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. 3
... walk out , or drive out , or ride , or row out , but I am sure to have an attack . I have had as many , indeed , as two in one day . With the daughters of Deans and Presidents , with visitors , with ladies come in from the country to ...
... walk out , or drive out , or ride , or row out , but I am sure to have an attack . I have had as many , indeed , as two in one day . With the daughters of Deans and Presidents , with visitors , with ladies come in from the country to ...
Стр. 34
... walks , turn out the pig , and look after these indolent and quarrelsome servants ? -indolent and quarrelsome , only because there are none to encourage industry and to maintain peace . 66 We passed the station of Maynooth , but did not ...
... walks , turn out the pig , and look after these indolent and quarrelsome servants ? -indolent and quarrelsome , only because there are none to encourage industry and to maintain peace . 66 We passed the station of Maynooth , but did not ...
Стр. 41
... walking with his friends , one Sunday , in the Via del Cocomero , at Florence , he was overthrown by a pig running between his legs . Whereupon the painter , albeit he was in his best clothes , philosophically recognised a just ...
... walking with his friends , one Sunday , in the Via del Cocomero , at Florence , he was overthrown by a pig running between his legs . Whereupon the painter , albeit he was in his best clothes , philosophically recognised a just ...
Стр. 46
... walking round his estates , wid his hands in his pockets , never draming what a pretty invitashun he'd have to jine you gintlemen at dinner . " This was followed by a small saddle of " Arran mutton , y'r onner ; " and " what can mortals ...
... walking round his estates , wid his hands in his pockets , never draming what a pretty invitashun he'd have to jine you gintlemen at dinner . " This was followed by a small saddle of " Arran mutton , y'r onner ; " and " what can mortals ...
Стр. 50
... walk to the Claddagh . The shades of eve were falling fast , as we set forth , and we were just in time to see the last haul of the nets , and the silver salmon lying on the bank . Then we revived our spirits by a little conversation ...
... walk to the Claddagh . The shades of eve were falling fast , as we set forth , and we were just in time to see the last haul of the nets , and the silver salmon lying on the bank . Then we revived our spirits by a little conversation ...
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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.