Sir Samuel Ferguson in the Ireland of His Day, Volume 2

Couverture
W. Blackwood, 1896 - 383 pages
 

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Page 256 - Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears. " Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies : But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.
Page 41 - What, in ill thoughts again ? Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither : Ripeness is all : Come on.
Page 353 - Tis the weakness in strength that I cry for! my flesh, that I seek In the Godhead ! I seek and I find it. O Saul, it shall be A Face like my face that receives thee : a Man like to me, Thou shalt love and be loved by, for ever! a Hand like this hand Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee! See the Christ stand !
Page 256 - Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life.
Page 349 - I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear : But now mine eye seeth thee. Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.
Page 1 - Yet what binds us, friend to friend, But that soul with soul can blend ? Soul-like were those hours of yore; Let us walk in soul once more ! " Take, O boatman, thrice thy fee ; Take, — I give it willingly; For, invisible to thee, Spirits twain have crossed with me !" " O, that is beautiful, — ' beautiful exceedingly !' Who translated it ? "
Page 42 - Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i...
Page 182 - O Lady! we receive but what we give, And in our life alone does nature live: Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud! And would we aught behold, of higher worth, Than that inanimate cold world allowed To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud Enveloping the Earth — And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth, Of all sweet sounds the life and element!
Page 156 - How charming is divine philosophy ! Not harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Page 327 - Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

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