THERE are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths
Where highways never ran-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat
Nor hurl the cynic's ban-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the road
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife,
But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,
Both parts of an infinite plan-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish - so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
-- Samuel Walter Foss
The version of the poem I found on the Web does not have the citation to the <i>Iliad</i>, so you will have to take my word for it that the house in question was in fact in a place in Asia Minor called Arisbe, for which Charles Sanders Peirce, whose walking stick I once held in my hand, and whose hat I was allowed to try on in the Milford Historical Society, named his place of retirement.
And the poem, though not up to the level of masterwork, may yet serve as a fitting introduction to the spirit of this place in virtual space.
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths
Where highways never ran-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat
Nor hurl the cynic's ban-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the road
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife,
But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,
Both parts of an infinite plan-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish - so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
-- Samuel Walter Foss
The version of the poem I found on the Web does not have the citation to the <i>Iliad</i>, so you will have to take my word for it that the house in question was in fact in a place in Asia Minor called Arisbe, for which Charles Sanders Peirce, whose walking stick I once held in my hand, and whose hat I was allowed to try on in the Milford Historical Society, named his place of retirement.
And the poem, though not up to the level of masterwork, may yet serve as a fitting introduction to the spirit of this place in virtual space.
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Re: The House by the Side of the Road
Mon, December 29, 2003 - 4:44 PMThen Diomed killed Axylus, son of Teuthranus, a rich man who lived in the strong city of Arisbe and was beloved by all men; for he had a house by the roadside, and entertained all who passed; howbeit not one of his guests stood before him to save his life, and Diomed killed both him and his squire, Calesius, who was then his charioteer -- so the pair passed beneath the earth. -- Iliad VI, 12-19
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Unsu...
Re: The House by the Side of the Road
Tue, December 30, 2003 - 7:04 AMI love that poem. So this is what the Arisbe tribe is all about. In our own strange way, each of us lives in that house.
