Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen, Volumes 16-18

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Westermann, 1854 - Languages, Modern
Vols. for 1858- include "Sitzungen der Berliner Gesellschaft für das Studium der neuren Sprachen."
 

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Page 224 - Paradise Lost ;" a poem, which, considered with respect to design, may claim the first place, and with respect to performance, the second, among the productions of the human mind.
Page 10 - Now, whether it were by peculiar grace, A leading from above, a something given, Yet it befell that, in this lonely place, When I with these untoward thoughts had striven, Beside a pool bare to the eye of heaven I saw a Man before me unawares: The oldest man he seemed that ever wore grey hairs.
Page 373 - Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn ; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn : But my kisses bring again, , bring again, ' . -' Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.
Page 447 - That run-away's eyes may wink ; and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen ! — Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties: or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. — Come...
Page 278 - Les romanciers de cet ordre de\enir des moralistes, des réformateurs de la société ! En vérité, la prétention est étrange, elle est digne de notre temps. Avant de regarder autour d'elle, cette littérature aurait mieux fait peut-être de s'interroger, de sonder ses reins, pour employer une expression biblique. Après avoir été sceptique, railleuse, blasée en toutes choses, avide et peu scrupuleuse, il ne lui...
Page 310 - ... news stirring? and by that means gathering together materials for thinking. These needy persons do not know what to talk of, till about twelve o'clock in the morning; for...
Page 93 - Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah for some retreat Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat! Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father, evil-starred; I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish uncle's ward.
Page 461 - Complaine, my lute, complaine on him, That stayes so long away ; He promis'd to be here ere this, But still unkind doth stay. But now the proverbe true I finde, Once out of sight then out of minde. Hey, hoe ! my heart is full of woe...
Page 373 - Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow, Are of those that April wears. But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.
Page 224 - Par cest saint homo doiissum ralumer. 125 Aiuns, seignors, cel saint home en memorie. Si li preiuns que de toz mais nos tolget: En icest siècle nus acat pais e goie, Ed en cel altra la plus durable glorie. 025 En ipse Verbe. si n

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