"Few men have lived such a beautiful life in the whirlpool of action;
nobody has died a more noble death in the peace of his bed."[1]
[Footnote 1: Bolivar--J.E. Rodo.]
His death was the end of Colombia.
For twelve years his remains rested in Santa Marta, and then they were
carried to Caracas, where they now lie in the Pantheon, between two empty
coffins, that of Miranda on his right and that destined for Sucre on his
left.
There the Venezuelans honor him as the protecting genius of their country.
They have blotted from the memory of man the ingratitude of their
forefathers. They live in constant veneration of the great man, and
consider him as the creator and protector of their country, and the
greatest source of inspiration to live austerely and united within
Venezuela, since they cannot form a part of that greater country, the dream
of which went with Bolivar to his tomb.
A patriot, a general as great as the greatest who ever lived, a statesman
possessing an exceptional wisdom and a vision which has been justified by a
century of American history, a loyal friend, a man of generous and liberal
nature, always forgiving, always opening his arms wide to his enemies,
always giving all that he had in material wealth and in spiritual gifts,
a conqueror of the oppressors of his country, a founder of three nations
(which later were converted into five, by the disruption of Colombia); the
man who consolidated the independence of America, making his power felt as
far as the provinces of the River Plata and Chile; a symbol of freedom,
even in Europe where his name was like a flag to all those who fought
oppression; a sincere Republican--all this was Simon Bolivar, and he was
something more.
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