How can I doubt, while great Ulysses stands To lend his counsels and assist our hands? A chief, whose safety is Minerva's care; So famed, so dreadful, in the works of war: Bless'd in his conduct, I no aid require; Wisdom like his might pass through flames of fire." "It fits thee not, before these chiefs of fame, (Replied the sage,) to praise me, or to blame: Praise from a friend, or censure from a foe, Are lost on hearers that our merits know. But let us haste—Night rolls the hours away, The reddening orient shows the coming day, The stars shine fainter on the ethereal plains, And of night's
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