Amid earth's vagrant noises, he caught the note sublime: To-day around him surges from the silences of Time A flood of nobler music, like a river deep and broad, Fit song for heroes gathered in the banquet-hall of God.
In The French Translation Of Lucan, By Monsieur De Brebeuf Are These Verses
C'est de luy que nous vient cet Art ingenieux De peindre la Parole, et deparler aua Yeux; Et, parles traits divers de figures tracees, Donner de la couleur et du corps aux pensees.
Sir, how unravell'd is the golden fleece: Men, that could only fool at FOX AND GEESE, Are new-made polititians by thy book, And both can judge and conquer with a look. The hidden fate of princes you unfold; Court, clergy, commons, by your law control'd. Strange, serious wantoning all that they Bluster'd and clutter'd for, you PLAY.
So one in heart and thought, I trow, That thou might'st press the strings and I might draw the bow And both would meet in music sweet, Thou and I, I trow.
My soul is like the oar that momently Dies in a desperate stress beneath the wave, Then glitters out again and sweeps the sea: Each second I'm new-born from some new grave.