I cast thee on the waters — go thy ways! And if, as I believe, thy vein be good, The world will find thee after many days. Olho expia A dor com sangue transformado em pranto Que os Ingleses agora vertem tanto. Enquanto isso, sem seguir adiante Com esta anatomia, chego ao fim Destas estrofes. For them and theirs with all who deign to read.
Till our own weakness shows us what we are. Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity. O que querem de mim essas vestais? Newton foi outro grande a perceber: O pregador moderno bem o sabe e os Exemplos sobram para a Cristandade. They accuse me — Me — the present writer of The present poem — of — I know not what — A tendency to under-rate and scoff At human power and virtue, and all that; And this they say in language rather rough.
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I wonder what they would be at! Newton that proverb of the mind , alas! As little as the moon stops for the baying Of wolves, will the bright muse withdraw one ray From out her skies — then howl your idle wrath! E mais sangue e feridas! As honras indevidas Devo expor.
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Mas nada iguala um campo de batalha. Que bom chegar a uma provecta idade Vivendo a expensas de um grato monarca. Eis que a celebridade Coroa, enfim, a guerra. O blood and thunder!
Prosa Temprana y Obras Postumas Publicadas en Vida : Professor Robert Musil :
These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem, Too gentle reader! Call them Mars, Bellona, what you will — they mean but war. Three hundred cannon threw up their emetic, And thirty thousand musket flung their pills Like hail, to make a bloody diuretic. A moderate pension shakes full many a sage, And heroes are but made for bards to sing, Which is still better; thus in verse to wage Your wars eternally, besides enjoying Half-pay for life, make mankind worth destroying. Mesmo a Inglaterra ter devendo tanto E te pagando , a Europa deve mais. Salvaste a legitimidade, e quanto!
Este lutou, mas a fome ainda corta, E fome — dizem — tem a plebe vil. De licantropia, Sim, eu entendo. Though Britain owes and pays you too so much, Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more: The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch, Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore; And Waterloo has made the world your debtor I wish your bards would sing it rather better.
Now go and dine from off the plate Presented by the Prince of the Brazils, And send the sentinel before your gate A slice or two from your luxurious meals: He fought, but has not fed so well of late.
Some hunger, too, they say the people feels: For me, I sometimes think that life is death, Rather than life a mere affair of breath. That all is dubious which man may attain, Was one of their most favourite positions. Oh, ye immortal gods! Oh, thou too, mortal man! Some people have accused me of misanthropy; And yet I know no more than the mahogany That forms this desk, of what they mean; Lykanthropy I comprehend, for without transformation Men become wolves on any slight occasion. And till she doth, I fain must be content To share her beauty and her banishment.
Low were the whispers, manifold the rumours: But here is one prescription out of many: This is the way physicians mend or end us, Secundum artem: Mas carpe diem, Juan, degusta o dia! Be hypocritical, be cautious, be Not what you seem, but always what you see. Leiam sobre as despesas pela imprensa, E digam-me o que pensam de quem pensa. Here the twelfth Canto of our introduction Ends. And if my thunderbolt not always rattles, Remember, reader! That is your present theme for popularity: Now that the public hedge hath scarce a stake, It grows an act of patriotic charity, To show the people the best way to break.
My plan but I, if but for singularity, Reserve it will be very sure to take. Meantime, read all the national debt-sinkers, And tell me what you think of your great thinkers. Quem sabe a Eternidade ainda vem Para tornar o velho e o novo iguais. Mas a argila se move sob a argila! Mas, que tem isso a ver? Jovem, de cuca cheia, eu escrevia, Hoje escrevo com mente mais vazia. Para que ler, beber, jogar os dados? Para esquecer tudo o que se despreza.
A mim me faz lembrar dias passados Que eu vivi na alegria ou na tristeza. Se eu tivesse certeza do sucesso, Nenhuma linha mais escreveria: Muito a excitar, pouco a exaltar; enfim, Nada que eleve os homens e os anime. One system eats another up, and this Much as old Saturn ate his progeny; For when his pious consort gave him stones In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones.
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Pray tell me, can you make fast, After due search, your faith to any question? Nothing more true than not to trust your senses; And yet what are your other evidences? For me, I know nought; nothing I deny, Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you, Except perhaps that you were born to die?
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And both may after all turn out untrue. An age may come, Font of Eternity, When nothing shall be either old or new. A sleep without dreams, after a rough day Of toil, is what we covet most; and yet How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay! The very Suicide that pays his debt At once without instalments an old way Of paying debts, which creditors regret Lets out impatiently his rushing breath, Less from disgust of life than dread of death. And you will find, though shuddering at the mirror Of your own thoughts, in all their self-confession, The lurking bias, be it truth or error, To the unknown; a secret prepossession, To plunge with all your fear — but where?
This narrative is not meant for narration, But a mere airy and fantastic basis, To build up common things with common places. In youth I wrote because my mind was full, And now because I feel it growing dull. I ask in turn — Why do you play at cards? Why read — To make some hour less dreary. I think that were I certain of success, I hardly could compose another line: In play, there are two pleasures for your choosing — The one is winning, and the other losing.
Prosa de la vida
Besides, my Muse by no means deals in fiction: The reason why is easy to determine: Although it seems both prominent and pleasant, There is a sameness in its gems and ermine, A dull and family likeness through all ages, Of no great promise for poetic pages. Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers off parade, They break their ranks and gladly leave the drill; But then the roll-call draws them back afraid, And they must be or seem what they were: How differently the world would men behold!
I don't know if that makes sense. Either its very obscure or very simple and you can leave it out! I think I would say "she could give me credit for elaborating on the topic describing a missionary's life" or "for elaborating on the description of a missionary's life". You could be on to something there, phil! Why does Leonor mention life as a missionary? Is she a missionary? As far as I can see, the reason why the writer is upset is the thought that Leonor has suffered because of her or does "haya sufrido" refer to someone else?
If Leonor is a missionary, she could be saying that her life as a missionary is very dull, and if the nun persuaded her to become a missionary the nun may feel bad about that. I for one would need more background information to work this out. It appears that the nun feels as if Leonor is offering to tell her something about the "prosa" of her life as a missionary because Leonor might think that the nun doesn't care so much about Leonor isn't sure if the nun really wants to "hear" it.
Maybe she feels that the missionary has suffered because of the lack of closeness they used to have, and the nun should have kept closer contact so Leonor wouldn't have to offer to tell her; she could just say it freely. More context would certainly help.
Prosa Temprana y Obras Postumas Publicadas en Vida
I also thought that the prosaic part of life may have spoken of its drudgery, its routine, its becoming less romantic and idealistic with time, its everyday nature in the end. My intuition is that the author is making a distinction between the 'prosaic' as opposed to the 'poetic' or 'romantic' ways of looking at or experiencing the life of the missionary. I would tend towards a translation such as 'the prose of the life of a missionary'.
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Ya le digo que ni siquiera quiero ponerme a pensar que haya sufrido por mi causa.