DIOG. Because it was as far from my tub to your palace as from your palace to my tub. ALEX. Why, then? Dost thou owe no reverence to kings? DIOG. NO. ALEX. Why so? DIOG. Because they be no gods. ALEX. They be gods of the earth. DIOG. Yea, gods of earth. ALEX. Plato is not of thy mind. DIOG. I am glad of it. ALEX. Why? DIOG. Because I would have none of Diogenes' mind, but Diogenes. ALEX. If Alexander have anything that may pleasure Diogenes, let me know, and take it. DIOG. Then take not from me that you cannot give me the light of the world. ALEX. What dost thou want? DIOG. Nothing that you have. ALEX. I have the world at command. ALEX. Thou shalt live no longer than I will. DIOG. But I shall die whether you will NOTHING ON EARTH PERMANENT. HEN Wisdom again THEN His treasury of words unlocked, Sung various maxims, And thus expressed himself: When the sun Clearest shines, Serenest in the heaven, Quickly are obscured Because their brightness is not When mild blows The south and western wind Then quickly grow It quickly takes away From METRES OF BOETHIUS. DELIGHTFUL task to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot! THE LOST LEADER. UST for a handful of silver | Blot out his name, then; record one lost soul he left us, Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat Found the one gift of which Fortune bereft us, Lost all the others she lets us devote. They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed. How all our copper had gone for his service! Rags were they purple, his heart had been proud. We that had loved him so, followed him, Best fight on well, for we taught him; strike My loves were Glory and Pride and Art: Ah! dangerous rivals three! Sweet lips might quiver and warm tears start: Should an artist pause for a woman's heart, Too rare to be broken for me! And the heart that was breaking for me Poor heart! Silently breaking for me! My days were a dream of summer-time, Fame wove bright garlands to crown my Oh, she was more mild than the summer And I half forgot in that radiant clime Was the spirit against whose love I sinned- But my whole life seemed, as the swift years The heart that was broken for me Poor heart! Cruelly broken for me! I told her an artist should wed his art- No other should lure me from mine apart, The heart that was breaking for me— Hopelessly breaking for me! I spoke of the beautiful years to come Poor heart! Broke, yet complained not, for me! í pressed her hand and rebuked her tears I said my triumphs should reach her ears, rolled, More hollow and vain to be: Thanklessly broken for me! Sick with longing and hope and dread, She had wasted as though with grief, they Poor child, poor child!—and was long since dead Ah! dead for the love of me. Poor heart! Broken, and vainly, for me! Weighed down by a woe too heavy to hold, And I, remorseful and unconsoled, I dream of the wasted days of old Poor heart! Broken so vainly for me! And my soul cries out in its bitter pain For the bliss that cannot be For the love that never can come again, Right merry was I every day, With sisters, brother, friends and ali For the sweet young life that was lived in To answer to their sudden call, vain, To join the ring, to speed the chase, And the heart that was broken for To find each playmate's hiding-place My thoughts, like yours, are often glad; I never saw my father's face, I sit upon my father's knee: I never saw my mother smile: Beneath the blast the forests bend, The sight sublime enrapts my thought, But can my soul the scene enjoy JOHN SCOTT. While rock and glen and cave and coast The thunder of their feet; I saw him next alone, nor camp Nor chief his steps attended; Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp With war-cries proudly blended. He stood alone whom fortune high So lately seemed to deify; He who with Heaven contended. Fled like a fugitive and slaveBehind, the foe; before, the wave. He stood-fleet, army, treasure, gone― Alone, and in despair, While wave and wind swept ruthless on For they were monarchs there, And Xerxes in a single bark, 'Where late his thousand ships were dark, Must all their fury dare. What a revenge, a trophy, this, For thee, immortal Salamis ! |