Kottabos: College Miscellany, Issue 1; Issues 4-5W. McGee, 1869 |
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Page 5
... friends at last disperses . II . The curse of work and death , still unexpired , Clings to our mother - age in all her glory ; And it appears the Fates are not yet tired Of making human life the same old story . III . Else , why do they ...
... friends at last disperses . II . The curse of work and death , still unexpired , Clings to our mother - age in all her glory ; And it appears the Fates are not yet tired Of making human life the same old story . III . Else , why do they ...
Page 8
... friends , her virtue fled , Near her betrayer's door she lays her head , And , pinch'd with cold , and shrinking from the show'r , With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour When idly first , ambitious of the town , She left her wheel ...
... friends , her virtue fled , Near her betrayer's door she lays her head , And , pinch'd with cold , and shrinking from the show'r , With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour When idly first , ambitious of the town , She left her wheel ...
Page 22
... friends ; Books should , not business , entertain the light ; And sleep as undisturb'd as death my night . My house a cottage more Than palace , and should fitting be For all my use , no luxury : My gardens painted o'er With nature's ...
... friends ; Books should , not business , entertain the light ; And sleep as undisturb'd as death my night . My house a cottage more Than palace , and should fitting be For all my use , no luxury : My gardens painted o'er With nature's ...
Page 30
... friend . A. P. " IF I HAD A DONKEY . " Si mihi forte foret qui pergere nollet asellus , Mene dolaturum tergora fuste putes ? Non ego , sed placidis demulcens pectora verbis Nutrimenta simul , blanditiasque darem . I mihi dulce decus ...
... friend . A. P. " IF I HAD A DONKEY . " Si mihi forte foret qui pergere nollet asellus , Mene dolaturum tergora fuste putes ? Non ego , sed placidis demulcens pectora verbis Nutrimenta simul , blanditiasque darem . I mihi dulce decus ...
Page 104
... friends , How many evils have enclosed me round ; Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me , Blindness ; for had I sight , confused with shame , How could I once look up , or heave the head ; Who , like a foolish pilot , have ...
... friends , How many evils have enclosed me round ; Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me , Blindness ; for had I sight , confused with shame , How could I once look up , or heave the head ; Who , like a foolish pilot , have ...
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Common terms and phrases
Actaeon Apollo appears arms beauty BREAK breath bright Cambridge classical clouds cold collection comes course dark dead death dream Dublin earth English Ex-Sch eyes face fair feet flowers friends gazed give golden GRAVES Greek green hair hand hath head heart heaven hero Italy JOHN KOTTABOS land Latin leave legend light lives LONDON look lul-lo maiden Max Müller meaning mihi morning Müller myth NASSAU STREET never night o'er once Oxford Parson Plautus poets pure Queen quum rest rose round sisters sleep smile soul sweet tears TERM thee thine thing thou thought translation Trinity College TYRRELL University verse waves West whole WILLIAM MCGEE wul lul-lul lul young γὰρ δὲ ἐν καὶ τε τὸ
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.