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"'There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will." WHEN Ethel and Tyrrel parted at the steamer they did not expect a long separation, but Colonel Rawdon never recovered his health, and for many excellent reasons Tyrrel could not leave the dying man. Nor did Ethel wish him to do so.
"Sit down again, Pierce," and Lord Blythe himself drew up a chair close to Armitage "Sit down and be patient! You know the lines 'There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will'? Divinity has worked in strange ways with you, Pierce! and still more strangely with your child. Will you listen while I tell you all?"
We have a great many metaphorical expressions taken from painting, sculpture, and other arts. Thus we speak of "moulding" one's own life, picturing ourselves as sculptors, with our lives as the clay to be shaped as we will. Shakespeare has a similar metaphor, "There's a divinity which shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will."
Rather, may this unified Saxondom, as the agent of that "divinity that shapes our ends rough-hew them how we will," choose the opening hours of its era for the purging from its great heart all the lingering vestiges of hatred of men, and with eyes ever on the heights above, begin the final climb of the human race toward the ideal state.
But it has been written by a wise man, "There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will," and Tom Blount was soon to find out its truth. Matters had been going very badly at Mornington Crescent, and the boy's life was harder than ever to bear, for, presuming upon his patience, Sam Brandon was more tyrannical than ever.
If that providence which shapes our ends will but finish those I rough-hew, I trust that the second week in October, or perhaps a few days earlier, will see us at Skibo. We hope to start straight for the far North as soon as ever my autumnal egg is laid.... We have hit on an Easter ramble, original and agreeable.
Rivière rose with determination and flung the thought aside. "Fate" was only a bogey to frighten children with. "Fate" was a coward's master. Every man had the right to rough-hew his own life. He, Rivière, had chosen his new life with eyes open, and, right or wrong, he would stick by his choice and hew out his life on his own lines.
If you had gone to Oregon you might have come back as Senator, but you would never have been President." "Yes, you are probably right," said Lincoln; and then, with a musing, dreamy look, he added: "I have all my life been a fatalist. What is to be, will be; or, rather, I have found all my life, as Hamlet says, 'There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will."
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