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Updated: June 16, 2025
It was full of interest and charm, with a beauty and an atmosphere all its own; but any description, or the story of experiences or impressions, would but re-echo what has been told adequately by others. British Columbia and western Washington I found full of interest and greatly enjoyed; but they also must be left unsung.
And then there are countless, quiet, everyday heroes of American who sacrifice long and hard so their children will know a better life than they've known; church and civic volunteers who help to feed, clothe, nurse, and teach the needy; millions who've made our nation and our nation's destiny so very special unsung heroes who may not have realized their own dreams themselves but then who reinvest those dreams in their children.
Great as is the credit to which bacteriologists are entitled for this splendid piece of scientific progress, there was another co-laborer, a silent partner, with them in all this triumph, an unsung hero and martyr of science who deserves his meed of praise the tiny guinea-pig.
It was strange to see the men of Makin staring; I have seen a tenor in Europe stare with the same blank dignity into a hissing theatre; but presently, to my surprise, they sobered down, gave up the unsung remainder of their ballet, resumed their seats, and suffered their ungallant adversaries to go on and finish. Nothing would suffice.
There, the yeomanry of England, the unsung county regiments whose sacrifices and achievements have been neglected in England's generous desire to honor the men from "down under," the Australians and New Zealanders grouped under the imperishable title of the Anzacs there the Scotch, Welsh and Irish knit in one devoted British Army with the great fighters from the self-governing colonies waged a battle so hopeless and so gallant that the word Gallipoli shall always remind the world how man may triumph over the fear of death; how with nothing but defeat and disaster before them, men may go to their deaths as unconcernedly as in other days they go to their nightly sleep.
The martyr who discovered that virtue is its own reward, died unwept, unhonoured, unsung. History does not know him. Perhaps he was an editor. But he bequeathed a valid idea. As the car swam on, Monty Paliser was conscious of it. It would, he reflected, simplify matters very much if his father died immediately. He had no ill-feeling toward him, no good-feeling, no feeling whatever.
None but a poet should speak of them so beautiful, so enchanting in song. Yet I cannot bear to let their lovely lives pass in silence; therefore if they must needs remain unsung, they shall at least be chronicled.
"...unsung By poets, and by senators unpraised, Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the powers Of earth and hell confederate take away; A liberty which persecution, fraud, Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind: Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more."
If, Wilson being the same man, fortune had hemmed him in, and contracted his sphere of action, or if, as author, he had devoted himself to works of solid learning, instead of to the airy pages of "Blackwood," the sprightly humor and broad hilarity that were in him would have bubbled out in these "Letters," and the "Noctes" and the "Recreations" would have been a song unsung.
My figure 40 stands nearly three months behind me on the roadway, unwept, unhonored, and unsung, an octavum lustrum bound up and laid on the shelf. 'So-and-so is dead, said a friend to Lord Melbourne of some author. 'Dear me, how glad I am! Now I can bind him up." It was not until 1859 that the translation of Plutarch, begun six years before, was completed and published.
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