Homer ("Smyrns of Chios") ( 10 of 101 )
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.
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.
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
His native home deep imag'd in his soul.
Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave.
Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave.
Who hearkens to the gods, the gods give ear.
Who hearkens to the gods, the gods give ear.
And for our country 'tis a bliss to die.
And for our country 'tis a bliss to die.
Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair.
Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair.
A generous heart repairs a slanderous tongue.
A generous heart repairs a slanderous tongue.
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.
