Kottabos: College Miscellany, Issue 1; Issues 4-5W. McGee, 1869 |
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Page 22
... 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 hand , not art's , should pleasure yield Horace might envy in his Sabine field . Thus would I double ...
... 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 hand , not art's , should pleasure yield Horace might envy in his Sabine field . Thus would I double ...
Page 95
... night , While the sad music filled the air with sighs ; " Never , " you said , while in your own despite Love lit the azure sadness of your eyes . " Never , " you said again with accent low , And mournful smile , as smiles the marble ...
... night , While the sad music filled the air with sighs ; " Never , " you said , while in your own despite Love lit the azure sadness of your eyes . " Never , " you said again with accent low , And mournful smile , as smiles the marble ...
Page 98
... night without , and the night within ; To buckle alone the last struggle , and grin With a sick wul lul - lul lul - lo ! Old Graff Bröm was a scandalous rake , Women have done queer things for his sake ; ' Tis well that the dead can ...
... night without , and the night within ; To buckle alone the last struggle , and grin With a sick wul lul - lul lul - lo ! Old Graff Bröm was a scandalous rake , Women have done queer things for his sake ; ' Tis well that the dead can ...
Page 107
... the feminine souls we would adore So full of sense , so versed in worldly lore , So deaf to the Eternal Silences , So unbelieving , so conventional . E. D. Anakreontisches Bacchuslied . LL last night I dreamed of Bacchus 107.
... the feminine souls we would adore So full of sense , so versed in worldly lore , So deaf to the Eternal Silences , So unbelieving , so conventional . E. D. Anakreontisches Bacchuslied . LL last night I dreamed of Bacchus 107.
Page 108
College Miscellany. Anakreontisches Bacchuslied . LL last night I dreamed of Bacchus , ( What could put him in my head ? ) And ... night . But these gods ! — ' the dog ' can't bite ' em ; We but swill our quarts , eheu ! They can drink ad ...
College Miscellany. Anakreontisches Bacchuslied . LL last night I dreamed of Bacchus , ( What could put him in my head ? ) And ... night . But these gods ! — ' the dog ' can't bite ' em ; We but swill our quarts , eheu ! They can drink ad ...
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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.