Utwór 12 z 21

Lament XI

«Virtue is but a trifle!» Brutus1 said
In his defeat; nor was he cozenèd.
What man did his own goodness e’er advance
Or piety preserve from evil chance?
Some unknown foe confuses men’s affairs;
For good and bad alike it nothing cares.
Where blows its breath, no man can flee away;
Both false and righteous it hath power to stay.
Yet still we vaunt us of our mighty mind
In idle arrogance among our kind;
And still we gaze on heaven and think we see
The Lord and his all-holy mystery.
Nay, human eyes are all too dull; light dreams
Amuse and cheat us with what only seems.
Ah, dost thou rob me, Grief, my safeguards spurning,
Of both my darling and my trust in learning?

Marcus Junius Brutus (85 BC–42 BC) — Roman polititian, one of the assassinators of Julius Caesar, committed suicide after losing battle of Philippi. [przypis edytorski] ↩