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Soon a line of new dike encompassed the flats, the spring tides swept no more across those sharp grasses which had bent beneath the unreturning feet of the Acadians, and the prudent Scot found himself the richer by twenty acres of exhaustlessly fertile meadow, worth a hundred dollars an acre any day. Moreover, he felt that he had the amethyst.
With poets the fashion has been to contrast the stability and rejuvenescence of nature with the evanescence and unreturning decay of humanity: Is not this a new form to the thought a form which makes us feel the truth of it afresh? And every new embodiment of a known truth must be a new and wider revelation.
Save thee, O tiger among men, what other man in this world is able to vanquish those fierce lords of Akshauhinis, those unreturning and invincible heroes, all accomplished in weapons and united together, Shantanu's son Bhishma, and Drona, and Vaikartana, and Kripa, and Drona's son, and king Duryodhana himself?
There, those car-warriors are falling from their cars, deprived of life by the unreturning Pancalas with shafts of diverse kinds. There the Pancalas of great speed, O Dhananjaya, are rushing against the riderless Dhartarashtra elephants and steeds and cars.
Work's the essence of life; but to expend precious unreturning vitality and real labour against imaginary danger, that is heartbreakingly absurd! If I can only teach a a little toleration a little ordinary kindness here toward that absurd old bogey you call the Death's Header, I shan't have lived in vain." "She hasn't lived in vain, the darling!" cried twenty bees together.
Then the Kshatriya ladies saw those heroes, their unreturning sons, brothers, and fathers, lying dead on the field. Then the pacification by Krishna of the wrath of Gandhari distressed at the death of her sons and grandsons. Then upon the presentation of water of the manes of the deceased princes having commenced, the story of Kunti's acknowledgment of Karna as her son born in secret.
Forsyth's men lay under fire under a blazing sun in their holes on the sandbar for nine days. But the savages never dislodged them, and at last they made off, their women and children beating the death drums, and the entire village mourning the unreturning brave.
That last drear mood Of envious sloth, and proud decrepitude; No faith, no art, no king, no priest, no God; While round the freezing founts of life in snarling ring, Crouch'd on the bareworn sod, Babbling about the unreturning spring, And whining for dead gods, who cannot save, The toothless systems shiver to their grave.
That last dread mood Of sated lust, and dull decrepitude. No law, no art, no faith, no hope, no God. When round the freezing founts of life in peevish ring, Crouched on the bare-worn sod, Babbling about the unreturning spring, And whining for dead creeds, which cannot save, The toothless nations shiver to their grave. And we, who think we stand, let us take heed lest we fall.
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