Anthologia Hibernica: Or Monthly Collections of Science, Belles-lettres, and History ..., Volumen 2

Portada
R. E. Mercier, 1794
 

Comentarios de usuarios - Escribir una reseña

No hemos encontrado ninguna reseña en los sitios habituales.

Páginas seleccionadas

Otras ediciones - Ver todo

Términos y frases comunes

Pasajes populares

Página 58 - Twas this deprived my soul of rest, And rais'd such tumults in my breast ; For while I gaz'd, in transport tost, My breath was gone, my voice was lost : My bosom glow'd ; the subtle flame Ran quick through all my vital frame ; O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ; My ears with hollow murmurs rung. In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd ; My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd ; My feeble pulse forgot to play ; I fainted, sunk, and died away.
Página 56 - Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted ; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled ; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, Whom his ain son o...
Página 56 - And in an instant all was dark; And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, When out the hellish legion sallied. As bees bizz out wi...
Página 55 - Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide; The hour approaches Tam maun ride; That hour, o...
Página 203 - Indian antiquities: or, Dissertations, relative to the ancient geographical divisions, the pure system of primeval theology, the grand code of civil laws, the original form of government...
Página 381 - Of brotherhood is severed as the flax That falls asunder at the touch of fire. He finds his fellow guilty of a skin Not colour'd like his own...
Página 58 - TDLESS'D as th' immortal gods is he, -*-' The youth who fondly fits by thee, And hears and fees thee all the while, Softly fpeak and fweetly fmile. 'Twas this...
Página 58 - Are the groves and the valleys as gay, And the shepherds as gentle as ours ? The groves may perhaps be as fair, And the face of the valleys as fine ; The swains may in manners compare, But their love is not equal to mine.
Página 165 - To know the poet from the man of rhymes: Tis he, who gives my breast a thousand pains, Can make me feel each passion that he feigns; Enrage, compose, with more than magic art, With pity, and with terror, tear my heart; And snatch me, o'er the earth, or through the air, To Thebes, to Athens, when he will, and where.
Página 56 - Whom his ain son o' life bereft, The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', Which ev"n to name wad be unlawfu'. As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : The piper loud and louder blew ; The dancers quick and quicker flew ; They...

Información bibliográfica