She swept out from between the rainbow-curtains of the cloud-trees into the broad sea of light that lay beyond. Her motions were those of some graceful naiad, cleaving, by a mere effort of her will, the clear, unruffled waters that fill the chambers of the sea. She floated forth with the serene grace of a frail bubble ascending through the still atmosphere of a June day. The perfect roundness of her limbs formed suave and enchanting curves. It was like listening to the most spiritual symphony of Beethoven the divine, to watch the harmonious flow of lines. This, indeed, was a pleasure cheaply purchased at any price. What cared I if I had waded to the portal of this wonder through another's blood I would have given my own to enjoy one such moment of intoxication and delight.
But it could not be. No invention of which human intellect was capable could break down the barriers that nature had erected. I might feast my soul upon the wondrous beauty, yet she must always remain ignorant of the adoring eyes that day and night gazed upon her, and, even when closed, beheld her in dreams. With a bitter cry of anguish I fled from the room, and, flinging myself on my bed, sobbed myself to sleep like a child.
Ha! I've been ignoring my little Dante project so long that I didn't even recognize that address at first. Now that I know you're reading, I'll have to get back to that.From the dept. of coincidences: I just started reading \"Dear Departed\" (I found it hidden away on top of a dusty bookcase in my favorite store, and nearly pulled the shelf down on myself clambering after it). And speaking of Yourcenar, I love the image of her, alone with Hadrian, writing through the night in the rattling observation car. It's amazing how these little candles, lit on night trains passing through dark mountain ranges, manage to illuminate so much.
I picked out a book from the shelf, IN DREAMS BEGIN RESPONSIBILITIES. The dedication included the phrase. My Latin is only a memory. Entering the net led me to this place. A very interesting history. I wonder it could be Hadrian was also being objective in his poem. Thinking here also how our 20th C educated mind pictures and contemplates ther soul.
Like many others I too fell in love with Yourcenar's portrait of Hadrian, and consequently with her version of ANIMULA, VAGULA, BLANDULA, but, upon reflection, it strikes me odd that he would compose his \"dying poem\" in Latin rather than in the Greek he was so enamored of. Which makes me wonder if the poem might be an invention of one of his biographers or a translation by, say, Phlegon.
This Sunday, I\\u2019m in Birmingham, Alabama, speaking at Highlands UMC. I\\u2019ve turned Sunday Musings over to my friend, Cathleen Falsani. The text for the day includes Jesus\\u2019 words, \\u201CYou are the light of the world.\\u201D Cathleen writes This Numinous World, a newsletter that is all about light, wonder, and awe. I admire her gift with words \\u2014 and her love of poetry. The verse and Cathleen\\u2019s persistent search for the luminous make a perfect pair.
So dear Reader, to whom I writeKnow who rules Hallow nightAnd know what I write this for.Irusan shall rule the timeWhen the dead can cross the line.Know this and fear nothing more.
Since I am unlikely to resolve the dispute in these notes, I willsay no more about it. Goethe was born in the eighteenth century and died inthe nineteenth, becoming the progenitor of the romantic movement known asSturm und Drang by publishing a novel in 1774, The Sorrows of Young Werther,that may be described as the first runaway bestseller in Western literature,or perhaps the second, after Cervantes' Don Quixote. This could open afascinating discussion about popular literary characters of past ages thatsurvive, like Don Quixote, the knight of the mournful countenance, and onesthat do not, like young Werther and his bloody sorrows. But such a discussionmight take us too far afield. In any event, the protagonist of Goethe'smagnum opus, Faust, did survive as well as any character in history.
HADRIAN (as Publius Aelius Traianus Hadrianus, b. 76, d. 138, isknown in English) has gone down in history as one of the five \"goodemperors\" of Rome. This makes one seriously wonder what the bad emperorsmust have been like. Whenever not preoccupied with rebellious Jews, attemptedcoups d'etat by his own brothers-in-law, or other affairs of state, thestoic-epicurean-Hellenophilic-anti-Semite liked waxing lyrical. The emperorwrote poetry, including the magnificent Animula vagula blandula, a tiny gemthat has survived not only time but many uninspired translations. Writtenshortly before Hadrian's death at age 62, the evocative lines fairlydemand transliteration--that is, being given a value for sound rather thansense (as, for example, the soft Russian ya lyubyu tibya for \"I loveyou\" becomes \"yellow-blue tibia\" in Vladimir Nabokov'splayful English version).
President Trump's pardon of corrupt political cronies and another group of war criminals who murdered children and other innocents was indeed \"nauseating.\" Not only are they grotesquely unjustified, but they leave a negative impression about the positive good of clemency. For a most important discussion of these issues, including a wonderful colloquy with my University of St. Thomas colleague, Mark Osler, I encourage everyone to watch this program.
First, you may see this asserted even by the experience of him in his owne particular that gives this lesson here to all in generall, in Psal. 77. verse 6. I commune with my owne heart, and my spirit maketh diligent search. Here David and his heart are talking together; and see what his heart saith unto him in Psal. 16. 7. My reines instruct me in the night season. For that the heart and reines doe signifie the same thing, when they are taken in a spirituall sense, and that they so taken, doe signifie the Conscience, is a matter so copiously evident in Scripture that I need not to use any instances to prove it.
Behold beloved among your selves, and regard, and wonder marvellously; for I can tell you a sad story in your eares, which ye will not beleeve though it be told you. I have lived these forty yeares, and somewhat more, and carried my heart in my bosome all this while, and yet my heart and I are as great strangers and as utterly unacquainted, as if we had never come [Page 18] neare one another: And is there none in this Congregation that can say the like
As it is somtimes used in your House Honourable and Honored, to put a question whether a question shall be put, so I beseech you apply the Text, Commune with your owne hearts, whether you have communed with your own hearts: you spend much time day after day worthily and piously in conferring and communing among your selves about the things of Church and State; but wh [...] time doe you spend either day or night in conferring or communing with your Consciences about the affaires of your soules You Ladies and Gentlewomen, that bestow so much time in visiting and conferring with your glasses and your friends, what time doe you bestow in visiting and conferring with your owne hearts and soules
But secondly, I shall desire you seriously to commune with your owne hearts, of What London hath done for you. London the mirrour and wonder of Love, Zeale, Constancy, and Bounty to you and your cause: London, the Arke that hath kept you safe, in this deluge of bloud that hath over-flowed the Nation: London, your Ophir and Indies that hath supplyed you with masses of Money and Plate in all your wants: London, your banke and stock of men and hearts: London, your so much, that you had not been what you are, if it had not been for London: London, that under a Parliament hath preserved a Nation: and London, that under God hath preserved a Parliament. Was it ever seen, or could it ever be related, that any City under heaven ever did, as London hath done in love and kindnesse to your Cause and you What one among you can looke into his owne heart, but he must needs find London written there
First, Prov. 10. [...] Psalm. 60.9. tis an emblem of strength, Prov. 10. The Rich mans wealth is his strong City: and Psal. 60. Who will lead me into the strong City This is the frequent Epithite, through the holy booke, strong and well fenced Cities: indeed theres the Vis Ʋ nita, the combination of most Men and Armes, the Store-house of Munition, Civitas cor reipub: [Page 11]Tis the heart of the body-publick, A City an embleme of strength. Man no continuing City. the seat of most spirit and vigour, deservedly may these be called strong houlds: Now what a City man hath in this sense, soone bee your owne Iudges: walke but about it, view well the Towers thereof (if you can finde any) how weakely is hee fenc'd about with these thinne walls of clay! walls, that every Ague shakes, every Dropsie drownes, every Feaver fires, every Danger batters; one Fort indeed theres in it, the heart, but that so feeble, as tis in a continuall trembling, a palpitation not more for breath than trouble, Psal. 38. Psalm 38.10. watchmen too it hath, eyes placed in a Tower, the Head, but neither foreseeing or preventing mischiefe; at best exercises, either dimme or drowsie. The Souldiers of it, the Hands, oft treacherous, advantaging the Enemy, and by sinnes wounding his owne Bosome, while in all this extremity his Carriages the Feet are unable to convey him from surprisall, or keepe him from being captive to the grave: so weake a City man is, that even wormes doe conquer it Plinius Nat. Hist. Pliny tells us, for a wonder, of a City undermined by Conies; but wormes triumph ore this, and scarce ere glory of the victory. What is it trow, Philosophers call Man a little world for is it because hee hath such Earthquakes in him, so many Cholicks and Palsies is it because he hath such Thundrings, suddaine Noyses in his Head because such Lightnings, Inflammations in his veines Hee is a little world indeed, himselfe the earth, and his misery the sea: nay, [...]. a great world of weaknesses (God knowes) borne the most helpelesse of all creatures, and lives the sport of every least distemper: how seasonable [Page 12]here for man is Saint Pauls [...] 2 Cor. 2 Cor. 11.29. 11. [...]; who is weak, and I am not weake: yet put the case (with David) hee bee so strong, hee come to eighty yeares, yet is it no continuing City, but a doubled misery, labour and sorrow: Psal 90.10.Psal. 90. non habemus, we have heer no continuing City, no City of strength. 59ce067264