Dublin verses by members of Trinity College (Google eBook)

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Henry Albert Hinkson
E. Mathews, 1895 - College verse, English - 140 pages
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Page 146 - ... where a stipulation has been made to the contrary, and of printing a separate edition of any of the books for America irrespective of the numbers to which the English editions are limited. The numbers mentioned do not include copies sent to the public libraries, nor those sent for review.
Page 59 - Oh, heart-bitter wound! On board of the ship For America bound. On a green bed of rushes All last night I lay, And I flung it abroad With the heat of the day. And my love came behind me He came from the south; His breast to my bosom, His mouth to my mouth.
Page 133 - Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, With all the speed ye may; I, with two more to help me, Will hold the foe in play. In yon strait path a thousand May well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, And keep the bridge with me?" Then out spake Spurius Lartius; A Ramnian proud was he: "Lo, I will stand at thy .right hand, And keep the bridge with thee.
Page 105 - O singer of Persephone! In the dim meadows desolate Dost thou remember Sicily? Still through the ivy flits the bee Where Amaryllis lies in state; O Singer of Persephone! Simaetha calls on Hecate And hears the wild dogs at the gate; Dost thou remember Sicily?
Page 7 - THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. WHO fears to speak of Ninety-Eight ? Who blushes at the name ? When cowards mock the patriot's fate, Who hangs his head for shame ? He's all a knave or half a slave Who slights his country thus ; But a true man, like you, man, Will fill your glass with us.
Page 162 - The Poetry of Tennyson,* by Henry Van Dyke. The additions are considerable. It is extremely interesting to go over the bibliographical notes to see the contemptuous or, at best, contemptuously patronising tone of the reviewers in the early thirties gradually turning to civility, to a loud chorus of applause.
Page 3 - Her doors and heart makes fast, And loves no flower save those that deck the bier : Ere yet the blossomed sycamore With golden surf is curdled o'er; Ere yet the birch against the blue Her silken tissue weaves anew: Thou com'st while...
Page 31 - Bent ever on thy myriad progeny Who care not nor regard thee as they go, 0 tender, sorrowing, weeping, hoping land ! 1 give my heart to thee, O mother-land.
Page 24 - Dhuv, my mother's son in Aghadoe, When your throat fries in hell's drouth salt the flame be in your mouth, For the treachery you did in Aghadoe! For they tracked me to that glen in Aghadoe, Aghadoe, When the price was on his head in Aghadoe; O'er the mountain through the wood, as I stole to him with food, When in hiding lone he lay in Aghadoe.
Page ii - Whispers, scarce noted, thou art coming. Huge, cloud-like trees grow dense with sprays and buds, And cast a shapelier gloom o'er freshening grass, And through the fringe of ragged woods More shrouded sunbeams pass. Fresh shoots conceal the pollard's spike, The driving rack out-braving ; The hedge swells large by ditch and dike ; And all the uncoloured world is like A shadow-limned engraving.

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