The Quarterly Review, Zväzok 41

Predný obal
William Gifford, Sir John Taylor Coleridge, John Gibson Lockhart, Whitwell Elwin, William Macpherson, William Smith, Sir John Murray IV, Rowland Edmund Prothero (Baron Ernle)
John Murray, 1829
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Strana 449 - I ran it through, even from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it; Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes i...
Strana 17 - The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry ; Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy. Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, Less pleasing, when possest, ; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast...
Strana 26 - Thy dead men shall live, together with my dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust : for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead.
Strana 242 - I) your sheep that were wont to be so meek and tame, and so small eaters, now, as I hear say, be become so great devourers and so wild, that they eat up, and swallow down the very men themselves. They consume, destroy, and devour whole fields, houses, and cities.
Strana 138 - Proximi Gallis et similes sunt, seu durante originis vi, seu procurrentibus in diversa terris positio coeli corporibus habitum dedit.
Strana 242 - For look in what parts of the realm doth grow the finest, and therefore dearest wool, there noblemen and gentlemen : yea, and certain Abbots, holy men...
Strana 295 - Twere almost sacrilege to sing Those notes amid the glare of day ; Notes borne by angels' purest wing, And wafted by their breath away. When, sleeping in my grass-grown bed, Shouldst thou still linger here above, Wilt thou not kneel beside my head, And, sister, sing the song I love?
Strana 6 - God (to whom all hearts are open and from whom no secrets are hidden...
Strana 299 - It is a dark and fearful thing ; It steals along with withering tread, Or sweeps on wild destruction's wing. That thought comes o'er me in the hour Of grief, of sickness, or of sadness; 'Tis not the dread of death ; 'tis more, — It is the dread of madness.
Strana 90 - Keeper of the yellow gate, bring us that picture, that we may view it. [Sees the picture.] "Ah, how has he dimmed the purity of the gem, bright as the waves in autumn ! " [To the attendant.'] Transmit our pleasure to the officer of the guard to behead Maouyenshow, and report to us his execution.

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