O Friends, be men, and let your hearts be strong And let no warrior in the heat of fight, Do what may bring him shame in others' eyes

She spoke and loosened from her bosom the embroidered girdle of many colors into which all her allurements were fashioned. In it was love and int desire which steals the mind even of the wise.

Hateful to me as are the gates of hell, Is he who, hiding one thing in his heart, Utters another.

Is he not sacred, even to the gods, the wandering man who comes in weariness?

For I am yearning to visit the limits of the all-nurturing Earth, and Oceans, from whom the gods are sprung.

Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,- Now green in youth, now withering on the ground; Another race the following spring supplies: They fall successive, and successive rise.

For too much rest becomes a pain.