The Works of Father Prout (the Rev. Francis Mahony).

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G. Routledge and Sons, 1881 - Authors, Irish - 502 pages
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Page 15 - Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th...
Page 102 - WITH deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells. Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder Where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.
Page 72 - Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tower...
Page 443 - Guid faith he mauna fa' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that ; That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a
Page 443 - A man's a man for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie ca'da lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that — Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that ; For a* that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that; The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a
Page 23 - Wit, and Poetry, and Pope. Friend to my Life ! (which did not you prolong, The world had wanted many an idle song...
Page 327 - MY JO. JOHN Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent ; Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is beld, John Your locks are like the snaw ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo.
Page 105 - These may she never share ! Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold, Than daisies in the mould, Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate, His name and life's brief date.
Page 97 - For, oh, if there be an elysium on earth, It is this, it is this ! There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing and brow never cold, Love on through all ills, and love on till they die ; One hour of a passion so sacred is worth Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss : And oh...
Page 180 - He has visited all Europe ;^not to survey the sumptuousness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples ; not to make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur, nor to form a scale of the curiosity of modern art ; not to collect medals, or collate manuscripts, but to dive into the depths of dungeons; to plunge into the infection of hospitals ; to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain ; to take the...

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