The cabinet of Irish literature, with biogr. sketches and literary notices by C.A. Read (T.P. O'Connor).

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Charles Anderton Read
1879
 

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Page 266 - 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.
Page 266 - 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, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Page 269 - And steady loyalty and faithful love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, To catch the heart or strike for honest fame; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, That found' st me poor at first and keep'st me so...
Page 266 - His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd...
Page 234 - He shall not drop." said my uncle Toby, firmly. "A-well-o'day, do what we can for him, said Trim, maintaining his point,; "the poor soul will die." "He shall not die, by G— !" cried my uncle Toby. The Accusing Spirit, which flew up to heaven's chancery with the oath, blushed as he gave it in, and the Recording Angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word, and blotted it out for ever.
Page 266 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs— and God has given my share — I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose. I still had hopes— for pride attends us still — Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell, of all I felt, and all I saw...
Page 266 - She, wretched matron, forced, in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain.
Page 250 - She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up and call her blessed, her husband also, and he praiseth her.
Page 265 - How often have I blest 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...
Page 267 - A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he...

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