Its author we knew was familiar beyond almost any other with the country-had not left one glen unsearched, not one island untrod; had brought with him the information of a life of antiquarian study, a graceful and exact pencil, and feelings equally national and lofty.
"Thomas Davis, Selections from his Prose and Poetry"
Thomas Davis Commentator: T. W. Rolleston
In the night where thine eyes are as moons are in heaven, the night where thou art, Where the silence is more than all tunes, where sleep overflows from the heart, Where the poppies are sweet as the rose in our world, and the red rose is white, And the wind falls faint as it blows with the fume of the flowers of the night, And the murmur of spirits that sleep in the shadow of Gods from afar Grows dim in thine ears and deep as the deep dim soul of a star, In the sweet low light of thy face, under heavens untrod by the sun, Let my soul with their souls find place, and forget what is done and undone.
"Poems & Ballads (First Series)"
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Or beguiled she one sweet hour With Apollo in her bower, Who loves to trace the field untrod by man?
"The Seven Plays in English Verse"
Sophocles