Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen

Georg Westermann, 1846
Includes "Sitzungen der Berliner Gesellschaft für das Studium der neueren Sprachen," 1858-

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Página 371 - And then thou must be damn'd perpetually! Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven, That time may cease, and midnight never come; Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again and make Perpetual day; or let this hour be but A year, a month, a week, a natural day, That Faustus may repent and save his soul!
Página 370 - Oft have I thought to have done so: but the Devil threatened to tear me in pieces if I named God; to fetch...
Página 312 - Growing on's cheek (but none knows how), With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin; All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me? THE SONGS OF BIRDS What bird so sings, yet so does wail? O 'tis the ravished nightingale. 'Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu,' she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise.
Página 312 - Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu ! she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise. Brave prick-song ! Who is't now we hear ? None but the lark so shrill and clear ; Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings.
Página 298 - AH ! were she pitiful as she is fair, Or but as mild as she is seeming so, Then were my hopes greater than my despair, Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe. Ah ! were her heart relenting as her hand, That seems to melt even with the mildest touch, Then knew I where to seat me in a land, Under wide heavens, but yet there is not such.
Página 151 - I got on horseback within ten minutes after I got your letter. When I got to Canterbury, I got a chaise for town; but I got wet through...
Página 323 - The seat of desolation, void of light, Save what the glimmering of these livid flames Casts pale and dreadful ? Thither let us tend...
Página 370 - On God, whom Faustus hath abjured ! on God, whom Faustus hath blasphemed ! Ah, my God, I would weep, but the Devil draws in my tears. Gush forth blood instead of tears ! Yea, life and soul ! Oh, he stays my tongue ! I would lift up my hands, but see, they hold them, they hold them ! All.
Página 363 - Marlowe bathed in the Thespian springs, Had in him those brave translunary things That the first poets had: his raptures were All air, and fire, which made his verses dear For that fine madness still he did retain Which rightly should possess a poet's brain.
Página 371 - O, no end is limited to damned souls ! Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul? Or why is this immortal that thou hast? Ah, Pythagoras' metempsychosis ! were that true, This soul should fly from me, and I be changed Unto some brutish beast!

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