Ulster Journal of Archaeology, Volume 8

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Ulster Archaeological Society, 1860 - Archaeology
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Page 16 - In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. To Beauty? Ah, no !— she forgets The charms which she wielded before — Nor knows the foul worm that he frets The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore.
Page 172 - Out of his mouth go burning lamps, And sparks of fire leap out. Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, As out of a seething pot or caldron. His breath kindleth coals, And a flame goeth out of his mouth.
Page 127 - From Scotland came many, and from England not a few, yet all of them generally the scum of both nations, who from debt, or breaking or fleeing from justice, or seeking shelter, came hither, hoping to be without fear of man's justice, in a land where there was nothing, or but little as yet, of the fear of God.
Page 191 - ... great personages and far my betters : happy it is for the people whom I govern, as before is written, and most happy for the commodity that I have by the authority of that place to do good every day, if I have grace, to one or other; wherein I confess I feel no small felicity; but for any profit I gather by it, God and the people (seeing my manner of life) knoweth it is not possible how I should gather any.
Page 119 - The good old rule, The simple plan, That he shall take who has the power, And he shall keep who can.
Page 269 - To the same family were granted various ecclesiastical possessions in Ireland. Sir William Wyse, the ancestor of the late member for Waterford, and possibly the father of the above-mentioned George, had a grant of the Abbey of St.
Page 194 - I have not of the crown of England of my own getting, so much ground as I can cover with my foot. All my fees amount not to 100 marks a year.
Page 141 - Sadly, oh Moyle ! to thy winter wave weeping, Fate bids me languish long ages away ; Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, Still doth the pure light its dawning delay ! When will that day-star, mildly springing, Warm our isle with peace and love ? When will Heaven, its sweet bell ringing, Call my spirit to the fields above ? COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE.
Page 225 - In all these ornaments there breathes a peculiar spirit, which is foreign to the people of the West : there is in them a something mysterious, which imparts to the eye a certain feeling of uneasiness and suspense. This is especially the case with those frightful-looking monstrous figures of animals, whose limbs twist and twine themselves into a labyrinth of ornaments, where one can hardly resist the natural impulse to search for the other parts of their bodies, often nearly concealed, or passing...
Page 278 - That thou ssalt thrive and the *, Thench thou wer ifostred Up thi moder kne ; Ever hab mund * in thi hert Of thos thinges thre, Whan thou commist, whan thou art, And what ssal com of the. Lollai, lollai, litil child, Child, lollai, lollai ! With sorow thou com into this world, With sorow ssalt wend awai. Ne tristou to this world ; Hit is thi ful fo.

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