The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!.Gone - glimmering through the dream of things that were."War even to the knife" was the reply of Palafox, the governor of Saragossa, when summoned to surrender by the French, who besieged that city in 1808. War, war is still the cry, "War even to the knife!".Compare: "Medio de fonte leporum / Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat" (translated: "In the midst of the fountain of wit there arises something bitter, which stings in the very flowers", Lucretius, iv.
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
#Theres a pleasure in the pathless woods full#
Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs.By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to seeįor one who hath no friend, no brother there.In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell. Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell,.What Heaven hath done for this delicious land. Might shake the saintship of an anchorite.Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,Īnd Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.Had sighed to many, though he loved but one.Vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of night.Canto I (1812) War, war is still the cry, "War even to the knife!"
0 kommentar(er)
