Englische Studien, 38. kötet

Első borító
O.R. Reisland, 1907
"Zeitschrift für englische Philologie" (varies slightly).
 

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127. oldal - Right as ther dyed nevere man," quod he, "That he ne lyvede in erthe in som degree, Right so ther lyvede never man," he seyde, 2845 "In al this world, that som tyme he ne deyde. This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro. Deeth is an ende of every worldly soore.
97. oldal - DIRGE IN WOODS A WIND sways the pines, And below Not a breath of wild air; Still as the mosses that glow On the flooring and over the lines Of the roots here and there. The pine-tree drops its dead ; They are quiet, as under the sea.
127. oldal - He used often to say, that if he were to choose a place to die in, it should be an inn; it looking like a pilgrim's going home, to whom this world was all as an inn, and who was weary of the noise and confusion in it.
96. oldal - SONG IN THE SONGLESS They have no song, the sedges dry, And still they sing. It is within my breast they sing, As I pass by. Within my breast they touch a string, They wake a sigh. There is but sound of sedges dry; In me they sing.
128. oldal - Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn.
125. oldal - Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I have Immortal longings in me ; now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip. Yare, yare, good Iras ; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call ; I see him rouse himself To praise my noble act ; I hear him mock The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men To excuse their after wrath : husband, I come : Now to that name my courage prove my title ! I am fire and air ; my other elements I give to baser life.
97. oldal - In swarms outrushing from the golden comb. They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam : The living throb in me, the dead revive. Yon mantle clothes us : there, past mortal breath, Life glistens on the river of the death. It folds us, flesh and dust ; and have we knelt, Or never knelt, or eyed as kine the springs Of radiance, the radiance enrings : And this is the soul's haven to have felt.
127. oldal - Since every man who lives, is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy, nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the appointed place we tend; The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.
447. oldal - Some seeke so far for outlandish English, that they forget altogether their mothers language. And I dare sweare this, if some of their mothers were alive, thei were not able to tell what they say...
250. oldal - Ah, sirrha l now, Custance, if ye had so muche wit, I woulde see you aske pardon and your-selues submit C. Custance. Haue I still this adoe with a couple of fooles? M. Mery. Here ye what she saith? C. Custance. Maidens, come forth with your tooles ! [The Maids enter, armed.] R.

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