Illustrious Irishwomen, by E. Owens Blackburne, Volume 2 |
Common terms and phrases
acquainted admiration amongst appeared authoress beautiful became born brilliant Brooke's brother Castle Rackrent Centlivre character Charlotte Brooke charm Countess daughter dear death died Dublin Edgeworthstown English father feelings gave genius girl give grace grief happy heart Hemans honour husband Ireland Irish Jane Porter Lady Betty Lady Blessington Lady Eleanor Lady Eleanor Butler Lady Morgan Lady Stirling-Maxwell letters literary literature lived Llangollen London Lord Maria Edgeworth marriage married Mary Mary Tighe Memoirs mind Miss Brooke Miss Edgeworth Miss Ponsonby Miss Porter mother never Norton novel o'er passion poems poet poetess poetical poetry published residence Richard Lovell Edgeworth Sarah Curran says scene Sheridan Sir Walter Scott sister society song soul spirit story Susanna Centlivre Sydney Owenson thee thou thought Tighe tion took verses wife Wild Irish Girl woman writing written wrote young
Popular passages
Page 343 - She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Every note which he loved awaking — Ah '. little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the minstrel is breaking...
Page 328 - And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment: so Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many: and unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time without sin unto salvation.
Page 234 - Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near, The church where we were wed, Mary : I see the spire from here. But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest; For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast.
Page 340 - ... roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities. The most delicate and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction.
Page 339 - When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him ; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around his name, she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must have been the agony of her, whose whole soul was occupied by his image ? Let those tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed between them and the being they most loved on earth — who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out...
Page 235 - My blessin' and my pride ! There's nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died. Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone ; There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow — I bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now. I thank you for the patient smile When your heart was fit to break, When the hunger pain was gnawin...
Page 259 - Fainter her slow step falls from day to day, Death's hand is heavy on her darkening brow; Yet doth she fondly cling to earth and say: " I am content to die, but oh! not now ! Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring Make the warm air such luxury to breathe ; Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing; Not while bright flowers around my footsteps wreathe. Spare me, great God, lift up my drooping brow!
Page 340 - To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sensibilities.
Page 75 - Deans-looking body,' as we Scotch say — and, if not handsome, certainly not ill-looking. Her conversation was as quiet as herself. One would never have guessed she could write her name ; whereas her father talked, not as if he could write nothing else, but as if nothing else was worth writing.
Page 63 - And ye whose smile must greet my eye No more, nor voice my ear, Who breathe for me the tender sigh, And shed the pitying tear. Whose kindness though far, far removed, My grateful...