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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=393391" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Fortune-Favored</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! happy he, upon whose birth each god<br> Looks down in love, whose earliest sleep the bright<br>Idalia cradles, whose young lips the rod<br>Of eloquent Hermes kindles--to whose eyes,<br>Scarce wakened yet, Apollo steals in light,<br> While on imperial brows Jove sets the seal of might!<br>Godlike the lot ordained for him to share,<br> He wins the garland ere he runs the race;<br>He learns life's wisdom ere he knows life's care,<br> And, without labor vanquished, smiles the grace.<br>Great is the man, I grant, whose strength of mind,<br> Self-shapes its objects and subdues the fates--<br>Virtue subdues the fates, but cannot blind<br> The fickle happiness, whose smile awaits<br>Those who scarce seek it; nor can courage earn<br>What the grace showers not from her own free urn!<br>From aught unworthy, the determined will<br> Can guard the watchful spirit--there it ends<br> The all that's glorious from the heaven descends;<br>As some sweet mistress loves us, freely still<br>Come the spontaneous gifts of heaven!--Above<br>Favor rules Jove, as it below rules love!<br>The immortals have their bias!--Kindly they<br>See the bright locks of youth enamored play,<br>And where the glad one goes, shed gladness round the way.<br>It is not they who boast the best to see,<br> Whose eyes the holy apparitions bless;<br>The stately light of their divinity<br> Hath oft but shone the brightest on the blind;--<br> And their choice spirit found its calm recess<br> In the pure childhood of a simple mind.<br>Unasked they come delighted to delude<br> The expectation of our baffled pride;<br> No law can call their free steps to our side.<br> Him whom he loves, the sire of men and gods<br>(Selected from the marvelling multitude)<br> Bears on his eagle to his bright abodes;<br>And showers, with partial hand and lavish, down,<br>The minstrel's laurel or the monarch's crown!<br>Before the fortune-favored son of earth,<br>Apollo walks--and, with his jocund mirth,<br>The heart-enthralling smiler of the skies<br> For him gray Neptune smooths the pliant wave--<br> Harmless the waters for the ship that bore<br> The Caesar and his fortunes to the shore!<br>Charmed at his feet the crouching lion lies,<br> To him his back the murmuring dolphin gave;<br>His soul is born a sovereign o'er the strife--<br>The lord of all the beautiful of life;<br>Where'er his presence in its calm has trod,<br>It charms--it sways as solve diviner God.<br>Scorn not the fortune-favored, that to him<br> The light-won victory by the gods is given,<br> Or that, as Paris, from the strife severe,<br> The Venus draws her darling--Whom the heaven<br> So prospers, love so watches, I revere!<br>And not the man upon whose eyes, with dim<br>And baleful night, sits fate. Achaia boasts,<br> No less the glory of the Dorian lord <br> That Vulcan wrought for him the shield and sword--<br>That round the mortal hovered all the hosts<br>Of all Olympus--that his wrath to grace,<br>The best and bravest of the Grecian race<br>Untimely slaughtered, with resentful ghosts<br>Awed the pale people of the Stygian coasts!<br>Scorn not the darlings of the beautiful,<br>If without labor they life's blossoms cull;<br>If, like the stately lilies, they have won<br>A crown for which they neither toiled nor spun;--<br>If without merit, theirs be beauty, still<br>Thy sense, unenvying, with the beauty fill.<br>Alike for thee no merit wins the right,<br>To share, by simply seeing, their delight.<br>Heaven breathes the soul into the minstrel's breast,<br>But with that soul he animates the rest;<br>The god inspires the mortal--but to God,<br>In turn, the mortal lifts thee from the sod.<br>Oh, not in vain to heaven the bard is dear;<br>Holy himself--he hallows those who hear!<br>The busy mart let justice still control,<br> Weighing the guerdon to the toil!--What then?<br> A God alone claims joy--all joy is his,<br> Flushing with unsought light the cheeks of men.<br> Where is no miracle, why there no bliss!<br>Grow, change, and ripen all that mortal be,<br> Shapened from form to form, by toiling time;<br> The blissful and the beautiful are born<br>Full grown, and ripened from eternity--<br> No gradual changes to their glorious prime,<br> No childhood dwarfs them, and no age has worn.--<br> Like heaven's, each earthly Venus on the sight<br>Comes, a dark birth, from out an endless sea;<br> Like the first Pallas, in maturest might,<br> Armed, from the thunderer's--brow, leaps forth each thought of light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Friedrich+Schiller">Friedrich Schiller</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=393391" data-title="The Fortune-Favored de Friedrich Schiller" data-description="Ah! happy he, upon whose birth each god
 Looks down in love, whose earliest sleep the bright
Idalia cradles, whose young lips the rod
Of eloquent Hermes kindles--to whose eyes,
Scarce wakened yet, Apollo steals in light,
 While on imperial brows J..."></div>
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