The Life of John Banim, the Irish Novelist: Author of "Damon and Pythias", &c. and One of the Writers of "Tales by the O'Hara Family". With Extracts from His Correspondence, General and LiteraryW. Lay, 1857 - Всего страниц: 334 |
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The Life of John Banim, the Irish Novelist: Author of Damon and Pythias, &C ... Patrick Joseph Murray Недоступно для просмотра - 2016 |
The Life of John Banim, the Irish Novelist: Author of Damon and Pythias, &C ... Patrick Joseph Murray Недоступно для просмотра - 2016 |
The Life of John Banim, the Irish Novelist, Author of Damon and Pythias ... Patrick Joseph Murray Недоступно для просмотра - 2012 |
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amongst Anne appeared Arnold beauty Boulogne Boyne Water bright brother Calanthe called Catiline character commenced County Kilkenny Damon and Pythias daughter DEAR dramatic Dublin Eastbourne Ellen eyes fame fancy Fcap fear feeling genius Gerald Griffin give grave hand heart honour hope Ireland Irish John Banim John Sterling John's Julius Kilkenny College kind KING WILLIAM STREET labour limbs Limerick literary literature living London look Lord matter Michael Banim mind months morning mother never night novel Nowlan O'Hara Family once opinion pain period Phry PHRYNE play pleasure poem poet poor present Pyth recollection Robert Southey scenes Sheil sorrow soul spirit story success Sylla tale tell theatre thee thou thought tion tragedy walk whilst wife Windgap word write written wrote young youth
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Стр. 112 - O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day ; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away ! Re-enter PANTHINO.
Стр. 213 - I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; To have renewed the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine : And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft — Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
Стр. 228 - AH ! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar; Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime Has felt the influence of malignant star, And waged with Fortune an eternal war; Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar, In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown...
Стр. 11 - As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown, And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down. He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.
Стр. 239 - Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love. News from the humming city comes to it In sound of funeral or of marriage bells; And, sitting muffled in dark leaves, you hear The windy clanging of the minster clock ; Although between it and the garden lies A league of grass, wash'd by a slow broad stream, That, stirr'd with languid pulses of the oar, Waves all its lazy lilies, and creeps on, Barge-laden, to three arches of a bridge Crown'd with the minster-towers.
Стр. 40 - In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest; In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
Стр. 115 - I pass'd — and they were gone. Read, ye that run, the awful truth With which I charge my page ; A -worm is in the bud of youth, And at the root of age.
Стр. 21 - II is no marvel — from my very birth My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth ; Of objects all inanimate I made Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers, And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise, "Whero 1 did lay me down within the shade Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours, Though I was chid for wandering...
Стр. 42 - Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.
Стр. 42 - Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.