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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359088" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To A Victor In A Game Of Pallone</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The face of glory and her pleasant voice,<br>O fortunate youth, now recognize,<br>And how much nobler than effeminate sloth<br>Are manhood's tested energies.<br>Take heed, O generous champion, take heed,<br>If thou thy name by worthy thought or deed,<br>From Time's all-sweeping current couldst redeem;<br>Take heed, and lift thy heart to high desires!<br>The amphitheatre's applause, the public voice,<br>Now summon thee to deeds illustrious;<br>Exulting in thy lusty youth.<br>In thee, to-day, thy country dear<br>Beholds her heroes old again appear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">_His_ hand was ne'er with blood barbaric stained,<br>At Marathon,<br>Who on the plain of Elis could behold<br>The naked athletes, and the wrestlers bold,<br>And feel no glow of emulous zeal within,<br>The laurel wreath of victory to win.<br>And he, who in Alphëus stream did wash<br>The dusty manes and foaming flanks<br>Of his victorious mares, _he_ best could lead<br>The Grecian banners and the Grecian swords<br>Against the flying, panic-stricken ranks<br>Of Medes, who, dying, Asia's shore<br>And great Euphrates will behold no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And will you call that vain, which seeks<br>The latent sparks of virtue to evolve,<br>Or animate anew to high resolve,<br>The drooping fervor of our weary souls?<br>What but a game have mortal works e'er been,<br>Since Phoebus first his weary wheels did urge?<br>And is not truth, no less than falsehood, vain?<br>And yet, with pleasing phantoms, fleeting shows,<br>Nature herself to our relief has come;<br>And custom, aiding nature, still must strive<br>These strong illusions to revive;<br>Or else all thirst for noble deeds is gone,<br>Is lost in sloth, and blind oblivion.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The time may come, perchance, when midst<br>The ruins of Italian palaces,<br>Will herds of cattle graze,<br>And all the seven hills the plough will feel;<br>Not many years will have elapsed, perchance,<br>E'er all the towns of Italy<br>Will the abode of foxes be,<br>And dark groves murmur 'mid the lofty walls;<br>Unless the Fates from our perverted minds<br>Remove this sad oblivion of the Past;<br>And heaven by grateful memories appeased,<br>Relenting, in the hour of our despair,<br>The abject nations, ripe for slaughter, spare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But thou, O worthy youth, wouldst grieve,<br>Thy wretched country to survive.<br>Thou once through her mightst have acquired renown,<br>When on her brow she wore the glittering crown,<br>Now lost! Our fault, and Fate's! That time is o'er;<br>Ah, such a mother who could honor, more?<br>But for thyself, O lift thy thoughts on high!<br>What is our life? A thing to be despised:<br>Least wretched, when with perils so beset,<br>It must, perforce, its wretched self forget,<br>Nor heed the flight of slow-paced, worthless hours;<br>Or, when, to Lethe's dismal shore impelled,<br>It hath once more the light of day beheld.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Count+Giacomo+Leopardi">Count Giacomo Leopardi</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=359088" data-title="To A Victor In A Game Of Pallone de Count Giacomo Leopardi" data-description="The face of glory and her pleasant voice,
O fortunate youth, now recognize,
And how much nobler than effeminate sloth
Are manhood's tested energies.
Take heed, O generous champion, take heed,
If thou thy name by worthy thought or deed,
From Time's..."></div>
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