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"Fahrt wohl, ihr Strassen grad and krumm Ich zieh' nicht mehr in euch herum, Durchton euch nicht mehr mit Gesang, Mit Larm nicht mehr and Sporenklang." As the deep tones died away, the soft night was steeped in the sadness of that farewell song. It was Richter who brought the full force of it home to Stephen. "Do you recall the day you left your Harvard, and your Boston, my friend?" he asked.
After a dozen services in various tales, the little sun-bright pictures of the past still shine in the mind's eye with not a lineament defaced, not a tint impaired. Glück und unglück wird gesang, if Goethe pleases; yet only by endless avatars, the original re-embodying after each.
"Fahrt wohl, ihr Strassen grad and krumm Ich zieh' nicht mehr in euch herum, Durchton euch nicht mehr mit Gesang, Mit Larm nicht mehr and Sporenklang." As the deep tones died away, the soft night was steeped in the sadness of that farewell song. It was Richter who brought the full force of it home to Stephen. "Do you recall the day you left your Harvard, and your Boston, my friend?" he asked.
"Permit me, then, to recite the lines in which Wieland celebrated your 'Creation," said Iffland; and, advancing a few steps, holding the bouquet in his hand, and fixing his gleaming eyes on Haydn, who gazed at him with a gentle smile, Iffland recited in his full sonorous voice Wieland's beautiful lines: "Wie stroem't dein wogender Gesang In uns're Herzen ein!
In the sitting room are rough chairs, and a big table so stained with wine and beer that I could almost see the fat figures of the prince and his friends grouped round it, with cheers for "Wein, Weib, und Gesang." Close down below us, in sloping green meadows, a lot of war-worn horses en permission were grazing peacefully.
GLUCK UND UNGLUCK WIRD GESANG, if Goethe pleases; yet only by endless avatars, the original re-embodying after each.
"Fahrt wohl, ihr Strassen grad and krumm Ich zieh' nicht mehr in euch herum, Durchton euch nicht mehr mit Gesang, Mit Larm nicht mehr and Sporenklang." As the deep tones died away, the soft night was steeped in the sadness of that farewell song. It was Richter who brought the full force of it home to Stephen. "Do you recall the day you left your Harvard, and your Boston, my friend?" he asked.
For other professions stand apart from the human business of life; but an art has its seat at the centre of the artist's doings and sufferings, deals directly with his experiences, teaches him the lessons of his own fortunes and mishaps, and becomes a part of his biography. So says Goethe: "Spät erklingt was früh erklang; Glück und Unglück wird Gesang."
After a dozen services in various tales, the little sunbright pictures of the past still shine in the mind's eye with not a lineament defaced, not a tint impaired. GLUCK UND UNGLUCK WIRD GESANG, if Goethe pleases; yet only by endless avatars, the original re- embodying after each.
I can say, 'Wein, Weib, und Gesang, and that's enough for any French hussar to know." They had come up with the whole regiment now, which was moving slowly down the valley, and Georges reported to his captain, who in turn reported to the major, who presently had a confab with the colonel.
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