The National Review, Том 17Richard Holt Hutton, Walter Bagehot Robert Theobald, 1863 |
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Achaian ancient apostle Aratus Articles Banquo believe better Bishop book of Kings Browning's character Cheynell Chillingworth Christ Christian Church Church of England clergy constitution creed criticism Cromwell death disciples divine doctrine doubt England English expression fact favour federal feel foreign friends Froude G. C. Lewis give Gnosticism gold Gospel Greek hand heart Hissarlik human idea imagination intellectual Irenæus Jerusalem Jesus king Lady Macbeth language league less living Lord Lydiadas means Megalopolis ment Meredith mind minister moral murder nation nature never once opinion passions Pentateuch perhaps person poems poetic poetry Poland Poles Polish political Polybius present principles prophets question racter readers religion religious Russia scarcely Scripture seems Sir G Sir George Lewis speak spirit Strabo thing thought tion true truth Warburton whole wish words writings
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Сторінка 307 - I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
Сторінка 293 - ... accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
Сторінка 312 - Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men May read strange matters : — to beguile the time, Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue : look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
Сторінка 531 - O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings, and ye would not...
Сторінка 311 - You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, To cry 'Hold, hold!
Сторінка 190 - THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Сторінка 318 - But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams, That shake us nightly : better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy.
Сторінка 307 - Art thou afear'd To be the same in thine own act and valour, As thou art in desire ? Would'st thou have that Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem; Letting "I dare not" wait upon "I would," Like the poor cat i
Сторінка 318 - Duncan is in his grave ; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further.
Сторінка 305 - I go, and it is done : the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven, or to hell.