dijous, 9 de juny de 2016

What remains?

"Alas!" said the fair Jewess, "and what is it, valiant knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory, and a passing through the fire to Moloch?---What remains to you as the prize of all the blood you have spilled---of all the travail and pain you have endured---of all the tears which your deeds have caused, when death hath broken the strong man's spear, and overtaken the speed of his war-horse?" 

"What remains?" cried Ivanhoe; "Glory, maiden, glory! which gilds our sepulchre and embalms our name." 

"Glory?" continued Rebecca; "alas, is the rusted mail which hangs as a hatchment over the champion's dim and mouldering tomb---is the defaced sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly read to the enquiring pilgrim---are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice of every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may make others miserable? Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of a wandering bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of those ballads which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls over their evening ale?"



Ivanhoe, Walter Scott.

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