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That night Amor lay under the sky looking at his myriad brothers, the stars, and drawing calm from them. "If you lie through the night upon the battlements and think only of the stillness and the stars you will forget your anger and its poison will die away. If you put into your mind a beautiful thought it will take the place of the evil one.
But to me it appears far otherwise; for since "Luxuriant animi rebus plerumque secundis, Nec facile est aequa commoda mente pati;" And because "Non habet unde suum paupertas pascat amorem, . . . Divitiis alitur luxuriosus amor."
Another thin cry from the flute upon some unknown height, and there was silence, while Claude wrote furiously, and the musicians began to smoke. "Now I'll go in!" said Mrs. Shiffney to Amor. He led the way and she followed. Claude glanced up, stared for a moment, then sprang up. "Mrs. Shiffney!" His voice was almost stern. "Mrs. Shiffney!" he repeated.
"'Sunt qui non habeant; est qui non curat habere. I suppose he did care for jewels, marble, and ivory, as much as any one. 'Me lentus Glyceræ torret amor meæ. I don't suppose he ever loved her really, or any other girl." Thus he would think over his Horace, always having the volume in his pocket. Now he went there.
'That is the sound grief, with hope at the core not in love with itself and wretchedly mortal, as we find self is under every shape it takes; especially the chief one. 'Name it. 'It is best named Amor. There was a writhing in the frame of the hearer, for she did want Love to be respected; not shadowed by her misfortune.
The Land of the Blue Flower was not called by that name until the tall, strong, beautiful King Amor came down from his castle on the mountain crag and began to reign. Before that time it was called King Mordreth's Land, and as the first King Mordreth had been a fierce and cruel king this seemed a gloomy name.
Sed cum successu ipso truculentior, alacritate nimia procurreret, ensis manu excidit. Ad quem recolligendum cum se inclinasset, omnium incursu oppressus, vinculis palmas dedit. Quosdam enim profecto fallit amor patriae vt nihil eis videatur iucundum, nisi consuetum hauserint coelum. The same in English.
After this came a climax of devout triumph passing from the subdued adoration of a happy Andante in the words "Beatissimi voi. Che offriste il petto alle nemiche lance Per amor di costei che al sol vi diede" to the joyous outburst of an exultant Allegro in "Oh viva, oh viva: Beatissimi voi Mentre nel monde si favelli o scriva." When she had ended, Klesmer said after a moment
And then, later, come those beautiful crystal days of autumn days that are neither warm, nor yet are they really cold! And then the trees how eloquent they can be made; with a little teaching they may be made to converse so charmingly. Bella cosa far aniente, says one of my trees; and another answers, Amor odit inertes.
Will he not see reborn in her, with the memory of his own youth added, another image? Do you know what you are talking about? Love, yes. Word known to all men. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus ... His own image to a man with that queer thing genius is the standard of all experience, material and moral. Such an appeal will touch him.
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