The drying up a single tear has more, of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
I see before me the gladiator lie.
Time strips our illusions of their hue, And one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
Go let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff not the brand.
It is when we think we lead that we are most led.