The Stranger in Ireland: Or, A Tour in the Southern and Western Parts of that Country, in the Year 1805

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R. Phillips, 1806 - 530 من الصفحات

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الصفحة 160 - . Good Lord ! what a sight, After all their good cheer, For people to fight In the midst of their beer ! They rise from their feast, And hot are their brains, A cubit at least The length of their skeans3.
الصفحة 36 - ... in waste places, far from danger of law, maketh his mantle his house, and under it covereth himself from the wrath of Heaven, from the offence of the earth, and from the sight of men. When it raineth, it is his penthouse; when it bloweth, it is his tent; when it freezeth, it is his tabernacle.
الصفحة 279 - ... no matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar of slavery ; the first moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the god sink together in the dust ; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty ; his body swells beyond the measure of his chains that burst from around him, and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled, by the irresistible Genius of UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION ! [Here Mr.
الصفحة 240 - Fewness of people, is real poverty; and a Nation wherein are Eight Millions of people, are more than twice as rich as the same scope of Land wherein are but Four...
الصفحة 283 - ... neglected, — do not strike him into that most dreadful of all human conditions, the orphanage that springs not from the grave, that falls not from the hand of Providence, or the stroke of death ; but comes before its time, anticipated and inflicted by the remorseless cruelty of parental guilt.
الصفحة 283 - Abercromby, our poor people were surrendered to the licentious brutality of the soldiery, by the authority of the state — you would vainly endeavour to give her a general picture of lust, and rapine, and murder, and conflagration. By endeavouring to comprehend every thing, you would convey nothing.
الصفحة 21 - In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, They melt, they vanish from my eyes. But oh ! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll ? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!
الصفحة 37 - When it raineth, it is his pent-house ; when it bloweth, it is his tent ; when it freezeth, it is his tabernacle. In summer he can wear it loose ; in winter he can wrap it close ; at all times he can use it, never heavy, never cumbersome. Likewise for a rebel it is as serviceable ; for in this war that he maketh — if at least it...
الصفحة 271 - I did not do him justice, he had faults; but he had great powers, great public effect; he persuaded the old, he inspired the young; the castle vanished before him; on a small sub-ject he was miserable; put into his hand a distaff, and, like Hercules, he made sad work of it; but give him the thunder-bolt, and he had the arm of a Jupiter; he misjudged when he transferred himself to the English Parliament; he forgot that he was a tree of the forest, too old, and too great to be transplanted at fifty...
الصفحة 281 - No seraph mercy unbars his dungeon, and leads him forth to light and life; but the minister of death hurries him to the scene of suffering and of shame ; where, unmoved by the hostile array of artillery and armed men collected together, to secure, or to insult, or to disturb him, he dies with a solemn declaration of his innocence, and utters his last breath in a prayer for the liberty of his country.

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