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Better times perhaps await us who are now wretched.
Better times perhaps await us who are now wretched.
Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my read more
Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
He that is warme, thinkes all so.
He that is warme, thinkes all so.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
This is my wish, this is my command, my pleasure is my reason.
This is my wish, this is my command, my pleasure is my reason.
A sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.
A sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.
The secret wound still lives within the breast.
[Lat., Tacitum vivit sub pectore vulnus.]
The secret wound still lives within the breast.
[Lat., Tacitum vivit sub pectore vulnus.]
He who quarrels with a drunken man injures one who is absent.
He who quarrels with a drunken man injures one who is absent.
