Modern Talking - Only Love Can Break My Heart =LINK=

In retrospective reviews, Justin Chadwick from Albumism described the cover version as "stirring", stating that it "manages to stay faithful to the original's melancholy weight while transforming Young's minimalist composition into a fresh and thrilling dancefloor-friendly affair." He added, "Propelled by multi-layered dub basslines, house rhythms, piano loops, and pounding drum breaks, the group's interpolation sounds little like Young's 1970 single, save for the equally plaintive power of Lambert's ruminations."[20] Stephen Thomas Erlewine from AllMusic said it is "not only cleverly ironic, but also works".[21]

Modern Talking - Only Love Can Break My Heart

Your feelings are tossin' and turnin'You have to learn to pay the right priceYour lonely heart keeps on burnin'But an angel will hear many liesWhen you're young and in loveIt's too hard to stopYoung and in loveYou can never give up

MS. RENO: I would have a wonderful time. The people who can play the guitar and sit around acampfire do more to bring people together than anybodyI know. Music can break the ice and soften the tonesthat sometimes put people off. A sense of humor can dothe same thing. A sense of humor combined with a meanguitar can make all the difference. Poetry can makesuch a difference. Poetry can reach deep into yourheart just as music can and cut at it, it hurts so muchsometimes, and then just by getting to the truththrough both music and poetry, you come to a higherlevel, both in terms of entertainment, in terms ofhumor, in terms of soothing tenseness, in terms ofcoming to the truth. The arts are some of the mostwonderful, wonderful attributes of man and women that Iknow.

IT would appear like affectation to offer an apology for any scenes or passages omitted or added, in this play, different from the original: its reception has given me confidence to suppose what I have done is right; for Kotzebue's "Child of Love" in Germany, was never more attractive than "Lovers' Vows" has been in England. I could trouble my reader with many pages to disclose the motives which induced me to alter, with the exception of a few common-place sentences only, the characters of Count Cassel, Amelia, and Verdun the Butler--;I could explain why the part of the Count, as in the original, would inevitably have condemned the whole Play,--;I could inform my reader why I have pourtrayed the Baron in many particulars different from the German author, and carefully prepared the audience for the grand effect of the last scene in the fourth act, by totally changing his conduct towards his son as a robber--;why I gave sentences of a humourous kind to the parts of the two Cottagers--;why I was compelled, on many occasions, to compress the matter of a speech of three or four pages into one of three or four lines--;and why, in no one instance, I would suffer my respect for Kotzebue to interfere with my profound respect for the judgment of a British audience. But I flatter myself such a vindication is not requisite to the enlightened reader, who, I trust, on comparing this drama with the original, will at once see all my motives--;and the dull admirer of mere verbal translation, it would be vain to endeavour to inspire with taste by instruction. Wholly unacquainted with the German language, a literal translation of the "Child of Love" was given to me by the manager of Covent Garden Theatre to be fitted, as my opinion should direct, for his stage. This translation, tedious and vapid as most literal translations are, had the peculiar disadvantage of having been put into our language by a German--;of course it came to me in broken English. It was no slight misfortune to have an example of bad grammar, false metaphors and similes, with all the usual errors of feminine diction, placed before a female writer. But if, disdaining the construction of sentences,--;the precise decorum of the cold grammarian,--;she has caught the spirit of her author,--;if, in every altered scene,--;still adhering to the nice propriety of his meaning, and still keeping in view his great catastrophe,--;she has agitated her audience with all the various passions he depicted, the rigid criticism of the closet will be but a slender abatement of the pleasure resulting from the sanction of an applauding theatre. It has not been one of the least gratifications I have received from the success of this play, that the original German, from which it is taken, was printed in the year 1791; and yet, that during all the period which has intervened, no person of talents or literary knowledge (though there are in this country many of that description, who profess to search for German dramas) has thought it worth employment to make a translation of the work. I can only account for such an apparent neglect of Kotzebue's "Child of Love," by the consideration of its original unfitness for an English stage, and the difficulty of making it otherwise--;a difficulty which once appeared so formidable, that I seriously thought I must have declined it even after I had proceeded some length in the undertaking. Independently of objections to the character of the Count, the dangerous insignificance of the Butler, in the original, embarrassed me much. I found, if he was retained in the Dramatis Personæ, something more must be supplied than the author had assigned him: I suggested the verses I have introduced; but not being blessed with the Butler's happy art of rhyming, I am indebted for them, except the seventh and eleventh stanzas in the first of his poetic stories, to the author of the prologue. The part of Amelia has been a very particular object of my solicitude and alteration: the same situations which the author gave her remain, but almost all the dialogue of the character I have changed: the forward and unequivocal manner in which she announces her affection to her lover, in the original, would have been revolting to an English audience: the passion of love, represented on the stage, is certain to be insipid or disgusting, unless it creates smiles or tears: Amelia's love, by Kotzebue, is indelicately blunt, and yet void of mirth or sadness: I have endeavoured to attach the attention and sympathy of the audience by whimsical insinuations, rather than coarse abruptness--;the same woman, I conceive, whom the author drew, with the self-same sentiments, but with manners adapted to the English rather than the German taste; and if the favour in which this character is held by the audience, together with every sentence and incident which I have presumed to introduce in the play, may be offered as the criterion of my skill, I am sufficiently rewarded for the task I have performed. In stating the foregoing circumstances relating to this production, I hope not to be suspected of arrogating to my own exertions only, the popularity which has attended "The Child of Love," under the title of "Lovers' Vows,"--;the exertions of every performer engaged in the play deservedly claim a share in its success; and I must sincerely thank them for the high importance of their aid.PROLOGUE.

Agatha. So, you are come for the purpose of fetching your certificate from the church-book. Frederick. Yes, mother. Agatha. Oh! oh! Frederick. What is the matter? [She bursts into tears.] For heaven's sake, mother, tell me what's the matter? Agatha. You have no certificate. Frederick. No! Agatha. No.--;The laws of Germany excluded you from being registered at your birth--;for--;you are a natural son! Frederick [starts--;after a pause]. So!--;And who is my father? Agatha. Oh Frederick, your wild looks are daggers to my heart. Another time. Frederick [endeavouring to conceal his emotion]. No, no--;I am still your son--;and you are still my mother. Only tell me, who is my father? Agatha. When we parted five years ago, you were too young to be intrusted with a secret of so much importance.--;But the time is come when I can, in confidence, open my heart, and unload that burthen with which it has been long oppressed. And yet, to reveal my errors to my child, and sue for his mild judgment on my conduct--;--; Frederick. You have nothing to sue for; only explain this mystery. Agatha. I will, I will. But--;my tongue is locked with remorse and shame. You must not look at me. Frederick. Not look at you! Cursed be that son who could find his mother guilty, although the world should call her so. Agatha. Then listen to me, and take notice of that village, [pointing] of that castle, and of that church. In that village I was born--;in that church I was baptized. My parents were poor, but reputable farmers.--;The lady of that castle and estate requested them to let me live with her, and she would provide for me through life. They resigned me; and at the age of fourteen I went to my patroness. She took pleasure to instruct me in all kinds of female literature and accomplishments, and three happy years had passed under protection, when her only son, who was an officer in the Saxon service, obtained permission to come home. I had never seen him before--;he was a handsome young man--;in my eyes a prodigy; for he talked of love, and promised me marriage. He was the first man who ever spoken to me on such a subject.--;His flattery made me vain, and his repeated vows--;Don't look at me, dear Frederick!--;I can say no more. [Frederick with his eyes cast down, takes her hand, and puts it to his heart.] Oh! oh! my son! I was intoxicated by the fervent caresses of a young, inexperienced, capricious man, and did not recover from the delirium till it was too late. Frederick [after a pause]. Go on.--;Let me know more of my father. Agatha. When the time drew near that I could no longer conceal my guilt and shame, my seducer prevailed upon me not to expose him to the resentment of his mother. He renewed his former promises of marriage at her death;--;on which relying, I gave him my word to be secret--;and I have to this hour buried his name deep in my heart. Frederick. Proceed, proceed! give me full information--;I will have courage to hear it all. [Greatly agitated.] Agatha. His leave of absence expired, he returned to his regiment, depending on my promise, and well assured of my esteem. As soon as my situation became known, I was questioned, and received many severe reproaches: But I refused to confess who was my undoer; and for that obstinacy was turned from the castle.--;I went to my parents; but their door was shut against me. My mother, indeed, wept as she bade me quit her sight for ever; but my father wished increased affliction might befall me. Frederick [weeping]. Be quick with your narrative, or you'll break my heart. Agatha. I now sought protection from the old clergyman of the parish. He received me with compassion. On my knees I begged forgiveness for the scandal I had caused to his parishioners; promised amendment; and he said he did not doubt me. Through his recommendation I went to town; and hid in humble lodgings, procured the means of subsistence by teaching to the neighbouring children what I had learnt under the tuition of my benefactress.--;To instruct you, my Frederick, was my care and delight; and in return for your filial love I would not thwart your wishes when they led to a soldier's life: but my health declined, I was compelled to give up my employment, and, by degrees, became the object you now see me. But, let me add, before I close my calamitous story, that--;when I left the good old clergyman, taking along with me his kind advice and his blessing, I left him with a firm determination to fulfil the vow I had made of repentance and amendment. I have fulfilled it--;and now, Frederick, you may look at me again. [He embraces her.] Frederick. But my father all this time? [mournfully] I apprehend he died. Agatha. No--;he married. Frederick. Married! Agatha. A woman of virtue--;of noble birth and immense fortune. Yet, [weeps] I had written to him many times; had described your infant innocence and wants; had glanced obliquely at former promises--; Frederick [rapidly]. No answer to these letters? Agatha. Not a word.--;But in time of war, you know, letters miscarry. Frederick. Nor did he ever return to this estate? Agatha. No--;since the death of his mother this castle has only been inhabited by servants--;for he settled as far off as Alsace, upon the estate of his wife. Frederick. I will carry you in my arms to Alsace. No--;why should I ever know my father, if he is a villain! My heart is satisfied with a mother.--;No--;I will not go to him. I will not disturb his peace--;I leave that task to his conscience. What say you, mother, can't we do without him? [Struggling between tears and his pride.] We don't want him. I will write directly to my captain. Let the consequence be what it will, leave you again I cannot. Should I be able to get my discharge, I will work all day at the plough, and all the night with my pen. It will do, mother, it will do! Heaven's goodness will assist me--;it will prosper the endeavours of a dutiful son for the sake of a helpless mother. Agatha [presses him to her breast]. Where could be found such another son? Frederick. But tell me my father's name, that I may know how to shun him. Agatha. Baron Wildenhaim. Frederick. Baron Wildenhaim! I shall never forget it.--;Oh! you are near fainting. Your eyes are cast down. What's the matter? Speak, mother! Agatha. Nothing particular.--;Only fatigued with talking. I wish to take a little rest. Frederick. I did not consider that we have been all this time in the open road. [Goes to the Inn, and knocks at the door.] Here, Landlord!LANDLORD re-enters. 041b061a72