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answer appeared arms asked beauty began better bless blue body brought called coming Conall cried Cuchulain dead dear death Dermot door Dublin England English eyes face fair father followed gave girl give half hand head hear heard heart hill hope Ireland Irish John keep king knew ladies land learning leave light living look Lord manner Mary Mave mind mother mountains nature never night once passed poem poor present published returned round says seemed seen sent side song speak story sure sweet tell thee there's thing thought tion told took turned voice walk whole woman writing young
Stran 1370 - Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Stran 1361 - No product here the barren hills afford But man and steel, the soldier and his sword ; No vernal blooms their torpid- rocks array, But winter lingering chills the lap of May ; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.
Stran 1374 - And pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Stran 1367 - SWEET AUBURN! loveliest village of the plain; Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed : Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene...
Stran 1367 - How often have I blessed the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; While many a pastime circled in the shade—- The young contending as the old surveyed; And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.
Stran 1383 - Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, Who long was a bookseller's hack ; He led such a damnable life in this world, I don't think he'll wish to come back.
Stran 1382 - Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, He has not left a wiser or better behind ; His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart : To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing : When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet *, and only took snuff.
Stran 1371 - Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest: To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Stran 1384 - That as Men and as Irishmen, as Christians and as protestants, we rejoice in the relaxation of the Penal Laws against our Roman Catholic fellow-subjects, and that we conceive the measure to be fraught with the happiest consequences to the union and prosperity of the inhabitants of Ireland.