Alas! To Seize The Moment When The

Your Peaks Are Beautiful, Ye Apennines! In The Soft Light Of These Serenest Skies; From The Broad Highland Region, Black With Pines, Fair As The Hills Of Paradise They Rise, Bathed In The Tint Peruvian Slaves Behold In Rosy Flushes On The Virgin Gold.

War, Like All Other Situations Of Danger And Of Change, Calls Forth The Exertion Of Admirable Intellectual Qualities And Great Virtues, And It Is Only By Dwelling On These, And Keeping Out Of Sight The Sufferings And Sorrows, And All The Crimes And Evils That Follow In Its Train, That It Has Its Glory In The Eyes Of Men.

A Melancholy Sound Is In The Air, A Deep Sigh In The Distance, A Shrill Wail Around My Dwelling. 'tis The Wind Of Night.

Much Has Seen Said Of The Wisdom Of Old Age. Old Age Is Wise, I Grant, For Itself, But Not Wise For The Community. It Is Wise In Declining New Enterprises, For It Has Not The Power Nor The Time To Execute Them; Wise In Shrinking From Difficulty, For It Has Not The Strength To Overcome It; Wise In Avoiding Danger, For It Lacks The Faculty Of Ready And Swift Action, By Which Dangers Are Parried And Converted Into Advantages. But This Is Not Wisdom For Mankind At Large, By Whom New Enterprises Must Be Undertaken, Dangers Met, And Difficulties Surmounted.

Truth Crushed To The Earth Will Rise Again!