A Little Tour in Ireland: Being a Visit to Dublin, Galway, Connamara, Athlone, Limerick, Killarney, Glengarriff, Cork, Etc. Etc. EtcBradbury & Evans, 1859 - Всего страниц: 220 |
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Стр. 37
... Lake side " of the con- veyance , we selected a shrewd - looking lad from a crowd of candidates ( the Roman candidati wore white togas in the market - place , but these young gentlemen did not ) , and went to see the sights . We saw a ...
... Lake side " of the con- veyance , we selected a shrewd - looking lad from a crowd of candidates ( the Roman candidati wore white togas in the market - place , but these young gentlemen did not ) , and went to see the sights . We saw a ...
Стр. 52
... lakes of Connamara . Some of the residences amused us greatly . You see a large lodge by the wayside , and look out , in the distance , for some princely castle , or baronial hall , at any rate ; but there is no need for any such ...
... lakes of Connamara . Some of the residences amused us greatly . You see a large lodge by the wayside , and look out , in the distance , for some princely castle , or baronial hall , at any rate ; but there is no need for any such ...
Стр. 61
... lake , and plain , ( so swiftly that every minute the whole view seemed to change ) , and saw the snow - white goats among the purple heath , and the kine , jet - black and glowing red , knee - deep in the silver waters . But there are ...
... lake , and plain , ( so swiftly that every minute the whole view seemed to change ) , and saw the snow - white goats among the purple heath , and the kine , jet - black and glowing red , knee - deep in the silver waters . But there are ...
Стр. 72
... Thus prettily transferred by the Irish poet , Moore : - " Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon , While it breaks into dimples , and laughs in the sun . " see ! We were on Irish ground ; the stillness 72 A LITTLE TOUR IN IRELAND .
... Thus prettily transferred by the Irish poet , Moore : - " Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon , While it breaks into dimples , and laughs in the sun . " see ! We were on Irish ground ; the stillness 72 A LITTLE TOUR IN IRELAND .
Стр. 81
... Lake for luncheon ; and I purposely make these memoranda about meals , and take my time from the kitchen clock , because the delightful air of Connamara very speedily induces that vacuum , which nature and the tourist yearn to fill . So ...
... Lake for luncheon ; and I purposely make these memoranda about meals , and take my time from the kitchen clock , because the delightful air of Connamara very speedily induces that vacuum , which nature and the tourist yearn to fill . So ...
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admire amid asked Athlone beautiful bitter beer Blarney Stone boat Boots called Castle Celt CHAPTER Church Claddagh Clifden Connamara Cork cottage dance delight dinner driver Dublin English eyes fair Famine fancy favour fish Frank Froissart's Chronicles Galway Gap of Dunloe gazed gentleman girls glad Glengarriff glorious grand green handsome happy hear heard heart hill horse Hotel Innisfallen Ireland Irish Irish elk Irishman Island JOHN LEECH Kenmare Killarney Killiney Kings Kylemore lady lake land legs Limerick look Lord miles morning mountains NATURE-PRINTED never once Oughterarde Paddy pass peace picturesque pleasant poor pretty refreshment reminded resembled rocks royal salmon scene scenery seemed shillelagh sing smile solemn song sorrow suggestive sweet table d'hôte thought told took tour tourist tower trees volume walk whiskey wild yer onour young
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Стр. 134 - Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Стр. 206 - There is a stone there, that whoever kisses, Oh! he never misses to grow eloquent. 'Tis he may clamber to a lady's chamber, Or become a member of parliament: A clever spouter he'll sure turn out, or An out-and-outer, "to be let alone," Don't hope to hinder him, or to bewilder him; Sure he's a pilgrim from the Blarney stone!
Стр. 112 - Why, let the stricken deer go weep, The hart ungalled play; For some must watch, while some must sleep; So runs the world away.
Стр. 134 - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Стр. 19 - In allusion to this, Mr. Horace Walpole, who admired his writings, said he was "an inspired idiot; " and Garrick described him as one " for shortness call'd Noll, Who wrote like an angel, and talk'd like poor Poll...
Стр. 20 - ... little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult.
Стр. 58 - Twas at thy door, O friend! and not at mine, The angel with the amaranthine wreath, Pausing, descended, and with voice divine, Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, A shadow on those features fair and thin ; And softly, from that hushed and darkened room, Two angels issued, where but one went in.
Стр. 159 - And eyne of lovely blue. O lady, he is dead and gone! Lady, he's dead and gone! And at his head a green grass turfe, And at his heels a stone.
Стр. 4 - TWAS in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school : There were some that ran and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped with gamesome minds, And souls untouched by sin; To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in : Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over...
Стр. 111 - THANK God, bless God, all ye who suffer not More grief than ye can weep for. That is well; That is light grieving ! lighter, none befell Since Adam forfeited the primal lot. Tears ! — what are tears ? The babe weeps in its cot, The mother singing; at her marriagebell The bride weeps ; and before the oracle Of high-faned hills the poet has forgot Such moisture on his cheeks.