The Quarterly Review, Volume 224

Front Cover
William Gifford, Sir John Taylor Coleridge, John Gibson Lockhart, Whitwell Elwin, William Macpherson, John Murray, William Smith, George Walter Prothero, Rowland Edmund Prothero (Baron Ernle)
John Murray, 1915 - English literature

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Page 73 - Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, With daring aims irregularly great. Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by...
Page 403 - Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon!
Page 77 - We have fed our sea for a thousand years And she calls us, still unfed, Though there's never a wave of all her waves But marks our English dead: We have strawed our best to the weed's unrests To the shark and the sheering gull. If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we ha
Page 238 - The trade of neutrals with belligerents in articles not contraband is absolutely free, unless interrupted by blockade; the conveyance by neutrals to belligerents of contraband articles is always unlawful, and such articles may always be seized during transit by sea.
Page 47 - Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, This be thy just circumference, O world ! " Thus God the heaven created, thus the earth, Matter unformed and void ; darkness profound Covered the abyss ; but on the watery calm His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread, And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth, Throughout the fluid mass...
Page 305 - Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess, sing ! That wrath which hurled to Pluto's gloomy reign The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain ; Whose limbs unburied on the naked shore, Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore ; Since great Achilles and Atrides strove.
Page 413 - Now, God be thanked who has matched us with His hour, And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping, With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power, To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping, Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary...
Page 321 - Awake, my mate! Shake off thy slumbers, and clear and strong Let loose the floods of thy glorious song, The sacred dirge of thy mouth divine For sore-wept Itys, thy child and mine; Thy tender trillings his name prolong With the liquid note of thy tawny throat; Through the leafy curls of the woodbine sweet The pure sound mounts to the heavenly seat, And Phoebus, lord of the golden hair, As he lists to thy wild plaint echoing there, Draws answering strains from his ivoried lyre, Till he stirs the dance...
Page 233 - But there is nothing in our laws, or in the law of nations, that forbids our citizens from sending armed vessels, as well as munitions of war, to foreign ports for sale. It is a commercial adventure which no nation is bound to prohibit, and which only exposes the persons engaged in it to the penalty of confiscation.
Page 413 - Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These laid the world away; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, That men call age; and those who would have been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality.

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