Kottabos: College Miscellany, Issue 1; Issues 4-5W. McGee, 1869 |
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Page 147
... legend relates that his father was one Wilhelm Müller , a poet . Herein a very singular aspect of the solar myth ... legends ; as the " cap of darkness " ( tarn- kappe ) worn by Hasan of El - Basra in the " Arabian Nights , " by Jack the ...
... legend relates that his father was one Wilhelm Müller , a poet . Herein a very singular aspect of the solar myth ... legends ; as the " cap of darkness " ( tarn- kappe ) worn by Hasan of El - Basra in the " Arabian Nights , " by Jack the ...
Page 148
... legend , assigned to Max Müller . Let us see why . Ox - ford , as all philologists know , is not Bóσπopos . Ox is Usk , uisge water ; and the compound word means no more than the “ ford of the river . " We shall best see its relation to ...
... legend , assigned to Max Müller . Let us see why . Ox - ford , as all philologists know , is not Bóσπopos . Ox is Usk , uisge water ; and the compound word means no more than the “ ford of the river . " We shall best see its relation to ...
Page 150
... legend which takes so many shapes - the mar- riage of Uranos and Gaea , the descent of Zeus in golden shower on Danaë , and the like — is brought before us again in the wedding of Max Müller and the mortal maiden Grenfell , who denotes ...
... legend which takes so many shapes - the mar- riage of Uranos and Gaea , the descent of Zeus in golden shower on Danaë , and the like — is brought before us again in the wedding of Max Müller and the mortal maiden Grenfell , who denotes ...
Page 151
... legend which seems at first to point in the same direction . Nothing is clearer than that the sacred city of Oxford was the chosen shrine of the hero Max Müller . But he appears as a passing meteor in the annals of the other holy town ...
... legend which seems at first to point in the same direction . Nothing is clearer than that the sacred city of Oxford was the chosen shrine of the hero Max Müller . But he appears as a passing meteor in the annals of the other holy town ...
Page 152
... legend , belonging to Oxford , calls Max Müller for a time by the singular title of " Fellow ( or Companion ) of All Souls , " and ceases to give him this appellation after he meets with the nymph Grenfell . Here is a difficulty needing ...
... legend , belonging to Oxford , calls Max Müller for a time by the singular title of " Fellow ( or Companion ) of All Souls , " and ceases to give him this appellation after he meets with the nymph Grenfell . Here is a difficulty needing ...
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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.