« ForrigeFortsett »
TABLE TALK. A. You told me, I remember, glory built. On selfish principles is shame and guilt; The deeds, that men admire as half divine, Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. . Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears The laurel, that the very lightning spares; Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
B. I grant that, men continuing what they are, Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war,
And never meant the rule should be applied
Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews,
But let eternal infamy pursue