Whom The Gods Destroy, They

Events Will Take Their Course, It Is No Good Of Being Angry At Them; He Is Happiest Who Wisely Turns Them To The Best Account.

For The Good, When Praised, Feel Something Of Disgust, If To Excess Commended.

Alas, How Right The Ancient Saying Is: We, Who Are Old, Are Nothing Else But Noise And Shape. Like Mimicries Of Dreams We Go, And Have No Wits, Although We Think Us Wise.

This Is Courage In A Man: To Bear Unflinchingly What Heaven Sends.

Oh, Trebly Blest The Placid Lot Of Those Whose Hearth Foundations Are In Pure Love Laid, Where Husband's Breast With Tempered Ardor Glows, And Wife, Oft Mother, Is In Heart A Maid!