In The Hands Of Vicious Men, A

Our Lives ... Are But A Little While, So Let Them Run As Sweetly As You Can, And Give No Thought To Grief From Day To Day. For Time Is Not Concerned To Keep Our Hopes, But Hurries On Its Business, And Is Gone.

Toil, Says The Proverb, Is The Sire Of Fame.

My Tongue Swore, But My Mind Was Still Unpledged.

Mankind . . . Possesses Two Supreme Blessings. First Of These Is The Goddess Demeter, Or Earth Whichever Name You Choose To Call Her By. It Was She Who Gave To Man His Nourishment Of Grain. But After Her There Came The Son Of Semele, Who Matched Her Present By Inventing Liquid Wine As His Gift To Man. For Filled With That Good Gift, Suffering Mankind Forgets Its Grief; From It Comes Sleep; With It Oblivion Of The Troubles Of The Day. There Is No Other Medicine For Misery.

Delusive Hope Still Points To Distant Good.