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In his Latin poem on the death of Bishop Felton, of Ely, who died in 1626, he says that Fame, with her hundred tongues, ever a true messenger of evil and disaster, has spread the report of the bishop's death: "Cessisse morti, et ferreis sororibus, Te, generis humani decus, Qui rex sacrorum fuisti in insulâ Quæ nomen Anguillæ tenet."
"Omnes Cardinales amicos nostros adivi; eisque demonstravi quam temere ac stulte fecerint in Roffensi in Cardinalem eligendo unde et potentissimum Regem et universum Regnum Angliæ mirum in modum lædunt et injuriâ afficiunt; Roffensem enim virum esse gloriosum ut propter vanam gloriam in suâ opinione contra Regem adhuc sit permansurus; quâ etiam de causâ in carcere est et morti condemnatus."
Mountain experience furnished that picture of the traveller caught in an Alpine mist and gradually climbing above it; seeing the vapors grow thin, and the sun's orb appear faintly through them; and issuing at last into sunshine on the mountain top, while the light of sunset was lost already on the shores below: "Ai raggi, morti gia' bassi lidi,"
Morti siam come vedete, Così morti vedrem voi; Fummo gi
Is it built up of ordinary matter, and again resolved into ordinary matter when its work is done? Modern science does not hesitate a moment between these alternatives. Physiology writes over the portals of life "Debemur morti nos nostraque," with a profounder meaning than the Roman poet attached to that melancholy line.
Iam vero videtis nihil esse morti tam simile quam somnum. 81 Atqui dormientium animi maxime declarant divinitatem suam; multa enim, cum remissi et liberi sunt, futura prospiciunt; ex quo intellegitur quales futuri sint, cum se plane corporis vinculis relaxaverint.
"Basta morti hengo pas tum," murmured Hal regretfully, hesitating before the sentry. "Manga tim no troka," remarked Noll. Hal turned slowly, nodding at his chum. Then both strolled along, the sentry merely staring after them. "That's the advantage of scouting within the lines of an enemy where many tongues are spoken," whispered Noll in his chum's ear.
Well, I hardly know what it was that it spoke of; but I felt the care and love that had gone to the making of it, and the dignity that it had won from rain and sun and the kindly hand of Nature; it spoke of hope and brightness, of youth and joy; and told me, too, that all things were passing away, that even the house itself, though it could outlive a few restless generations, was indeed debita morti, and bowed itself to its fall.
"Pressitque jacentem Dulcis et alta quies, placidæque simillima morti." Æn., vi., 522.
Is it built up of ordinary matter, and again resolved into ordinary matter when its work is done? Modern science does not hesitate a moment between these alternatives. Physiology writes over the portals of life "Debemur morti nos nostraque," with a profounder meaning than the Roman poet attached to that melancholy line.
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