Now We Are Free
Almighty freedom
Almighty freer of the soul
Be free
Walk with me
Through the golden fields
So lovely
Lovely...
We regret our sins, but...
We sow our own fate and
Under my face I remain feeble
Under my face, I smile
(Aaahh)
Even alone/afraid
Under my face I will be waiting
Run with me now soldier of Rome
Run and play in the field with the ponies [x4]
Almighty freedom
Almighty freer of the soul
Be free
Be free
And imagine
Free with peace at last
It's lovely
It's lovely, this land
No one can believe or understand
How far I came just for my lovely family
I should have been there
with them when the world crashed down
But now they rest with me.
I'll never forget
How I felt that moment
I became Free.
In the Aeneid Virgil, a Roman, wrote:
The Greeks shape bronze statues so real they
they seem to breathe.
And craft cold marble until it almost
comes to life.
The Greeks compose great orations.
and measure
The heavens so well they can predict
the rising of the stars.
But you, Romans, remember your
great arts;
To govern the peoples with authority.
To establish peace under the rule of law.
To conquer the mighty, and show them
mercy once they are conquered.
The Greeks shape bronze statues so real they
they seem to breathe.
And craft cold marble until it almost
comes to life.
The Greeks compose great orations.
and measure
The heavens so well they can predict
the rising of the stars.
But you, Romans, remember your
great arts;
To govern the peoples with authority.
To establish peace under the rule of law.
To conquer the mighty, and show them
mercy once they are conquered.
Horace's Poems
Describing his life's work in his third book of Odes , Horace wrote: I have erected a monument more lasting than bronze And taller than the regal peak of the pyramids... I shall never completely die.
In another ode, Horace wrote:
Happy the man, and happy he alone.
He, who can call today his own;
He who, secures within, can say.
Tomorrow do they worst, for I have
lived today .
Happy the man, and happy he alone.
He, who can call today his own;
He who, secures within, can say.
Tomorrow do they worst, for I have
lived today .
Ovid's Love Poetry
Alma Tadema's Silver FavouritesIn the Art of Love , a carefully crafted "seducer's manual," Ovid wrote:
Love is a kind of war, and no assignment for cowards.
Where those banners fly, heroes are always on guard.
Soft, those barracks? They know long marches, terrible weather.
Night and winter and storm, grief and excessive fatigue.
Often the rain pelts down from the drenching cloudbursts of heaven.
Often you lie on the ground, wrapped in a mantle of cold.
If you are ever caught, no matter how well you've concealed it.
Though it is clear as the day, swear up and down it's a lie.
Don't be too abject, and don't be too unduly attentive.
That would establish your guilt far beyond anything else.
Wear yourself out if you must, and prove, in her bed, that you could not
Possibly be that good, coming from some other girl.
Where those banners fly, heroes are always on guard.
Soft, those barracks? They know long marches, terrible weather.
Night and winter and storm, grief and excessive fatigue.
Often the rain pelts down from the drenching cloudbursts of heaven.
Often you lie on the ground, wrapped in a mantle of cold.
If you are ever caught, no matter how well you've concealed it.
Though it is clear as the day, swear up and down it's a lie.
Don't be too abject, and don't be too unduly attentive.
That would establish your guilt far beyond anything else.
Wear yourself out if you must, and prove, in her bed, that you could not
Possibly be that good, coming from some other girl.
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