The Quarterly Review, Volumen 19

Portada
William Gifford, Sir John Taylor Coleridge, John Gibson Lockhart, Whitwell Elwin, William Macpherson, William Smith, Sir John Murray IV, John Murray, Rowland Edmund Prothero (Baron Ernle), George Walter Prothero
John Murray, 1818
 

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Página 221 - I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low : And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him ; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
Página 274 - That in blessing I will bless thee, and in multiplying I will multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven and as the sand which is upon the...
Página 257 - And the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; and the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man.
Página 201 - Made for our searching : yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in...
Página 2 - From Paul's I went, to Eton sent, To learn straightways the Latin phrase, Where fifty-three stripes given to me At once I had. For fault but small, or none at all, It came to pass thus beat I was; See, Udal, see the mercy of thee To me, poor lad.
Página 210 - Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been — A sound which makes us linger; — yet— farewell ! Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell ; Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain, If such there were — with you, the moral of his strain.
Página 202 - We have imagined for the mighty dead ; All lovely tales that we have heard or read : An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. Nor do we merely feel these essences For one short hour ; no, even as the trees That whisper round a temple become soon Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon, The passion poesy, glories infinite...
Página 217 - The beings of the mind are not of clay ; Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray And more beloved existence : that which Fate Prohibits to dull life, in this our state Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied First exiles, then replaces what we hate ; Watering the heart whose early flowers have died, And with a fresher growth replenishing the void.
Página 216 - I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ;* A palace and a prison on each hand: I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand...
Página 201 - Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in ; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season ; the mid forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead...