The First Part of Goethe's FaustGeorge Routledge and sons, 1887 - 255 стор. |
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The First Part of Goethe's Faust John Anster,Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2015 |
1ST PART OF GOETHES FAUST John 1793-1867 Anster,Johann Wolfgang Von 1749-1832 Goethe Попередній перегляд недоступний - 2016 |
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Сторінка 22 - twill be the same story To-morrow, and the next more dilatory, The indecision brings its own delays, And days are lost, lamenting o'er lost days. Are you in earnest ? Seize this very minute ! What you can do or think you can, begin it ! Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it ! Only engage, and then the mind grows heated : Begin it, and the work will be completed.
Сторінка 22 - twill be the same story To-morrow — and the next more dilatory; Then indecision brings its own delays, And days are lost lamenting o'er lost days. Are you in earnest? seize this very minute — What you can do, or dream you can, begin it, Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Only engage, and then the mind grows heated — Begin it, and the work will be completed!
Сторінка 208 - Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? Quem patronum rogaturus? Cum vix justus sit securus.
Сторінка 39 - If feeling does not prompt, in vain you strive. If from the soul the language does not come, By its own impulse, to impel the hearts Of hearers with communicated power, In vain you strive, in vain you study earnestly...
Сторінка 29 - ALAS ! I have explored Philosophy, and Law, and Medicine; And over deep Divinity have pored, Studying with ardent and laborious zeal ; And here I am at last, a very fool, With useless learning curst, No wiser than at first ! Here am I — boast and wonder of the school ; Magistcr, Doctor, and I lead These ten years past, my pupils' creed ; Winding, by dexterous words, with ease, Their opinions as I please.
Сторінка 187 - My peace is gone, And my heart is sore : I have lost him, and lost him, For evermore ! The place, where he is not, To me is the tomb, The world is sadness, And sorrow and gloom ! My poor sick brain Is crazed with pain, And my poor sick heart Is torn in twain ! My peace is gone, And my heart is sore, For lost is my love For evermore ! From the window for him My heavy eyes roam ; To seek him, all lonely I wander from home.
Сторінка 39 - Toil on for ever ; piece together fragments ; Cook up your broken scraps of sentences. And blow, with puffing breath, a struggling light. Glimmering confusedly now, now cold in ashes ; Startle the school-boys with your metaphors ; And, if such food may suit your appetite, Win the vain wonder of applauding children ! "As THE WIND THAT WHISTLES IN AUTUMN.
Сторінка 181 - Poor child of earth! and couldst thou, then, have borne Thy life till now without my aid? 'Twas I That saved thee from imaginations idle! I guarded thee with long and anxious care; And, but for me, even now thou wouldst have been Idling in other worlds! Why sittest thou there, Lingering in hollow cave, or rifted rock, Dull as the moping owl? Why, like the toad, Dost thou support a useless life, deriving Subsistence from damp moss and dripping stone? Sweet pastime this! most charming occupation! I...
Сторінка 253 - My bridal-day it should have been; tell none That thou hast been with poor weak Margaret. Alas! my garland is already withered; We'll meet again, but not at dances, love: The crowd is gathering tumultuously, The square and street are thronged with crushing thousands; The bell hath sounded; the...
Сторінка 81 - I am the Spirit that evermore denies, And rightly so — for all that doth arise Deserves to perish — this, distinctly seeing — No ! say I, No ! to everything that tries To bubble into being. My proper element is what you name Sin, Dissolution, — in a word, the Bad.