Die Leiden des jungen Werthers, Volume 9

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Oxford University Press, American branch, 1914 - 294 pages
 

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Page 173 - Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind. Why have I stray'd from pleasure and repose, To seek a good each government bestows ? In every government, though terrors reign, Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure...
Page 173 - But me, not destined such delights to share, My prime of life in wandering spent and care; Impell'd with steps unceasing to pursue Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view : That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies; My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, And find no spot of all the world my own.
Page 174 - Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, He sees his little lot, the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, To shame the meanness of his humble shed; No costly lord, the sumptuous banquet deal, To make him loathe his vegetable meal ; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil.
Page 221 - ... behold in the plain? The stormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings; the hum of their course is on the field. What dost thou behold, fair light? But thou dost smile and depart. The waves come with joy around thee: they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewell, thou silent beam!
Page 221 - Star of descending night ! fair is thy light in the west ! thou liftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud ; thy steps are stately on thy hill. What dost thou behold in the plain ? The stormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar.
Page 192 - Tout est bien , sortant des mains de l'Auteur des choses , tout dégénère entre les mains de l'homme.
Page 174 - Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, And drags the struggling savage into day. At night returning, every labour sped, He sits him down the monarch of a shed ; Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, Displays her cleanly platter on the board : And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, With. many a tale repays the nightly bed.
Page 226 - The flower hangs its heavy head, waving, at times, to the gale. ' Why dost thou awake me, O gale?' it seems to say, ' I am covered with the drops of heaven. The time of my fading is near, the blast that shall scatter my leaves. To-morrow shall the traveller come ; he that saw me in my beauty shall come. His eyes will search the field, but they will not find me.
Page 224 - With three steps I compass thy grave, O thou who wast so great before! Four stones, with their heads of moss are the only memorial of thee. A tree with scarce a leaf, long grass which whistles in the wind, mark to the hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar.
Page 225 - The oar is stopped at once; he panted on the rock and expired. What is thy grief, O Daura, when round thy feet is poured thy brother's blood!

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