Father Anchises cried:
“Is war thy gift, O new and alien land?
Horses make war; of war these creatures bode.
Yet oft before the chariot of peace
their swift hoofs go, & on their necks they bear
th' obedient yoke & rein. Therefore a hope
of peace is also ours.
—Virgil, Aeneid, Bk III
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to PostModernConservative to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.