The Quarterly Review, Volume 185John Murray, 1897 |
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admiration artists Balliol called century character Christian Church College colony colour command conviction crime death doubt enemy England English Epicurean Epicurus feeling followed France French friends genius George von Frundsberg Gibbon give Government hand heart honour House human impressionism impressionist Industrial Schools influence interest Jowett King labour Lady Jerningham Lamennais Landsknechts Lee-Metford less letters Liberal living Lloyd Morgan London Lord Lord Bathurst Lord Palmerston Lord Rosebery Lord Salisbury Lord's Day Lucretius master ment military mind modern moral nation National Rifle Association nature never Norfolk offences officers once painted painter Paris Parkman party passed persons poet political present principle prison Psalms Queen question recognised Reformatories reforms religion rifle Sabbath Salon Scotland Scottish seems spirit sport style things thought tion truth whole words writes young
Fréquemment cités
Page 175 - When the morning stars sang together, and the sons of God shouted for joy.
Page 191 - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too...
Page 223 - In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow countrymen, and not in mine is the momentous issue of civil war. The Government will not assail you. You can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors. You have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the Government, while I shall have the most solemn one to "preserve, protect, and defend it.
Page 482 - Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened earth The trumpet of a prophecy ! O, Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Page 348 - But thou would'st not alone Be saved, my father ! alone Conquer and come to thy goal, Leaving the rest in the wild. We were weary, and we Fearful, and we in our march Fain to drop down and to die. Still thou turnedst, and still Beckonedst the trembler, and still Gavest the weary thy hand.
Page 175 - Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It was my turquoise ; I had it of Leah, when I was a bachelor. I would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.
Page 188 - To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair And gentle tale of love and languishment? Returning home at evening, with an ear Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye...
Page 178 - I WONDER, by my troth, what thou and I Did till we loved? were we not weaned till then, But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den? 'Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be. If ever any beauty I did see Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee. And now...
Page 30 - It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last page, in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent. I will not dissemble the first emotions...
Page 20 - After a sleepless night, I trod, with a lofty step, the ruins of the Forum ; each memorable spot where Romulus stood, or Tully spoke, or Caesar fell, was at once present to my eye ; and several days of intoxication were lost or enjoyed before I could descend to a cool and minute investigation.