SAVED BY LA BELLE (or The Savior of the Insatiable): DESPITE ITSELF, LOVE PREVAILS

THE CROSSING

---

Written, as they were, at odd times and leisure moments of a stirring and adventurous life, it is not to be wondered at if they are unequal or unfinished. The astonishment of those who knew the man, and can gauge the capacity of this city to foster poetic instinct, is that such work was ever produced here at all. Intensely nervous, and feeling much of that shame at the exercise of the higher intelligence which besets those who are known to be renowned in field sports, Gordon produced his poems shyly, scribbled them on scraps of paper, and sent them anonymously to magazines.

Adam Lindsay Gordon was the son of an officer in the English army, and was educated at Woolwich, in order that he might follow the profession of his family. At the time when he was a cadet there was no sign of either of the two great wars which were about to call forth the strength of English arms, and, like many other men of his day, he quitted his prospects of service and emigrated. He went to South Australia and started as a sheep farmer.

His efforts were attended with failure.

Navigation menu

From this experience he emerged to light in Melbourne as the best amateur steeplechase rider in the colonies. The victory he won for Major Baker in , when he rode Babbler for the Cup Steeplechase, made him popular, and the almost simultaneous publication of his last volume of poems gave him welcome entrance to the houses of all who had pretensions to literary taste. The reputation of the book spread to England, and Major Whyte Melville did not disdain to place the lines of the dashing Australian author at the head of his own dashing descriptions of sporting scenery.

I do not propose to criticise the volumes which these few lines of preface introduce to the reader. There is plainly visible also, however, a keen sense for natural beauty and a manly admiration for healthy living. The writer has ridden his ride as well as written it. The student of these unpretending volumes will be repaid for his labour. He will find in them something very like the beginnings of a national school of Australian poetry. In historic Europe, where every rood of ground is hallowed in legend and in song, the least imaginative can find food for sad and sweet reflection.

When strolling at noon down an English country lane, lounging at sunset by some ruined chapel on the margin of an Irish lake, or watching the mists of morning unveil Ben Lomond, we feel all the charm which springs from association with the past. Soothed, saddened, and cheered by turns, we partake of the varied moods which belong not so much to ourselves as to the dead men who, in old days, sung, suffered, or conquered in the scenes which we survey. But this our native or adopted land has no past, no story. No poet speaks to us.

What is the dominant note of Australian scenery? It is too airy, too sweet, too freshly happy. The Australian mountain forests are funereal, secret, stern. Their solitude is desolation. They seem to stifle, in their black gorges, a story of sullen despair. No tender sentiment is nourished in their shade.

In other lands the dying year is mourned, the falling leaves drop lightly on his bier. In the Australian forests no leaves fall. The savage winds shout among the rock clefts. From the melancholy gums strips of white bark hang and rustle. The very animal life of these frowning hills is either grotesque or ghostly. Great grey kangaroos hop noiselessly over the coarse grass. Flights of white cockatoos stream out, shrieking like evil souls.

The sun suddenly sinks, and the mopokes burst out into horrible peals of semi-human laughter. The natives aver that, when night comes, from out the bottomless depth of some lagoon the Bunyip rises, and, in form like monstrous sea-calf, drags his loathsome length from out the ooze. From a corner of the silent forest rises a dismal chant, and around a fire dance natives painted like skeletons. All is fear-inspiring and gloomy.

Encourage The Heart

No bright fancies are linked with the memories of the mountains. As when among sylvan scenes in places. Australia has rightly been named the Land of the Dawning. Wrapped in the midst of early morning, her history looms vague and gigantic. The lonely horseman riding between the moonlight and the day sees vast shadows creeping across the shelterless and silent plains, hears strange noises in the primeval forest, where flourishes a vegetation long dead in other lands, and feels, despite his fortune, that the trim utilitarian civilisation which bred him shrinks into insignificance beside the contemptuous grandeur of forest and ranges coeval with an age in which European scientists have cradled his own race.

There is a poem in every form of tree or flower, but the poetry which lives in the trees and flowers of Australia differs from those of other countries. Europe is the home of knightly song, of bright deeds and clear morning thought. Asia sinks beneath the weighty recollections of her past magnificence, as the Suttee sinks, jewel burdened, upon the corpse of dread grandeur, destructive even in its death. America swiftly hurries on her way, rapid, glittering, insatiable even as one of her own giant waterfalls. From the jungles of Africa, and the creeper-tangled groves of the Islands of the South, arise, from the glowing hearts of a thousand flowers, heavy and intoxicating odours — the Upas-poison which dwells in barbaric sensuality.

In Australia alone is to be found the Grotesque, the Weird, the strange scribblings of Nature learning how to write. Some see no beauty in our trees without shade, our flowers without perfume, our birds who cannot fly, and our beasts who have not yet learned to walk on all fours. But the dweller in the wilderness acknowledges the subtle charm of this fantastic land of monstrosities. He becomes familiar with the beauty of loneliness. Whispered to by the myriad tongues of the wilderness, he learns the language of the barren and the uncouth, and can read the hieroglyphics of haggard gum-trees, blown into odd shapes, distorted with fierce hot winds, or cramped with cold nights, when the Southern Cross freezes in a cloudless sky of icy blue.

The phantasmagoria of that wild dreamland termed the Bush interprets itself, and the Poet of our desolation begins to comprehend why free Esau loved his heritage of desert sand better than all the bountiful richness of Egypt. Poems Adam Lindsay Gordon. This web edition published by eBooks Adelaide. Last updated Wednesday, December 17, at Hard by the margin of that sea Whose sounds are mingled with his noble verse, Now lies the shell that never more will house The fine, strong spirit of my gifted friend. Yea, he who flashed upon us suddenly, A shining soul with syllables of fire, Who sang the first great songs these lands can claim To be their own; the one who did not seem To know what royal place awaited him Within the Temple of the Beautiful, Has passed away; and we who knew him, sit Aghast in darkness, dumb with that great grief, Whose stature yet we cannot comprehend; While over yonder churchyard, hearsed with pines, The night-wind sings its immemorial hymn, And sobs above a newly-covered grave.

The bard, the scholar, and the man who lived That frank, that open-hearted life which keeps The splendid fire of English chivalry From dying out; the one who never wronged A fellow-man; the faithful friend who judged The many, anxious to be loved of him, By what he saw, and not by what he heard, As lesser spirits do; the brave great soul That never told a lie, or turned aside To fly from danger; he, I say, was one Of that bright company this sin-stained world Can ill afford to lose.

And having wove and proffered this poor wreath, I stand today as lone as he who saw At nightfall through the glimmering moony mists, The last of Arthur on the wailing mere, And strained in vain to hear the going voice. Dearest, are you watching yet? In the glass the bright sand runs Steadily and slowly downward; Hushed are all the Myrmidons. Where has Agamemnon vanished? Where is warlike Diomed? Menelaus, where is he?

Call them not, more dear your kisses Than their prosings are to me. Daylight fades and night must follow, Low, where sea and sky combine, Droops the orb of great Apollo, Hostile god to me and mine. Tell me, is it not far better That it should be as it is? Many seek for peace and riches, Length of days and life of ease; I have sought for one thing, which is Fairer unto me than these. Day by day our ranks diminish, We are falling day by day; But our sons the strife will finish, Where man tarries man must slay.

I am ready, I am willing, To resign my stormy life; Weary of this long blood-spilling, Sated with this ceaseless strife. But the toughest lives are brittle, And the bravest and the best Lightly fall — it matters little; Now I only long for rest. Men will call me unrelenting, Pitiless, vindictive, stern; Few will raise a voice dissenting, Few will better things discern. Was I to a mistress harsh? Was there nought save bloodshed throbbing In this heart and on this brow? Let him boast, the girlish victor, Let him brag; not thus, I trow, Were the laurels torn from Hector, Not so very long ago.

Does my voice sound thick and husky? Is my hand no longer warm? Fairer far than she, and dearer, By a thousandfold thou art; Come, my own one, nestle nearer, Cheating death of half his smart. Lower yet, my senses wander, And my spirit seems to roll With the tide of swift Scamander Rushing to a viewless goal. Lower yet, my own Briseis, Denser shadows veil the light; Hush, what is to be, to be is, Close my eyes, and say good-night. Gone In Collins-street standeth a statue tall — 1 A statue tall on a pillar of stone, Telling its story, to great and small, Of the dust reclaimed from the sand waste lone.

Weary and wasted, and worn and wan, Feeble and faint, and languid and low, He lay on the desert a dying man, Who has gone, my friends, where we all must go. There are perils by land, and perils by water, Short, I ween, are the obsequies Of the landsman lost, but they may be shorter With the mariner lost in the trackless seas; And well for him when the timbers start, And the stout ship reels and settles below, Who goes to his doom with as bold a heart As that dead man gone where we all must go.

We tarry yet, we are toiling still, He is gone and he fares the best, He fought against odds, he struggled up hill, He has fairly earned his season of rest; No tears are needed — fill out the wine, Let the goblets clash, and the grape juice flow; Ho! Must you travel unassoiled and, aye, unshriven, With the blood stain on your hand, and the red streak on your brand, And your guilt all unconfessed and unforgiven? Ere the sun began to droop, or the mist began to stoop, The youthful bride lay swooning in the hall; Empty saddle on his back, broken bridle hanging slack, The steed returned full gallop to the stall.

Two-thirds of our journey at least are done, Old horse! I ride for my country, quoth ——. Jack Esdale was there, and Hugh St. The dark-brown steed on the left was there, On the right was a dappled grey, And between the pair, on a chestnut mare, The duffer who writes this lay. When I think one drop of the blood he bore This faint heart surely must hold, It may be my fancy and nothing more, But the faint heart seemeth bold.

He said that as from the blood of grape, Or from juice distilled from the grain, False vigour, soon to evaporate, Is lent to nerve and brain, So the coward will dare on the gallant horse What he never would dare alone, Because he exults in a borrowed force, And a hardihood not his own. You think I, too, ready to rail am At your kinship remote to that duffer at walls, The talkative roadster of Balaam. And round the world away! Young blood will have its course, lad!

And every dog his day! No game was ever yet worth a rap For a rational man to play, Into which no accident, no mishap, Could possibly find its way. The honey bag lies close to the sting, The rose is fenced by the thorn, Shall we leave to others their gathering, And turn from clustering fruits that cling To the garden wall in scorn? Albeit those purple grapes hang high, Like the fox in the ancient tale, Let us pause and try, ere we pass them by, Though we, like the fox, may fail.

They were men for the most part rough and rude, Dull and illiterate, But they nursed no quarrel, they cherished no feud, They were strangers to spite and hate; In a kindly spirit they took their stand, That brothers and sons might learn How a man should uphold the sports of his land, And strike his best with a strong right hand, And take his strokes in return. Our burdens are heavy, our natures weak, Some pastime devoid of harm May we look for? And few, I reckon, our rights gainsay In this world of rapine and wrong, Where the weak and the timid seem lawful prey For the resolute and the strong; Fins, furs, and feathers, they are and were For our use and pleasure created, We can shoot, and hunt, and angle, and snare, Unquestioned, if not unsated.

I have neither the will nor the right to blame, Yet to many though not to all The sweets of destruction are somewhat tame When no personal risks befall; Our victims suffer but little, we trust Mere guess-work and blank enigma , If they suffer at all, our field sports must Of cruelty bear the stigma. Hard struggle, though quickly ending! At home or abroad, by land or sea, In peace or war, sore trials must be, And worse may happen to you or to me, For none are secure, and none can flee From a destiny impending.

When a livid wall of the sea leaps high, In the lurid light of a leaden sky, And bursts on the quarter railing; While the howling storm-gust seems to vie With the crash of splintered beams that fly, Yet fails too oft to smother the cry Of women and children wailing? Though the pitcher that goes to the sparkling rill Too oft gets broken at last, There are scores of others its place to fill When its earth to the earth is cast; Keep that pitcher at home, let it never roam, But lie like a useless clod, Yet sooner or later the hour will come When its chips are thrown to the sod.

Take care of yourself, dull, boorish elf, Though prudent and safe you seem, Your pitcher will break on the musty shelf, And mine by the dazzling stream. When our blood ran rapidly, and when Our bones were pliant and limber, Could we stand a merry cross-counter then, A slogging fall over timber? Duffers both, In our best of days, alas! Thy riddles grow dark, oh! Boot and saddle, see, the slanting Rays begin to fall, Flinging lights and colours flaunting Through the shadows tall.

When will come the goal? Riddle I may not unravel, Cease to vex my soul. Harshly break those peals of laughter From the jays aloft, Can we guess what they cry after? We have heard them oft; Perhaps some strain of rude thanksgiving Mingles in their song, Are they glad that they are living?

Are they right or wrong? Is the goal more near? Riddle we may not unravel, Why so dark and drear? Yon small bird his hymn outpouring, On the branch close by, Recks not for the kestrel soaring In the nether sky, Though the hawk with wings extended Poises over head, Motionless as though suspended By a viewless thread. Riddle we may not unravel, Who shall make reply? Trusting grandly, singing gaily, Confident and calm, Not one false note in your daily Hymn or weekly psalm? Oft your oily tones are heard in Chapel, where you preach, This the everlasting burden Of the tale you teach: Yet, I ween, on such occasion, Your dissenting voice Would have been, in mild persuasion, Raised against their choice; Man of peace, and man of merit, Pompous, wise, and grave, Ephraim!

Distant, yet approaching quickly, From the shades that lurk, Like a black pall gathers thickly, Night, when none may work. On this dank soil thistles muster, Thorns are broadcast sown; Seek not figs where thistles cluster, Grapes where thorns have grown. Sun and rain and dew from heaven, Light and shade and air, Heat and moisture freely given, Thorns and thistles share. Vegetation rank and rotten Feels the cheering ray; Not uncared for, unforgotten, We, too, have our day. How my courser champs the snaffle, And with nostril spread, Snorts and scarcely seems to ruffle Fern leaves with his tread; Cool and pleasant on his haunches Blows the evening breeze, Through the overhanging branches Of the wattle trees: Whisper, spring-wind, softly singing, Whisper in my ear; Respite and nepenthe bringing, Can the goal be near?

And now that my theft stands detected, The first of my extracts may call To some of the rhymes here collected Your notice, the second to all. Behold A warrior, than his sire more fierce and fell, To find you rages — Diomed the bold, Whom like the stag that, far across the vale, The wolf being seen, no herbage can allure, So fly you, panting sorely, dastard pale!

A Legend of Madrid [Translated from the Spanish]. Is my secret known to thee? On the sands of yon arena I shall yet my vengeance see. Now through portals fast careering Picadors are disappearing; Now the barriers nimbly clearing Has the hindmost chulo flown. Clots of dusky crimson streaking, Brindled flanks and haunches reeking, Wheels the wild bull, vengeance seeking, On the matador alone.

Shouts of noisy acclamation, Breathing savage expectation, Greet him while he takes his station Leisurely, disdaining haste; Now he doffs his tall sombrero, Fools! Though my temples burn with shame. Two are slain if he is slain; Shield his life, and guard his honour, Let me not entreat in vain.

Sullenly the brindled savage Tears and tosses up the sand; Horns that rend and hoofs that ravage, How shall man your shock withstand? On the shaggy neck and head lie Frothy flakes, the eyeballs redly Flash, the horns so sharp and deadly Lower, short, and strong, and straight; Fast, and furious, and fearless, Now he charges; — virgin peerless, Lifting lids, all dry and tearless, At thy throne I supplicate. Cool and calm, the perjured varlet Stands on strongly-planted heel, In his left a strip of scarlet, In his right a streak of steel; Ah! No vain brutish strife he wages, Never uselessly he rages, And his cunning, as he ages, With his hatred seems to grow; Though he stands amid the cheering, Sluggish to the eye appearing, Few will venture on the spearing Of so resolute a foe.

I have done with doubt and anguish, Fears like dews in sunshine languish, Courage, husband, we shall vanquish, Thou art calm and so am I. For the rush he has not waited, On he strides with step elated, And the steel with blood unsated, Leaps to end the butchery. By a hair the spine he misses.

The lady Mabel rose from her bed, And walked in the castle hall, Where the porch through the western turret led She met with her handmaid small. Down the rocky path knight and lady led, While guests and retainers bold Followed in haste, for like wildfire spread The news by the maiden told. Yet that night was neither revel nor dance In the halls of Fauconshawe; Men looked askance with a doubtful glance At Sir Hugh, for they stood in awe Of his prowess, but he, like one in a trance, Regarded naught that he saw. Night black and chill, wind gathering still, With its wail in the turret tall, And its headlong blast like a catapult cast On the crest of the outer wall, And its hail and rain on the crashing pane, Till the glassy splinters fall.

A moody knight by the fitful light Of the great hall fire below; A corpse upstairs, and a woman at prayers, Will they profit her, aye or no? Will it match with the broken blade that spilt His life in the western dell? The knight in silence the letter read, Oh! Then he tore the parchment shred by shred, And the strips in the flames he threw. At midnight hour, in the western tower, Alone with the dead man there, Lady Mabel kneels, nor heeds nor feels The shock of the rushing air, Though the gusts that pass through the riven glass Have scattered her raven hair.

I ask not why or how? Rippling Water The maiden sat by the river side The rippling water murmurs by , And sadly into the clear blue tide The salt tear fell from her clear blue eye. Stephen works for his daily bread The rippling water murmurs low. Through the crazy thatch that covers his head The rain-drops fall and the wind-gusts blow. The rippling water murmurs on. Riches and rank, and what beside? Is there naught beyond, below, or above? On this earth so rough we know quite enough, And, I sometimes fancy, a little too much; The sage may be wiser than clown or than kaiser, Is he more to be envied for being such?

Bellona Thou art moulded in marble impassive, False goddess, fair statue of strife, Yet standest on pedestal massive, A symbol and token of life. Thy breath stirreth faction and party, Men rise, and no voice can avail To stay them — rose-tinted Astarte Herself at thy presence turns pale. For deeper and richer the crimson That gathers behind thee throws forth A halo thy raiment and limbs on, And leaves a red track in the path That flows from thy wine-press of wrath. For behind thee red rivulets trickle, Men fall by thy hands swift and lithe, As corn falleth down to the sickle, As grass falleth down to the scythe, Thine arm, strong and cruel, and shapely, Lifts high the sharp, pitiless lance, And rapine and ruin and rape lie Around thee.

The Furies advance, And Ares awakes from his trance. We, too, with our bodies thus weakly, With hearts hard and dangerous, thus We owe thee — the saints suffered meekly Their wrongs — it is not so with us. Some share of thy strength thou hast given To mortals refusing in vain Thine aid. We have suffered and striven Till we have grown reckless of pain, Though feeble of heart and of brain. The soldier who falls in his harness, And strikes his last stroke with slack hand, On his dead face thy wrath and thy scorn is Imprinted.

Then those who have patiently waited, And borne, unresisting, the pain Of thy vengeance unglutted, unsated, Shall they be rewarded again? Then those who, enticed by thy laurels, Or urged by thy promptings unblest, Have striven and stricken in quarrels, Shall they, too, find pardon and rest?

We know not, yet hope for the best. What is the tale you are telling? What is the drift of your lay? Is your song a song of gladness? Or a wail of discordant sadness for the wrongs you never can right? For the empty seat by the ingle? For the bride sitting sad, and single, and pale, by the flickering fire? For your ravenous pools of suction? For your ceaseless work of destruction? Little to us it matters, and naught it matters to thee.

Not thus, murmuring idly, we from our duty would swerve, Over the world spread widely ever we labour and serve. Whisperings in Wattle—Boughs Oh, gaily sings the bird! Oh, the faces that are thronging! Oh, the voices that are vaguely whispering! Or do you, like your comrade, linger still? Oh, whisper, buried love, is there rest and peace above? I could bow me down and pray For an answer that might stay my bitterness.

Oh, harshly screams the bird! There is time for confession to those who will, To those who may never come back. Dost thou scorn confession and shrift? The guiltiest soul may from guilt be won, And the stoniest heart may be cleft. Have I given little, and taken more? Hast thou never smitten thine enemy?

Hast thou yielded naught to the lust of the eye, And naught to the pride of life? Now, I wot, she prayeth in vain! In my sin, in my sorrow, you may not share, And yet could I meet with one who must bear The load of an equal ban, With him I might strive to blend one prayer, The wail of the Publican.

Our Father which art in heaven! Sunlight on the Sea [The Philosophy of a Feast]. I see you feasting round me still, All gay of heart and strong of limb; Make merry, friends, your glasses fill, The lights are growing dim. Yet some must swim when others sink, And some must sink when others swim; Make merry, comrades, eat and drink, The lights are growing dim. Where has he gone? The fruit is ripe, the wine is red The sunlight fades upon the sea ; To us the absent are the dead, The dead to us must absent be.

We, too, the absent ranks must join; And friends will censure and forget: Make merry, comrades, eat and drink The sunlight flashes on the sea ; My spirit is rejoiced to think That even as they were so are we; For they, like us, were mortals vain, The slaves to earthly passions wild, Who slept with heaps of Persians slain For winding-sheets around them piled. We eat and drink, we come and go The sunlight dies upon the open sea. I speak in riddles. One toast with me your glasses fill, Aye, fill them level with the brim, De mortuis, nisi bonum, nil!

The lights are growing dim. Delilah [From a Picture]. The sun has gone down, spreading wide on The sky-line one ray of red fire; Prepare the soft cushions of Sidon, Make ready the rich loom of Tyre. The day, with its toil and its sorrow, Its shade, and its sunshine, at length Has ended; dost fear for the morrow, Strong man, in the pride of thy strength? Like fire-flies, heavenward clinging, They multiply, star upon star; And the breeze a low murmur is bringing From the tents of my people afar.

It shall not disturb thee, nor can it; See, closed are the curtains, the lights Gleam down on the cloven pomegranate, Whose thirst-slaking nectar invites; The red wine of Hebron glows brightly In yon goblet — the draught of a king; And through the silk awning steals lightly The sweet song my handmaidens sing. Will He take back that strength He has given, Because to the pleasures of youth Thou yieldest? Nay, Godlike, in heaven, He laughs at such follies, forsooth. If fate must indeed overtake thee, And feebleness come to thy clay, Pause not till thy strength shall forsake thee, Enjoy it the more in thy day.

Oh, woman allied to the serpent! Oh, beauty with venom combined! Oh, might overcoming the mighty! Oh, altar of false Aphrodite, What strength is consumed in thy flame! Strong chest, where her drapery rustles, Strong limbs by her black tresses hid! Not alone by the might of your muscles Yon lion was rent like a kid! Sleep sound on that breast fair and ample; Dull brain, and dim eyes, and deaf ears, Feel not the cold touch on your temple, Heed not the faint clash of the shears. Samson, Upon thee the Philistines are. To right and to left extended The uplands are blank and drear, And their neutral tints are blended With the dead leaves sombre and sere; The cold grey mist from the still side Of the lake creeps sluggish and sure, Bare and bleak is the hill-side, Barren and bleak the moor.

It matters not where or when, dear, They have flown, the blue and the green, I thought on what might be then, dear, Now I think on what might have been. What might have been! With the elm in the place of the wattle, And in lieu of the gum, the oak, Years back I believed a little, And as I believed I spoke. Have I done with those childish fancies? They suited the days gone by, When I pulled the poppies and pansies, When I hunted the butterfly, With one who has long been sleeping, A stranger to doubts and cares, And to sowing that ends in reaping Thistles, and thorns, and tares.

Talk about better and wiser, Wiser and worse are one, The sophist is the despiser Of all things under the sun; Is nothing real but confusion? Is nothing certain but death? Is nothing fair save illusion? Is nothing good that has breath? The restless throbbings and burnings That hope unsatisfied brings, The weary longings and yearnings For the mystical better things, Are the sands on which is reflected The pitiless moving lake, Where the wanderer falls dejected, By a thirst he never can slake.

I fain would recall the past. You are no false ideal, Something is left of you, Present, perceptible, real, Palpable, tangible, true; One shred of your broken necklace, One tress of your pale, gold hair, And a heart so utterly reckless, That the worst it would gladly dare. Ars Longa [A Song of Pilgrimage]. We journey, manhood, youth, and age, The matron, and the maiden, Like pilgrims on a pilgrimage, Loins girded, heavy laden: Wisdom, which we sought to win! Strength, in which we trusted! Glory, which we gloried in!

The Last Leap All is over! Once again, one struggle good, One vain effort; — he must dwell Near the shifted post, that stood Where the splinters of the wood, Lying in the torn tracks, tell How he struck and fell. Satin coat that seems to shine Duller now, black braided tress, That a softer hand than mine Far away was wont to twine, That in meadows far from this Softer lips might kiss. I in vain Fall: I rise to fall again: Quare Fatigasti Two years ago I was thinking On the changes that years bring forth; Now I stand where I then stood drinking The gust and the salt sea froth; And the shuddering wave strikes, linking With the waves subsiding and sinking, And clots the coast herbage, shrinking, With the hue of the white cere-cloth.

Is there aught worth losing or keeping? The bitters or sweets men quaff? The sowing or the doubtful reaping? The harvest of grain or chaff? Or squandering days or heaping, Or waking seasons or sleeping, The laughter that dries the weeping, Or the weeping that drowns the laugh? For joys wax dim and woes deaden, We forget the sorrowful biers, And the garlands glad that have fled in The merciful march of years; And the sunny skies, and the leaden, And the faces that pale or redden, And the smiles that lovers are wed in Who are born and buried in tears.

And the myrtle bloom turns hoary, And the blush of the rose decays, And sodden with sweat and gory Are the hard won laurels and bays; We are neither joyous nor sorry When time has ended our story, And blotted out grief and glory, And pain, and pleasure, and praise. In the end, spite of dreams that sadden The sad or the sanguine madden, There is nothing to grieve or gladden, There is nothing to hope or fear. Is this dry land sure? Is the sea sure? Is there aught that shall long remain, Pain, or peril, or pleasure, Pleasure, or peril, or pain? Shall we labour or take our leisure, And who shall inherit treasure, If the measure with which we measure Is meted to us again?

Rest, and be thankful! With the anodyne cloud on my listless eyes, With its spell on my dreamy brain, As I watch the circling vapours rise From the brown bowl up to the sullen skies, My vision becomes more plain, Till a dim kaleidoscope succeeds Through the smoke-rack drifting and veering, Like ghostly riders on phantom steeds To a shadowy goal careering.

In their own generation the wise may sneer, They hold our sports in derision; Perchance to sophist, or sage, or seer, Were allotted a graver vision. No slave, but a comrade staunch, in this, Is the horse, for he takes his share, Not in peril alone, but in feverish bliss, And in longing to do and dare. Where bullets whistle, and round shot whiz, Hoofs trample, and blades flash bare, God send me an ending as fair as his Who died in his stirrups there! The bell has rung. The flag is lowered.

The rose and black draws clear of the ruck, And the murmur swells to a roar, As the brave old colours that never were struck, Are seen with the lead once more. That she never may be caught this day, Is the worst that the public wish her. Daughter of Omen, prove your birth, The colt will take lots of choking; The hot breath steams at your saddle girth, From his scarlet nostril smoking.

Is blood alone The sine qua non for a flyer? Our common descent we may each recall To a lady of old caught tripping, The fair one in fig leaves, who d —— d us all For a bite at a golden pippin. When first on this rocky ledge I lay, There was scarce a ripple in yonder bay, The air was serenely still; Each column that sailed from my swarthy clay Hung loitering long ere it passed away, Though the skies wore a tinge of leaden grey, And the atmosphere was chill.

For the gullies are deep, and the uplands are steep, And mud will of purls be the token, And the tough stringy-bark, that invites us to lark, With impunity may not be broken. He stands at the post. And Western was there, head and tail in the air, And Pondon was there, too — what noodle Could so name a horse? I should feel some remorse If I gave such a name to a poodle. To his haunches I spring, and my muzzle I bring To his flank, to his girth, to his shoulder; Through the shouting and yelling I hear my name swelling, The hearts of my backers grow bolder.

Girth and stifle laid close to the ground! Springs the whip with a crack! Steel and cord do their worst, now my head struggles first! My rhymes, are they stale? One chime — though I sing more or sing less, I have but one string to my lute, And it might have been better if, stringless And songless, the same had been mute. A rainbow of riders and steeds! And one shows in front, and another Goes up and is seen in his place, Sic transit more Latin — Oh!

Do the blue stars on white skies wax dim? Is it Tamworth or Smuggler? Past The Fly, falling back on the right, and The Gull, giving way on the left, Past Tamworth, who feels the whip smite, and Whose sides by the rowels are cleft; Where Tim and the chestnut together Still bear of the battle the brunt, As if eight stone twelve were a feather, He comes with a rush to the front. Do I bore you with vulgar allusions? Our abstruse calculations Are based on experience long; Are we sanguine?

Our high expectations Are founded on hope that is strong; Thus we build an air-castle that crumbles And drifts till no traces remain, And the fool builds again while he grumbles, And the wise one laughs, building again. In the jar of the panel rebounding! In the crash of the splintering wood! In the ears to the earth shock resounding! In the eyes flashing fire and blood! In the quarters above you revolving! In the sods underneath heaving high! There was little to aid you in solving Such questions — the how or the why.

And destiny, steadfast in trifles, Is steadfast for better or worse In great things, it crushes and stifles, And swallows the hopes that we nurse. Weird pictures arise, quaint devices, Rude emblems, baked funeral meats, Strong incense, rare wines, and rich spices, The ashes, the shrouds, and the sheets; Does our thraldom fall short of completeness For the magic of a charnel-house charm, And the flavour of a poisonous sweetness, And the odour of a poisonous balm? Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one?

One line of swart profiles and bearded lips dressing, One ridge of bright helmets, one crest of fair plumes, One streak of blue sword-blades all bared for the fleshing, One row of red nostrils that scent battle-fumes. One was there leading by nearly a rood, Though we were racing he kept to the fore, Still as a rock in his stirrups he stood, High in the sunlight his sabre he bore. Now we were close to them, every horse striding Madly; — St. Wedged in the midst of that struggling mass, After the first shock, where each his foe singled, Little was seen, save a dazzle, like glass In the sun, with grey smoke and black dust intermingled.

Some of our saddles were emptied, of course; To heaven or elsewhere Black Will had been carried! Our numbers were few, and our loss far from small, They could fight, and, besides, they were twenty to one; We were clear of them all when we heard the recall, And thus we returned, but my tale is not done. Two years back, at Aldershot, Elrington mentioned My name to our colonel one field-day.

Our gallant old colonel came limping and halting, The day before yesterday, into my stall; Oh! On the charge that he headed twelve long years ago? Did he think on each fresh year, of fresh grief the herald? On lids that are sunken, and locks that are grey? On Alice, who bolted with Brian Fitzgerald? In all strife where courage is tested, and power, From the meet on the hill-side, the horn-blast, the find, The burst, the long gallop that seems to devour The champaign, all obstacles flinging behind,. To the cheer and the clarion, the war-music blended With war-cry, the furious dash at the foe, The terrible shock, the recoil, and the splendid Bare sword, flashing blue, rising red from the blow.

Cross carbine and boar-spear, hang bugle and banner, Spur, sabre, and snaffle, and helm — Is it well? It may be — we follow, and though we inherit Our strength for a season, our pride for a span, Say! Not so, since they serve for a time horse and man. The loose doublet ripples and rustles! The swirl shoots beneath! The Sick Stockrider Hold hard, Ned!

Lift me down once more, and lay me in the shade. We led the hunt throughout, Ned, on the chestnut and the grey, And the troopers were three hundred yards behind, While we emptied our six-shooters on the bushrangers at bay, In the creek with stunted box-tree for a blind! Let me slumber in the hollow where the wattle blossoms wave, With never stone or rail to fence my bed; Should the sturdy station children pull the bush flowers on my grave, I may chance to hear them romping overhead.

The Swimmer With short, sharp, violent lights made vivid, To southward far as the sight can roam, Only the swirl of the surges livid, The seas that climb and the surfs that comb. Shall we carve success or record disaster On the bosom of her heaving alabaster? Will her purple pulse beat fainter or faster For fallen sparrow or fallen star?

But had you been unwilling to administer the medicine which I seek, I had a troop in readiness for the morrow, which would have exacted satisfaction for my injury and reparation for my dignity! To be flouted is disgraceful, but to dictate terms, sublime Pleased am I to choose what course I will, Even sages will retort an insult at the proper tune. Victor most is he who does not kill. Then she suddenly clapped her hands, and broke into such a peal of laughter that we were alarmed. The maid, who had been the first to arrive, did likewise, on one side of us, as also did the little girl who had entered with the madame herself.

The whole place was filled with mocking laughter, and we, who could see no reason for such a change of front, stared blankly at each other and then at the women. Then Quartilla spoke up, finally, "I gave orders that no mortal man should be admitted into this inn, this day, so that I could receive the treatment for my ague without interruption! Then, too, we were girded higher, and I had so arranged matters that if it came to a fight, I would engage Quartilla myself, Ascyltos the maid, and Giton the girl.

While I was turning over this plan in my mind, Quartilla came to close quarters, to receive the treatment for her ague, but having her hopes disappointed, she flounced out in a rage and, returning in a little while, she had us overpowered by some unknown vagabonds, and gave orders for us to be carried away to a splendid palace. Then our determination gave place to astonishment, and death, sure and certain, began to obscure the eyes of suffering. Ascyltos, well aware by now of the danger of dipping into the secrets of others, covered his head with his mantle.

In the meantime, the maid took two ribbons from her bosom and bound our feet with one and our hands with the other. Finding myself trussed up in this fashion, I remarked, "You will not be able to cure your mistress' ague in this manner! When this repartee had drawn to a close, Ascyltos exclaimed, "Don't I deserve a drink? Finally not even Giton himself could resist a smile, especially when the little girl caught him around the neck and showered innumerable kisses upon him, and he not at all averse to it. We would have cried aloud in our misery but there was no one to give us any help, and whenever I attempted to shout, "Help!

Then a catamite appeared, clad in a myrtle-colored frieze robe, and girded round with a belt. One minute he nearly gored us to death with his writhing buttocks, and the next, he befouled us so with his stinking kisses that Quartilla, with her robe tucked high, held up her whalebone wand and ordered him to give the unhappy wretches quarter.

Both of us then took a most solemn oath that so dread a secret should perish with us. Several wrestling instructors appeared and refreshed us, worn out as we were, by a massage with pure oil, and when our fatigue had abated, we again donned our dining clothes and were escorted to the next room, in which were placed three couches, and where all the essentials necessary to a splendid banquet were laid out in all their richness.

We took our places, as requested, and began with a wonderful first course. We were all but submerged in Falernian wine. When several other courses had followed, and we were endeavoring to keep awake Quartilla exclaimed, "How dare you think of going to sleep when you know that the vigil of Priapus is to be kept? Worn out by all his troubles, Ascyltos commenced to nod, and the maid, whom he had slighted, and of course insulted, smeared lampblack all over his face, and painted his lips and shoulders with vermillion, while he drowsed.

Completely exhausted by so many untoward adventures, I, too, was enjoying the shortest of naps, the whole household, within and without, was doing the same, some were lying here and there asleep at our feet, others leaned against the walls, and some even slept head to head upon the threshold itself; the lamps, failing because of a lack of oil, shed a feeble and flickering light, when two Syrians, bent upon stealing an amphora of wine, entered the dining-room. While they were greedily pawing among the silver, they pulled the amphora in two, upsetting the table with all the silver plate, and a cup, which had flown pretty high, cut the head of the maid, who was drowsing upon a couch.

She screamed at that, thereby betraying the thieves and wakening some of the drunkards. The Syrians, who had come for plunder, seeing that they were about to be detected, were so quick to throw themselves down besides a couch and commence to snore as if they had been asleep for a long time, that you would have thought they belonged there.

The butler had gotten up and poured oil in the flickering lamps by this time, and the boys, having rubbed their eyes open, had returned to their duty, when in came a female cymbal player and the crashing brass awoke everybody. The banquet began all over again, and Quartilla challenged us to a drinking-bout, the crash of the cymbals lending ardor to her revel. A catamite appeared, the stalest of all mankind, well worthy of that house. Heaving a sigh, he wrung his hands until the joints cracked, and spouted out the following verses,. When he had finished his poetry, he slobbered a most evil-smelling kiss upon me, and then, climbing upon my couch, he proceeded with all his might and main to pull all of my clothing off.

I resisted to the limit of my strength. He manipulated my member for a long time, but all in vain. Gummy streams poured down his sweating forehead, and there was so much chalk in the wrinkles of his cheeks that you might have mistaken his face for a roofless wall, from which the plaster was crumbling in a rain. Driven to the last extremity, I could no longer keep back the tears. Giton was standing between us and splitting his sides with laughter when Quartilla noticed him, and actuated by the liveliest curiosity, she asked whose boy he was, and upon my answering that he was my "brother," "Why has he not kissed me then?

Calling him to her, she pressed a kiss upon his mouth, then putting her hand beneath his robe, she took hold of his little member, as yet so undeveloped. She was still talking when Psyche, who was giggling, came to her side and whispered something in her ear. What it was, I did not catch.

Why shouldn't our pretty little Pannychis lose her maidenhead when the opportunity is so favorable? Amidst universal applause, and in response to the demands of all, they made ready to perform the nuptial rites. I was completely out of countenance, and insisted that such a modest boy as Giton was entirely unfitted for such a wanton part, and moreover, that the child was not of an age at which she could receive that which a woman must take. Juno, my patroness, curse me if I can remember the time when I ever was a virgin, for I diverted myself with others of my own age, as a child then as the years passed, I played with bigger boys, until at last I reached my present age.

I suppose that this explains the origin of the proverb, 'Who carried the calf may carry the bull,' as they say. Psyche had already enveloped the child's head in the bridal-veil, the catamite, holding a torch, led the long procession of drunken women which followed; they were clapping their hands, having previously decked out the bridal-bed with a suggestive drapery.

Quartilla, spurred on by the wantonness of the others, seized hold of Giton and drew him into the bridal-chamber. There was no doubt of the boy's perfect willingness to go, nor was the girl at all alarmed at the name of marriage. When they were finally in bed, and the door shut, we seated ourselves outside the door of the bridal-chamber, and Quartilla applied a curious eye to a chink, purposely made, watching their childish dalliance with lascivious attention. She then drew me gently over to her side that I might share the spectacle with her, and when we both attempted to peep our faces were pressed against each other; whenever she was not engrossed in the performance, she screwed up her lips to meet mine, and pecked at me continually with furtive kisses.

He glared about him with savage eyes and blustering mien, and, catching sight of Quartilla, presently, "What's up now, you shameless woman," he bawled; "what do you mean by making game of me with lying promises, and cheating me out of the night you promised me? But you won't get off unpunished You and that lover of yours are going to find out that I'm a man! Then the catamite, also at the soldier's order, began to beslaver me all over with the fetid kisses of his stinking mouth, a treatment I could neither fly from, nor in any other way avoid.

Finally, he ravished me, and worked his entire pleasure upon me. In the meantime, the satyrion which I had drunk only a little while before spurred every nerve to lust and I began to gore Quartilla impetuously, and she, burning with the same passion, reciprocated in the game. The rowdies laughed themselves sick, so moved were they by that ludicrous scene, for here was I, mounted by the stalest of catamites, involuntarily and almost unconsciously responding with as rapid a cadence to him as Quartilla did in her wriggling under me.

Featured Article

While this was going on, Pannychis, unaccustomed at her tender years to the pastime of Venus, raised an outcry and attracted the attention of the soldier, by this unexpected howl of consternation, for this slip of a girl was being ravished, and Giton the victor, had won a not bloodless victory. Aroused by what he saw, the soldier rushed upon them, seizing Pannychis, then Giton, then both of them together, in a crushing embrace.

The virgin burst into tears and plead with him to remember her age, but her prayers availed her nothing, the soldier only being fired the more by her childish charms. Pannychis covered her head at last, resolved to endure whatever the Fates had in store for her. At this instant, an old woman, the very same who had tricked me on that day when I was hunting for our lodging, came to the aid of Pannychis, as though she had dropped from the clouds.

With loud cries, she rushed into the house, swearing that a gang of footpads was prowling about the neighborhood and the people invoked the help of "All honest men," in vain, for the members of the night-watch were either asleep or intent upon some carouse, as they were nowhere to be found. Greatly terrified at this, the soldier rushed headlong from Quartilla's house. His companions followed after him, freeing Pannychis from impending danger and relieving the rest of us from our fear. I made my intentions known to Ascyltos, who, as he wished to rid himself of the importunities of Psyche, was delighted; had not Giton been shut up in the bridal-chamber, the plan would have presented no difficulties, but we wished to take him with us, and out of the way of the viciousness of these prostitutes.

We were anxiously engaged in debating this very point, when Pannychis fell out of bed, and dragged Giton after her, by her own weight. He was not hurt, but the girl gave her head a slight bump, and raised such a clamor that Quartilla, in a terrible fright, rushed headlong into the room, giving us the opportunity of making off. We did not tarry, but flew back to our inn where, throwing ourselves upon the bed, we passed the remainder of the night without fear. Sallying forth next day, we came upon two of our kidnappers, one of whom Ascyltos savagely attacked the moment he set eyes upon him, and, after having thrashed and seriously wounded him, he ran to my aid against the other.

He defended himself so stoutly, however, that he wounded us both, slightly, and escaped unscathed. The third day had now dawned, the date set for the free dinner at Trimalchio's, but battered as we were, flight seemed more to our taste than quiet, so we hastened to our inn and, as our wounds turned out to be trifling, we dressed them with vinegar and oil, and went to bed. The ruffian whom we had done for, was still lying upon the ground and we feared detection. Affairs were at this pass, and we were framing melancholy excuses with which to evade the coming revel, when a slave of Agamemnon's burst in upon our trembling conclave and said, "Don't you know with whom your engagement is today?

The exquisite Trimalchio, who keeps a clock and a liveried bugler in his dining-room, so that he can tell, instantly, how much of his life has run out! Boys play in the schools, the young men are laughed at Deferred pleasures are a long time coming Egyptians "commercialized" that incomparable art Errors committed in the name of religion Everything including the children, is devoted to ambition Laughed ourselves out of a most disgraceful quarrel No one will confess the errors he was taught in his school days Priests, animated by an hypocritical mania for prophecy See or hear nothing at all of the affairs of every-day life The teachers, who must gibber with lunatics They secure their ends, save by setting snares for the ears.

Having put on our clothes, in the meantime, we commenced to stroll around and soon, the better to amuse ourselves, approached the circle of players; all of a sudden we caught sight of a bald-headed old fellow, rigged out in a russet colored tunic, playing ball with some long haired boys.

It was not so much the boys who attracted our attention, although they might well have merited it, as it was the spectacle afforded by this beslippered paterfamilias playing with a green ball. If one but touched the ground, he never stooped for it to put it back in play; for a slave stood by with a bagful from which the players were supplied. We noted other innovations as well, for two eunuchs were stationed at opposite sides of the ring, one of whom held a silver chamber-pot, the other counted the balls; not those which bounced back and forth from hand to hand, in play, but those which fell to the ground.

While we were marveling at this display of refinement, Menelaus rushed up, "He is the one with whom you will rest upon your elbow," he panted, "what you see now, is only a prelude to the dinner. After relieving his bladder, he called for water to wash his hands, barely moistened his fingers, and dried them upon a boy's head. To go into details would take too long. We entered the bath, finally, and after sweating for a minute or two in the warm room, we passed through into the cold water. But short as was the time, Trimalchio had already been sprinkled with perfume and was being rubbed down, not with linen towels, however, but with cloths made from the finest wool.

Meanwhile, three masseurs were guzzling Falernian under his eyes, and when they spilled a great deal of it in their brawling, Trimalchio declared they were pouring a libation to his Genius. He was then wrapped in a coarse scarlet wrap-rascal, and placed in a litter. Four runners, whose liveries were decorated with metal plates, preceded him, as also did a wheel-chair in which rode his favorite, a withered, blear eyed slave, even more repulsive looking than his master.

A singing boy approached the head of his litter, as he was being carried along, and played upon small pipes the whole way, just as if he were communicating some secret to his master's ear. Marveling greatly, we followed, and met Agamemnon at the outer door, to the post of which was fastened a small tablet bearing this inscription:. In the vestibule stood the porter, clad in green and girded with a cherry-colored belt, shelling peas into a silver dish.

Above the threshold was suspended a golden cage, from which a black and white magpie greeted the visitors. I almost fell backwards and broke my legs while staring at all this, for to the left, as we entered, not far from the porter's alcove, an enormous dog upon a chain was painted upon the wall, and above him this inscription, in capitals:. My companions laughed, but I plucked up my courage and did not hesitate, but went on and examined the entire wall.

There was a scene in a slave market, the tablets hanging from the slaves' necks, and Trimalchio himself, wearing his hair long, holding a caduceus in his hand, entering Rome, led by the hand of Minerva. Then again the painstaking artist had depicted him casting up accounts, and still again, being appointed steward; everything being explained by inscriptions. Where the walls gave way to the portico, Mercury was shown lifting him up by the chin, to a tribunal placed on high. Near by stood Fortune with her horn of plenty, and the three Fates, spinning golden flax.

I also took note of a group of runners, in the portico, taking their exercise under the eye of an instructor, and in one corner was a large cabinet, in which was a very small shrine containing silver Lares, a marble Venus, and a golden casket by no means small, which held, so they told us, the first shavings of Trimalchio's beard. I asked the hall-porter what pictures were in the middle hall. We had now come to the dining-room, at the entrance to which sat a factor, receiving accounts, and, what gave me cause for astonishment, rods and axes were fixed to the door-posts, superimposed, as it were, upon the bronze beak of a ship, whereon was inscribed:.

A double lamp, suspended from the ceiling, hung beneath the inscription, and a tablet was fixed to each door-post; one, if my memory serves me, was inscribed,. We had had enough of these novelties and started to enter the dining-room when a slave, detailed to this duty, cried out, "Right foot first. So we drew back our right feet and intervened with the steward, who was counting gold pieces in the hall, begging him to remit the slave's punishment.

Putting a haughty face on the matter, "It's not the loss I mind so much," he said, "as it is the carelessness of this worthless rascal. He lost my dinner clothes, given me on my birthday they were, by a certain client, Tyrian purple too, but it had been washed once already. But what does it amount to? I make you a present of the scoundrel! We felt deeply obligated by his great condescension, and the same slave for whom we had interceded, rushed up to us as we entered the dining-room, and to our astonishment, kissed us thick and fast, voicing his thanks for our kindness.

I was desirous of finding out whether the whole household could sing, so I ordered a drink; a boy near at hand instantly repeated my order in a singsong voice fully as shrill, and whichever one you accosted did the same. You would not imagine that this was the dining-room of a private gentleman, but rather that it was an exhibition of pantomimes. A very inviting relish was brought on, for by now all the couches were occupied save only that of Trimalchio, for whom, after a new custom, the chief place was reserved.

On the tray stood a donkey made of Corinthian bronze, bearing panniers containing olives, white in one and black in the other. Two platters flanked the figure, on the margins of which were engraved Trimalchio's name and the weight of the silver in each. Dormice sprinkled with poppy-seed and honey were served on little bridges soldered fast to the platter, and hot sausages on a silver gridiron, underneath which were damson plums and pomegranate seeds. We Were in the midst of these delicacies when, to the sound of music, Trimalchio himself was carried in and bolstered up in a nest of small cushions, which forced a snicker from the less wary.

A shaven poll protruded from a scarlet mantle, and around his neck, already muffled with heavy clothing, he had tucked a napkin having a broad purple stripe and a fringe that hung down all around. On the little finger of his left hand he wore a massive gilt ring, and on the first joint of the next finger, a smaller one which seemed to me to be of pure gold, but as a matter of fact it had iron stars soldered on all around it. And then, for fear all of his finery would not be displayed, he bared his right arm, adorned with a golden arm-band and an ivory circlet clasped with a plate of shining metal.

Picking his teeth with a silver quill, "Friends," said he, "it was not convenient for me to come into the dining-room just yet, but for fear my absence should cause you any inconvenience, I gave over my own pleasure: He kept up a continual flow of various coarse expressions. We were still dallying with the relishes when a tray was brought in, on which was a basket containing a wooden hen with her wings rounded and spread out as if she were brooding. Two slaves instantly approached, and to the accompaniment of music, commenced to feel around in the straw. They pulled out some pea-hen's eggs, which they distributed among the diners.

Turning his head, Trimalchio saw what was going on. Having finished his game, Trimalchio was served with a helping of everything and was announcing in a loud voice his willingness to join anyone in a second cup of honied wine, when, to a flourish of music, the relishes were suddenly whisked away by a singing chorus, but a small dish happened to fall to the floor, in the scurry, and a slave picked it up.

Seeing this, Trimalchio ordered that the boy be punished by a box on the ear, and made him throw it down again; a janitor followed with his broom and swept the silver dish away among the litter. Next followed two long-haired Ethiopians, carrying small leather bottles, such as are commonly seen in the hands of those who sprinkle sand in the arena, and poured wine upon our hands, for no one offered us water. When complimented upon these elegant extras, the host cried out, "Mars loves a fair fight: While we were studying the labels, Trimalchio clapped his hands and cried, "Ah me!

To think that wine lives longer than poor little man. Let's fill 'em up! There's life in wine and this is the real Opimian, you can take my word for that. I offered no such vintage yesterday, though my guests were far more respectable. He threw it down upon the table a time or two, and its mobile articulation caused it to assume grotesque attitudes, whereupon Trimalchio chimed in:. The applause was followed by a course which, by its oddity, drew every eye, but it did not come up to our expectations.

There was a circular tray around which were displayed the signs of the zodiac, and upon each sign the caterer had placed the food best in keeping with it. Ram's vetches on Aries, a piece of beef on Taurus, kidneys and lamb's fry on Gemini, a crown on Cancer, the womb of an unfarrowed sow on Virgo, an African fig on Leo, on Libra a balance, one pan of which held a tart and the other a cake, a small seafish on Scorpio, a bull's eye on Sagittarius, a sea lobster on Capricornus, a goose on Aquarius and two mullets on Pisces. In the middle lay a piece of cut sod upon which rested a honeycomb with the grass arranged around it.

An Egyptian slave passed bread around from a silver oven and in a most discordant voice twisted out a song in the manner of the mime in the musical farce called Laserpitium. Seeing that we were rather depressed at the prospect of busying ourselves with such vile fare, Trimalchio urged us to fall to: While he was speaking, four dancers ran in to the time of the music, and removed the upper part of the tray. Beneath, on what seemed to be another tray, we caught sight of stuffed capons and sows' bellies, and in the middle, a hare equipped with wings to resemble Pegasus.

At the corners of the tray we also noted four figures of Marsyas and from their bladders spouted a highly spiced sauce upon fish which were swimming about as if in a tide-race. All of us echoed the applause which was started by the servants, and fell to upon these exquisite delicacies, with a laugh.

Timing his strokes to the beat of the music he cut up the meat in such a fashion as to lead you to think that a gladiator was fighting from a chariot to the accompaniment of a water-organ. Every now and then Trimalchio would repeat "Carver, Carver," in a low voice, until I finally came to the conclusion that some joke was meant in repeating a word so frequently, so I did not scruple to question him who reclined above me. As he had often experienced byplay of this sort he explained, "You see that fellow who is carving the meat, don't you?

Well, his name is Carver. Whenever Trimalchio says Carver, carve her, by the same word, he both calls and commands! I could eat no more, so I turned to my whilom informant to learn as much as I could and sought to draw him out with far-fetched gossip. I inquired who that woman could be who was scurrying about hither and yon in such a fashion. And only a little while ago, what was she! May your genius pardon me, but you would not have been willing to take a crust of bread from her hand. Now, without rhyme or reason, she's in the seventh heaven and is Trimalchio's factotum, so much so that he would believe her if she told him it was dark when it was broad daylight!

As for him, he don't know how rich he is, but this harlot keeps an eye on everything and where you least expect to find her, you're sure to run into her. She's temperate, sober, full of good advice, and has many good qualities, but she has a scolding tongue, a very magpie on a sofa, those she likes, she likes, but those she dislikes, she dislikes! Trimalchio himself has estates as broad as the flight of a kite is long, and piles of money.

There's more silver plate lying in his steward's office than other men have in their whole fortunes! And as for slaves, damn me if I believe a tenth of them knows the master by sight. The truth is, that these stand-a-gapes are so much in awe of him that any one of them would step into a fresh dunghill without ever knowing it, at a mere nod from him! Because he wanted his wool to rival other things in quality, he bought rams at Tarentum and sent 'em into his flocks with a slap on the arse.

He had bees brought from Attica, so he could produce Attic honey at home, and, as a side issue, so he could improve the native bees by crossing with the Greek. He even wrote to India for mushroom seed one day, and he hasn't a single mule that wasn't sired by a wild ass. Do you see all those cushions? Not a single one but what is stuffed with either purple or scarlet wool! He hasn't anything to worry about!

Look out how you criticise those other fellow-freedmen-friends of his, they're all well heeled. See the fellow reclining at the bottom of the end couch? He's worth his , any day, and he rose from nothing. Only a short while ago he had to carry faggots on his own back. I don't know how true it is, but they say that he snatched off an Incubo's hat and found a treasure!

For my part, I don't envy any man anything that was given him by a god. He still carries the marks of his box on the ear, and he isn't wishing himself any bad luck! He posted this notice, only the other day:. He has a good front, too, hasn't he? And he has a right to.

He saw his fortune multiplied tenfold, but he lost heavily through speculation at the last. I don't think he can call his very hair his own, and it is no fault of his either, by Hercules, it isn't. There's no better fellow anywhere his rascally freedmen cheated him out of everything. You know very well how it is; everybody's business is nobody's business, and once let business affairs start to go wrong, your friends will stand from under! Look at the fix he's in, and think what a fine trade he had!

He used to be an undertaker. He dined like a king, boars roasted whole in their shaggy Bides, bakers' pastries, birds, cooks and bakers! More wine was spilled under his table than another has in his wine cellar. His life was like a pipe dream, not like an ordinary mortal's. When his affairs commenced to go wrong, and he was afraid his creditors would guess that he was bankrupt, he advertised an auction and this was his placard:.

Trimalchio broke in upon this entertaining gossip, for the course had been removed and the guests, happy with wine, had started a general conversation: But I say, you didn't think I'd be satisfied with any such dinner as you saw on the top of that tray? May the bones of my patron rest in peace, he wanted me to become a man among men. No one can show me anything new, and that little tray has proved it. This heaven where the gods live, turns into as many different signs, and sometimes into the Ram: A great many school-teachers and rambunctious butters-in are born under that sign. Teams of horses and oxen are born under the Twins, and well-hung wenchers and those who bedung both sides of the wall.

I was born under the Crab and therefore stand on many legs and own much property on land and sea, for the crab is as much at home on one as he is in the other. For that reason, I put nothing on that sign for fear of weighing down my own destiny. Bulldozers and gluttons are born under the Lion, and women and fugitives and chain-gangs are born under the Virgin. Butchers and perfumers are born under the Balance, and all who think that it is their business to straighten things out. Poisoners and assassins are born under the Scorpion. Cross-eyed people who look at the vegetables and sneak away with the bacon, are born under the Archer.

Horny-handed sons of toil are born under Capricorn. Bartenders and pumpkin-heads are born under the Water-Carrier. Caterers and rhetoricians are born under the Fishes: As to the sod and the honeycomb in the middle, for I never do anything without a reason, Mother Earth is in the centre, round as an egg, and all that is good is found in her, just like it is in a honeycomb.

At length some slaves came in who spread upon the couches some coverlets upon which were embroidered nets and hunters stalking their game with boar-spears, and all the paraphernalia of the chase. We knew not what to look for next, until a hideous uproar commenced, just outside the dining-room door, and some Spartan hounds commenced to run around the table all of a sudden. A tray followed them, upon which was served a wild boar of immense size, wearing a liberty cap upon its head, and from its tusks hung two little baskets of woven palm fibre, one of which contained Syrian dates, the other, Theban.

Around it hung little suckling pigs made from pastry, signifying that this was a brood-sow with her pigs at suck. It turned out that these were souvenirs intended to be taken home. When it came to carving the boar, our old friend Carver, who had carved the capons, did not appear, but in his place a great bearded giant, with bands around his legs, and wearing a short hunting cape in which a design was woven.

Drawing his hunting-knife, he plunged it fiercely into the boar's side, and some thrushes flew out of the gash. Getting a moment to myself, in the meantime, I began to speculate as to why the boar had come with a liberty cap upon his head. After exhausting my invention with a thousand foolish guesses, I made bold to put the riddle which teased me to my old informant. This boar made his first bow as the last course of yesterday's dinner and was dismissed by the guests, so today he comes back as a freedman!

While we were speaking, a handsome boy, crowned with vine leaves and ivy, passed grapes around, in a little basket, and impersonated Bacchus-happy, Bacchus-drunk, and Bacchus-dreaming, reciting, in the meantime, his master's verses, in a shrill voice. Trimalchio turned to him and said, "Dionisus, be thou Liber," whereupon the boy immediately snatched the cap from the boar's head, and put it upon his own.

At that Trimalchio added, "You can't deny that my father's middle name was Liber! Trimalchio retired to the close-stool, after this course, and we, having freedom of action with the tyrant away, began to draw the other guests out. After calling for a bowl of wine, Dama spoke up, "A day's nothing at all: It's been so cold that I can hardly get warm in a bath, but a hot drink's as good as an overcoat: I've had some long pegs, and between you and me, I'm a bit groggy; the booze has gone to my head.

Here Seleucus took up the tale. What is important are the choices you make when stuff happens. Take one day this week and communicate with at least one new or under-used contact. Then at the end of the day, answer the following questions: What new insight did you gain from your exchange? How might you use or build on what you learned? Should the contact be part of your regular network? What is the best way to share your knowledge? You also must stay sensitive to external realities. Consider using podcasts or video links from external sources to support innovative new ideas or approaches to the way you currently do business thinking.

Use key words to search the Internet for free podcasts and videos. As a first step try searching blogs using free online tools such as socialmention. These quick activities can help you specifically focus on LPI Item I search outside the formal boundaries of my organization for innovative ways to do what we do.

When people are forced to leave their homes due to war, violence, or famine, they carry little with them but hope for a better future. Dotted across Africa, Asia, the Middle East, and other parts of the world, there are refugee camps filled with families with a desire to improve their lives yet without the tools to do so. Many reside at these camps for years, struggling to get even the most basic necessities for their families.

So, how can these families go from basic survival to improving their lives and communities? And what can mission-driven organizations do to help? The Society of Jesus, a religious order within the Catholic Church, is one of these mission-driven organizations trying to find solutions. Its members, known as Jesuits, are especially well known for their focus on education and social justice.

Higher Education at the Margins JC: Open to people of all faiths, the JC: HEM program mobilizes the resources of the worldwide network of Jesuit and other universities to bring higher education to those who need it most. Understanding the challenges that refugees face is to understand the mission of JC: If we tip this equation in those regions by making higher education accessible, will that lead to a decrease in poverty and a decrease in conflict?

Even though it may take 20 to 30 years, those of us who have worked with these students believe it is possible. Refugee camps are filled with people of different races, ethnicities, and religions. Refugees arrive with little, if anything, and often from opposing warring tribes. They must find a way to live peacefully, side- by-side, leaving behind old prejudices while wondering about the fate of the homes, families, and friends.

In addition, camp life has its own struggles. Basic needs—such as quality sanitation, plentiful food, and safe, potable water—are difficult to meet. Refugees face overwhelming odds, both physically and mentally. In the midst of all this hardship is where JC: HEM has stepped in to provide opportunities for learning that offers these survivors a chance for a brighter future—for themselves and their families. And it has built a curriculum focused on liberal studies and also on practical skills.

The Diploma in Liberal Studies is awarded by Regis University, Denver Colorado, and several different universities award certificate-level programs. This education empowers students to reclaim their sense-of-self and take a leadership role in their communities. Faculty from over 36 universities—primarily from the U. One online class, created specifically to help refugees develop essential leadership skills, uses The Leadership Challenge as the core text.

And currently, professors from U. Neil Sparnon, the JC: As students learn leadership principles, they are able to apply them right away as leadership opportunities abound in these refugee camps. Domique, for example, is one individual who has taken a leadership role in his camp. After completing his JC: HEM program, he began to work as a water and sanitation monitor. He instructs others on how to prevent the spread of disease through proper use of hand washing and the correct way to obtain fresh, clean water.

He encourages those he teaches to educate their families and neighbors Enabling Others to Act to make the camps safer and keep residents healthy. I feel more helpful in the community because I have something that I can give. HEM for assisting me and other refugees with more skills and improving our way of looking at life. Peter, after completing his leadership course, started volunteering as President of the Dzaleka Sanitation Committee coordinated by the Office of the United Nations Higher Commissioner for Refugees. From increasing access to clean water to ensuring that new toilets were installed, Peter faced many challenges.

But in his new role, Peter became a guide for others Modelling the Way to be both a member of a community and a leader. Peter is now employed as a health surveillance assistant at the Dzaleka Health Centre where he helps to immunize children and teach about water and sanitation in the community and camp. From a workshop that she opened, she makes furniture and sells wood to other carpenters in the camp. She also has taught business skills to other women, to help them create small businesses of their own.

HEM has given me more value in the community, and I have gained knowledge that helps me do something for community and my family. HEM celebrated a momentous occasion: Extending beyond the graduates to their families, friends, and community, there was much to celebrate.

As the program graduates take on leadership roles in their communities, life there improves. They find that their newly-gained wisdom is trusted and valued by their peers. Program graduates, who have studied side-by-side with those from different backgrounds, are natural peacemakers. They are invited to help solve inter-religious and inter-ethnic conflicts that emerge. And their new-found leadership skills and confidence ripple through the community, encouraging more and more people to focus on improving camp life and living peacefully together.

HEM students have now received the gift of knowledge and they want to use it to help themselves, their families, their communities. HEM since , can be reached at kareena. Christine Mulcahy is a freelance writer specializing in education. A graduate of Boston College and NYU, she has 12 years of experience as an educator, editor, and writer. The program offers a Diploma in Liberal Studies delivered online by volunteer faculty who teach in their subject area; leadership skills are a foundational element.

In addition, shorter Community Service Learning Tracks are offered that seek to enhance local vocational education by providing on-site facilitators and online access to faculty expertise and materials. HEM works with a variety of partners and donors, and actively seeks institutional partners involved in accreditation. Learn more at http: Recognizing, confronting and overcoming adversity were clearly key sub-themes that were addressed in nearly every breakout session, skill-building session, and the great keynotes. The Leadership Challenge model and the annual Forums are truly geared toward Enabling Others to Act, not just providing interesting but non-applicable knowledge.

Symbolically, New Orleans was a perfect location given what the people there have had to overcome throughout the past few years. No matter how much all of us outsiders think we might know about Katrina, the people of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast have had a much different experience than we can imagine.

A remarkable and heartwarming sense of history and pride exists in that city. The Forum offered a number of terrific learning opportunities. Jim and Barry, once again, happily gave up the stage to a couple of other authors: Courage is part of dealing with adversity and it takes courage to confront the unchallengeable norms in a workplace in order to make it better. I always appreciate being exposed to the additive work of other researchers and authors, which is so often a great benefit of attending The Leadership Challenge Forum.

The closing activity was an example of experiential learning at its best. To be in New Orleans and have a jazz ensemble rocking the room would have been grand enough by itself. But along with some great music, we were able to learn some powerful lessons about New Orleans traditions and music, songwriting, and collaboration. It was amazing to watch how the energy level continued to soar and how that energy, along with the lessons learned, was harnessed into an immediate result. We learned, we delivered, and we thoroughly enjoyed.

Imagine that combination in your workplace every day! This may be my most important reflection. If there is one value that was immensely modeled at the Forum, it was generosity. Jim and Barry were very accessible and generous with their time and knowledge. All of the speakers, including the breakout session leaders, were generous in sharing what they know and what they have learned.

Master Facilitators looked forward to sharing what they could with attendees who wanted and needed advice and knowledge. And our host, Wiley Publishing, continued to show great generosity in supporting the Masters Give Back program. It is a joy for me to see this value so abundantly displayed. My final reflection is this: The Leadership Challenge community is not just a group of people from around the world who enjoy common work and like to come together to socialize around it once a year. Rather, it is a well-intentioned, focused community whose members are all deeply committed to the work of leadership development.

There is a real power in this community. For years, many of us have seen the impact The Leadership Challenge has had on individual people and organizations of all kinds. And this impact is expanding worldwide, including places like Asia, Africa, and Australia to alliteratively name a few. There are members of the community devoted to helping students become exposed to leadership at earlier ages and, as a result, perhaps changing their futures forever.

And consider this…there is Leadership Challenge work being done in the Middle East, which with time and its accumulating, visible results could actually become a factor for future peace and interdependence. It is a privilege to be part of a community that makes such a difference for so many people.

In , we will gather in San Francisco, June 18—19, to continue strengthening our collective desire to grow leaders and, yes, even change the world. We extend a hearty welcome to all who want to join in on this wild and rewarding adventure. For all those familiar with The Leadership Challenge, we know that the most important starting point for values-driven leadership or any leadership, for that matter is to have an awareness of self: And it is that focus and learning that participants in a recent workshop, sponsored by the Hamilton County Leadership Academy HCLA , experienced in a unique way.

HCLA is a community leadership development program dedicated to helping those in leadership positions continue to develop their capabilities as leaders. Representing a variety of organizations from Hamilton County in Indiana, participants come to the program from various backgrounds—all seeking education and information about the Hamilton County community as well as opportunities to build on their leadership skills.

Here, leaders return to the HCLA community to share their experiences, and spend a morning focusing on ways to more fully develop their leadership skills, both personally and professionally. While this Values-Driven Leadership Workshop, in many settings, may have focused only on organizational values, HCLA has always recognized the importance of individual leaders exploring their own personal values.

For example, during the most recent workshop held earlier this year, leaders spent the first several hours exploring personal values with an exercise adapted from the Values Card Sort provided in The Leadership Challenge Values Cards Facilitator Guide. Leaders identified the personal values that mattered most to them and created definitions for each that would help guide them in their daily leadership.

This exploration was both illuminating and reflective. And when participants shared their values with each other, the room was abuzz! To our surprise, this first exercise went more quickly than we had planned—perhaps because these leaders were so committed to the community they were already very in tune to the values that truly mattered to them and were quick to narrow down their values. As many of us within the TLC community understand, having a leadership philosophy—one that arises from our values—often has more impact than we ever expect.

This was the case with attendee Chris Owens, Director of Indiana Parks and Recreation Association, who was surprised that this simple process of exploring personal values and using those to create his leadership philosophy made such an impact. In fact, he was so excited that he posted about his leadership philosophy on Facebook, writing:. Still needs some polishing, but happy with draft 1. Workshop participants also shared their leadership philosophies with others in the group before being treated to a panel discussion that included executives from Hamilton and nearby Marion counties who told stories and provided insight into the personal values that drive their behavior and actions as leaders, as well as how their organizations use values to positively impact results.

During the extreme cold of the Polar Vortex in January, on the coldest night of the year when the wind chill was degrees, a valve broke on one of the liquefied natural gas tanks that provide gas into our system which, of course, is used to heat homes. And as employees from various divisions gather together to come up with a solution, the values of quality and teamwork were very evident. Each member of the team that night came in during off hours, bringing specific skills to collaborate on a solution that, ultimately, ended with three people climbing to the top of the 80 foot tank in the coldest hour of the coldest day to implement a fix.

It was all hands on deck and, in fact, a temporary worker was brought into the conversation because he had an idea for fixing the broken valve based on an observation earlier in the day. This truly demonstrated the value of teamwork and illustrates the great lengths our employees went to in order to ensure customers had gas to heat their homes. I know it sounds hokey, but we really took it to heart. This means making our clients better, making each other better, making life better for our families, making the technical field better and, finally, making our community better.

We live these values out every day through our client training sessions, mentoring, wellness initiatives, technical community involvement and events, and our community involvement plan. A concrete example is our Pay It Forward Month. We provide a small stipend for each employee and ask them to help others in the community in some small, but meaningful way. Involvement in our community has become ingrained in who we are.

I see our people taking it to heart and going above and beyond. Leaders left the session energized about their personal leadership, and eager to help others explore their own personal values and help them make the link to their organizational values. Lisa Wissman of Community Health put it this way:. I have applied what I learned, shared examples from the panel and networked with two new individuals who are assisting me with helping a young engineer build a professional network for his job search.

I truly hit the jackpot! Thank you for creating the opportunity. This most recent Values-Driven Leadership Workshop again confirmed the importance of the contribution that HCLA makes to the community by helping leaders further their development. Hearing stories from panel members, having the space and time to reflect on their own values, and getting an unexpected opportunity to reflect on their leadership philosophies, HCLA participants and alumnae are in an even better position to make a positive impact on the communities in which they live and work.

The Gift of Leadership program, begun in , is not just an annual workshop. It is a cause. Our Gift of Leadership program was held in March, and for two full days ILA and our other collaborative partners hosted a dynamic group of managers and directors from such Greater Cincinnati area nonprofits as The Council on Aging, Girl Scouts, St. Vincent de Paul, and the Cincinnati Youth Collaborative, among others. The venue was once again provided by our partner, Camp Joy, a nonprofit organization devoted to experiential learning for over 75 years.

They generously provided scholarships for the program, and are deeply committed to providing more nonprofit members with ongoing, high - quality leadership development opportunities, such as The Leadership Challenge. Collectively, we have been working on a vision of making the Cincinnati community better by building up our nonprofit leadership. We have developed a plan and are already in the process of rolling out a strategy to seek ongoing funding from businesses and other donors, to make the gift of The Leadership Challenge the foundation of leadership for area nonprofits.

Certified Master Facilitator Valarie Willis is also part of this endeavor. She offers The Leadership Challenge for additional members of this nonprofit community, and has played an important role in developing the strategy for keeping the Gift of Leadership moving forward in Cincinnati. New friendships were made and participants have begun sharing best practices—already raising their leadership capacity to better serve people in need throughout the Greater Cincinnati community. As one Gift of Leadership participant wrote: I have made some commitments to myself that I intend to accomplish in the next 30 days that will benefit me and the organization.

Thanks again for thinking of me for this opportunity.

Artículos de la “Conferencia Internacional Teilhard de Chardin”

Every day, people working with human services agencies must confront circumstances which seem virtually impossible, and often deeply heart wrenching. Their work is hard and tireless, yet their passion and commitment remains unswerving. It is a privilege to be able to contribute to their efforts in some small way. We thank them for their devotion to their work and for accepting the challenge to become better leaders for their organizations and the people they serve. For 25 years, Steve has taught, coached, and consulted with executives and all levels of managers around the world in leadership development, team development, personal growth, change, and business strategy.

Most good leaders seem to be good storytellers. Can you share your thoughts on why that is and some examples that illustrate the value of telling stories? Through stories, leaders pass on lessons about shared values and the norms about how people should work together. In a business climate obsessed with PowerPoint presentations, complex graphs and charts, and lengthy reports, storytelling may seem to some like a soft way of getting hard stuff done.

Research shows that telling more positive stories than negative stories enables individuals, groups, and organizations to recover more quickly from adversity and trauma. In fact, research indicates that when leaders want to communicate standards, stories are a much more effective means of communication than are corporate policy statements, data about performance, and even a story plus the data. His dad was a great storyteller, and he used stories especially effectively to teach lessons.

Phillip has carried the family tradition into his business life at Goodyear. When Phillip was named to head up a large team with previously poor engagement scores for communication, he needed to find a way to be more proactive about connecting with employees. He carried the practice with him when he was appointed president of Wingfoot Commercial Tire Systems, a 2,person wholly owned subsidiary of Goodyear. Storytelling, Phillip says, accomplishes two things. It offers a framework for relating to the message—something that people encounter in their own lives that can bridge to the main point.

It also offers him the chance to lead through an example rather than to come across simply as preaching. Telling stories forces you to pay close attention to what your constituents are doing. Peers generally make better role models for what to do at work than famous people or ones several levels up in the hierarchy. When others hear or read a story about someone with whom they can identify, they are much more likely to see themselves doing the same thing.

People seldom tire of hearing stories about themselves and the people they know. These stories get repeated, and the lessons of the stories get spread far and wide. Storytelling is how people pass along lessons from generation to generation, culture to culture. Together with Barry Posner, he is author of The Leadership Challenge —now in its fifth edition—and over a thirty other books and workbooks on leadership and leadership development. Using a proven, evidence-based approach to leadership—in the form of The Leadership Challenge—Presence Health is inspiring its nursing leaders to strengthen partnerships, value contributions, and create innovative solutions that are transforming the culture of the entire organization.

What began in with the merger of two single ministries, Provena Health and Resurrection Health Care, is now a fully integrated health system consisting of five congregations:. Collectively, these congregations represent a unified passion, capturing the essence of the Presence Health name: And it was through this desire for unified connection that Presence Saint Joseph Medical Center wanted to ignite change within its nursing staff.

Presence Saint Joseph had a historical baseline turnover of To achieve this, Jackie began working with her team to create a new leadership initiative: Every Nurse a Leader , a program that would establish a new philosophy and mindset for emerging nurse leaders at the point of care and fundamentally transform the culture long-term. They started by looking for the root cause of the high turnover rate among RNs. What they found was a lack of structure—a framework that could provide guidance for new graduate nurses and help them understand more clearly what it would take to be successful in their work.

They also emphasized developing inter-organizational relationships and holistic teams to focus on the common mission of patient care. At the heart of the Every Nurse a Leader program is a two-year Transition into Practice residency, set up in stages to allow everyone to grow and become a leader within the organization. Focusing on clinical, technical, interpersonal, and leadership skills, each participant is involved in a series of projects and roles throughout their residency. The first LPI is administered during their orientation period, after their cohort begins.

A follow-up assessment is completed at the end of the first year of practice and, again, at the end of the second year—and beyond. Residents in the program Model the Way with hands-on clinical training in a Simulation Lab where they receive real-time feedback on their clinical and critical thinking skills as well as a full debrief to help analyze and reflect on their performance. Taking the challenge one step further, each cohort spends a full day at an outdoor teamwork facility where they learn how to take risks, to overcome fears, and to trust each other as they work as a unified team.

Jackie and her team at Presence Saint Joseph have found that Enabling Others to Act through these collaborations creates a supportive infrastructure that encourages key stakeholders to make a meaningful investment in the process and strengthens engagement and shared decision-making. More experienced Nurse Managers actively participate in interviewing, onboarding, and providing transitional support during the residency period for new RNs.

In addition, interdisciplinary partners, including the nursing leadership team and executives, are involved in the Transition into Practice Program through cohort educational sessions. Presence Saint Joseph has seen an increased commitment to goals and those involved in the program have also reported an increased capacity to attain goals. Every Nurse a Leader has already produced stellar results through six program cohorts. Presence Saint Joseph has decreased its turnover rate for RNs in their first year: The Every Nurse a Leader program at Presence Saint Joseph Medical Center continues to grow and reach more and more aspiring leaders within the organization.

We, at Integris Performance Advisors, are proud to have played a part in their success. We congratulate Jackie Medland and her team for leading the charge and showing so clearly what it truly means to liberate the leader within. Helping Integris clients succeed using innovative thinking, delivering meaningful results, and fostering personal growth, he can be reached at KJ.

Make sure that people are creatively rewarded for their contributions to the success of your projects. Write down something that each of your constituents personally enjoys. Author and consultant Jennifer Robin has spent years studying, observing, working with—and in—great workplaces. Be ready for some surprises!

Finding Meaning in a Chaotic World. Learn more about Jennifer Robin at www. While the best leaders are self-aware, they are careful not to let their feelings manage them. Instead, they manage their feelings. One way to respond would be to yell at them and put them down in front of the group. But would that be the best way to handle the situation for the sake of your credibility and your relationship with your constituents? The same is true in learning.

There will be times when you become frustrated and when you become upset at the feedback that you receive. Upon the retirement of long-time CEO Steve Ballmer, Nadella is only the third chief executive to head the mega-giant founded and led by Bill Gates for so many years. But in his first email to employees, Nadella clearly set the tone for what is to come. Earning and sustaining personal credibility—the very foundation of exemplary leadership—demands it.

And who better to help us understand how to develop courage than Bill Treasurer, former captain of the U. K eynoting at The Leadership Challenge Forum , Bill will take the stage to engage participants in learning how to become more personally courageous and discover how to inspire more courageous behavior among those we lead. A daredevil athlete who, for seven years, traveled the world performing over high dives from heights that scaled to over feet—sometimes on fire!

Department of Veterans Affairs. A high-spirited keynote speaker who has shared his risk-taking experiences and courageous insights with groups across the country, Bill is the author of several books, including the international best-seller Courage Goes to Work , and the off-the-shelf facilitator training program published by Wiley , Courageous Leadership: Honesty with yourself and others produces a level of humility that earns you credibility. People like people who show they are human. Admitting mistakes and being open to accepting new ideas and new learning communicates that you are willing to grow.

It does something else as well. It promotes a culture of honesty and openness. Hubris is the killer disease in leadership. All evil leaders have been infected with the disease of hubris, becoming bloated with an exaggerated sense of self and pursuing their own sinister ends. How then to avoid it? Humility is the way to resolve the conflicts and contradictions of leadership. Leadership is also a performing art, and the best leaders also have coaches. The coach might be someone from inside or outside of the organization.

This person might be a peer, a manager, a trainer, or someone with specific expertise in what you are trying to learn. Coaches can play a number of roles. The most obvious is to watch you perform, give you feedback, and offer suggestions for improvement. But effective coaches can also be a very valuable source of social support, which is essential to resilience and persistence. Support is especially important when people are being asked to change their behavior. When you return to work after training, your initial enthusiasm can be quickly crushed if there is no one around to offer words of encouragement.

Every leader needs someone to lean on from time to time. Your coach should be able to offer you not only advice but also attention and caring. The best coaches are good listeners. In fact, they watch and listen about twice as much as they teach and tell.

And of all the items used to measure coaching behavior, the one most linked to success is: Many organizations have an honest desire to develop more and better leaders. Yet despite the noblest of intentions many, if not most, also fall short. While some individuals may show improvement, the collective effort either never takes hold or fizzles out after a relatively short time.

And as you read along, consider from your experience what the biggest culprits you have found that get in the way of leaders developing to their full potential. Managers, from senior level on down, simply fail to tell their people they expect them to lead. There are typically a few other categories, e. Finally, there may be an add-on category about leadership development, frequently embedded somewhere in the self-development objectives. This, unfortunately, is how too many managers rationalize that they are, in fact, clarifying their expectations around leadership.

But the communicated message is clear: Everything is a high priority these days. And everyone is expected to meet ever-growing expectations. Otherwise, those development efforts will inevitably slip between the cracks. So the question for leaders is this: Assuming the expectation to lead is clearly made, there is a great deal of confusion about what it actually means. Because many organizations have not adopted a clear, concise, definable, model of leadership. Despite what some organizational leaders seem to believe—that leadership is an esoteric, philosophical list of academic concepts—a well-grounded leadership model allows everyone, in any position throughout the organization, to know exactly what leadership looks like, what people do when they are leading, and how it differs from other activities.

While some competencies are more directly tied to leadership than others, they generally cover broad knowledge areas such as financial acumen, strategic agility, business savvy, and communications. But having a competency model in place is just a starting point. For example, being competent at people development and having a cross-boundary mindset will no doubt be tremendous assets to rising leaders.

However, those descriptors fail to explain what the leader must be doing on a day-to-day basis to fully develop these competencies. With its evidenced-based research and its immediate, hands-on applicability, the model is like an instruction manual for creating higher performing teams, increasing employee engagement, and inspiring people to do their very best work — all key outcomes of leadership. And with constantly changing circumstances, it must be reinforced time and time again. One ILA client organization has done a remarkable job emphasizing the importance of leadership.

Like many, they suffered financially during the downturn. But they weathered the storm and learned an invaluable lesson: This meant developing leaders, regardless of title or position, who were willing and able to tackle tough problems, proactively respond to uncontrollable changes, and develop innovative solutions or breakthroughs ideas.

They now view leadership development as a key strategy that will help ensure continued prosperity and future success. Fatal Flaw 4 - the last of the culprits impeding leadership development efforts is the most obvious—and the one receiving the most attention. It is the lack of ongoing follow-through. To ensure that people grow and develop as effective leaders, there must be an intentional, purposeful, and sustained effort that is a key organizational strategy.

It has to be more than an annual self-development objective to read a book or attend a workshop on the subject. It has to be something for which people are held accountable every single day. Many organizations have invested heavily in systems and processes designed to keep people constantly focused on financial or project performance objectives.

Formal meetings or casual drop-ins throughout the day focus on project status and problems, new opportunities to increase sales, or innovative steps to overcome obstacles. But can the same be said about the focus on leadership? Yet, the movement of up and coming leaders or other key talent through the development funnel might be discussed once or twice a year. So in much the same way organizations keep everyone mindful of the importance of financial and operational essentials, it is equally important to help everyone remain mindful of some of the most important aspects of leadership.

In order that strategic leadership development efforts take hold, organizations must be thoughtful and intentional about the systems and support mechanisms needed to reinforce its value.

• Invecchiare bene (Medicina e benessere) (Italian Edition)
• CLASSICAL SHEET MUSIC - Traumeri Opus 15 No. 7 - R. SCHUMANN - Solo Piano
• Ace in the Holes (Wild Cards #1)
• El Expatriado (Spanish Edition)
• Sybian, Remotely (XXX ADULT Short Story)