“It is no matter;”—thus the noble Dane,
About his heart more ill than one could tell;
Sad augury, that like a funeral bell
Against his soul struck solemn notes of pain.

So ‘gainst the deadly smother he could press
With calm his lofty manhood; interpose
Purpose divine, and at the last disclose
For life’s great shift a regnant readiness.

To-day I bought some matches in the street
From one whose eyes had long since lost their sight.
Trembling with palsy was he to his feet.

“Father,” I said, “how fare you in the night?”
“In body ill, but ‘tis no matter, friend,
Strong is my soul to keep me to the end.”

DISTRUST not a woman nor a king—it availeth nothing.
—Egyptian Proverb.

WHEN thou journeyest into the shadows, take not sweetmeats
with thee, but a seed of corn and a bottle of tears and wine;
that thou mayst have a garden in the land whither thou goeat.
—Egyptian Proverb.