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allgemeine alten Arbeiten außern beiden bekannt Berlin beſonders blieb Briefe Buch Byron chen damals derſelben deſſen deutſchen Dichter dieſe Dohm eben eigenen einige endlich erhalten erhielt erſten Fall Familie fand feine fich finden Folge Foſſilien Frankreich Frau Freunde früher ganze geben Geiſt Gelegenheit Gelehrten gemacht genug Geſchichte geweſen ging glaube gleich Grafen großen Hand Herzen hohen indem iſt Jahre jungen Kinder kleinen König konnte Kraft kurz land lange laſſen Leben legten Lehrer leicht lich Liebe ließ Lord machen machte manche Mann Mirabeau möchte mußte Nähe nahm Namen Natur neue öffentlichen Plane Recht reichen rein Reiſe ſchon Schrift Schule ſehr ſein ſeine Seite ſelbſt ſeyn ſich ſie ſind Sohn ſollte ſondern Sprache Stande Stelle Tage Theil Tode úber Vater Verbindung vers viel vollen wahre ward Weiſe weiter Welt wenig Werke Werner Werner's wichtigen wieder Wiſſenſchaft wohl wollen wollte Worte zeigte zwei zweiten zwiſchen
Seite 95 - My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled, at its blaze — A funeral pile.
Seite 18 - ... that he should again condescend to become an author. Therefore, let us take what we get, and be thankful. What right have we poor devils to be nice ? We are well off to have got so much from a man of this lord's station, who does not live in a garret, but
Seite 52 - Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends; Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home; Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, He had the passion and the power to roam; The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, Were unto him companionship; they spake A mutual language, clearer than the tome Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake.
Seite 52 - Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child ! ADA ! sole daughter of my house and heart ? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted, — not as now we part, But with a hope. — Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me ; and on high The winds lift up their voices : I depart, Whither I know not ; but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
Seite 95 - Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move: Yet, though I cannot be beloved. Still let me love! My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone ; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone!
Seite 23 - I have a passion for the name of " Mary," For once it was a magic sound to me, And still it half calls up the realms of fairy, Where I beheld what never was to be ; All feelings changed, but this was last to vary, A spell from which even yet I am not quite free : But I grow sad — and let a tale grow cold, Which must not be pathetically told.
Seite 71 - Sweet hour of twilight !— in the solitude Of the pine forest, and the silent shore Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood, Rooted where once the Adrian wave...
Seite 65 - What if thy deep and ample stream should be A mirror of my heart, where she may read The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee, Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed! What do I say — a mirror of my heart? 10 Are not thy waters sweeping, dark, and strong?
Seite 14 - That, with the freshness wearing out before My mind could relish what it might have sought, If free to choose, I cannot now restore Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor.
Seite 9 - Revered Parnassus, and beheld the steep Jove's Ida and Olympus crown the deep : But 'twas not all long ages' lore, nor all Their nature held me in their thrilling thrall; The infant rapture still survived the boy, And Loch-na-gar with Ida look'd o'er Troy, Mix'd Celtic memories with the Phrygian mount, And Highland linns with Castalie's clear fount.