Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen, Объемы 11-12

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Westermann, 1852
Vols. for 1858- include "Sitzungen der Berliner Gesellschaft für das Studium der neuren Sprachen."

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Стр. 157 - I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ; Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine...
Стр. 161 - Soul of the age! The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
Стр. 163 - Or painful to his slumbers : easy, sweet, And as a purling stream, thou son of Night, Pass by his troubled senses ; sing his pain Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver rain: Into this prince, gently, oh gently slide, And kiss him into slumbers, like a bride.
Стр. 161 - Triumph, my Britain! Thou hast one to show To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the Muses still were in their prime, When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or, like a Mercury, to charm. Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines, Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit.
Стр. 146 - For to that holy wood is consecrate A Virtuous Well, about whose flowery banks The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes Their stolen children, so to make them free From dying flesh, and dull mortality.
Стр. 146 - Your worth and virtue ; and, as I did grow More and more apprehensive, I did thirst To see the man so praised. But yet all this Was but a maiden-longing, to be lost As soon as found ; till, sitting in my window, Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, I thought, (but it was you,) enter our gates : My blood flew out and back again, as fast As I had puffed it forth and sucked it in Like breath : then was I called away in haste To entertain you.
Стр. 300 - ... je m'aperçus que les Anglais avaient raison, et qu'il est impossible que toute une nation se trompe en fait de sentiment , et ait tort d'avoir du plaisir.
Стр. 315 - Je consens qu'une femme ait des clartés de tout : Mais je ne lui veux point la passion choquante De se rendre savante afin d'être savante; Et j'aime que souvent, aux questions qu'on fait, Elle sache ignorer les choses qu'elle sait : De son étude enfin je veux qu'elle se cache, Et qu'elle ait du savoir sans vouloir qu'on le sache...
Стр. 148 - Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes. spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world, Crack Nature's moulds, all germains spill at once, That makes ingrateful man!
Стр. 162 - And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines! Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; But antiquated and deserted lie, As they were not of Nature's family.

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