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The Smurfs [Google]

Cast: Neil Patrick Harris, Jayma Mays

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Narrative [ My Perspective ]

Patrick Jonathan Derilus
Mr. Filie
Period 6/7
Poetry

My Perspective

Patrick Jonathan Derilus is a young boy trying to turn his life around by defeating the demons that continue to destroy him….His life is somewhat different from how society sees everything else….
Feeling as if he is a cursed child …Cursed as if he is forever trapped in a cold cell…”Understanding” reality and how things happen is one of the things that attempts to get the best out of him and ironically it is succeeding…
But Patrick tries to look on the bright side of things and persists to becoming the best of the best…but there are spawns in which the devil created that prevents the young warrior from doing so…
“Depression”, “Doubt” and “Self Confidence” are some of the demons capable of easily annihilating Patrick…addressing these entity’s…Patrick is half way through this mile run..
But not aware of what goes on in his Penetrable temple, Destruction carries on to running amuck..
Patrick can hardly make it through the day when these Demons try to pursue him…Blood is spilled, but the low class warrior is still persistently consistent…
The only things that keep him alive are “Hope”, “Faith”, and the little confidence he has left…Inside the doors of the devil, as a New Jack; Patrick was clueless on how and why he reacts to things a certain way…Also to the way he is to this very day…Feeling like he was being controlled by a puppet master, he foolishly is put into one of Satan’s traps..As years went by, Patrick slowly began to picking up things in his mind and how it worked…
He learned on how to adapt and respond to these subliminal messages… but in time, Satan is able to quickly counteract on anything Patrick optimistically attempted to do. Leaving him with loopholes that would destroy Patrick from the inside…”WHY DOES MY MOOD AND PERSONALITY CONTINUE TO FLUCTUATE…? ” Patrick asks himself. So many questions asked but none of them answered… Satan has Patrick right where he wants him. “If I can’t rid of Patrick any other way, I can only destroy him mentally in which Patrick is easily fooled” Satan says.
Once internally defeated, pessimistic venoms leak into the sanctum of Patrick’s temple and slowly it is melting...”WHY ME? ! ” Patrick asks. Having the ability to even think for himself, Patrick wonders if he shall continue to fight off these Demons or become feasted upon…”Words coming from another voice will not be able to help me” Patrick says. Solutions being formed in his mind are to making the evil Entity’s disappear for good by finding an antidote to purifying Patrick’s mind…
But believing they are “antidotes” is too good to be true…Satan has created a loophole for everything in order to rid of Patrick anyway he can… Then realizing Patrick is seemingly hopeless on what to do for himself to Destroy Satan, He comes to the conclusion that Satan cannot destroy what does not exist… “WHEN MY SHACKLES OF DEPRESSION ARE BROKEN, I SHALL FIND TRUE HAPPINESS” Patrick sadly says. But he does not believe he shall rid of himself… He believes he shall continue to fight this everlasting war with Satan until these Demons are extinguished from the inside...Until he is Mentally Strong and is at peace with his mind…Patrick has vowed to attempting to destroy “Depression”, “Doubt” and “Negativity” in order to becoming the Man that he intends to be…Trying to recover from his internal scars.

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William Butler Yeats

Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain

[...] Read more

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The Great Hunger

I
Clay is the word and clay is the flesh
Where the potato-gatherers like mechanised scarecrows move
Along the side-fall of the hill - Maguire and his men.
If we watch them an hour is there anything we can prove
Of life as it is broken-backed over the Book
Of Death? Here crows gabble over worms and frogs
And the gulls like old newspapers are blown clear of the hedges, luckily.
Is there some light of imagination in these wet clods?
Or why do we stand here shivering?
Which of these men
Loved the light and the queen
Too long virgin? Yesterday was summer. Who was it promised marriage to himself
Before apples were hung from the ceilings for Hallowe'en?
We will wait and watch the tragedy to the last curtain,
Till the last soul passively like a bag of wet clay
Rolls down the side of the hill, diverted by the angles
Where the plough missed or a spade stands, straitening the way.
A dog lying on a torn jacket under a heeled-up cart,
A horse nosing along the posied headland, trailing
A rusty plough. Three heads hanging between wide-apart legs.
October playing a symphony on a slack wire paling.
Maguire watches the drills flattened out
And the flints that lit a candle for him on a June altar
Flameless. The drills slipped by and the days slipped by
And he trembled his head away and ran free from the world's halter,
And thought himself wiser than any man in the townland
When he laughed over pints of porter
Of how he came free from every net spread
In the gaps of experience. He shook a knowing head
And pretended to his soul
That children are tedious in hurrying fields of April
Where men are spanning across wide furrows.
Lost in the passion that never needs a wife
The pricks that pricked were the pointed pins of harrows.
Children scream so loud that the crows could bring
The seed of an acre away with crow-rude jeers.
Patrick Maguire, he called his dog and he flung a stone in the air
And hallooed the birds away that were the birds of the years.
Turn over the weedy clods and tease out the tangled skeins.
What is he looking for there?
He thinks it is a potato, but we know better
Than his mud-gloved fingers probe in this insensitive hair.
'Move forward the basket and balance it steady
In this hollow. Pull down the shafts of that cart, Joe,
And straddle the horse,' Maguire calls.
'The wind's over Brannagan's, now that means rain.
Graip up some withered stalks and see that no potato falls
Over the tail-board going down the ruckety pass -
And that's a job we'll have to do in December,

[...] Read more

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William Butler Yeats

The Wanderings of Oisin: Book I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain
On Gabhra's raven-covered plain;
But where are your noble kith and kin,

[...] Read more

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2112

I. overture
Words and music by geddy lee, alex lifeson, and neil peart
And the meek shall inherit the earth.
Ii. the temples of syrinx
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
... the massive grey walls of the temples rise from the
Heart of every federation city. I have always been awed
By them, to think that every single facet of every life is
Regulated and directed from within! our books, our music,
Our work and play are all looked after by the benevolent
Wisdom of the priests...
Weve taken care of everything
The words you hear the songs you sing
The pictures that give pleasure to your eyes
Its one for all and all for one
We work together common sons
Never need to wonder how or why
We are the priests of the temples of syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls
We are the priests of the temples of syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls
Look around this world we made
Equality our stock in trade
Come and join the brotherhood of man
Oh what a nice contented world
Let the banners be unfurled
Hold the red star proudly high in hand
We are the priests of the temples of syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the priests of the temples of syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
Iii. discovery
Words by neil peart, music by alex lifeson
... behind my beloved waterfall, in the little room that was
Hidden beneath the cave, I found it. I brushed away the
Dust of the years, and picked it up, holding it reverently in
My hands. I had no idea what it might be, but it was
Beautiful ...
... I learned to lay my fingers across the wires, and to turn
The keys to make them sound differently. as I struck the
Wires with my other hand, I produced my first harmonious
Sounds, and soon my own music! how different it could
Be from the music of the temples! I cant wait to tell the
Priests about it! ...
What can this strange device be?
When I touch it, it gives forth a sound
Its got wires that vibrate and give music
What can this thing be that I found?
See how it sings like a sad heart
And joyously screams out its pain

[...] Read more

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The Smurfs

Cast: Neil Patrick Harris, Jayma Mays, Hank Azaria, Jonathan Winters, Katy Perry

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The Smurfs 2

Cast: Neil Patrick Harris, Jayma Mays, Katy Perry, Sofia Vergara, Christina Ricci, Anton Yelchin, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Alan Cumming, Brendan Gleeson, Hank Azaria

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Sir Patrick Spens

The king sits in Dunfermline town
Drinking the blude-red wine;
'O whare will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship o' mine?'

O up and spak an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee;
'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sail'd the sea.'

Our king has written a braid letter,
And seal'd it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

The first word that Sir Patrick read
So loud, loud laugh'd he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read
The tear blinded his e'e.

'O wha is this has done this deed
And tauld the king o' me,
To send us out, at this time o' year,
To sail upon the sea?

'Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a'!
Our gude ship sails the morn.'
'Now ever alack, my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm.

'I saw the new moon late yestreen
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm.'

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
To wet their cork-heel'd shoon;
But lang or a' the play was play'd
They wat their hats aboon.

O lang, lang may the ladies sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand!

And lang, lang may the maidens sit
Wi' their gowd kames in their hair,
A-waiting for their ain dear loves!
For them they'll see nae mair.

[...] Read more

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Sir Patrick Spence

The king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
"O whar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the kings richt kne:
"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor
That sails upon the se."

The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he;
The next line that Sir Patrick red,
The teir blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o' the yeir,
To sail upon the se!

"Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne:"
"O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.

"Late late yestreen I saw the new moone,
Wi the auld moone in hir arme,
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will cum to harme."

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang may their ladies sit,
Wi thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence
Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may the ladies stand,
Wi thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair.

[...] Read more

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Sir Patrick Spence

The king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
"O whar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the kings richt kne:
"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor
That sails upon the se."

The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he;
The next line that Sir Patrick red,
The teir blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o' the yeir,
To sail upon the se!

"Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne:"
"O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.

"Late late yestreen I saw the new moone,
Wi the auld moone in hir arme,
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will cum to harme."

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang may their ladies sit,
Wi thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence
Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may the ladies stand,
Wi thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair.

[...] Read more

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Hafbur And Signy

TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH.


King Hafbur & King Siward
They needs must stir up strife,
All about the sweetling Signy
Who was so fair a wife.
O wilt thou win me then,
or as fair a maid as I be?

It was the King’s son Hafbur
Woke up amid the night,
And ’gan to tell of a wondrous dream
In swift words nowise light.

“Me-dreamed I was in Heaven
Amid that fair abode,
And my true-love lay upon mine arm
And we fell from cloud to cloud.”

As there they sat, the dames and maids,
Of his words they took no keep,
Only his mother well-beloved
Heeded his dreamful sleep.

“Go get thee gone to the mountain,
And make no long delay;
To the elve’s eldest daughter
For thy dream’s areding pray.”

So the King’s son, even Hafbur,
Took his sword in his left hand,
And he’s away to the mountain
To get speech of that Lily-wand.

He beat thereon with hand all bare,
With fingers small and fine,
And there she lay, the elve’s daughter,
And well wotted of that sign.

“Bide hail, Elve’s sweetest daughter,
As on skins thou liest fair,
I pray thee by the God of Heaven
My dream arede thou clear.

“Me-dreamed I was in heaven,
Yea amid that fair abode,
And my true-love lay upon mine arm
And we fell from cloud to cloud.”

[...] Read more

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The Fountain Of Lamneth

I. in the valley
Words and music by geddy lee, alex lifeson, and neil peart
I am born
I am me
I am new
I am free
Look at me
I am young
Sight unseen
Life unsung
My eyes have just been opened
And theyre open very wide
Images around me
Dont identify inside
Just one blur I recognize
The one that soothes and feeds
My way of life is easy
And as simple are my needs
Yet my eyes are drawn toward
The mountain in the east
Fascinates and captivates
Gives my heart no peace
The mountain holds the sunrise
In the prison of the night
Till bursting forth from rocky chains
The valley floods with light
Living one long sunrise
For to me all things are new
Ive never watched the sky grow pale
Or strolled through fields of dew
I do not know of dust to dust
I live from breath to breath
I live to climb that mountain to
The fountain of lamneth
Ii. didacts and narpets
Words and music by geddy lee, alex lifeson, and neil peart
Listen...
Iii. no one at the bridge
Words and music by geddy lee, alex lifeson, and neil peart
Crying back to consciousness
The coldness grips my skin
The sky is pitching violently
Drawn by shrieking winds
Seaspray blurs my vision
Waves roll by so fast
Save my ship of freedom
Im lashed helpless to the mast
Call out for direction
And theres no one there to steer
Shout out for salvation

[...] Read more

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Rudyard Kipling

The Ballad Of Boh Da Thone

This is the ballad of Boh Da Thone,
Erst a Pretender to Theebaw's throne,
Who harried the district of Alalone:
How he met with his fate and the V.P.P.*
At the hand of Harendra Mukerji,
Senior Gomashta, G.B.T.

* Value Payable Parcels Post: in which the Government collects the money
for the sender.

Boh Da Thone was a warrior bold:
His sword and his Snider were bossed with gold,

And the Peacock Banner his henchmen bore
Was stiff with bullion, but stiffer with gore.

He shot at the strong and he slashed at the weak
From the Salween scrub to the Chindwin teak:

He crucified noble, he sacrificed mean,
He filled old ladies with kerosene:

While over the water the papers cried,
"The patriot fights for his countryside!"

But little they cared for the Native Press,
The worn white soldiers in Khaki dress,

Who tramped through the jungle and camped in the byre,
Who died in the swamp and were tombed in the mire,

Who gave up their lives, at the Queen's Command,
For the Pride of their Race and the Peace of the Land.

Now, first of the foemen of Boh Da Thone
Was Captain O'Neil of the "Black Tyrone",

And his was a Company, seventy strong,
Who hustled that dissolute Chief along.

There were lads from Galway and Louth and Meath
Who went to their death with a joke in their teeth,

And worshipped with fluency, fervour, and zeal
The mud on the boot-heels of "Crook" O'Neil.

But ever a blight on their labours lay,
And ever their quarry would vanish away,

Till the sun-dried boys of the Black Tyrone

[...] Read more

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The Lord of Misrule

In the London of James
We ran wild in the parks,
Assaulted the toffs,
Ruled the streets after dark,
We slit many noses,
Ungirdled each wench,
And lifted their kirtles on
Many a park bench.

They called us the Mohocks
We rambled each street,
Tipped many a chair
On its side in the street,
Caused mayhem and riot
And ran with the sword,
Put pastors to pleas
On their knees to the Lord!

When Christmas, it came in
A quiver of white,
We’d shiver, and wander
The streets every night,
While citizens revelled,
Stayed home, rich and poor,
Heaped coals at the hearth,
Locked and bolted each door.

‘The fun has gone out of it, ’
Grumbled Long Will,
‘There’s no head to punch,
And no Doxie to spill,
The streets are quite empty
And quiet as the tomb,
There’ll be no glad rioting
This night, or soon! ’

So Bodger and Catchpenny,
Long Will and Gull,
Stood frowning at Patrick
Who scratched at his skull,
‘This time of the season
They’re playing the fool,
So let us join in with
The Lord of Misrule! ’

They stood up, delighted
And mad as a coot,
They capered and cantered
And Will played the flute,
Gull got him a Tabor and

[...] Read more

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American Made

Cast: Tom Cruise, Caleb Landry Jones, Jesse Plemons, Sarah Wright, Domhnall Gleeson, Jayma Mays, Lola Kirke, Benito Martinez, Connor Trinneer

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In Denial

Written: tennat/ lowe
Feat. pet shop boys
Neil:
In denial
No, my lifes a trial
Im not denying that every little bit hurts
Its a problem, that Im not solving
Dont mind admitting I feel like quitting this job
For a while, getting away before it gets any worse today
Kylie:
Your in denial, and that is final
Your not admitting, you should be quitting
All these queens and fairies, and muscle marys
The rough trade boyfriend, who in his pathetic own way denies he gay
Why cant he see this is a fantasy
Neil:
I think Im going mad
Howd you know if your going mad?
Kylie:
Look at me Im lonely
Neil:
Look at me Im sad
Im not denying, I could be trying, a little harder
To deal with some of this stuff
Kylie:
Know what Im thinking, less drugs and drinking
No cigarettes, and youll feel a little less worth
Neil:
Is that enough? my life is absurd
Im living it upside down
Like a vampire working at night, sleeping all day
A dad with a girl who knows hes gay
Both:
Can you love me anyway?

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In Denial

Neil:
In denial, no my lifes a trial
Im not denying that every
Little bit hurts
Its a problem that Im not solving
Dont mind admitting
I feel like quitting this job
For a while getting away
Before it gets any worse today
Kylie:
Youre in denial, and that is final
Youre not admitting
You should be quitting all these
Queens and fairies
And muscle marys
The rough trade boyfriend
Who in his pathetic own way
Denies hes gay
Why cant you see
This is a fantasy world
Neil:
Think Im going mad
Howd you know if youre going mad
Kylie:
Look at me Im lonely
Neil:
Look at me Im sad
Im not denying
I could be trying
A little harder
To deal with some of this stuff
Kylie:
Know what Im thinking
Less drugs and drinking
No cigarettes and youd feel
A little less rough
Neil:
Is that enough
My life is absurd
Im living it upside down
Like a vampire
Working at night and
Sleeping all day
A dad with a girl
Who knows hes gay
Both:
Can you love me anyway

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Gone Girl

Cast: Ben Affleck, Rosamund Pike, Neil Patrick Harris, Missi Pyle, Tyler Perry, Patrick Fugit, Sela Ward, Emily Ratajkowski

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Gone Girl [trailer 2]

Cast: Ben Affleck, Rosamund Pike, Neil Patrick Harris, Missi Pyle, Tyler Perry, Patrick Fugit, Sela Ward, Emily Ratajkowski

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The Feast Of The Gael

St. Patrick’s Day

I.
WHAT a onion of hearts is the love of a mother
When races of men in her name unite!
For love of Old Erin, and love of each other,
The boards of the Gael are full to-night!
Their millions of men have one toast and one topic—
Their feuds laid aside and their envies removed;
From the pines of the Pole to the palms of the Tropic,
They drink: 'The dear Land we have prayed for and loved!'
They are One by the bond of a time-honored fashion;
Though strangers may see but the lights of their feast,
Beneath lies the symbol of faith and of passion
Alike of the Pagan and Christian priest!


II.
When native laws by native kings
At Tara were decreed,
The grand old Gheber worship
Was the form of Erin's creed.
The Sun, Life-giver, was God on high;
Men worshipped the Power they saw;
And they kept the faith as the ages rolled
By the solemn Beltane law.
Each year, on the Holy Day, was quenched
The household fires of the land;
And the Druid priest, at the midnight hour,
Brought forth the flaming brand,—
The living spark for the Nation's hearths,—
From the Monarch's hand it came,
Whose fire at Tara spread the sign—
And the people were One by the flame!
And Baal was God! till Patrick came,
By the Holy Name inspired;
On the Beltane night, in great Tara's sight,
His pile at Slane was fired.
And the deed that was death was the Nation's life,
And the doom of the Pagan bane;
For Erin still keeps Beltane night,
But lights her lamp at Slane!
Though fourteen centuries pile their dust
On the mound of the Druid's grave,
To-night is The Beltane! Bright the fire
That Holy Patrick gave!
To-night is The Beltane! Let him heed
Who studieth creed and race:
Old times and gods are dead, and we
Are far from the ancient place;

[...] Read more

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