But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes With the love-juice , as I did bid thee do?

The house was painted crimson and a headhigh brick wall stretched out and closed in the backyard and a single light shined in an upstairs window.

And with the word, the speaker, in the vehemence of her desire to produce proofs of her gentility, would hop up on the block which served for a sort of stand by the side of the fire, and reach down a huge bag of dried apples, which must be hefted on the failing knees of the visiter, in proof of the forehandedness of the friends who could afford to give such evidence of their interest in Mrs. Titmouse.

For a well-read contemporary of Goethe’s, in an age when German Graecophilia was greatest if not most “gründlich,” the “Klassische Walpurgisnacht” should have been immediately accessible.