The Dublin University Magazine: A Literary and Political Journal (Google eBook)

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W. Curry, jun., and Company, 1877
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Page 591 - TO HELEN. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Page 84 - I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys. As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.
Page 703 - With stories told of many a feat, How Faery Mab the junkets eat: She was pinched and pulled, she said; And he, by Friar's lantern led, Tells how the drudging goblin sweat To earn his cream-bowl duly set, When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail...
Page 592 - The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose ; The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare ; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair ; The Sunshine is a glorious birth ; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
Page 592 - Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear...
Page 719 - Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
Page 17 - Moses' seat : all therefore whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do ; but do not ye after their works : for they say, and do not.
Page 291 - Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep: Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep. "So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, Till blood for blood atones! Ay...
Page 703 - When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Page 623 - If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.

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