( 231 )
his flowing locks[1], he who spent his mornings among the young maidens; he who loved to converse with the handsome widows. * * * * * * What is the happy portion of the brave, but to fall in the midst of a storm of arrows[2]? He who flies from wounds, drags a tedious miserable life: the dastard feels no heart in his bosom.
“We fought with swords: a young man
should march early to the conflict of
arms: man should attack man or bravely
resist him. In this hath always consisted
the nobility of the warrior. He who
aspires to the love of his mistress ought
to be dauntless in the clash of swords.
“We fought with swords: but now I
find for certain that men are drawn
along by fate: there are few can evade
the decrees of the Destinies. Could I
have thought the conclusion of my life
reserved for Ella, when almost expiring,
I shed torrents of blood? When I thrust
