St. Clair: Or, The Heiress of Desmond, Volume 1

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J.J. Stockdale, 1812
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Page 25 - Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good we oft might win, By fearing to attempt.
Page 185 - Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy towers to-day ; yet a few years and the blast of the desert comes ; it howls in thy empty court, and whistles round thy half-worn shield.
Page 44 - Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus
Page 230 - But thou dwellest in the soul of Malvina, son of mighty Ossian ! My sighs arise with the beam of the east ; my tears descend with the drops of night. I was a lovely tree, in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me ; but thy death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green head low. The spring returned with its showers ; no leaf of mine arose ! The virgins saw me silent in the hall ; they touched the harp of joy.
Page 92 - And at the door imprisoning board is seen, Lest weakly wights of smaller size should stray, Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day ! The noises intermix'd, which thence resound, Do Learning's little tenement betray, Where sits the dame, disguis'd in look profound, And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her wheel around.
Page 52 - ... die Kinder eines Hauptmanns und Parlamentsabgeordneten zu erziehen. Die Reise dorthin ist eine Reise ins eigentliche Irland. Auf dem Sitz seiner Všter angelangt, vertraut er seinem Freund an: "It is situated in what may be termed the classic ground of Ireland; for in this part of Connaught you find the character, the manner, the language, and the music of the ancient Irish in all their primitive originality...
Page 196 - Hitherto I feared not love. My affections, cold as ice, formed around my heart a crystal rampart. Tears were strangers to my eyes; my sleep was undisturbed; and I saw with astonishment in others, what I had never experienced in myself. Such have I been! Alas! what am I now?
Page 156 - I love a foe like Cathmor : his soul is great; his arm is strong; there is fame in his battles. But the little soul is like a vapour that hovers round a marshy lake. It never rises on the green hill, lest the winds meet it there.
Page 58 - ... more things in heaven and earth than were dreamt of in their philosophy ; they consigned this hapless nonconformist to profound neglect.
Page 256 - St. Irvyne; \ or, \ The Rosicrucian. \ A Romance. | By | A Gentleman | of the University of Oxford. | London: | Printed for JJ Stockdale, | 41, Pall Mall.

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