They landed on a wild but narrow scene,

Where few but Nature’s footsteps yet had been;

Prepared their arms, and with that gloomy eye,

Stern and sustained, of man’s extremity,

When Hope is gone, nor Glory’s self remains

To cheer resistance against death or chains,—

They stood, the three, as the three hundred stood

Who dyed Thermopylæ with holy blood.

But, ah! how different! ’tis the cause makes all,

Degrades or hallows courage in its fall.

—BYRON, “THE ISLAND, OR, CHRISTIAN AND HIS COMRADES” (1823)

Oliver said: “Companion, sir, I believe

We may have a battle with the Saracens on our hands.”

Roland replies: “May God grant it to us!…

Now let each see to it that he employ great blows,

So that no taunting song be sung about us!”

—LA CHANSON DE ROLAND (C. 1040–1115), TRANSLATED BY GERARD J. BRAULT

There is one hope for the defeated

That he cannot hope in victory.

Is it not better to die as a man,

Than to live in shame before the eyes of all?

—MIKLÓS ZRÍNYI, THE SIEGE OF SZIGET (1651) TRANSLATED BY LÁSZLÓ KŐRÖSSY

The human heart … is then the starting point in all matters pertaining to war.

—COL. ARDANT DU PICQ, BATTLE STUDIES (1880)