Toil Of Science Swells The Wealth Of

Art Is The Right Hand Of Nature.

Against Stupidity The Very Gods Themselves Contend In Vain.

Weep, For The Light Is Dead.

Ah, To That Far Distant Strand Bridge There Was Not To Convey, Not A Bark Was Near At Hand, Yet True Love Soon Found The Way.

It Is At The Approach Of Extreme Danger When A Hollow Puppet Can Accomplish Nothing, That Power Falls Into The Mighty Hands Of Nature, Of The Spirit Giant-born, Who Listens Only To Himself, And Knows Nothing Of Compacts.