Given the effects of generous wine; and the warrior, the military genius, the poet-philosopher, the dreamer of dreams, the world conqueror, the fair-haired favorite of Zeus, is, indeed, in that wondrous triumph-hour—a deity. That sycophant court-adulation, that lulling love, that music, that wine might well “raise a mortal to the skies or draw an angel down.” O music, elf of a lost paradise, we remember with you, we lament, we love, we pity, we deplore, we—weep. With young-world Alexander touched to tears by old Timotheus’ lyre, we too lament a bravely fallen foe:
“He sang Darius great and good
By too severe a fate
Fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,
And weltering in his blood.”
We too deplore human ingratitude:
“Deserted in his utmost need
By one his former bounty fed—
On the bare earth exposed he lies