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Updated: June 2, 2025
I send you "Kennst Du das Land," written with my own hand, as a remembrance of the hour when I first knew you; I send you also another that I composed since I bade you farewell, my dearest, fairest sweetheart! Herz, mein Herz, was soll das geben, Was bedränget dich so sehr; Welch ein neues fremdes Leben, Ich erkenne dich nicht mehr.
When I gaze at you, moving so quietly, floating in infinity, and contemplating reflect thyself in finiteness, I think of you, oh Charlotte, who stands above me like the moon so bright and mild, and I envelop myself in your rays, and my spirit becomes heavenly in your light. Mir ist es, denk ich nur an Dich, Als in den Mond zu seh'n, Ein suesser Friede weht um mich, Weiss nicht, wie mir gescheh'n!
"Well, judging by your expression, darling, you were miles away, too," said the irrepressible Wallace. "How are you, Brunhilde? Ich liebe dich! Yes'm, we ought to be miles away, but to tell you the honest truth, the season is simply ROTTEN here on the coast. We've bust up, for the moment, but dry those tears. Here's my contract for seven weeks in San Francisco seven plays.
This was unquestionably Jeremiah Brohl, and this night it seemed truly that the whole world had arisen from the dead. The little old man continued to laugh jeeringly; then in a sharp, peevish voice, he cried: "Schandbube! vermaledeiter Schlingel! ich will dich zu Brei schlagen!" which signifies: "Scoundrel! accursed blackguard! I will beat you to a jelly!"
I turn the corner of the barn and come upon a great devil of a Wurtemberger, who was tugging at the beam with a certain enthusiasm. 'Aho! aho! I shouted, trying to make him understand that he must desist from his toil. 'Gehe mir aus dem Gesicht, oder ich schlag dich todt! Get out of my sight, or I will kill you, he cried.
In the tender, I doubt they do not excel; for 'mein lieber schatz', and the other tendernesses of the Teutonic language, would, in my mind, sound but indifferently, set to soft music; for the bravura parts, I have a great opinion of them; and 'das, der donner dich erschlage', must no doubt, make a tremendously fine piece of 'recitativo', when uttered by an angry hero, to the rumble of a whole orchestra, including drums, trumpets, and French horns.
Ich gruss' dich ein tausend Mal! And here is old Peter come out to see us; and there is Franziska!" "Oh, this is Franziska, is it?" said Charlie. Yes, this was Franziska. She was a well-built, handsome girl of nineteen or twenty, with a healthy, sunburnt complexion, and dark hair plaited into two long tails, which were taken up and twisted into a knot behind. That you could see from a distance.
First, I could read the Bible with them; and, secondly, I had to learn line by line, instead of the little texts of the younger children already spoken of, the hymns for the following Sunday's service. Of these, two especially light up the gloomy lowering dawn of my early boyhood, like two brilliant stars. They are "Schwing dich auf, mein Herz und Geist," and "Es kostet viel ein Christ zu sein."
The deep contralto notes brought full meed of meaning, although the words were German; low, deep, uncertain at first the ponderings of love, of devotion, of doubt then swelling loud and full and free at the end; love justified, undying, triumphant, overpowering. "Könnt' fühlen je das Glück das ich würd nennen mein Hätt' ich nur Dich allein! Hätt' ich nur Dich, nur Dich allein!"
The man was in great grief at the loss of his gun. He sat down and sang: "Nici sigi psach ke-yin, Dich m'djel mieol wagh nuch'." I am sorry, I am in great trouble. There came two Indians down to the portage where the man and his wife sat. They asked him why he was so sad. He told them all. One of them was a m'teoulin. He asked of them, "Could you tell your gun if you saw it?"
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