The Monthly Review

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Sir Henry John Newbolt, Charles Hanbury-Williams
J. Murray, 1904

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132. oldal - Thou seemest human and divine, The highest, holiest manhood, Thou: Our wills are ours, we know not how; Our wills are ours, to make them Thine.
12. oldal - May the Great God, whom I worship, grant to my Country, and for the benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious Victory; and may no misconduct in any one tarnish it; and may humanity after Victory be the predominant feature in the British Fleet. For myself, individually, I commit my life to Him, who made me, and may his blessing light upon my endeavours for serving my Country faithfully. To him I resign myself and the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend. Amen. Amen. Amen.
133. oldal - We pass; the path that each man trod Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds: What fame is left for human deeds In endless age? It rests with God.
130. oldal - TO DANTE. (WRITTEN AT REQUEST OF THE FLORENTINES.) KING, that hast reign'd six hundred years, and grown In power, and ever growest, since thine own Fair Florence honouring thy nativity, Thy Florence now the crown of Italy, Hath sought the tribute of a verse from me, I, wearing but the garland of a day, Cast at thy feet one flower that fades away.
132. oldal - Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura Che la diritta via era smarrita.
134. oldal - A people's voice, when they rejoice At civic revel and pomp and game, Attest their great commander's claim With honour, honour, honour, honour to him, Eternal honour to his name. VII. A people's voice ! we are a people yet. Tho...
116. oldal - Oh, my Nora's gown for me, That floats as wild as mountain breezes, Leaving every beauty free To sink or swell as Heaven pleases. Yes, my Nora Creina, dear, My simple, graceful Nora Creina, Nature's dress Is loveliness — The dress you wear, my Nora Creina. Lesbia hath a wit refined, But when its points are gleaming round us, Who can tell if they're design'd To dazzle merely, or to wound us...
120. oldal - IN Africa (a quarter of the world), Men's skins are black, their hair is crisp and curl'd, And somewhere there, unknown to public view, A mighty city lies, called Timbuctoo.
133. oldal - Ionian music measuring out The steps of Time — the shocks of Chance — The blows of Death. At length my trance Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt. Vague words ! but ah, how hard to frame In matter-moulded forms of speech, Or even for intellect to reach Thro...
4. oldal - HARDY (waking from a short reverie) Thoughts all confused, my lord : — their needs on deck, Your own sad state, and your unrivalled past; Mixed up with flashes of old things afar — Old childish things at home, down Wessex way, In the snug village under Blackdon Hill Where I was born. The tumbling stream, the garden, The placid look of the grey dial there, Marking unconsciously this bloody hour, And the red apples on my father's trees, Just now full ripe.

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