Hermes; oder kritisches Jahrbuch der Literatur

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Sida xxvi - I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South, And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in, That not a single accent seems uncouth, Like our harsh northern whistling, grunting guttural, Which we're obliged to hiss, and spit, and sputter all.
Sida xlix - Where the car climb'd the capitol; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site: — Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, "here was, or is,
Sida li - I STOOD in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand ; I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles...
Sida xlviii - Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their petty misery. What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.
Sida xlix - The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap: But Rome is as the desert, where we steer Stumbling o'er recollections: now we clap Our hands, and cry, " Eureka ! it is clear — " When but some false mirage of ruin rises near.
Sida 290 - Providence pour gouverner trois branches d'une męme famille, savoir: l'Autriche, la Prusse et la Russie, confessant ainsi que la nation chrétienne dont eux et leurs peuples font partie, n'a réellement d'autre Souverain que celui ā qui seul appartient en propriété la puissance parce qu'en lui seul se trouvent tous les trésors de l'amour, de la science et de la sagesse infinie, c'est-ā-dire Dieu, notre Divin Sauveur Jésus-Christ, le Verbe du Trčs-Haut, la Parole de Vie.
Sida 123 - Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this ; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers
Sida xxvi - From the rich peasant cheek of ruddy bronze, And large black eyes that flash on you a volley Of rays that say a thousand things at once, To the high dama's brow, more melancholy, But clear, and with a wild and liquid glance, Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes, Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.
Sida xlix - The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago; The Scipios...
Sida l - Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain, If such there were — with you, the moral of his strain.

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