Men who are sour at missing larger game There's more of odd than even in this world. Are to be got by stealing, they should go -0 'Tis but a toilsome game To bet upon that feather Policy, And guess where after twice a hundred puffs Guess how the Pope will blow and how the king ; Such spinning twisted air, is not for me. If I should want a game, I'll rather bet On racing snails, two large, slow, lingering snailsNo spurring, equal weights-a chance sublime, Nothing to guess at, pure uncertainty. Your teaching orthodoxy with faggots may only bring up a fashion of roasting. Knightly love is blent with reverence As heavenly air is blent with heavenly blue. -0 Fedalma.-Good Juan, I could have no nobler friend. You'd ope your veins and let your life-blood out With jesting-say, 'twas merest accident, A sportive scratch that went by chance too deepAnd die content with men's slight thoughts of you, Finding your glory in another's joy, Juan.-Dub not my likings virtues, lest they get Such bulk, so many drachmas : amethysts Fedalma. Men say they have none. Zincali's faith? Zarca. Oh, it is a faith Taught by no priest, but by their beating hearts : Faith to each other: the fidelity Of fellow-wanderers in a desert place Who share the same dire thirst, and therefore share The scanty water: the fidelity Of men whose pulses leap with kindred fire, To the deep consecrating oath our sponsor Fate Where we must dig and sow and reap with brothers. Lies not in lightning that avenges them, Let men contemn us : 'tis such blind contempt That leaves the wingèd broods to thrive in warmth Unheeded, till they fill the air like storms. So we shall thrive-still darkly shall draw force Into a new and multitudinous life That likeness fashions to community, Mother divine of customs, faith and laws. Because our race has no great memories, I will so live, it shall remember me As rivers have, that teach men what is good The rich heritage, the milder life, Of nations fathered by a mighty Past. 'Life and more life unto the chosen, death To all things living that would stifle them!' So speaks each god that makes a nation strong. —0— Royal deeds May make long destinies for multitudes. 0 Strong souls Live like fire-hearted suns to spend their strength In farthest striving action; breathe more free In mighty anguish than in trivial ease. 'Tis a vile life that like a garden pool That knows the mighty orbits of the skies Through nought save light or dark in its own cabin. And move together, gathering a new soul— In vain, my daughter! Lay the young eagle in what nest you will, Vibrate prophetic in its kindred frame, And make it spread its wings and poise itself (To Fedalma.)-Nay, never falter: no great deed is done By falterers who ask for certainty. No good is certain, but the steadfast mind, |