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appeared arms asked beauty believe better Brian Purcell called Captain character Church close coming Connor course dear death doctor door entered exclaimed eyes face Fanny father fear feel fire force gave give hand happy head heard heart HIBERNIAN hill hope hour imagination interest John keep knew lady land leave light living look manner matter mean mind Miss Miss Evans mother mountain nature never night officers once party passed person poor present reached remained remarkable replied rest returned rose round Sally seemed seen side smile speak spirit Street sure tears tell things thought told took turned valley voice walked wife woman young
Strona 104 - This is the forest primeval ; but where are the hearts that beneath it Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Strona 179 - There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes ; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
Strona 181 - Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range; Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
Strona 269 - All these he saw ; but what he fain had seen He could not see, the kindly human face, Nor ever hear a kindly voice, but heard The myriad shriek of wheeling ocean-fowl, The league-long roller thundering on the reef, The moving whisper of huge trees that branch'd And blossom'd in the zenith...
Strona 34 - Body was willing to play with me. I remember I went into the Room where his Body lay, and my Mother sat weeping alone by it. I had my Battledore in my Hand, and fell a beating the Coffin, and calling Papa; for I know not how I had some slight idea that he was locked up there.
Strona 265 - The bare black cliff clang'd round him, as he based His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels And on a sudden, lo! the level lake, And the long glories of the winter moon.
Strona 181 - Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I find a magic bark; I leap on board : no helmsman steers : I float till all is dark. A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail : With folded feet, in stoles of white, On sleeping wings they sail.
Strona 37 - Look yonder,— that hale, well-looking puppy! You ungrateful scoundrel, did not I pity you, take you out of a great man's service, and show you the pleasure of receiving wages? Did not I (five you ten, then fifteen, and twenty shillings a week to be sorrowful? —and the more I give you. I think the gladder you are I " *"From my own Apartment, TVoc.
Strona 61 - The staircase of Brick Court is said to have been filled with mourners, the reverse of domestic ; women without a home, without domesticity of any kind, with no friend but him they had come to weep for ; outcasts of that great, solitary, wicked city, to whom he had never forgotten to be kind and charitable.