Homer ("Smyrns of Chios") ( 10 of 101 )
Rare gift! but oh, what gift to fools avails!
Rare gift! but oh, what gift to fools avails!
Without a sign his sword the brave man draws,
And asks no omen but his country's cause.
Without a sign his sword the brave man draws,
And asks no omen but his country's cause.
To labour is the lot of man below;
And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe.
To labour is the lot of man below;
And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe.
Who hearkens to the gods, the gods give ear.
Who hearkens to the gods, the gods give ear.
Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave.
Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave.
Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair.
Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair.
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
Behold, on wrong
Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong.
Behold, on wrong
Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong.
No living man can send me to the shades
Before my time; no man of woman born,
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No living man can send me to the shades
Before my time; no man of woman born,
Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.
And for our country 'tis a bliss to die.
And for our country 'tis a bliss to die.
