Rousseau und Byron: ein beitrag zur vergleichenden litteraturgeschichte des revolutionszeitalters

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W. Gronau, 1890 - 182 pages

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Page 176 - Could I embody and unbosom now, That which is most within me, could I wreak My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into one word, And that one word were lightning, I would speak ; But as it is, I live and die unheard, [sword.
Page 173 - Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool ; Envied, yet how unenviable ! what stings Are theirs ! One breast laid open were a school Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule : Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride...
Page 164 - We wither from our youth, we gasp away Sick sick; unfound the boon unslaked the thirst, Though to the last, in verge of our decay, Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first But all too late, so are we doubly curst. Love, fame, ambition, avarice 't is the same, Each idle, and all ill, and none the worst For all are meteors with a different name, And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame.
Page 140 - How often we forget all time, when lone, Admiring nature's universal throne, Her woods, her wilds, her waters, the intense Reply of hers to our intelligence ! Live not the stars and mountains ? Are the waves Without a spirit? Are the dropping caves Without a feeling in their silent tears? No, no : they woo and clasp us to their spheres, Dissolve this clog and clod of clay before Its hour, and merge our soul in the great shore.
Page 173 - This makes the madmen who have made men mad By their contagion; Conquerors and Kings, Founders of Sects and Systems, to whom add Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, And are themselves the fools to those they fool; Envied, yet how unenviable!
Page 173 - But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell, And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire And motion of the soul which will not dwell In its own narrow being, but aspire Beyond the fitting medium of desire ; And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore, Preys \ipon high adventure, nor can tire Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core, Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore.
Page 141 - To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroll'd.
Page 173 - The beings of the mind are not of clay; Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray And more beloved existence : that which Fate Prohibits to dull life, in this our state Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied, First exiles, then replaces what we hate ; Watering the heart whose early flowers have died, And with a fresher growth replenishing the void.
Page 156 - Is fixed for ever, to detract or praise ; Repose denies her requiem to his name, And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. The secret enemy, whose sleepless eye Stands sentinel, accuser, judge, and spy ; The foe, the fool, the jealous, and the vain ; The envious, who but breathe in others...
Page 178 - Of objects all inanimate I made Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers, And rocks whereby they grew, a paradise, Where I did lay me down within the shade Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours, Though I was chid for wandering...

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