Sketches of Irish character

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Strana 71 - I have been young, and now am old : and yet saw I never the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread.
Strana 89 - I don't hit the nail on the head quick enough ; and she takes a dale more trouble than she need about many a thing." ' " I do not think I ever saw Ellen's wheel without flax before, Shane?
Strana 115 - mid sunbeams. Now groping trouts in lucid streams, Now spinning like a mill-wheel round, Now hunting echo's empty sound, Now climbing up some old tall tree — For climbing sake. 'Tis sweet to thee To sit where birds can sit alone, Or share with thee thy venturous throne.
Strana 89 - ... sight out o' mind — the never a word she tould him about it, and the babby has got it nataral, and the woman's in heart trouble (to say nothing o' myself); — and it the first, and all.
Strana 38 - Here are we met, three merry boys, Three merry boys I trow are we ; And mony a night we've merry been, And mony mae we hope to be ! We are na fou, &c. It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinkin...
Strana 87 - Irish — men, women, and children — least understand ; and the calmness, or rather indifference, with which they submit to dependence, bitter and miserable as it is, must be a source of deep regret to all who " love the land," or who feel anxious to uphold the dignity of human kind.
Strana 90 - Hill. I passed it to-day, and it looked so cheerful ; and when you get there, you must take Ellen's advice, and depend solely on yourself." " Och, Ma'am dear, don't mintion it — sure it's that makes me so down in the mouth, this very minit. Sure I saw that born blackguard, Jack Waddy, and he comes in here, quite innocent like — ' Shane, you've an eye to 'Squire's new lodge,
Strana 88 - ... hot, and a beautiful summer, sure, — -the Lord be praised !" " Thank you, Shane. I thought you were going to cut the hayfield to-day ; if a heavy shower comes it will be spoiled ; it has been fit for the scythe these two days.
Strana 112 - O good old man ; how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat, but for promotion; And having that, do choke their service up Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
Strana 63 - The imprison'd storms through brazen nostrils roar, Fan the white flame, and fuse the sparkling ore. Here high in air the rising stream he pours To clay-built cisterns, or to lead-lined towers ; Fresh through a thousand pipes the wave distils, And thirsty cities drink the exuberant rills.

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