For the living there is hope, for the dead there is none.
Spes fovet, et fore eras semper ait melius.
Hope ever urges on, and tells us to-morrow will be better.
Vestras spes uritis.
You burn your hopes.
Speravimus ista
Dum fortuna fuit.
Such hopes I had while fortune was kind.
Behind the cloud the starlight lurks,
Through showers the sunbeams fall;
For God, who loveth all his works,
Has left his Hope with all.
Hope told a flattering tale
That joy would soon return;
Ah, naught my sighs avail
For love is doomed to mourn.
Is Man
A child of hope? Do generations press
On generations, without progress made?
Halts the individual, ere his hairs be gray,
Perforce?
Hopes, what are they?—Beads of morning
Strung on slender blades of grass;
Or a spider's web adorning
In a straight and treacherous pass.
Hope tells a flattering tale,
Delusive, vain and hollow.
Ah! let not hope prevail,
Lest disappointment follow.
Hope of all passions, most befriends us here.
Hope, like a cordial, innocent, though strong,
Man's heart, at once, inspirits, and serenes;
Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys.
Confiding, though confounded; hoping on,
Untaught by trial, unconvinced by proof,
And ever looking for the never-seen.
Prisoners of hope.
HORSE
Then I cast loose my buff coat, each halter let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,
Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer;
Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise bad or good,
'Til at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.
Gamaun is a dainty steed,
Strong, black, and of a noble breed, Full of fire, and full of bone, With all his line of fathers known; Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, But blown abroad by the pride within; His mane is like a river flowing, And his eyes like embers glowing In the darkness of the night, And his pace as swift as light.</poem>
Morgan!—She ain't nothing else, and I've got the papers to prove it.
Sired by Chippewa Chief, and twelve hundred dollars won't buy her.
Briggs of Turlumne owned her. Did you know Briggs of Turlumne?—
Busted hisself in White Pine and blew out his brains down in Frisco?
Like the driving of Jehu, the son of Nimshi: for he driveth furiously.
Villain, a horse—Villain, I say, give me a horse to fly,
To swim the river, villain, and to fly.
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs,
Piercing the night's dull ear.
An two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind.
For young hot colts being rag'd, do rage the more.
Give me another horse: bind up my wounds.
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
Round-hoof 'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long.
Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick jail, broad buttock, tender hide :
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.
