The Irish monthly magazine [afterw.] The Irish monthly, Volume 7

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Page 176 - But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after confession, Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her. When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.
Page 397 - I WALKED through Ballinderry in the Spring-time, When the bud was on the tree ; And I said, in every fresh-ploughed field beholding The sowers striding free, Scattering broad-cast forth the corn in golden plenty On the quick seed-clasping soil, Even such, this day, among the fresh-stirred hearts of Erin, Thomas Davis, is thy toil...
Page 380 - The maidens' trance dissolveth so. Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may, And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain — They pined away and died within the year and day, And ne'er was Anna Grace seen again.
Page 216 - There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand, And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fanned ; There is dew at high noontide there, and springs i' the yellow sand, On the fair hills of holy Ireland.
Page 131 - These sublime ideas of his, terrible and beautiful, are the fruit of the Christian Meditation of all the good men who had gone before him. Precious they ; but also is not he precious ? Much, had not he spoken, would have been dumb ; not dead, yet living voiceless.
Page 358 - It must be remembered, that this great style itself is artificial in the highest degree ; it presupposes in the spectator, a cultivated and prepared artificial state of mind. It is an absurdity, therefore, to suppose that we are born with this taste, though we are with the seeds of it, which, by the heat and kindly influence of his genius, may be ripened in us.
Page 232 - Red glebe and meadow-margin green, commingling to the view With yellow stubble, browning woods, and upland tracts of blue ; — Then, sated with the pomp of fields, turns, seaward, to the verge Where, mingling with the murmuring wash made by the far-down surge, Comes up the clangorous song of birds unseen, that, low beneath, Poised off the rock, ply underfoot ; and, 'mid the blossoming heath. And mint-sweet herb that loves the ledge rare-aired, at ease reclined Surveys the wide pale-heaving floor...
Page 398 - Young husbandman of Erin's fruitful seed-time, In the fresh track of danger's plough ! Who will walk the heavy, toilsome, perilous furrow Girt with freedom's seed-sheets now ? Who will banish with the wholesome crop of knowledge The flaunting weed and the bitter thorn, Now that thou thyself art but a seed for hopeful planting Against the resurrection morn ? Young salmon of the...
Page 131 - Commedia is of Dante's writing; yet in truth it belongs to ten Christian centuries, only the finishing of it is Dante's. So always. The craftsman there, the smith with that metal of his, with these tools, with these cunning methods, — how little of all he does is properly his work ! All past inventive men work there with him; — as indeed with all of us, in all things.
Page 223 - The Princess with her women-train without the fort he found, Beside a limpid running stream, upon the primrose ground, In two ranks seated opposite, with soft alternate stroke Of bare, white, counter-thrusting feet, fulling a splendid cloak Fresh from the loom : incessant rolled athwart the fluted board The thick web fretted, while two maids, with arms uplifted, poured Pure water on it diligently ; and to their moving feet In answering verse they sang a chaunt of cadence clear and sweet. Princess...

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