Kottabos: College Miscellany, Issue 1; Issues 4-5W. McGee, 1869 |
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Page 14
... soul , He caught a fever at last , and died of it , so the whole Parish subscribed for an altar - tomb , with - Please praye for ye soul Of this fyne yong Parsonne of the newe School , And this new - school Parsonne . THE SEQUEL , IN ...
... soul , He caught a fever at last , and died of it , so the whole Parish subscribed for an altar - tomb , with - Please praye for ye soul Of this fyne yong Parsonne of the newe School , And this new - school Parsonne . THE SEQUEL , IN ...
Page 24
... soul proclaim : The vine wreath from her brows was rent away ; The club of Hercules rejected lay ; But in her hand , oh strange to poets ' rhymes ! She held a copy of the " IRISH TIMES . " Full on the leading article she gazed , And ...
... soul proclaim : The vine wreath from her brows was rent away ; The club of Hercules rejected lay ; But in her hand , oh strange to poets ' rhymes ! She held a copy of the " IRISH TIMES . " Full on the leading article she gazed , And ...
Page 95
... soul less fair , On this I gazed , my love was centred there- And yet I saw your heart close as a flower doth close . Persicos Odi , Puer , Apparatus . HEIR Persian finery I can't abide , I hate their showy wreaths with linden tied ; Φ ...
... soul less fair , On this I gazed , my love was centred there- And yet I saw your heart close as a flower doth close . Persicos Odi , Puer , Apparatus . HEIR Persian finery I can't abide , I hate their showy wreaths with linden tied ; Φ ...
Page 107
... soul shall fitting vengeance find , That drowning tongue oft syllable my name— Yes , as a fiend with black funereal flames , Shall injured Dido yet , though far away . Aye dog thy guilty thought - yea , and when death , With icy touch ...
... soul shall fitting vengeance find , That drowning tongue oft syllable my name— Yes , as a fiend with black funereal flames , Shall injured Dido yet , though far away . Aye dog thy guilty thought - yea , and when death , With icy touch ...
Page 129
... to mine eyes a rushing of sweet , Glad tears , as I saw it ; a voice in my soul Singing , " Thither , O King , I would follow thy feet , And strike for the dream that makes Italy whole ! " G. F. A. Maud . O not , happy day , From the 129.
... to mine eyes a rushing of sweet , Glad tears , as I saw it ; a voice in my soul Singing , " Thither , O King , I would follow thy feet , And strike for the dream that makes Italy whole ! " G. F. A. Maud . O not , happy day , From the 129.
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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.