AMOURS DE VOYAGE.
Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio,
And taste with a distempered appetite! Shakspeare.
Il doutait de tout, même de l'amour.—French Novel.
Solvitur ambulando. Solutio Sophismatum.
Flevit amores
Non elaboratum ad pedem.—Horace.
Over the great windy waters, and over the clear crested summits,
Unto the sun and the sky, and unto the perfecter earth,
Come, let us go,—to a land wherein gods of the old time wandered,
Where every breath even now changes to ether divine.
Come, let us go; though withal a voice whisper, "The world that we
live in,
Whithersoever we turn, still is the same narrow crib;
'Tis but to prove limitation, and measure a cord, that we travel;
Let who would 'scape and be free go to his chamber and think;
'Tis but to change idle fancies for memories wilfully falser;
'Tis but to go and have been."—Come, little bark, let us go!