I Only Hope Those Rumors I Hear

The Wine Urges Me On, The Bewitching Wine, Which Sets Even A Wise Man To Singing And To Laughing Gently And Rouses Him Up To Dance And Brings Forth Words Which Were Better Unspoken.

Is He Not Sacred, Even To The Gods, The Wandering Man Who Comes In Weariness?

In Every Sorrowing Soul I Pour'd Delight, And Poverty Stood Smiling In My Sight.

O Friends, Be Men, And Let Your Hearts Be Strong And Let No Warrior In The Heat Of Fight, Do What May Bring Him Shame In Others' Eyes

For They Imagined As They Wished--that It Was A Wild Shot,/ An Unintended Killing--fools, Not To Comprehend/ They Were Already In The Grip Of Death./ But Glaring Under His Brows Odysseus Answered: 'you Yellow Dogs, You Thought I'd Never Make It/ Home From The Land Of Troy. You Took My House To Plunder,/ Twisted My Maids To Serve Your Beds. You Dared/ Bid For My Wife While I Was Still Alive./ Contempt Was All You Had For The Gods Who Rule Wide Heaven,/ Contempt For What Men Say Of You Hereafter./ Your Last Hour Has Come. You Die In Blood.