse of the days that are over, Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time For the long-faded glories they cover!
Seite 273 - Nothing can supply the place of books. They are cheering or soothing companions in solitude, illness, affliction. The wealth of both continents would not compensate for the good they impart. Let every man, if possible, gather some good books under his roof, and obtain access for himself and family to some social library. Almost any luxury should be sacrificed to this.
Seite 246 - You'd scarce expect one of my age, To speak in public on the stage ; And if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Don't view me with a critic's eye, But pass my imperfections by. Large streams from little fountains flow; Tall oaks from little acorns grow...
Seite 274 - Sorrow's tear. Nothing is lost on him who sees With an eye that Feeling gave ; — For him there's a story in every breeze, And a picture in every wave.

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