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Thalatta! I greet thee, thou ocean eternal! I give thee ten thousand times greeting, My whole soul exulting! Heine. It was a splendid winter morning, and Boston harbor, with its shipping, presented a magnificent appearance, lighted up by the rising sun, as the "Oceana" steamed out towards the open sea.
Therefore she was driven to think what she might do on his behalf, and at last she resolved to make her personal appeal to Uncle Hatto. "Shall I tell papa?" Isa asked of her mother. "I will do so," said Madame Heine.
Madame Heine had been deeply grieved at hearing those last words which her daughter had spoken. To her also that state of quiescence which Isa had so long affected seemed to be the proper state at which a maiden's heart should stand till after her marriage vows had been pronounced. She had watched her Isa, and had approved of everything, of everything till this last avowal had been made.
There Heine shows us his own people by its comic side; in the poem of the Princess Sabbath he shows it to us by a more serious side. "A dog with the desires of a dog, he wallows all the week long in the filth and refuse of life, amidst the jeers of the boys in the street. "But every Friday evening, at the twilight hour, suddenly the magic passes off, and the dog becomes once more a human being.
Hammond read, for it seemed as if it was he who was speaking to her, and not the dead poet. An hour or more passed in this way. Fräulein Müller was charmed at hearing some of her favourite poems, asking now for this little bit, and anon for another, and expatiating upon the merits of German poets in general, and Heine in particular, in the pauses of the lecture.
We climbed out of the cellar as quick as we could and ran down to the mill, for John, Heine's brother, said that Heine had stepped into the mill race. "Is the mill runnin'?" said Mitch. "No," said John. "Because if it is," said Mitch, "he's all ground up by now in the wheels." But the mill hadn't run that day, so if we could get Heine out, we could save him maybe. John couldn't swim, nor Heine.
Beethoven's principal title to fame is in his superlative place as a symphonic composer. In the symphony music finds its highest intellectual dignity; in Beethoven the symphony has found its loftiest master. Heinrich Heine, in his preface to a translation of "Don Quixote," discusses the creative powers of different peoples.
A gray sky, rain, storms. Altogether one was reminded of one of Heine's witty, drastic criticisms in reference to a well-known German university town. "Dogs on the street," Heine writes, "implore strangers to kick them, so that they may have some change from the awful monotony and dulness."
Below the houses are shops, and the first story of Heine's house is a butcher shop, with sides of pork and mutton hanging in the windows; above, where the Heine family must once have lived, a gold-beater and a frame-maker displayed their signs. But did the Heine family really once live there?
"For surely it was of me that Heine was thinking when he wrote: 'Yes, a third man will come'" and Lassalle's accent became dramatically sonorous "'and he will conclude what Luther began, what Lessing continued, a man of whom the Fatherland stands in such need, The Third Liberator." "The Third Liberator," passionately echoed the Countess.
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