Wege zur Weisheit: Der Traum vom richtigen Leben (German Edition)


Free download. Book file PDF easily for everyone and every device. You can download and read online Wege zur Weisheit: Der Traum vom richtigen Leben (German Edition) file PDF Book only if you are registered here. And also you can download or read online all Book PDF file that related with Wege zur Weisheit: Der Traum vom richtigen Leben (German Edition) book. Happy reading Wege zur Weisheit: Der Traum vom richtigen Leben (German Edition) Bookeveryone. Download file Free Book PDF Wege zur Weisheit: Der Traum vom richtigen Leben (German Edition) at Complete PDF Library. This Book have some digital formats such us :paperbook, ebook, kindle, epub, fb2 and another formats. Here is The CompletePDF Book Library. It's free to register here to get Book file PDF Wege zur Weisheit: Der Traum vom richtigen Leben (German Edition) Pocket Guide.

His philosophy began historically and systematically with the symbolic forms, which undoubtedly implicated a pluralisation of the transcendental consciousness. Thus the one super-historical and transcendental consciousness Kant was now replaced by a diversity of symbolic forms — from myth, language and art, through religion to science, history and technology. The historical and systematic ordering of these symbolic forms was then open to discussion. But they were missing a substructure in the history of nature and society.

They enabled a collective mind, but they themselves were enabled phenomena a posteriori and not only enabling a priori. In nature there are forms of life whose reproduction is not bound to any consciousness. Plessner speaks of precentric and decentral forms of organization to describe the structure which makes these possible. In nature there are forms of life whose reproduction is essentially dependent on consciousness. Plessner calls the structure deriving from the organism which makes these possible a centric form and that deriving from the environment also a centric form, both of which must respond and adapt to each another.

It is only the excentric form of positioning which requires for its reproduction symbols as symbols. It criticizes as anthropology the dualism found in modern philosophy since Descartes, as this dualism cannot live up to the task posed in the modern conduct of life. In this sense we are concerned with the anthropological question of how in the midst of modern dualism integration within personal life is in fact possible.

Anthropology first becomes philosophical anthropology, thus philosophy, when it criticizes the over-hasty generalization of some intermediary findings of anthropology to mean the end of nature and the end of history. Thus, in task 2, philosophy criticises anthropology insofar as the latter had arrived at a conclusive definition of the essence of mankind, which claimed once and for all to have determined and assessed this species.

This offering was too little for Cassirer, but he conceived a succession of symbolic forms which extended from myth through language and the performing arts to the religion of the personality. Scheler, Plessner and Cassirer were in agreement against Heidegger and Ludwig Klage that the standard for modern life-forms must not fall below the level of the personality which had been developed in the monotheistic religions.

Cassirer, through Scheler, understood the task set by the concept of life. Scheler had expounded the spiritual affirmation of life in the ecstatic form of love, passion and the social senses of compassion and shame. Plessner remarks that Heidegger in Being and Time only recognizes life privatively i. The life process, for Plessner, interlocked finite dimensions in the material of the elements with infinite elements in the structures of its Possibility.

Neither for Scheler nor for Plessner is philosophical anthropology a regional ontology and least of all is it a philosophy of the subject which is closest to itself. Other primates can also be intelligent in a practical way, both individually and in groups. What their memory and self-consciousness were still missing were symbolic contrasts referring to a world going beyond their world like a frame.

Their behaviour in this sense remains centric, as they produced physical and psychical correlations to the things in their environments according to experience and memory. But these chimpanzees could not symbolically position themselves next to these centric correlations in order to transform the latter into an object.

For this, the external symbolization of culture in the institutionalization of society was required. This socio-cultural Mitwelt allowed the differentiation between inner and outer world to be newly assessed. There was then an excentric world frame through which the environments of the individuals and groups could be transformed. The excentred world frame could be neutralised in relation to the individual physis and psyche, i. From this deep boredom, philosophy, art and science became possible as new world revelations distanced from the environments of the human Dasein in every day life.

For Plessner, the everyday life of the Dasein was not a world, but rather an artificially produced environment. It resulted from a sedimentation and habitualisation of the world into the environment. Logically viewed, everyday life presupposed an extra-ordinary life in an excentric disclosure of the world. Insofar as the latter had led to the setting up of an artificial environment through technology, society and culture, all symbolic communications could be directly lived in this superficial environment, i.

The inner world could only be differentiated from the outer world, without being circular, if this difference were determined from the standpoint of an interpersonal Mitwelt. Heidegger had still not understood that he lacked a fundamental philosophy of nature and society. However, after the Metaphysics of winter he did allow for excentric world-disclosures in philosophy, art and science.

In relation to philosophical anthropology, Cassirer and Heidegger shared two deficits. Neither of them had a philosophy of nature or a philosophy of society. They shared furthermore a third important deficit and this is where Georg Misch and his influence on Plessner comes in. If the theory of knowledge was no longer to be grounded outside of life, but rather, from anew, from within it, then this had a negative consequence to begin with: Misch advocated the theory of the unfathomability of life and of humans concerning the conduct of their lives as a whole.

Human beings cannot take on the role of god in epistemology, a role independent of any individual life. Thus, the ideal of a godlike knowledge of and beyond all life collapsed, unattainable for human beings. And thus history will continue into the future. The principal of unfathomability replaces a material a priori Scheler or a formal a priori Heidegger in which there is still too much centrism. It has now risen more formidable than ever, and with the further aggravation, that it was unexpected.

Irish disaffection, assuredly, is a familiar fact; and there have always been those among us who liked to explain it by a special taint or infirmity in the Irish character. But Liberal Englishmen had always attributed it to the multitude of unredressed wrongs. England had for ages, from motives of different degrees of unworthiness, made her yoke heavy upon Ireland.

According to a well known computation, the whole land of the island had been confiscated three times over. Part had been taken to enrich powerful Englishmen and their Irish adherents; part to form the endowment of a hostile hierarchy; the rest had been given away to English and Scotch colonists, who held, and were intended to hold it as a garrison against the Irish.

The manufactures of Ireland, except the linen manufacture, which was chiefly carried on by these colonists, were deliberately crushed for the avowed purpose of making more room for those of England. The vast majority of the native Irish, all who professed the Roman Catholic religion, were, in violation of the faith pledged to the Catholic army at Limerick, despoiled of all their political and most of their civil rights, and were left in existence only to plough or dig the ground, and pay rent to their task-masters.

A nation which treats its subjects in this fashion cannot well expect to be loved by them. It is not necessary to discuss the circumstances of extenuation which an advocate might more or less justly urge to excuse these iniquities to the English conscience. Whatever might be their value in our own eyes, in those of the Irish they had not, and could not have, any extenuating virtue. Short of actual depopulation and desolation, or the direct personal enslaving of the inhabitants, little was omitted which could give a people cause to execrate its conquerors.

But these just causes of disloyalty, it was at last thought, had been removed. The jealousy of Irish industry and enterprise has long ceased, and all inequality of commercial advantages between the two countries has been done away with. The civil rights of the Catholic population have been restored to them, and with one or two trifling exceptions their political disabilities have been taken off.

The prizes of professional and of political life, in Ireland, England, and every British dependency, have been thrown open, in law and in fact, to Catholic as well as Protestant Irish. The alien Church indeed remains, but is no longer supported by a levy from the Catholic tillers of the soil; it has become a charge on the rent paid by them, mostly to Protestant landlords. The confiscations have not been reversed; but the hand of time has passed over them: The representatives of the Irish Catholics are a power in the House of Commons, sufficient at times to hold the balance of parties.

Irish complaints, great and small, are listened to with patience, if not always with respect; and when they admit of a remedy which seems reasonable to English minds, there is no longer any reluctance to apply it. What, then, it is thought even by Liberal Englishmen, has Ireland to resent?

What, indeed, remains from which resentment could arise? By dint of believing that disaffection had ceased to be reasonable, they came to think that it had ceased to be possible. All grievances, of a kind to exasperate the ruled against the rulers, had, they thought, disappeared. Nature, too, not in her kinder, but in one of her cruellest moods, had made it her study to relieve the conscience of the English rulers of Ireland. But the Angel of Death had stepped in, and removed that spectre from before our gate.

An appalling famine, followed by an unexampled and continuous emigration, had, by thinning the labour market, alleviated that extreme indigence which, by making the people desperate, might embitter them, we thought, even against a mild and just Government. Ireland was now not only well governed, but prosperous and improving. Surely the troubles of the British nation about Ireland were now at an end. The disaffection which they flattered themselves had been cured, suddenly shows itself more intense, more violent, more unscrupulous, and more universal than ever.

The population is divided between those who wish success to Fenianism, and those who, though disapproving its means and perhaps its ends, sympathize in its embittered feelings. Repressed by force in Ireland itself, the rebellion visits us in our own homes, scattering death among those who have given no provocation but that of being English-born.

So deadly is the hatred, that it will run all risks merely to do us harm, with little or no prospect of any consequent good to itself. Our rulers are helpless to deal with this new outburst of enmity, because they are unable to see that anything on their part has given cause for it. They are brought face to face with a spirit which will as little tolerate what we think our good government as our bad, and they have not been trained to manage problems of that difficulty. But though their statesmanship is at fault, their conscience is at ease, because the rebellion, they think, is not one of grievance or suffering; it is a rebellion for an idea—the idea of nationality.

Alas for the self-complacent ignorance of irresponsible rulers, be they monarchs, classes, or nations! If there is anything sadder than the calamity itself, it is the unmistakeable sincerity and good faith with which numbers of Englishmen confess themselves incapable of comprehending it. They know not that the disaffection which neither has nor needs any other motive than aversion to the rulers, is the climax to a long growth of disaffection arising from causes that might have been removed.

What seems to them the causelessness of the Irish repugnance to our rule, is the proof that they have almost let pass the last opportunity they are ever likely to have of setting it right. They have allowed what once was indignation against particular wrongs, to harden into a passionate determination to be no longer ruled on any terms by those to whom they ascribe all their evils. Rebellions are never really unconquerable until they have become rebellions for an idea.

Revolt against practical ill-usage may be quelled by concessions; but wait till all practical grievances have merged in the demand for independence, and there is no knowing that any concession, short of independence, will appease the quarrel. But what, it will be asked, is the provocation that England is giving to Ireland, now that she has left off crushing her commerce and persecuting her religion?

What harm to Ireland does England intend, or knowingly inflict? What good, that she knows how to give her, would she not willingly bestow? Unhappily, her offence is precisely that she does not know; and is so well contented with not knowing, that Irishmen who are not hostile to her are coming to believe that she will not and cannot learn.

The English people ought to ask themselves, seriously and without prejudice, what it is that gives sober men this opinion of them; and endeavour to remove it, or humbly confess that it is true, and fulfil the only duty which remains performable by them on that supposition, that of withdrawing from the attempt. More than a generation has elapsed since we renounced the desire to govern Ireland for the English: But we neither knew, nor knew that we did not know. We had got a set of institutions of our own, which we thought suited us—whose imperfections we were, at any rate, used to: Ireland, it seemed, could have nothing more to desire.

What was not too bad for us, must be good enough for Ireland, or if not. Ireland or the nature of things was alone in fault. It is always a most difficult task which a people assumes when it attempts to govern, either in the way of incorporation or as a dependency, another people very unlike itself. But whoever reflects on the constitution of society in these two countries, with any sufficient knowledge of the states of society which exist elsewhere, will be driven, however unwillingly, to the conclusion, that there is probably no other nation of the civilized world, which, if the task of governing Ireland had happened to devolve on it, would not have shown itself more capable of that work than England has hitherto done.

The reasons are these: First, there is no other civilized nation which is so conceited of its own institutions, and of all its modes of public action, as England is; and secondly, there is no other civilized nation which is so far apart from Ireland in the character of its history, or so unlike it in the whole constitution of its social economy; and none, therefore, which if it applies to Ireland the modes of thinking and maxims of government which have grown up within itself, is so certain to go wrong. The first indeed of our disqualifications, our conceit of ourselves, is certainly diminishing.

Our governing classes are now quite accustomed to be told that the institutions which they thought must suit all mankind since they suited us, require far greater alteration than they dream of to be fit even for ourselves. When they were told this, they have long been in the habit of answering, that whatever defects these institutions may have in theory, they are suited to the opinions, the feelings, and the historical antecedents of the English people.

Dictionary Navigation

But mark how little they really mean by this vindication. If suitability to the opinions, feelings, and historical antecedents of those who live under them is the best recommendation of institutions, it ought to have been remembered, that the opinions, feelings, and historical antecedents of the Irish people are totally different from, and in many respects contrary to those of the English; and that things which in England find their chief justification in their being liked, cannot admit of the same justification in a country where they are detested.

But the reason which recommends institutions to their own supporters, and that which is used to stop the mouths of opponents, are far from being always one and the same.

Let us take as an example, that one of our institutions which has the most direct connexion with the worst practical grievances of Ireland; absolute property in land, the land being engrossed by a comparatively small number of families. I am not going to discuss this institution, or to express, on the present occasion, any opinion about its abstract merits. Let these, if we will, be transcendant—let it be the best and highest form of agricultural and social economy, for anything I mean to say to the contrary.

But I do say that this is not self-evident. It is not one of the truths which shine so brilliantly by their own light, that they are assented to by every sane man the moment he understands the words in which they are conveyed. On the contrary, what present themselves the most obviously at the first aspect of this institution are the objections to it. That a man should have absolute control over what his own labour and skill have created, and even over what he has received by gift or bequest from those who created it, is recommended by reasons of a very obvious character, and does not shock any natural feeling.

Moveable property can be produced in indefinite quantity, and he who disposes as he likes of anything which, it can fairly be argued, would not have existed but for him, does no wrong to any one.

Such appropriation, when there is not enough left for all, is at the first aspect, an usurpation on the rights of other people. And though it is manifestly just that he who sows should be allowed to reap, this justice, which is the true moral foundation of property in land, avails little in favour of proprietors who reap but do not sow, and who assume the right of ejecting those who do. When the general condition of the land of a country is such as this, its title to the submission and attachment of those whom it seems to disinherit, is by no means obvious.

It is a state of things which has great need of extrinsic recommendations. It requires to be rooted in the traditions and oldest recollections of the people; the landed families must be identified with the religion of the country, with its nationality, with its ancient rulers, leaders, defenders, teachers, and other objects of gratitude and veneration, or at least of ungrudging obedience. These conditions have been found, in some considerable measure, or at all events, nothing contrary to them has been found, for many centuries, in England.

All that is most opposite to them has at all times existed in Ireland. The traditions and recollections of native Irish society are wholly the contrary way. Before the Conquest, the Irish people knew nothing of absolute property in land. The land virtually belonged to the entire sept; the chief was little more than the managing member of the association.

The feudal idea, which views all rights as emanating from a head landlord, came in with the conquest, was associated with foreign dominion, and has never to this day been recognised by the moral sentiments of the people. Originally the offspring not of industry but of spoliation, the right has not been allowed to purify itself by protracted possession, but has passed from the original spoliators to others by a series of fresh spoliations, so as to be always connected with the latest and most odious oppressions of foreign invaders.

In the moral feelings of the Irish people, the right to hold the land goes, as it did in the beginning, with the right to till it. There are parts of Europe, such as East Prussia, where the land is chiefly owned in large estates, but where almost every landowner farms his own land. In Ireland, until a recent period, any one who knew the country might almost have counted those who did anything for their estate but consume its produce. The landlords were a mere burthen on the land. The whole rental of the country was wasted in maintaining, often in reckless extravagance, people who were not nearly as useful to the hive as the drones are, and were entitled to less respect.

These are the antecedents of Irish history in respect to property in land. Let any Englishman put himself in the position of an Irish peasant, and ask himself whether, if the case were his own, the landed property of the country would have any sacredness to his feelings. Even the Whiteboy and the Rockite, in their outrages against the landlord, fought for, not against, the sacredness of what was property in their eyes; for it is not the right of the rent-receiver, but the right of the cultivator, with which the idea of property is connected in the Irish popular mind.

These facts being notorious, and the feelings engendered by them being, in part at least, perfectly reasonable in the eyes of every civilized people in the world except England, it is a characteristic specimen of the practical good sense by which England is supposed to be distinguished, that she should persist to this hour in forcing upon a people with such feelings, and such antecedents, her own idea of absolute property in land. If those who created English manufactures, commerce, navigation, and dominion, to say nothing of English literature and science, had gone to work in this style—had shown this amount of judgment in the adaptation of means to ends—England would at the present time have been in something like the condition of the Papal territory, or of Spain.

Thus much as to the harmony of certain English institutions with the feelings and prepossessions of the Irish people, which, according to the received doctrine of our historical Conservatives, is the first point to be considered in either retaining old institutions or introducing new. But now, apart from the question of acceptability to Ireland, let us consider whether our own laws and usages, at least in relation to land, are the model we should even desire to follow in governing Ireland; whether the circumstances of the two countries are sufficiently similar, to warrant the belief, that things which may work well, or may not be fatally destructive to prosperity, in England, will be useful or innocuous, even if voluntarily accepted by the people of the neighbouring island.

What are the main features in the social economy of Ireland? First, it is a country wholly agricultural.

German to English

The entire population, with some not very important exceptions, cultivates the soil, or depends for its subsistence on cultivation. In this respect, if all the countries of Europe except Russia were arranged in a scale, Ireland would be at one extremity of the scale, England and Scotland at the other. In Great Britain, not more than a third of the population subsists by agriculture. In most countries of the Continent a great majority do so, though in no country but Russia so great a majority as in Ireland.

Ireland, therefore, in this essential particular, bears more resemblance to almost any other country in Europe than she does to Great Britain. When the agricultural population are but a fraction of the entire people; when the commercial and manufacturing development of the country leaves a large opening for the children of the agriculturists to seek and find subsistence elsewhere than on the soil; a bad tenure of land, though always mischievous, can in some measure be borne with.

But when a people have no means of sustenance but the land, the conditions on which the land can be occupied, and support derived from it, are all in all. Now, under an apparent resemblance, those conditions are radically different in Ireland and in England. In England the land is rented and cultivated by capitalist farmers; in Ireland, except in the grazing districts, principally by manual labourers, or small farmers in nearly the same condition in life.

The multitude of other differences which flow from this one difference, it would be too prolix to detail. There are many other countries in which the land is owned principally in large masses, and farmed in great part by manual labourers. But I doubt if there be now any other part of Europe where, as a general rule, these farm-labourers are entirely without a permanent interest in the soil. The serfs certainly were not; they could not be turned out of their holdings.

It is only in parts of Belgium that it is a frequent practice for small farmers to hold from large proprietors, with no other legal protection than the stipulations of a short lease: They, moreover, live in the midst of a large and thriving manufacturing industry, which takes off the hands that might otherwise compete unduly for the soil. So long as they remain in the country of their birth, their support must be drawn from a source for the permanence of which they have no guarantee, and the failure of which leaves them nothing to depend on but the poor-house.

In one circumstance alone England and Ireland are alike: In the opinion of great landlords, and of the admirers of the state of society which produces them, this is enough: Great landlords can do as they like with their estates, on this side of St. But in the first place, English landlords do not let their land to a labourer, but to a capitalist farmer, who is able to take care of his own interest.

The capitalist has not to choose between the possession of a farm and destitution; the labourer has. This element subverts the whole basis on which the letting of farms, as a business transaction, and the foundation of a national economy, requires to rest. The capitalist farmer will beware of offering a rent that will leave him no profit; the peasant farmer will promise any amount of rent, whether he can pay it or not. England, moreover, not being a purely agricultural, but a commercial country, even great landlords learn to look at the management of estates in a somewhat commercial spirit, and can see their own advantage where the love of political influence does not binterfereb in making it the interest of the tenant to improve the land; or, if they can afford to do so, will often improve it for him.

If a tenant here and there is able and willing to make them a little better than ordinary, or to add in any other manner to the productiveness and value of the farm, there is nothing to prevent the landlord from waiting till it is done, and then seizing on the result, or requiring from the tenant additional rent for the use of the fruits of his own labour; and so many landlords even of high rank are not ashamed to do this, that it is evident their compeers do not think it at all disgraceful.

It is usual to impute the worst abuses of Irish landlordism to middlemen. What might not be hoped from a people who had the energy and enterprise to create a flourishing town under liability to be robbed? And to what sympathy or consideration are those entitled who avail themselves of a bad law to perpetrate what is morally robbery? When Irishmen ask to be protected against deeds of this description, they are told that the law they complain of is the same which exists in England.

What signifies it that the law is the same, if opinion and the social circumstances of the country are better than the law, and prevent the oppression which the law permits? It is bad that one can be robbed in due course of law, but it is greatly worse when one actually is. England, with her capitalist farmers and her powerful public opinion, can afford to leave improper power in the hands of her great landlords—not, indeed, without serious evil to her agricultural population, the state of dwhomd is generally felt to be the most peccant part of her social condition; not without evil to all over whom power is exercised through the votes of that population; but yet without hindrance to the attainment, by the nation as a whole, of great wealth and prosperity.

Ireland is very differently circumstanced. When, as a general rule, the land of a country is farmed by the very hands that till it, the social economy resulting is intolerable, unless either by law or custom the tenant is protected against arbitrary eviction, or arbitrary increase of rent. Nor is there any country of Western Europe save England unless Spain be an exception which, if Ireland had belonged to it, would not before this time have seen and acted on that principle; because there is not one which is not familiar with the principle and its bearings, from ample experience.

England alone is without such experience of its own, and knows and cares too little about foreign countries to benefit by theirs. At a particular moment of the revolutionary war, a French armament, led by the illustrious Hoche, was only prevented by stress of weather from effecting a landing in Ireland. At that moment it was on the cards whether Ireland should not belong to France, or at least be organized as an independent country under French protection.

Had this happened, does any one believe that the Irish peasant would not have become even as the French peasant? Ireland would then have been in the condition in which small farming, and tenancy by manual labourers, are consistent with good agriculture and public prosperity. The small holder would have laboured for himself and not for others, and his interest would have coincided with the interest of the country in making every plot of land produce its utmost.

What Hoche would have done for the Irish peasant, or its equivalent, has still to be done; and any government which will not do it does not fulfil the rational and moral conditions of a government. There is no necessity that it should be done as Hoche would most likely have done it, without indemnity to the losers. A few years ago it might not have been necessary to do as much as he would have done. The distribution of the waste land in peasant properties might then have sufficed.

Perhaps even such small measures as that of securing to tenants a moderate compensation, in money or by length of lease, for improvements actually made, and abolishing the unjust privilege of distraining for rent, might have appeased or postponed disaffection, and given to great-landlordism a fresh term of existence.

The Irish are no longer reduced to take anything they can get. They have acquired the sense of being supported by prosperous multitudes of their countrymen on the opposite side of the Atlantic. These it is who will furnish the leaders, the pecuniary resources, the skill, the military discipline, and a great part of the effective force, in any future Irish rebellion: With these for leaders, and a people like the Irish, always ready to trust implicitly those whom they think hearty in their cause, no accommodation is henceforth possible which does not give the Irish peasant all that he could gain by a revolution—permanent possession of the land, subject to fixed burthens.

Such a change may be revolutionary; but revolutionary measures are the thing now required. It is not necessary that the revolution should be violent, still less that it should be unjust. It may and it ought to respect existing pecuniary interests which have the sanction of law. An equivalent ought to be given for the bare pecuniary value of all mischievous rights which landlords or any others are required to part with.

But no mercy ought to be shown to the mischievous rights themselves; no scruples of purely English birth ought to stay our hands from effecting, since it has come to that, a real revolution in the economical and social constitution of Ireland. In the completeness of the revolution will lie its safety. Anything less than complete, unless as a step to completion, will give no help. If ever, in our time, Ireland is to be a consenting party to her union with England, the changes must be so made that the existing generation of Irish farmers shall at once enter upon their benefits.

The rule of Ireland now rightfully belongs to those who, by means consistent with justice, will make the cultivators of the soil of Ireland the owners of it; and the English nation has got to decide whether it will be that just ruler or not. Englishmen are not always incapable of shaking off insular prejudices, and governing another country according to its wants, and not according to common English habits and notions. It is what they have had to do in India; and those Englishmen who know something of India, are even now those who understand Ireland best.

Persons who know both countries, have remarked many points of resemblance between the Irish and the Hindoo character; there certainly are many between the agricultural economy of Ireland and that of India. But, by a fortunate accident, the business of ruling India in the name of England did not rest with the Houses of Parliament or the offices at Westminster; it devolved on men who passed their lives in India, and made Indian interests their professional occupation.

There was also the advantage, that the task was laid upon England after nations had begun to have a conscience, and not while they were sunk in the reckless savagery of the middle ages. The English rulers, accordingly, reconciled themselves to the idea that their business was not to sweep away the rights they found established, or wrench and compress them into the similitude of something English, but to ascertain what they were; having ascertained them, to abolish those only which were absolutely mischievous; otherwise to protect them, and use them as a starting point for further steps in improvement.

This work of stripping off their preconceived English ideas was at first done clumsily and imperfectly, and at the cost of many mistakes; but as they honestly meant to do it, they in time succeeded, and India is now governed, if with a large share of the ordinary imperfections of rulers, yet with a full perception and recognition of its differences from England.

What has been done for India has now to be done for Ireland; and as we should have deserved to be turned out of the one, had we not proved equal to the need, so shall we to lose the other. It is not consistent with self-respect, in a nation any more than in an individual, to wait till it is compelled by uncontrollable circumstances to resign that which it cannot in conscience hold. Before allowing its government to involve it in another repetition of the attempt to maintain English dominion over Ireland by brute force, the English nation ought to commune with its conscience, and solemnly reconsider its position.

If so, what are we dreaming of, when we give our sympathy to the Poles, the Italians, the Hungarians, the Servians, the Greeks, and I know not how many other oppressed nationalities? On what principle did we act when we renounced the government of the Ionian Islands? Yet it is not impertinent to say, that to hold Ireland permanently by the old bad means is simply impossible. Were we to attempt it, and a rebellion, so provoked, could hold its ground but for a few weeks, there would be an explosion of indignation all over the civilized world; on this single occasion Liberals and Catholics would be unanimous; Papal volunteeers and Garibaldians would fight side by side against us for the independence of Ireland, until the many enemies of British prosperity had time to complicate the situation by a foreign war.

Were we even able to prevent a rebellion, or suppress it the moment it broke out, the holding down by military violence of a people in desperation, constantly struggling to break their fetters, is a spectacle which Russia is still able to give to mankind, because Russia is almost inaccessible to a foreign enemy; but the attempt could not long succeed with a country so vulnerable as England, having territories to defend in every part of the globe, and half her population dependent on foreign commerce. Neither do I believe that the mass of the British people, those who are not yet corrupted by power, would permit the attempt.

The prophets who, judging, I presume, from themselves, always augur the worst of the moral sentiments of their countrymen, are already asseverating that, whether right or wrong, the British people would rather devastate Ireland from end to end and root out its inhabitants, than consent to its separation from England. If we believe them, the people of England are a kind of bloodhounds, always ready to break loose and perpetrate Jamaica horrors, unless they, and their like, are there to temper and restrain British brutality. This representation does not accord with my experience. I believe that these prophecies proceed from men who seek to make their countrymen responsible for what they themselves are burning to commit; and that the rising power in our affairs, the democracy of Great Britain, is opposed, on principle, to holding any people in subjection against their will.

The time is come when the democracy of one country will join hands with the democracy of another, rather than back their own ruling authorities in putting it down. I shall not believe, until I see it proved, that the English and Scotch people are capable of the folly and wickedness of carrying fire and sword over Ireland in order that their rulers may govern Ireland contrary to the will of the Irish people.

That they would put down a partial outbreak, in order to get a fair trial for a system of government beneficent and generally acceptable to the people, I readily believe; nor should I in any way blame them for so doing. It would be a deep disgrace to us, that having the choice of, on the one hand, a peaceful legislative revolution in the laws and rules affecting the relation of the inhabitants to the soil, or on the other, of abandoning a task beyond our skill, and leaving Ireland to rule herself, incapacity for the better of the two courses should drive us to the worse.

For that it would be greatly the worse even for Ireland, many Irishmen, even Irish Catholics, are probably still calm enough to perceive, if but good government can be had without it. Not only are they more powerful for defence against a foreign enemy combined than separate, but, if separate, they would be a standing menace to one another. Parted at the present time and with their present feelings, the two islands would be, of all countries in Europe, those which would have the most hostile disposition towards one another. Too much bitter feeling still remains between England and the United States, more than eighty years after separation; and Ireland has suffered from England, for many centuries, evils compared with which the greatest grievances of the Americans were, in all but their principle, insignificant.

The persevering reciprocation of insults between English and American newspapers and public speakers has, before now, brought those two countries to the verge of a war; would there not be even more of this between countries still nearer neighbours, on the morrow of an unfriendly separation?

In the perpetual state of irritated feeling thus kept up, trifles would become causes of quarrel. Disputes more or less serious, even collisions, would be for ever liable to occur. Ireland, therefore, besides having to defend herself against all other enemies, internal and external, without English help, would feel obliged to keep herself always armed and in readiness to fight England. A war-tax assessed upon the soil, for want of other taxable material, would be no small set-off against what the peasant would gain even by the entire cessation of rent. The burthen of the necessity of being always prepared for war, was no unimportant part of the motive which made the Northern States of America prefer a war at once to allowing the South to secede from the Union.

Yet the necessity would not have weighed so heavily on them as it would on Ireland, because they were both the most powerful half of the American Union and the richest. To England, the necessity of being always in a state of preparation against Ireland would be comparatively a less inconvenience, because she already has to maintain, for defence against foreigners, a force that would in general suffice for both purposes.

But Ireland would have to create both a fleet and an army; and, after all that could be done, so oppressive would be her sense of insecurity, that she would probably be driven to compromise her newly acquired independence, and seek the protection of alliances with Continental powers. Were she to choose the smaller evil, and remain free from any permanent entanglement, all enemies of Great Britain would not the less confidently look forward to an Irish alliance, and to being allowed to use Ireland as a basis of attack against Great Britain.

Ireland would probably become, like Belgium formerly, one of the battle-fields of European war: In all this I am supposing that Ireland would succeed in establishing a regular and orderly government: Suppose that she had to pass through an interval of partial anarchy first? What if there were a civil war between the Protestant and Catholic Irish, or between Ulster and the other provinces? Is it in human nature that the sympathies of England should not be principally with the English Protestant colony, and would not she either help that side, or be constantly believed to be on the point of helping it?

To England it would be an inconvenience; to Ireland a public calamity, not only in the way of direct burthen, but by the paralyzing effect of a general feeling of insecurity upon industrial energy and enterprise. But there is a contingency beyond all this, from the possibility of which we ought not to avert our eyes. Ireland might be invaded and conquered by a great military power. She might become a province of France. This is not the least likely thing to befal her, if her independence of England should be followed by protracted disorders, such as to make peaceably disposed persons welcome an armed pacificator capable of imposing on the conflicting parties a common servitude.

How bitter such a result of all their struggles ought to be to patriotic Irishmen, I will not stop to show. But I ask any patriotic Englishman what he would think of such a prospect; and whether he is disposed to run the risk of it, in order that a few hundred families of the upper classes may continue to possess the land of Ireland, instead of its pecuniary value. All this evil, it may be thought, could be prevented by agreeing beforehand upon a close alliance and perpetual confederacy between the two nations.

But is it likely that the party which had effected a separation in home affairs, would desire or consent to unity in foreign relations? A confederacy is an agreement to have the same friends and enemies, and can only subsist between peoples who have the same interests and feelings, and who, if they fight at all, would wish to fight on the same side. Great Britain and Ireland, if all community of interest between them were cut off, would generally prefer to be on contrary sides. Besides, America is the country with which we are at present in most danger of having serious difficulties; and Ireland would be far more likely to confederate with America against us, than with us against America.

But even the most Catholic of Irishmen may reasonably consider that Irish influence in the British Parliament is a great mitigator of British hostility to things with which Ireland sympathizes; that a Pro-Catholic element in the House of Commons, which no English Government can venture to despise, helps to prevent the whole power of Great Britain from being in the hands of the Anti-Catholic element still so strong in England and Scotland.

If there is any party in Great Britain which would not have cause to regret the separation of Ireland, it is the fanatical Protestant party. It may well be doubted if an independent Ireland could in any way give such effective support to any cause to which Ireland is attached, as by the forbearance and moderation which her presence in British councils imposes upon the power which would be likeliest, in case of conflict, to lead the van of the contrary side.

In return, Irishmen would be shut out from all positions in Great Britain, except those which can be held by foreigners. There would be no more Irish prime-ministers, Irish commanders-in-chief, Irish generals and admirals in the British army and fleet. The loss would exceed the gain, not only by calculation, but in feeling. The first man in a small country would often gladly exchange positions with the fourth or fifth in a great one. But why, it may be asked, cannot Ireland remain united with the British Crown by a mere personal tie, having the management of her own affairs, as Canada has, though a part of the same empire?

The former of these relations would be to Ireland a derogation, a descent from even her present position. She is now at least a part of the governing country. She has something to say in the general affairs of the empire. Canada is but a dependency, with a provincial government, allowed to make its own laws and impose its taxes, but subject to the veto of the mother-country and not consulted at all about alliances or wars, in which it is nevertheless compelled to join.

An union such as this can only exist as a temporary expedient, between countries which look forward to separation as soon as the weaker is able to stand alone, and which care not much how soon it comes. This mode of union, moreover, is still recent; it has stood no trials; it has not yet been exposed to the greatest trial—that of war. Let war come, by an act of the British Government in which Canada is not represented, and from a motive in which Canada is not concerned, and how long will Canada be content to share the burthens and the dangers? Even in home affairs, Ireland would not relish the position of Canada.

The veto of the Crown is virtually that of the British Parliament; and though it might, as in the case of Canada, be discreetly confined to what were considered imperial questions, the decision what questions were imperial would rest with the country in whose councils Ireland would no longer have a voice. It is very improbable that the veto would stop at things which, in the opinion of the subordinate country, were proper subjects for it. Canada is a great way off, and British rulers can tolerate much in a place from which they are not afraid that the contagion may spread to England.

But Ireland is marked out for union with England, if only by this, that nothing important can take place in the one without making its effects felt in the other. If the British Parliament could sufficiently shake off its prejudices to use the veto on Irish legislation rightly, it could shake them off sufficiently to legislate for Ireland rightly, or to allow the Irish, as it already allows the Scotch members, to transact the business of their own country mainly by themselves.

These objections would not apply to an equal union, like that which has recently been agreed upon between Austria and Hungary. In that there is nothing humiliating to the pride of either country. But if the Canadian system has had but a short trial, the dual system of Austria and Hungary has had none.

It has existed only a bare twelvemonth. Hungary, it is true, has been much longer attached by a personal bond to the reigning family of Austria, and Hungary had a Constitution, with some of the elements of freedom; but Austria had not. The difficulty of keeping two countries together without uniting them, begins with constitutional liberty. Countries very dissimilar in character, and even with some internal freedom, may be governed as England and Scotland were by the Stuarts, so long as the people have only certain limited rights, and the government of the two countries practically resides in a single will above them both.

The difficulty arises when the unforced concurrence of both nations is required for the principal acts of their government. This relation, between Austria and Hungary, never existed till now. In the first place, the two countries are nearly equal in military resources and prowess.

They have fairly tried themselves against one another in open war, and know that neither can conquer the other without foreign aid. In the next place, while each is equally formidable to the other, each stands in need of the other for its own safety; neither is sufficient to itself for maintaining its independence against powerful and encroaching neighbours.

Lastly, they do not start with hostile feelings in the masses of either country towards the other. Hungary has not the wrongs of centuries to revenge; her direct injuries from Austria never reached the labouring classes, but were confined to portions of society whose conduct is directed more by political interest than by vindictive feeling. The reverse of all this is true between Great Britain and Ireland. The most favourable of all combinations of circumstances for the success and permanence of an equal alliance between independent nations under the same crown, exists between Hungary and Austria, the least favourable between England and Ireland.

The only one of them of which this could be said is the alienation of feeling, and this, if the real grounds of bitterness were removed, the close intercourse and community of interest engendered by union would more and more tend to heal: The democracy of Ireland, and those who are likely to be its first leaders, have, at all events, yet to prove their possession of qualities at all similar.

Einer gut bekannten Rechnung zufolge ist das ganze Territorium der Insel dreimal konfisziert worden. Eine Nation, die ihre Untergebenen auf diese Art behandelt, kann nicht erwarten, von ihnen geliebt zu werden. Die fremde Kirche gibt es in der Tat immer noch. Aber der Todesengel trat herbei und beseitigte dieses Gespenst vor unseren Toren. Irland sei nunmehr nicht nur gut regiert sondern wohlhabend und auf einem guten Weg.

Ihre Staatskunst ist schlecht, ihr Gewissen aber gut. Ach, die selbstzufriedene Ignoranz verantwortungsloser Regierender, ob nun Monarchen, Klassen oder Nationen! Wie aber wird Irland von England provoziert, so fragt man sich, da England nunmehr darauf verzichtet, den Handel der Iren zu vernichten und deren Religion zu verfolgen? Aber weder wussten wir das, noch wussten wir, dass wir es nicht wussten. Zweitens aber ist keine andere zivilisierte Nation bezogen auf den Charakter ihrer Geschichte so von Irland verschieden oder so anders hinsichtlich der Grundlagen ihrer Sozialwirtschaft. Man bemerke jedoch, wie wenig sie wirklich zu dieser Rechtfertigung stehen.

Aber ich sage, dies versteht sich nicht vom selbst. Einer, der ihn aneignet, entzieht ihn den anderen. Was sich allerdings in Irland seit jeher findet, ist das reine Gegenteil dessen. Bis in die Gegenwart findet er im moralischen Empfinden des Volkes keine Anerkennung. Dem moralischen Empfinden des irischen Volkes entsprechend ist das Recht auf das Land wie zu Beginn an das Recht gebunden, es zu bestellen. Die gesamte Pacht des Landes war verschwendet, weil sie dem Unterhalt von Menschen diente, die nicht halb so produktiv waren wie die Drohnen in Bienenstock und weniger Respekt als diese verdienten.

Dies ist die Vorgeschichte Irlands in Hinblick auf das Grundeigentum. Was sind die Hauptmerkmale der Sozialwirtschaft Irlands? Erstens ist es ein reines Agrarland. Aber wenn allein der Boden die Subsistenzgrundlage ist, dann sind die Bedingungen, unter denen er bewohnt und der Lebensunterhalt von ihm erlangt werden kann, alles, worauf es ankommt.

Die Leibeigenen hatten sicherlich ein solches Interesse. Allein in einer Hinsicht sind England und Irland gleich: In den Augen dieser bedeutenden Grundherren und in denen der Bewunderer des gesellschaftlichen Zustands, der sie geschaffen hat, reicht dies: Man kann vorbehaltlos darauf bauen, dass das Interesse und die Weisheit des Grundherren jeden zufriedenstellen. Der Kleinbauer verspricht, jeden Pachtbetrag zu zahlen, ob er dies kann oder nicht. Aber keine Gnade sollten die verwerflichen Rechte selber finden; keine Skrupel rein englischer Herkunft sollte uns, da es nun soweit gekommen ist, davon abhalten, eine wirkliche Revolution der wirtschaftlichen und gesellschaftlichen Struktur Irlands zu bewirken.

Nichts weniger als das Ganze, es sei denn, es ist ein Schritt zum Ganzen hin, wird helfen. Dies ist es, was ihnen in Indien abverlangt wurde. Diese Darstellung entspricht nicht meiner Erfahrung. Aber nehmen wir an, dies gelingt Irland nicht? Das Veto der Krone ist praktisch das des britischen Parlaments. Sie haben einander fair im offenen Krieg gemessen und wissen deshalb, dass keines der beiden das andere ohne fremde Hilfe besiegen kann.

German English humanities, philosophy, history, cultural studies, philosophy of science, political science, politics, sociology, psychology, psychoanalysis, journalism, Middle East, anthropology, biology, environment, Berlin translation. Profile last updated Sep More translators and interpreters: Or create a new account. Vor when my work is all a-done Avore the zetten o' the zun, Then blushen Jeane do walk along The hedge to meet me in the drong, An' stay till all is dim an' dark Bezides the ashen tree's white bark; An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill An' runnen evenen-whissle's still.

An' there in bwoyhood I did rove Wi' pryen eyes along the drove To vind the nest the blackbird meade O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheade; Or climb aloft, wi' clingen knees, Vor crows' aggs up in swayen trees, While frightened blackbirds down below Did chatter o' their little foe. An' zoo there's noo pleace lik' the drong, Where I do hear the blackbird's zong. Thomas Hardy Order of Merit 2 June — 11 January was an English novelist and poet of the naturalist movement, although in several poems he displays elements of the previous romantic and enlightenment periods of literature, such as his fascination with the supernatural.

I've treasured it long as a sainted prize ; I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs. Would ye learn the spell? In Childhood's hour I lingered near The hallowed seat with listening ear ; And gentle words that mother would give ; To fit me to die, and teach me to live. She told me shame would never betide, With truth for my creed and God for my guide ; She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer ; As I knelt beside that old Arm-chair.

I sat and watched her many a day, When her eye grew dim, and her locks were grey: And I almost worshipped her when she smiled, And turned from her Bible, to bless her child. Years rolled on; but the last one sped-- My idol was shattered; my earth-star fled: I learnt how much the heart can bear, When I saw her die in that old Arm-chair. And Memory flows with lava tide. Say it is folly, and deem me weak, While the scalding drops start down my cheek ; But I love it, I love it ; and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old Arm-chair.

Her poem The Old Armchair made hers a household name for a generation, both in England and in America. Cook was a proponent of political and sexual freedom for women, and believed in the ideology of self-improvement through education, something she called "levelling up. Comment Ah I was reminded again today of how refreshingly angry and funny D. Lawrence could often be in his Pansies: Intimates Don't you care for my love? I handed her the mirror, and said: Please address these questions to the proper person! Please make all requests to head-quarters! In all matters of emotional importance please approach the supreme authority direct!

So I handed her the mirror. And she would have broken it over my head, but she caught sight of her own reflection and that held her spellbound for two seconds while I fled. Comment Thank you, Phillipp, for this ever fresh poem by D. Lawrence David Herbert Richards Lawrence 11 September — 2 March was an English author, poet, playwright, essayist and literary critic. As I've just learnt from Wikipedia, Lawrence's opinions earned him many enemies and he endured official persecution, censorship, and misrepresentation of his creative work throughout the second half of his life The latter book, his last major novel, was initially published in private editions in Florence and Paris and reinforced his notoriety.

Lawrence responded robustly to those who claimed to be offended, penning a large number of satirical poems, published under the title of "Pansies" and "Nettles". Auden was an Anglo-American poet, born in England, later an American citizen, regarded by many as one of the greatest writers of the 20th century. He was the son of a physician. Give me a doctor Give me a doctor partridge-plump, Short in the leg and broad in the rump,. But with a twinkle in his eye Will tell me that I have to die.

Comment [The Mouse's Nest] http: Mai war ein englischer Naturdichter und bekannt als einer der besten Beschreiber des Landlebens. The Pig In England once there lived a big And wonderfully clever pig. To everybody it was plain That Piggy had a massive brain. He worked out sums inside his head, There was no book he hadn't read. He knew what made an airplane fly, He knew how engines worked and why. He knew all this, but in the end One question drove him round the bend: November in Great Missenden, Buckinghamshire war ein norwegisch-walisischer Schriftsteller.

Aber vor des Kampfes Gitter Ritt zuletzt ein schwarzer Ritter. Und zur reichen Tafel kamen Alle Ritter, alle Damen. Bleich die Kinder beide schienen; Bot der Gast den Becher ihnen: Wohin der graue, Erschrockne Vater schaue, Sieht er eins der Kinder sterben. Not till about One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out, All windows down, all cushions hot, all sense Of being in a hurry gone.

We slowed again, And as the tightened brakes took hold, there swelled A sense of falling, like an arrow-shower Sent out of sight, somewhere becoming rain. Comment i carry your heart with me i carry your heart with me i carry it in my heart i am never without it anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling i fear no fate for you are my fate,my sweet i want no world for beautiful you are my world,my true and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.

Ich trage Dein Herz! Ich trage Dein Herz bei mir. Ich trage es in meinem Herzen. Nie bin ich ohne es. Comment In a Station of the Metro The apparition of these faces in the crowd; petals on a wet, black bough. Because of the treatment of the subject's appearance by way of the poem's own visuality, it is considered a quintessential Imagist text.

The feelings I don't have, I won't say I have. The felings you say you have, you don't have. The feelings you would like us both to have, we The feelings people ought to have, they never have. If people say they've got feelings, you may be pretty Lawrence — David Herbert Lawrence was one of the most important, certainly one of the most controversial, English writers of the 20th century. Comment A Thunderstorm A moment the wild swallows like a flight Of withered gust-caught leaves, serenely high, Toss in the windrack up the muttering sky.

The leaves hang still. Above the weird twilight, The hurrying centres of the storm unite And spreading with huge trunk and rolling fringe, Each wheeled upon its own tremendous hinge, Tower darkening on. And now from heaven's height, With the long roar of elm-trees swept and swayed, And pelted waters, on the vanished plain Plunges the blast. Behind the wild white flash That splits abroad the pealing thunder-crash, Over bleared fields and gardens disarrayed, Column on column comes the drenching rain. Archibald Lampman — widely regarded as Canada's finest 19th-century English-language poet.

Comment O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray, Warbl'st at eve, when all the Woods are still Thou with fresh hope the Lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May, Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day, First heard before the shallow Cuckoo's bill Portend success in love; O if Jove's will Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate Foretell my hopeless doom in some Grove nigh: As thou from year to year hath sung too late For my relief; yet hadst no reason why, Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

November in Bunhill bei London war ein englischer Dichter und Staatsphilosoph. Ich diene beiden, die mich alles lehrten. Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

April in Wiesbaden war ein deutscher Schriftsteller. Doch soll dein ewiger Sommer nie ermatten: Nie prahle Tod, du gingst in seinem Schatten. In ewigen Reimen ragst du in die Zeit. Solang als Menschen atmen, Augen sehn Wird dies und du der darin lebt bestehn.

German dictionary: Words & meanings in English

So lang, wie Menschen atmen, Augen sehn, so lang lebt dies, so lang wirst du bestehn. This highly inventive, blackly humorous tale, told entirely in rhymed couplets, was written and illustrated by Wilhelm Busch and published in Busch's classic tale of the terrible duo now in the public domain has since become a proud part of the culture in German-speaking countries. Even to day, parents usually read these tales to their not-yet-literate children.

Hope you enjoy reading the German-English text. I will arise and go now, And go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, Of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, A hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, For peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning To where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, And noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, For always night and day I hear lake water lapping With low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway Or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core. William Butler Yeats, Thus began the King and spake: To the barrier of the fight Rode at last a sable Knight. Pipe and viol call the dances, Torch-light through the high halls glances; Waves a mighty shadow in; With manner bland Doth ask the maiden's hand, Doth with ter the dance begin.

Danced in sable iron sark, Danced a measure weird and dark, Coldly clasped her limbs around; From breast and hair Down fall from her the fair Flowerets, faded, to the ground. To the sumptuous banquet came Every Knight and every Dame, 'Twixt son and daughter all distraught, With mournful mind The ancient King reclined, Gazed at them in silent thought.

Pale the children both did look, But the guest a beaker took: The children drank, Gave many a courteous thank: Spake the grim Guest, From his hollow, cavernous breast; 'Roses in the spring I gather! Comment my mind is my mind is a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and chipping with sharp fatal tools.

  • German to English translator specialising in the humanities and social sciences.
  • Wege Zur Weisheit Der Traum Vom Richtigen Leben by Hanne GEL T 9783596188567!
  • Product details.

Criticism and interpretation http: Comment Don't tell me property is sacred! Don't tell me property is sacred! I was born with poor eyes and a house. She lived most of her life here in rural isolation. An International Digital Poetry Festival http: Comment Ode on a Grecian Urn Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?

What men or gods are these? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Calligramme konkrete Poesie All, This article is not meant as a lecture but more of a common forum for sharing poems that may be interesting for various reasons, including your very personal taste. I look forward to receiving some input from you every now and then That's newly sprung in June. O, my Luve's like the melodie, That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my Dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun! O I will luve thee still, my Dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve, And fare thee weel a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile! Meine Liebe ist wie die Melodie, Bis alle Meere austrocknen , Und lebe wohl, meine einzige Liebe, Comment Die Pansies von franz.

And when we fail to transmit life, life fails to flow through us. This is part of the mystery of sex, it is a flow onwards. Sexless people transmit nothing. And if, as we work, we can transmit life into our work, life, still more life, rushes into us to compensate, to be ready and we ripple with life through the days. Even if it is a woman making an apple dumpling, or a man a stool, if life goes into the pudding, good is the pudding good is the stool, content is the woman, with fresh life rippling in to her, content is the man. Give, and it shall be given unto you is still the truth about life.

But giving life is not so easy. It doesn't mean handing it out to some mean fool, or letting the living dead eat you up. It means kindling the life quality where it was not, even if it's only in the whiteness of a washed pocket-handkerchief. Der dritte Text war "perfection" von Ernst Jandl: Perfection 0 lovely apple! No one has moved you since I placed you on the porch rail a Month ago to ripen. Vollkommenheit 0 lieblicher Apfel! Wie satt und feucht der Mantel aus Braun auf jenem un- angetasteten Fleisch!

Many thanks for introducing selected poems by D. Idiosynchratic works are appreciated. Spring Breezes Spring breezes over the blue, now lightly frolicking in some tropic bay, go forth to meet her way, for here the spell hath won and dream is true. And now I bid thee bring tenderly hither over a subject sea that golden one whose grace hath made me king, and, soon to glad my gaze at shut of day, loosen'd in happy air her charmed hair. Comment A Gift See!

Ordo Templi Orientis

I give myself to you, Beloved! My words are little jars For you to take and put upon a shelf. Their shapes are quaint and beautiful, And they have many pleasant colours and lustres To recommend them. Also the scent from them fills the room With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses. When I shall have given you the last one, You will have the whole of me, But I shall be dead. Mai ebenda war eine amerikanische Frauenrechtlerin und Dichterin.

A Living A man should never earn his living, if he earns his life he'll be lovely. A bird picks up its seeds or little snails between heedless earth and heaven in heedlessness. But, the plucky little sport, it gives to life song, and chirruping, gay feathers, fluff-shadowed warmth and all the unspeakable charm of birds hopping and fluttering and being birds.

Kronen schimmern in den Kirchen. Ihre feuchten Lippen beben Und sie warten an den Toren. Fremde lauschen auf den Stufen. Wie viel darf man wohl in dieses Gedicht hinein interpretieren??? Bisher hat hier noch keiner deiner Interpretation widersprochen. Wer hat denn das Monopol auf die 'richtige' Interpretation eines Gedichtes? And as they sojourned both of them together, Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father, Behold the preparations, fire and iron, But where the lamb for this burnt-offering? Caught in a thicket by its horns, A Ram.

Offer the Ram of Pride instead. But the old man would not so, but slew his son, And half the seed of Europe, one by one. For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him. For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way. For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness. For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.

For he rolls upon prank to work it in. For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself. For this he performs in ten degrees. For first he looks upon his fore-paws to see if they are clean. For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there. For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the fore-paws extended. For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood. For fifthly he washes himself.

CRO - Traum (Official Version)

For sixthly he rolls upon wash. For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat. For eighthly he rubs himself against a post. For ninthly he looks up for his instructions. For tenthly he goes in quest of food. For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour. For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness. For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it chance. For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying. For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins. For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.

For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes. For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life. For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him. For he is of the tribe of Tiger. Christopher Smart was an English poet, a major contributor to popular magazines and a friend to influential writers such as Samuel Johnson and Henry Fielding. A high church Anglican, Smart was known throughout London. He was infamous for his role as "Mrs. Mary Midnight" and widespread accounts of his father-in-law, John Newbery, locking him away in a mental asylum for many years over his religious "mania".

Smart's two best-known works are A Song to David and Jubilate Agno , both written at least partly during his confinement in asylum. Jubilate Agno was not published until Wie Despoten enden, hat's dich Nicht gelehrt des Bruders Beispiel? Nicht gelehrt des Vaters Beispiel? Nicht des Vaters-Vaters Beispiel? Blutig fingst auch du zu herrschen An! August von Platen, ; aus den "Polenliedern". November ist ein deutscher Lyriker und Essayist; Autor gesellschaftskritischer Lyrik z.

Wort und Vers werden mit anscheinend spielerischer Leistung gehandhabt, u. Comment Buttercups and Daisies I never see a young hand hold The starry bunch of white and gold, But something warm and fresh will start About the region of my heart; - My smile expires into a sigh; I feel a struggling in my eye, 'Twixt humid drop and sparkling ray, Till rolling tears have won their way; For, soul and brain will travel back, Through memory's chequer'd mazes, To days, when I but trod life's track For buttercups and daisies.

There seems a bright and fairy spell About there very names to dwell; And though old Time has mark'd my brow With care and thought, I love them now. Smile, if you will, but some heartstrings Are closest link'd to simplest things; And these wild flowers will hold mine fast, Till love, and life, and all be past; And then the only wish I have Is, that the one who raises The turf sod o'er me, plant my grave With buttercups and daisies.

  1. Ein Leben fuer die Rose - Arnoldo Krumm-Heller - Peter-Robert Koenig!
  2. Scandals (The Olympics Book 5);
  3. No customer reviews?
  4. Treason.
  5. Administrative Assistants and Secretarys Handbook?

Eliza Cook — Valentine Not a red rose or a satin heart. I give you an onion. It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. It promises light like the careful undressing of love. It will blind you with tears like a lover. It will make your reflection a wobbling photo of grief. I am trying to be truthful. Not a cute card or a kissogram. Dezember in Glasgow ist eine schottische Lyrikerin und Dramatikerin.

Comment "There was a man and he was mad" There was a man and he was mad And he ran up the steeple, And there he cut his nose off And flung it at the people. Comment Vergissmeinnicht Three weeks gone and the combatants gone, returning over the nightmare ground we found the place again, and found the soldier sprawling in the sun. The frowning barrel of his gun overshadowing. As we came on that day, he hit my tank with one like the entry of a demon.

Here in the gunpit spoil the dishonoured picture of his girl who has put: Vergissmeinnicht in a copybook gothic script. But she would weep to see today how on his skin the swart flies move; the dust upon the paper eye and the burst stomach like a cave. For here the lover and killer are mingled who had one body and one heart.

And death who had the soldier singled has done the lover mortal hurt. Keith Douglas , English poet, killed in action in France. I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds,-and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of-wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air June 9, — December 11, was an Anglo-American aviator and poet who died as a result of a mid-air collision over Lincolnshire during World War II.

Comment Monet's Waterlilies Today as the news from Selma and Saigon poisons the air like fallout, I come again to see the serene, great picture that I love. Here space and time exist in light the eye like the eye of faith believes. The seen, the known dissolve in iridescence, become illusive flesh of light that was not, was, forever is. He was appointed Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress in Comment The Invisible With a flutter and a pitterpat The pigeon settles on the parapet.

Draw down from your palate then A tightening tongue, and cluck. The pigeon turns his iridescent head, But how he hears is anybody's guess. By what other channel than an ear, When he has none, can any pigeon hear? Along the parapet he waddles, next, Not closer, but away, and eyeing still The middle of a nowhere Schumann said , Root of a distress my tongue alerts him to.

A second triple claw touches the parapet, And fear is a force, molding the invisible. No big deal, pigeon. You are wise to scare; Wiser than me to see nobody there. Comment Naturgesetze und psychologische Gesetze I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night and morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright.

And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine. And into my garden stole. When the night had veiled the pole; In the morning glad I see, My foe outstretchd beneath the tree. William Blake — And on Tuesday he fell on the hill And the happy lamb Never knew why the loud collie straddled him. And on Wednesday he fell on a bush And the blackbird Laid by his little flute for the last time.

George Mackay Brown , splendid Orkney poet who wrote in English. I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it. I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things; That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings. I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do; For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two. This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass, And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.

It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied; But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside. If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade. I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free. Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door, Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.

But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone For the lack of something within it that it has never known. But a house that has done what a house should do, a house that has sheltered life, That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife, A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet, Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet. So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back, Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart, For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.

Joyce Kilmer December 6, — July 30, was an American journalist, poet, literary critic, lecturer, and editor. Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride! And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow! Where got ye that winsome marrow? Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow! Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? Why on thy braes is heard the voice of sorrow? And why yon melancholious weeds Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow. O dule and sorrow! And weep around, in woeful wise, His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow. As sweet, as sweet flows Tweed; As green its grass, its gowan as yellow; As sweet smells on its braes the birk, The apple from its rocks as mellow.

Though he was fair, and well beloved again Than me, he never loved thee better. Busk, ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! How can I busk, a winsome marrow? For there was basely slain my love— My love as he had not been a lover. I little, little knew He was in these to meet his ruin! With bridal sheets my body cover! Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door; Let in the expected husband lover! His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter. Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds, And crown my careful head with willow. No youth lay ever there before thee. O lovely, lovely youth!

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter; And lie all night between my breasts! No youth shall ever lie there after. Return, and dry thy useless sorrow! Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs— He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow. His health is said to have been delicate, leading him to spend a deal of his time indoors, in study; where he become enthusiastic about literature, and began to write poetry. The song is believed to be based on an actual incident. The hero of the ballad was a knight of great bravery, popularly believed to be John Scott, sixth son of the Laird of Harden.

According to history, he met a treacherous and untimely death in Ettrick Forest at the hands of his kin, the Scotts of Gilmanscleugh in the seventeenth century. However, recent scholars are sceptical about this story as the origin of the song. To equip, prepare, make ready. To adorn, to deck, dress up.

Unkraut; Trauerkleidung, Trauerflor weel: Comment At The Ball Game The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them -- all the exciting detail of the chase and the escape, the error the flash of genius I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Stevie Smith http: All the poet has to do is listen. The poet is not an important fellow. There will always be another poet. Comment The Bonnie Broukit Bairn Mars is braw in crammasy, Venus in a green silk goun, The auld mune shak's her gowden feathers, Their starry talk's a wheen o' blethers, Nane for thee a thochtie sparin', Earth, thou bonnie broukit bairn!

Comment Hugh MacDiarmid When he speaks a small sentence he is a man who presses a plunger that will blow the face off a cliff. Or he dynamites a ramshackle idea--when the dust settles, what structures shine in the sun. Norman MacCaig , fine Scottish poet: Comment Die Gedanken sind frei Fassung um 1. Die Gedanken sind frei. Die Gedanken sind frei Wer kann sie erraten? Die Gedanken sind frei 4. Comment Atlantis--A Lost Sonnet How on earth did it happen, I used to wonder that a whole city--arches, pillars, colonnades, not to mention vehicles and animals--had all one fine day gone under?

And so, in the best traditions of where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name and drowned it. Ja, die schottische und irische Dichtung ist bisher zu kurz gekommen.

Buttercups and Daisies war ein direktes Copy und Paste aus Poemhunter http: Die zweite Strophe sollte eigentlich so anfangen: There seems a bright and fairy spell About their very names to dwell; And though old Time has mark'd my brow With care and thought, I love them now. Several critics, both Kilmer's contemporaries and modern scholars, disparaged Kilmer's work as being too simple, overly sentimental, and suggested that his style was far too traditional, even archaic. Stevie Smith kannte ich noch nicht.

Die Haltung, die sie in ihren Gedichten einnimmt, ist recht eigenwillig und originell. Hier habe ich ein weiteres ausgesucht: It is a human face that hides A monkey soul within, That bangs about, that beats a gong, That makes a horrid din. Sometimes the monkey soul will sprawl Athwart the human eyes, And peering forth, will flesh its pads, And utter social lies. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation. Comment A Wasted Illness Through vaults of pain, Enribbed and wrought with groins of ghastliness, I passed, and garish spectres moved my brain And hammerings, And quakes, and shoots, and stifling hotness, blent With webby waxing things and waning things As on I went.

Thereon ahead I saw a door extend The door to death. It loomed more clear: And back slid I Along the galleries by which I came, And tediously the day returned, and sky, And all was well: Old circumstance resumed its former show, And on my head the dews of comfort fell As ere my woe. I roam anew, Scarce conscious of my late distress. And yet Those backward steps through pain I cannot view For that dire train Of waxing shapes and waning, passed before, And those grim aisles, must be traversed again To reach that door. Thomas Hardy 2 June — 11 January After years of writing novels to earn his living — novels which contain seams of poetry, but in which he felt constrained to work to the demands of the market — poetry came to him as a relief and a pleasure.

Poems of Thomas Hardy. Selected and Introduced by Claire Tomalin, which does not include the above poem. Doch endlich kamen sie einander in die Haare, Und ihre Republik versank in Anarchie. Ha, rief das arme Volk mit tiefgesenkten Ohren Und mit geschundner Haut, was haben wir getan! Satiriker und Philanthrop, For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange;:: Whatever is fickle, freckled who knows how?

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Juni in Dublin war ein britischer Lyriker und Jesuit, dessen Gedichte vor allem wegen der Lebendigkeit ihres Ausdrucks bewundert werden. The day was green. They said, "You have a blue guitar, You do not play things as they are. Comment Eine Antwort zu From: Then Napoleon took over the plan to build the mill. While the animals starved and slaved under the slogan, "I will work harder," the pigs moved into Jones's farmhouse, and the glorification of the Leader as Comrade Napoleon was now called became systematic.

Hens were sometimes heard to say: Friend of the fatherless! Lord of the swill-bucket! Thou art the giver of All that thy creature love, Full belly twice a day, clean straw to roll upon; Every beast great or small Sleeps at peace in his stall, Thou watchest over all, Comrade Napoleon! George Orwell — The Seven Commandments 1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.

Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend. No animal shall wear clothes. No animal shall sleep in a bed. No animal shall drink alcohol. No animal shall kill any other animal. All animals are equal. Comment A Marriage We met under a shower of bird-notes. Fifty years passed, love's moment And she, who in life had done everything with a bird's grace, opened her bill now for the shedding of one sigh no heavier than a feather. Thomas , walisischer Lyriker, der auf englisch schrieb. Seine kurze Autobiographie verfasste er auf Walisisch. You make it for yourself firstly, and then if other people want to join in then there we are.

Comment Friendship A ruddy drop of manly blood The surging sea outweighs, The world uncertain comes and goes; The lover rooted stays. I fancied he was fled,- And, after many a year, Glowed unexhausted kindliness, Like daily sunrise there. My careful heart was free again, O friend, my bosom said, Through thee alone the sky is arched, Through thee the rose is red; All things through thee take nobler form, And look beyond the earth, The mill-round of our fate appears A sun-path in thy worth. Me too thy nobleness had taught To master my despair; The fountains of my hidden life Are through thy friendship fair.

I know your lust Is love. Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true? Emily Dickinson , konnte ich mir nach nicht verkneifen Is the blue changed above thee, O world! Will you change every flower that grows, Or only change this spot, Where she who said, I love thee, Now says, I love thee not? The skies seemed true above thee, The rose true on the tree; The bird seemed true the summer through, But all proved false to me. Echt war dein Vogel, fragst du nun noch? The sun again begins to peep, The shepherd, whistling to his fold, Unpens and frees the captive sheep. The sleepy rustic sloomy goes; The dews, brushed off from grass and flowers, Bemoistening sop his hardened shoes While every leaf that forms a shade, Stoops, bowing with a diamond drop.

But soon shall fly those diamond drops, Is gilding sweet the village-spire. Or list the gurgling of the brook; Or, stretched beneath the shade of trees, To entertain our wished delay,— The images which morning wears, The wakening charms of early day! Now let me tread the meadow paths Their moisture shrinks in sweet perfumes; And hear the beetle sound his horn; And hear the skylark whistling nigh, Sprung from his bed of tufted corn, A haling minstrel from the sky.

John Clare 13 July — 20 May was an English poet, born in Helpston, Northamptonshire, the son of a farm labourer who came to be known for his celebratory representations of the English countryside and his lamentation of its disruption. In summer quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day, I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown up people's feet Still going past me in the street, And does it not seem hard to you, When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play, To have to go to bed by day? Robert Louis Stevenson —94, Scottish novelist, poet, and essayist,.

Comment The Invitation It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow. If you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with JOY, mine or your own; If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstacy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being a human. It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true.

Soon, a bronze Adonis — ogling girls! It must be done! You will realise What a position it puts Me in. I couldn't really Have died for you if so I were inclined. The carn Foxglove here on the wall Outside your first house Leans with me standing In the Zennor wind. Anyhow how are things? Are you still somewhere With your long legs And twitching smile under Your blue hat walking Across a place? Or am I greedy to make you up Again out of memory? Graham , Graham was born in Greenock, Scotland. His first book, Cage Without Grievance was published in Er hat's begangen, Er hat's vollbracht!

Er baute Tempel Dem Teufel selbst! Es sein die Maler Ihm aufgebrannt! Er hat's begangen, Er ist erkannt! Er ist ein Satan, Die Maske fiel! Sie singen laut ihm Triumph, Triumph! Doch ach, es graut ihm, Wie sehr sie dudeln! Harpy'n besudeln Gesalbtes Haupt. August von Platen , Aus den "Polenliedern". Mann und Frau gehn durch die Krebsbaracke Der Mann: Bett stinkt bei Bett. Komm, hebe ruhig diese Decke auf.

Das Fleisch ist weich und schmerzt nicht. Gottfried Benn - gilt als einer der bedeutendsten deutschen Dichter der literarischen Moderne. Comment Oh ja, ein paar deutschsprachige Lyriker dazu ist auch nicht schlecht. Comment Und wie lautet der Titel zu diesem Gedicht, Phillipp? Comment Claus, der Titel Deines Gedichts in lautet: Sie ist in mancher Hinsicht gelungen: Die letzten zwei Zeilen sind gut. Aber dann wie kann es ja anders sein? Comment Der alte Lear will abtreten.

The Tragedy of King Lear Extract from: Act I, Scene I. Nothing will come of nothing: Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your Majesty According to my bond; no more nor less. Mend your speech a little, Lest you may mar your fortunes. I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Happily, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.

But goes thy heart with this? Ay, my good Lord. So young, and so untender? So young, my Lord, and true. Let it be so; thy truth then be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever.

The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter.