Kottabos: College Miscellany, Issue 1; Issues 4-5W. McGee, 1869 |
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Page 23
... , et in dies Dixisse fas sit , " Viximus , optimus Vel sole cras puro , vel atrâ Nube polum Pater occupato . " R. Y. T. " Invita Cerere . " 66 ' Against the Grain . ” J. H. T. . THE FLIGHT OF THE MUSES , CAUSED BY AN 23.
... , et in dies Dixisse fas sit , " Viximus , optimus Vel sole cras puro , vel atrâ Nube polum Pater occupato . " R. Y. T. " Invita Cerere . " 66 ' Against the Grain . ” J. H. T. . THE FLIGHT OF THE MUSES , CAUSED BY AN 23.
Page 24
... Muse . I gain'd old Trinity's most ancient square , When , lo ! a sound of sighs oppress'd the air : My eyes I raised — believe it , future years ! There stood a heavenly maid dissolved in tears . A silver radiance from her raiment ...
... Muse . I gain'd old Trinity's most ancient square , When , lo ! a sound of sighs oppress'd the air : My eyes I raised — believe it , future years ! There stood a heavenly maid dissolved in tears . A silver radiance from her raiment ...
Page 25
... Muse in choking accents spoke : " Farewell ungrateful , ' tis the Board's decree , Forgetful of my Porson and of me ! Forgetful of the glory and the fame That I have shed around your once scorn'd name . With niggard hands their gifts ...
... Muse in choking accents spoke : " Farewell ungrateful , ' tis the Board's decree , Forgetful of my Porson and of me ! Forgetful of the glory and the fame That I have shed around your once scorn'd name . With niggard hands their gifts ...
Page 26
... Muses keep thy zealous love , Thou , too , shalt join the band , to death denied , And live and sing for ever by my side . " She ceased : for now the chapel bell's dire boom Broke , loudly clanging , through the morning gloom : Like ...
... Muses keep thy zealous love , Thou , too , shalt join the band , to death denied , And live and sing for ever by my side . " She ceased : for now the chapel bell's dire boom Broke , loudly clanging , through the morning gloom : Like ...
Page 102
... mirth , And with his unpolluted spray Quickens the womb of the swelling Earth ; Nor his marge doth the Muse with disdain behold , Nor the Child of the Foam with the rein of gold . And a Plant there is , which in Asian land 102.
... mirth , And with his unpolluted spray Quickens the womb of the swelling Earth ; Nor his marge doth the Muse with disdain behold , Nor the Child of the Foam with the rein of gold . And a Plant there is , which in Asian land 102.
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Common terms and phrases
18 NASSAU STREET Actaeon Admetus Aegle Apollo BELL AND DALDY Bifröst Cambridge clouds CULLINAN dark dead EDWARD DOWDEN Enone Ex-Sch eyes fair flowers gazed Greek verse gynaeceum hath heart heaven hero Hexameters JOHN TODHUnter KOTTABOS legend light lul lul—lo maid maiden Max Müller mihi miscellany mount Cithaeron Muse myth night o'er oh wul lul-lul Oxford Parson Pleisth poets puellae quum R. Y. TYRRELL Rede Rede Lecturer rose Sally smile soul Sun-God sweet thee Theocritus thine thou Trinity College TYRRELL University of Dublin Wilhelm Müller WILLIAM MCGEE wul lul-lul lul young Actaeon ἄρ ἀραγμὸς ἀχεῖ μέλος ἀχεῖ μέλος ἐν γὰρ δὲ κοττάβων ἀραγμὸς εἰ ἦν καὶ κοττάβων ἀραγμὸς ἀχεῖ μέλος ἐν δόμοισιν μὲν νῦν οἱ οὐ οὖν Πολὺς δὲ κοττάβων πρὸς σὺ τε τῆς τίς τὸ τὸν ὡς
Popular passages
Page 138 - tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. To die: to sleep; No more; and, by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to; 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause.
Page 114 - Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Page 8 - Ah, turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, Has wept at tales of innocence distrest ; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; Now lost to all, her friends, her virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head...
Page 8 - And even the bare-worn common is denied. If to the city sped — what waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see those joys the sons of pleasure know Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.
Page 138 - tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time.
Page 98 - My master carries me to church, And often am I blamed Because I leave him in the lurch As soon as text is named; I leave the church in sermon-time And slink away to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.
Page 16 - O unexpected stroke, worse than of death! Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades, Fit haunt of gods? where I had hope to spend, Quiet though sad, the respite of that day That must be mortal to us both.
Page 8 - Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; Now lost to all, her friends, her virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, And...
Page 8 - And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms — a garden and a grave ! Where, then, ah ! where shall poverty reside, To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride?
Page 28 - O well for the sailor lad That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill : But O for the touch of a vanished hand. And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break. At the foot of thy crags. O sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.