human
Why trouble to hate? he asked again, and sank his shoulder deeper into the warm grass. His voice was as sleepy as the drone of distant bees, and his dream-filmed eyes looked out through drooping lids.
gpt
I hate nothing. It takes effort. It is easier to feel friendly with all things--creatures, and men, and gods.
human
I hate with a purpose, said the child, his eyes fixed, and brooding upon an inward vision. The man rose upon his elbow and gazed curiously at the boy, but the latter, unheeding, went on with his thoughts.
gpt
Some day I shall be a man, and then I shall kill tyranny. Aye, kill! It is tyranny that I hate. And hatred I hate; and oppression. But how I shall go about to kill them, that I do not yet know. I think and think, but I have not yet thought of a way.
human
If, said the man,
gpt
I have lived nearly twelve years.
human
See now, he cried, his voice trembling upon the verge of music,
gpt
Like a great child he stood, and his breast broke into sobs, but his eyes glowed with splendid visions.
human
Apollo's golden shafts could scarce penetrate the shadowy groves, and Diana's silver arrows pierced only the tossing treetops. And underfoot the crocus flamed, and the hyacinth. Flocks and herds fed in pastures rosy with blossoms, and there were white altars warm with flame in every thicket. There were dances, and mad revels, and love and laughter --he paused, and the splendor died from his face.
gpt
And then one starry night--still and clear it was, and white with frost--fear stalked into the happy haunts, and an ontreading mystery, benign yet dreadful. And something, I know not what, drove me forth. _Aie! Aie!_ There is but the moaning of doves when the glad hymns sounded, and cold ashes and dead drifted leaves on the once warm altars!