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Albert already Angora cat arms ash tree asked beautiful began better Botho called Charlotte Charlotte's charming child cried dark dear dear Charlotte dike dikemaster door Elke everything eyes father feel Frau Dorr Frau Nimptsch Frisian front Frymann garden girl hand happy Hauke Haien head hear heard heart heaven Hediger Hermine Herr Baron hour J. W. VON GOETHE Jevers Karl Katherine kiss land laughed Lena looked master mother never night North Frisia old woman once replied Rienacker rose round Schlangenbad seemed side silent smile soon soul speak stood storm stream talk tears Tede tell THEODOR FONTANE THEODOR STORM things thou thought to-day took turned voice Walheim walked Wedell Werther white horse whole Wienke wife Wilhelm Wilmersdorf wind window words wreath young
Page 99 - I sit in my grief: I wait for morning in my tears! Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead. Close it not till Colma come. My life flies away like a dream. Why should I stay behind? Here shall I rest with my friends, by the stream of the sounding rock.
Page 100 - Erath, son of Odgal, repined: his brother had been slain by Armar. He came disguised like a son of the sea: fair was his skiff on the wave; white his locks of age; calm his serious brow. Fairest of women, he said, lovely daughter of Armin! a rock not distant in the sea bears a tree on its side: red shines the fruit afar! There Armar waits for Daura.
Page 99 - Bent is his head of age ; red his tearful eye. Alpin, thou son of song, why alone on the silent hill ? why complainest thou, as a blast in the wood ; as a wave on the lonely shore ? ALPIN. My tears, O Ryno ! are for the dead ; my voice for those that have passed away. Tall thou art on the hill ; fair among the sons of the vale. But thou shalt fall like Morar;* the mourner shall sit on thy tomb. The hills shall know thee no more ; thy bow shall lie in the hall, unstrung ! Thou wert swift, O Morar...
Page 98 - Cold, cold, are their breasts of clay ! Oh, from the rock on the hill, from the top of the windy steep, speak, ye ghosts of the dead ! Speak, I will not be afraid ! Whither are ye gone to rest ? In what cave of the hill shall I find the departed? No feeble voice is on the gale : no answer...
Page 98 - Colma. — It is night ; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds!
Page 98 - Cease a little while, O wind ! stream, be thou silent a while! let my voice be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me! Salgar! it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree and the rock. Salgar, my love! I am here. Why delayest thou thy coming?
Page 98 - Who lie on the heath beside me? Are they my love and my brother? Speak to me, O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speak to me: I am alone! My soul is tormented with fears! Ah! they are dead! Their swords are red from the fight. O my brother! my brother! why hast thou slain my Salgar? why, O Salgar! hast thou slain my brother?
Page 10 - ... and he is also happy, because he is a man. And then, however limited his sphere, he still preserves in his bosom the sweet feeling of liberty, and knows that he can quit his prison whenever he likes. MAY 26. You know of old my ways of settling anywhere, of selecting a little cottage in some cosey spot, and of putting up in it with every inconvenience.
Page 50 - And oh, do those departed ones know how we are employed here? Do they know when we are well and happy ? Do they know when we recall their memories with the fondest love? In the silent hour of evening the shade of my mother hovers round me; when seated in the midst of my children. I see them assembled near me as they used to assemble near her; and then I raise my anxious eyes to heaven, and wish she could look down upon us, and witness how I fulfil the promise I made to her in her last moments to...
Page 100 - Sad I am! nor small is my cause of woe! Carmor, thou hast lost no son; thou hast lost no daughter of beauty. Colgar the valiant lives; and Annira, fairest maid. The boughs of thy house ascend, O Carmor! but Armin is the last of his race. Dark is thy bed, O Daura! deep thy sleep in the tomb! When shalt thou awake with thy songs? with all thy voice of music? Arise, winds of autumn, arise; blow along the heath! streams of the mountains roar! roar tempests, in the groves of my oaks! walk through broken...