Kottabos: College Miscellany, Issue 1; Issues 4-5W. McGee, 1869 |
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Page 12
... o'er mountains wandering free ; And now , beloved of lovers , consummate flower mid flowers , Fresh blooms Persuasion's fragrant rose , my own Zenophile ; - Ye meads , why deck your tresses forth with smiles of wasted light ? Than all ...
... o'er mountains wandering free ; And now , beloved of lovers , consummate flower mid flowers , Fresh blooms Persuasion's fragrant rose , my own Zenophile ; - Ye meads , why deck your tresses forth with smiles of wasted light ? Than all ...
Page 18
... o'er the vast maine of death . Some cherubin thus as we passe shall play " Goe happy twins of love " : the courteous sea Shall smooth her wrinkled brow : the winds shall sleep , Or onely whisper musicke to the deepe . Every ungentle ...
... o'er the vast maine of death . Some cherubin thus as we passe shall play " Goe happy twins of love " : the courteous sea Shall smooth her wrinkled brow : the winds shall sleep , Or onely whisper musicke to the deepe . Every ungentle ...
Page 20
... O'er the level lawn , Entranced by the genial lay . The house where the Lord Admetus bides Is blest for the Pythian's sake- Fast by the shores that skirt the tides Of the pleasant Boebian Lake . His fallows and fields the Molossians ...
... O'er the level lawn , Entranced by the genial lay . The house where the Lord Admetus bides Is blest for the Pythian's sake- Fast by the shores that skirt the tides Of the pleasant Boebian Lake . His fallows and fields the Molossians ...
Page 22
... o'er With nature's hand , not art's , should pleasure yield Horace might envy in his Sabine field . Thus would I double my life's fading space , For he who runs it well twice runs his race : And in this true delight , These unbought ...
... o'er With nature's hand , not art's , should pleasure yield Horace might envy in his Sabine field . Thus would I double my life's fading space , For he who runs it well twice runs his race : And in this true delight , These unbought ...
Page 25
... o'er the Nations far As from Orion is the Northern star ; In sense you are the rest as far below As is the Liffey from the shining Po . For now the sacred Board no more allows Greek * verse to grace the Scholar of the House ; Oh for the ...
... o'er the Nations far As from Orion is the Northern star ; In sense you are the rest as far below As is the Liffey from the shining Po . For now the sacred Board no more allows Greek * verse to grace the Scholar of the House ; Oh for the ...
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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.