by Thomas B. Macaulay
XIII
"For thee no treasure ripens
In the Tartessian mine;
For thee no ship brings precious bales
Across the Libyan brine;
Thou shalt not drink from amber;
Thou shalt not rest on down;
Arabia shall not steep thy locks,
Nor Sidon tinge thy gown.
XIV
"Leave gold and myrrh and jewels,
Rich table and soft bed,
To them who of man's seed are born,
Whom woman's milk have fed.
Thou wast not made for lucre,
For pleasure, nor for rest;
Thou, that art sprung from the War-god's loins,
And hast tugged at the she-wolf's breast.
Continued next week. Tomorrow's installment from the great Arab book Thousand and One Nights.
A collection consisting exclusively of war-songs would give anScottish poet Macaulay published this in 1842.
imperfect, or rather an erroneous, notion of the spirit of the
old Latin ballads.
Photo, CC-BY-SA-3.0.
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