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I found, the other day, that some of my literary friends had never heard of him, though I suppose few educated Frenchmen do not know the lines which he wrote, a week before his death, upon a mean bed in the great hospital of Paris. "Au banquet de la vie, infortune convive, J'apparus un jour, et je meurs; Je meurs, et sur ma tombe, ou lentement j'arrive, Nul ne viendra verser des pleurs."
He resembled Gilbert, and he might have written those lines of his, which will live as long as the lamentations of Job, in the language of men: Au banquet de la vie, infortuné convive, J'apparus un jour et je meurs; Je meurs, et sur ma tombe, où lentement j'arrive, Nul ne viendra verser des pleurs!
I found, the other day, that some of my literary friends had never heard of him, though I suppose few educated Frenchmen do not know the lines which he wrote, a week before his death, upon a mean bed in the great hospital of Paris. "Au banquet de la vie, infortune convive, J'apparus un jour, et je meurs; Je meurs, et sur ma tombe, ou lentement j'arrive, Nul ne viendra verser des pleurs."
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