Each Must Drain His Share Of Pleasure,

The Way Was Long, The Wind Was Cold, The Minstrel Was Infirm And Old; His Withered Cheek, And Tresses Gray, Seemed To Have Know A Better Day.

The Sickening Pang Of Hope Deferr'd.

Treason Seldom Dwells With Courage.

It Is Wonderful What Strength Of Purpose And Boldness And Energy Of Will Are Roused By The Assurance That We Are Doing Our Duty.

Alas!... What Is It, Valiant Knight, Save An Offering Of Sacrifice To A Demon Of Vain Glory, And A Passing Through The Fire Of Moloch? What Remains To You As A Prize Of All The Blood You Have Spilled, Of All The Travail And Pain You Have Endured, Of All The Tears Which Your Deeds Have Caused, When Death Hath Broken The Strong Man's Spear, And Overtaken The Speed Of His War-horse?