SOLDIERS SOLDIERS
Ah, you flavour everything; you are the vanille of society.
It is impossible, in our condition of Society, not to be sometimes a Snob.
Thackeray—Book of Snobs. Ch. III.
Society therefore is as ancient as the world.
Voltaire—Philosophical Dictionary. Policy.
Other people are quite dreadful. The only possible society is oneself.
| author = Oscar Wilde
| work = An Ideal Husband. Act III.
I suppose Society is wonderfully delightful.
To be in it is merely a bore. But to be out of
it is simply a tragedy.
Oscar Wild*:—Woman of No Importance.
Act III.
At present there is no distinction among the
upper ten thousand of the city.
N. P. Willis—Necessity for a Promenade Drive.
| seealso = (See also Cooper)
| topic = Society
| page = 725
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Society became my glittering bride,
And airy hopes my children.
Wordsworth—The Excursion. Bk. III.
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life.
Wordsworth—Lines composed a few miles
above Tintern Abbey.
There is
One great society alone on earth:
The noble Living and the noble Dead.
Wordsworth—The Prelude. Bk. XI.
- Soldiers ##
SOLDIERS
(See also Navy, War)
Dormer, how can I behold thy fate, And not the wonders of thy youth relate; How can I see the gay, the brave, the young, Fall in the cloud of war, and lie unsung! In joys of conquest he resigns his breath, And, filled with England's glory, smiles in death.
| author = Addison | work = Campaign. To Philip Dormer. </poem>. | place = | note = | topic = Soldiers | page = 725
}}
God and a soldier all people adore
In time of war, but not before;
And when war is over aDd all things are righted,
God is neglected and an old soldier slighted.
Anon. Lines chalked on a sentry-box on
Europa Guard. Compare Kipling—Tommy. Otway's Soldier's Fortune, Shakespeare's Sonnet XXV.
| seealso = (See also Owen under Forgetfulness)
| topic = Soldiers
| page = 725
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>O little Force that in your agony
Stood fast while England girt her armour on,
Held high our honour in your wounded hands,
Carried our honour safe with bleeding feet—
We have no glory great enough for you,
The very soul of Britain keeps your day.
Anon—PublishedinaLondonNewspaper, 1917.
An Austrian army awfully arrayed.
Siege of Belgrade.
Poem arranged with "Apt alliteration's artful
aid." First appeared in The TrifUsr, May 7,
1817, printed at Winchester, Eng. Found
in Bentley's Miscellany, March, 1838. P.
313. Quoted in Wheeler's Mag. Winchester,
Eng. Vol. I. P. 344. (1828) Attributed
to Rev. B. Poulter, of Winchester. In
the Wild Garland to Isaac J. Reeve.
Claimed for Alaric A. Watts by his son in
a biography of Watts. Vol. I. P. 118.
See! There is Jackson standing like a stone wall.
Bernard E. Bee—Battle of Manassas (Bull
Run). July 21, 1861.
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic = Soldiers
| page = 725
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = Each year his mighty armies marched forth in
gallant show,
Their enemies were targets, their bullets they
were tow.
Berenger—Le Roi d'Yvetot. Trans, by
Thackeray—The King of Brentford.
The king of France with twenty thousand men
Went up the hill, and then came down again:
The king of Spain with twenty thousand more
Climbed the same hill the French had climbed
before.
From Shane MS. 1489. Written time of
Charles I. Later version in Old Tarleton's
Song in Pigge's Corantol or News from the
North. Halltwell gives several versions
in his Nursery Rhymes.
L'infanterie anglaise est la plus redoubtable
de l'Europe; heureusement, il n'y en a pas beaucoup.
The English Infantry is the most formidable
in Europe, but fortunately there is not much
of it.
Marshal Bugeaud—CEuvres Militaires.
Collected by Weil.
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic = Soldiers
| page = 725
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = You led our sons across the haunted flood,
Into the Canaan of their high desire—
No milk and honey there, but tears and blood
Flowed where the hosts of evil trod in fire,
And left a worse than desert where they passed.
Amelia J. Burr—To General Pershing.
Ay me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!
Butler—Hudibras. Pt. I. Canto III. L. 1.
| seealso = (See also English under {{sc|Woman)
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae!
Byron—Don Juan. Canto III. St. 86.
His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven,
His back to earth, his face to heaven.
| author = Byron
| work = Giaour. L. 675.
For the army is a school in which the miser
becomes generous, and the generous prodigal;
miserly soldiers are like monsters, but very rarely
seen.
| author = Cervantes
| work = Don Quixote.
| place = Ch. XXXIX.
