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aequor amor aura Billy Taylor Callicrates Clara Vere crov dead death decus Dublin dXXd ELOISA TO ABELARD eyes felis flores flowers fuit haec HASTINGS CROSSLEY hath heart Hell and Heaven illa inesse ipsa ipse irapa irpbs iubar iugera JOHN F king Kottabos Little brother manus Mary Mother mihi modo neque nunc o'er ocellus p.ev p.rj puella quae quam quid quis quod ROBERT ROBERT Y rose SAMUEL ALLEN SHAKSPEARE sibi Sister Helen sleep smile somnia soul sweet T. J. B. BRADY tamen TENNYSON thee thine thou tibi ttjs ttjv ttot tuque TYRRELL ultro umbra unda Vappa Vere de Vere wind wpea Zeus
Page 182 - AND after these things I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth, holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should not blow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree.
Page 84 - gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! ah, fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature, Possess it merely.
Page 94 - The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks ; The long day wanes ; the slow moon climbs ; the deep Moans round with many voices.
Page 202 - Thy bountiful care, what tongue can recite? It breathes in the air, it shines in the light, It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain, And sweetly distils in the dew and the rain.
Page 498 - Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later delicate death.
Page 504 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom...
Page 46 - And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard, Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the King, Muttering and murmuring at his ear, 'Quick, quick ! I fear it is too late, and I shall die.
Page 250 - 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.