This page has been validated.
124
THE ODYSSEY.
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old:
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all, but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done.
••••••
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows: for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew."
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all, but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done.
••••••
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows: for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew."
