The Strand Magazine, Volume 31 (Google eBook)

Front Cover
G. Newnes, 1906
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Page 702 - Be of good comfort, master Ridley, and play the man. We shall this day light such a candle, by God's grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out.
Page 309 - I ploughed the land with horses, But my heart was ill at ease, For the old seafaring men Came to me now and then, With their sagas of the seas...
Page 588 - 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; From lordly Volaterrae Where scowls the far-famed hold Piled by the hands of giants For godlike kings of old...
Page 50 - Witness those rings and roundelays Of theirs, which yet remain, Were footed in Queen Mary's days On many a grassy plain; But since of late, Elizabeth And, later, James came in, They never danced on any heath As when the time hath been.
Page 588 - Verbenna down to Ostia Hath wasted all the plain ; Astur hath stormed Janiculum, And the stout guards are slain. I wis in all the Senate There was no heart so bold But sore it ached and fast it beat When that ill news was told. Forthwith up rose the consul, Up rose the Fathers all ; In haste they girded up their gowns And hied them to the wall.
Page 495 - Miss SEWARD. (with an incredulous smile,) "What, Sir! about a ghost?" JOHNSON, (with solemn vehemence,) "Yes, Madam: this is a question which, after five thousand years, is yet undecided; a question, whether in theology or philosophy, one of the most important that can come before the human understanding.
Page 400 - The lilies lie in my lady's bower (O weary mother, drive the cows to roost), They faintly droop for a little hour; My lady's head droops like a flower. She took the porcelain in her hand (O weary mother, drive the cows to roost), She poured; I drank at her command; Drank deep, and now - you understand! (O weary mother, drive the cows to roost...
Page 588 - Now welcome, welcome, Sextus! Now welcome to thy home ! Why dost thou stay, and turn away? Here lies the road to Rome.
Page 411 - BESIDE the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried in the sand. Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, He saw his Native Land.
Page 544 - The man that lays his hand upon a woman, Save in the way of kindness, is a wretch Whom 'twere gross flattery to name a coward.

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