The Quarterly Review, 71. kötet

Első borító
William Gifford, Sir John Taylor Coleridge, John Gibson Lockhart, Whitwell Elwin, William Macpherson, Sir John Murray (IV), William Smith, Rowland Edmund Prothero (Baron Ernle)
John Murray, 1843

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54. oldal - Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds, Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor; Who, busied in his majesty, surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold, The civil citizens kneading up the honey, The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate, The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,...
467. oldal - They gave him of the corn-land, That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen Could plough from morn till night ; And they made a molten image, And set it up on high — And there it stands unto this day To witness if I lie.
362. oldal - Compound for sins they are inclined to By damning those they have no mind to.
52. oldal - Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.
465. oldal - The harvests of Arretium, This year, old men shall reap; This year, young boys in Umbro Shall plunge the struggling sheep; And in the vats of Luna, This year, the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls Whose sires have marched to Rome.
464. oldal - Queen of the western waves, Where ride Massilia's triremes Heavy with fair-haired slaves; From where sweet Clanis wanders Through corn and vines and flowers, From where Cortona lifts to heaven Her diadem of towers.
7. oldal - ... sense, the soar of thought, Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind; Its orb so full, its vision so confined! Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell ? Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell ? With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue Of varied scents, that charmed her as she flew ? Hail, MEMORY, hail! thy universal reign Guards the least link of Being's glorious chain.
464. oldal - The horsemen and the footmen Are pouring in amain From many a stately market-place, From many a fruitful plain; From many a lonely hamlet Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest hangs on the crest Of purple Apennine...
10. oldal - Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ; Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, And still his...
473. oldal - With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel on her arm, Home she went bounding from the school, nor dreamed of shame or harm...

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