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Carl Sandburg

The sea speaks a language polite people never repeat. It is a colossal scavenger slang and has no respect.

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A Map Of Culture

Culture


Contents

What is Culture?

The Importance of Culture

Culture Varies

Culture is Critical

The Sociobiology Debate

Values, Norms, and Social Control

Signs and Symbols

Language

Terms and Definitions

Approaches to the Study of Culture

Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?



What is Culture?


I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .

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Byron

Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
Anever mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

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Sea Fishing Off the Jetty

Out on the jetty, men froze -
All in the game of casting rods

Midnight laughed, chose another
Wave to throw upon the mortals

So they turned up the Tilley lamp -
Warmed up hope and gave comfort

The blue-black clouds, overweight
With snow and gloom, dumped their icy guts

Gales ripped, night ghouls howled, and
Banshees wailed from stinging snow

But Man's WWII tenacity stood up hard
In granite block - Man must show manliness,
Beat the wretchedness of Nature's raw power,
Take home the catch - the worthy catch -
Raison d'être; tell His women of the perils endured

The essence of sea fishing purred.


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010


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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

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Tamar

I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.

The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,

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Portugal Manoel Da Assumpcam Missionary.

'Portugal Manoel Da Assumpcam
Amar Sonar Moyna Pakki Amigo,
I never seen you in my live ever before
Which Country are you from?
My dear amigo Manoel Da Assumpcam.

Your colour of heritage in unknown Land l fear to bear your name in word.
I can't bear to missed you my amigo, Oh yes it can't be forgot either
You have contributed your nameless name in the nation without name
To influence other and to form the crowd in unknown Land,
Where are you from Sir?

And to shape not my nationalities in Language in Culture but yours!
The present Language in Bangla o' my dear amigo never was counted by.
You may be nothing To Government of Portugal than but today.
Priceless name in the heart of people's in the unknown Land.

I have nothing to say in Language Portuguese other than to say thank you.
For teaching and advocating me in Language in Bangla
That nation today celebrates every year.
With their tears on their eyes and face.

Bear to say words other than few minute in silent,
As orphanage children's looking at each other face.
Remembering those who gave their words in Bangla and live for.
And today I believe in visual hallucination it's not too late
to say how much I love you in Language in Bangla ‘Nil Dariar Prem'

The Birth of new Generation in Culture in Bangla.
Almost was given birth after more than three century in Bangla
'Inna-Lilla-He-O-Inna-He-La-He-Ra-Je-Ow n'
When will I met you?

Day of Kiamot is to far from Bay of Bengal to Portugal.
The mother of all living things on Earth,
Singing in the name of Almighty Lord ‘Allah' too
In the soil of unknown Land in British India my not his or her love.

How lucky you was never assassinated by knowing you was pigeons,
As Bongo Bandhu,
First Prime Ministers of Bangladesh.
I miss you ‘Manoel Da Assumpcam'
Your name prescribed in Language Bangla by name
'Shaheed Minar'
Capital City o Bangladesh.
By name once was known Dac-ca' now became ‘DHA-KA'

Your name in my Language Mother tongues days and nights,
‘Joy Bangla'
To Miss you my dear amigo you left us under your own broken umbrella.

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Body Language

Words and music by freddie mercury
Give me body give me body body
Give me your body
Dont talk dont talk dont talk dont talk
Baby dont talk
Body language body language body language
Give me your body
Just give me yeah your body
Give me yeah your body
Dont talk
Body language huh huh
Body language body language
You got red lips snakes in your eyes
Long legs great thighs
You got the cutest ass Ive ever seen
Knock me down for a six any time
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Look at me I gotta case of body language
Of body language of body language
Yeah sexy body sexy sexy body
I want your body
Baby youre hot
Body language body language body language
Body language body language body language
Body language body language body language

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Charles Kingsley

Andromeda

Over the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to the southward,
Dwells in the well-tilled lowland a dark-haired AEthiop people,
Skilful with needle and loom, and the arts of the dyer and carver,
Skilful, but feeble of heart; for they know not the lords of Olympus,
Lovers of men; neither broad-browed Zeus, nor Pallas Athene,
Teacher of wisdom to heroes, bestower of might in the battle;
Share not the cunning of Hermes, nor list to the songs of Apollo.
Fearing the stars of the sky, and the roll of the blue salt water,
Fearing all things that have life in the womb of the seas and the livers,
Eating no fish to this day, nor ploughing the main, like the Phoenics,
Manful with black-beaked ships, they abide in a sorrowful region,
Vexed with the earthquake, and flame, and the sea-floods, scourge of
Poseidon.
Whelming the dwellings of men, and the toils of the slow-footed oxen,
Drowning the barley and flax, and the hard-earned gold of the harvest,
Up to the hillside vines, and the pastures skirting the woodland,
Inland the floods came yearly; and after the waters a monster,
Bred of the slime, like the worms which are bred from the slime of the Nile-
bank,
Shapeless, a terror to see; and by night it swam out to the seaward,
Daily returning to feed with the dawn, and devoured of the fairest,
Cattle, and children, and maids, till the terrified people fled inland.
Fasting in sackcloth and ashes they came, both the king and his people,
Came to the mountain of oaks, to the house of the terrible sea-gods,
Hard by the gulf in the rocks, where of old the world-wide deluge
Sank to the inner abyss; and the lake where the fish of the goddess,
Holy, undying, abide; whom the priests feed daily with dainties.
There to the mystical fish, high-throned in her chamber of cedar,
Burnt they the fat of the flock; till the flame shone far to the seaward.
Three days fasting they prayed; but the fourth day the priests of the
goddess,
Cunning in spells, cast lots, to discover the crime of the people.
All day long they cast, till the house of the monarch was taken,
Cepheus, king of the land; and the faces of all gathered blackness.
Then once more they cast; and Cassiopoeia was taken,
Deep-bosomed wife of the king, whom oft far-seeing Apollo
Watched well-pleased from the welkin, the fairest of AEthiop women:
Fairest, save only her daughter; for down to the ankle her tresses
Rolled, blue-black as the night, ambrosial, joy to beholders.
Awful and fair she arose, most like in her coming to Here,
Queen before whom the Immortals arise, as she comes on Olympus,
Out of the chamber of gold, which her son Hephaestos has wrought her.
Such in her stature and eyes, and the broad white light of her forehead.
Stately she came from her place, and she spoke in the midst of the people.
'Pure are my hands from blood: most pure this heart in my bosom.
Yet one fault I remember this day; one word have I spoken;
Rashly I spoke on the shore, and I dread lest the sea should have heard it.
Watching my child at her bath, as she plunged in the joy of her girlhood,
Fairer I called her in pride than Atergati, queen of the ocean.
Judge ye if this be my sin, for I know none other.' She ended;

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No Respect

Ohh whoa ohh....
I respect a man raisin his kids all on his own
I respect a man who makes sure he takes care of home
You gotta respect a man with good judgement
Cuz Ill be damned if someones takin care of my kids
And I respect a man who treats his woman like a queen
I know youre not perfect you aint gotta be so mean
No matter how strong she is for a woman
A man should never attempt to lay his hands on her
Bridge:
Theres more to life than what happens an your block
Just treat your women right and hold em at the top
Gotta raise these kids and teach em, never dont ya stop
You aint no man to me if you let your family starve
Chorus:
Got no respect for them dudes who hit they women and
Got no respect for the fools who leave they children and
I just wanna take care of my family
Got no respect if you aint trying to do the right thing
Got no respect for them dudes who hit they women and
Got no respect for the fools who leave they children and
I just wanna take care of my family
Got no respect if you aint trying to do the right thing
I respect the type of girl that tries to love a man
With many flaws and broken laws but still he stands
The kinda girl who turns a boy into a man
The kinda girl who turns a flop into a plan
No respect for those who walk through life just askin you
What you can do for them but still they hate on you
It dont take no man to make that baby
But yes it takes a man to raise that baby
Bridge:
Theres more to life than what happens an your block
Just treat your women right and hold em at the top
Gotta raise these kids and teach em, never dont ya stop
You aint no man to me if you let your family starve
Chorus:
Got no respect for them dudes who hit they women and
Got no respect for the fools who leave they children and
I just wanna take care of my family
Got no respect if you aint trying to do the right thing
Got no respect for them dudes who hit they women and
Got no respect for the fools who leave they children and
I just wanna take care of my family
Got no respect if you aint trying to do the right thing
Fellas we gotta make a change
In the way that we treat our women and our children yes we do
Hope thats theres a better day
Put your hands to the sky
If you want a change, need a change

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Courtship of Miles Standish, The

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

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Homer

The Odyssey: Book 5

And now, as Dawn rose from her couch beside Tithonus- harbinger of
light alike to mortals and immortals- the gods met in council and with
them, Jove the lord of thunder, who is their king. Thereon Minerva
began to tell them of the many sufferings of Ulysses, for she pitied
him away there in the house of the nymph Calypso.
"Father Jove," said she, "and all you other gods that live in
everlasting bliss, I hope there may never be such a thing as a kind
and well-disposed ruler any more, nor one who will govern equitably. I
hope they will be all henceforth cruel and unjust, for there is not
one of his subjects but has forgotten Ulysses, who ruled them as
though he were their father. There he is, lying in great pain in an
island where dwells the nymph Calypso, who will not let him go; and he
cannot get back to his own country, for he can find neither ships
nor sailors to take him over the sea. Furthermore, wicked people are
now trying to murder his only son Telemachus, who is coming home
from Pylos and Lacedaemon, where he has been to see if he can get news
of his father."
"What, my dear, are you talking about?" replied her father, "did you
not send him there yourself, because you thought it would help Ulysses
to get home and punish the suitors? Besides, you are perfectly able to
protect Telemachus, and to see him safely home again, while the
suitors have to come hurry-skurrying back without having killed him."
When he had thus spoken, he said to his son Mercury, "Mercury, you
are our messenger, go therefore and tell Calypso we have decreed
that poor Ulysses is to return home. He is to be convoyed neither by
gods nor men, but after a perilous voyage of twenty days upon a raft
he is to reach fertile Scheria, the land of the Phaeacians, who are
near of kin to the gods, and will honour him as though he were one
of ourselves. They will send him in a ship to his own country, and
will give him more bronze and gold and raiment than he would have
brought back from Troy, if he had had had all his prize money and
had got home without disaster. This is how we have settled that he
shall return to his country and his friends."
Thus he spoke, and Mercury, guide and guardian, slayer of Argus, did
as he was told. Forthwith he bound on his glittering golden sandals
with which he could fly like the wind over land and sea. He took the
wand with which he seals men's eyes in sleep or wakes them just as
he pleases, and flew holding it in his hand over Pieria; then he
swooped down through the firmament till he reached the level of the
sea, whose waves he skimmed like a cormorant that flies fishing
every hole and corner of the ocean, and drenching its thick plumage in
the spray. He flew and flew over many a weary wave, but when at last
he got to the island which was his journey's end, he left the sea
and went on by land till he came to the cave where the nymph Calypso
lived.
He found her at home. There was a large fire burning on the
hearth, and one could smell from far the fragrant reek of burning
cedar and sandal wood. As for herself, she was busy at her loom,
shooting her golden shuttle through the warp and singing
beautifully. Round her cave there was a thick wood of alder, poplar,

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A Question Of Honor

I respect, another mans religion, or color or creed.
I respect, and follow, the will of my maker.
I respect, the truth, no matter how unpopular.

I respect, a good work ethic.
I respect, the values on which this country was founded.
I respect, those who would champion the under privileged.
I respect, those of differences, who seek common ground.

I respect, the concept of monogamy.
I respect, those faithful to principal.
I respect, change, that is for the better.
I respect, an honest days work.

I respect, the great talents of the entertainment world.
I respect, thought provoking works, of the written word.
I respect, the unquenchable thirst of creativity.
I respect, the farmers and workers that toil in the field.

I respect, the good in man.
I respect, the virtue in woman.
I respect, the innocence of children.
I respect, the generosity of mankind.

Most of all...I respect the maker of
life and the love, that each of us
have within us.

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Belief...

I respect, another mans religion, or color or creed.
I respect, and follow, the will of my maker.
I respect, the truth, no matter how unpopular.

I respect, a good work ethic.
I respect, the values on which this country was founded.
I respect, those who would champion the under privileged.
I respect, those of differences, who seek common ground.

I respect, the concept of monogamy.
I respect, those faithful to principal.
I respect, change, that is for the better.
I respect, an honest days work.

I respect, the great talents of the entertainment world.
I respect, thought provoking works, of the written word.
I respect, the unquenchable thirst of creativity.
I respect, the farmers and workers that toil in the field.

I respect, the good in man.
I respect, the virtue in woman.
I respect, the innocence of children.
I respect, the generosity of mankind.

Most of all...I respect the maker of
life and the love, that each of us
have within us.


©Joe Fazio

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Respect

I respect, another mans religion, or color or creed.
I respect, and follow, the will of my maker.
I respect, the truth, no matter how unpopular.

I respect, a good work ethic.
I respect, the values on which this country was founded.
I respect, those who would champion the under privileged.
I respect, those of differences, who seek common ground.

I respect, the concept of monogamy.
I respect, those faithful to principal.
I respect, change, that is for the better.
I respect, an honest days work.

I respect, the great talents of the entertainment world.
I respect, thought provoking works, of the written word.
I respect, the unquenchable thirst of creativity.
I respect, the farmers and workers that toil in the field.

I respect, the good in man.
I respect, the virtue in woman.
I respect, the innocence of children.
I respect, the generosity of mankind.

Most of all...I respect the maker of
life and the love, that each of us
have within us.


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I Respect...

I respect, another mans religion, or color or creed.
I respect, and follow, the will of my maker.
I respect, the truth, no matter how unpopular.

I respect, a good work ethic.
I respect, the values on which this country was founded.
I respect, those who would champion the under privileged.
I respect, those of differences, who seek common ground.

I respect, the concept of monogamy.
I respect, those faithful to principal.
I respect, change, that is for the better.
I respect, an honest days work.

I respect, the great talents of the entertainment world.
I respect, thought provoking works, of the written word.
I respect, the unquenchable thirst of creativity.
I respect, the farmers and workers that toil in the field.

I respect, the good in man.
I respect, the virtue in woman.
I respect, the innocence of children.
I respect, the generosity of mankind.

Most of all...I respect the maker of
life and the love, that each of us
have within us.

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That Which I Respect

I respect, another mans religion, or color or creed.
I respect, and follow, the will of my maker.
I respect, the truth, no matter how unpopular.

I respect, a good work ethic.
I respect, the values on which this country was founded.
I respect, those who would champion the under privileged.
I respect, those of differences, who seek common ground.

I respect, the concept of monogamy.
I respect, those faithful to principal.
I respect, change, that is for the better.
I respect, an honest days work.

I respect, the great talents of the entertainment world.
I respect, thought provoking works, of the written word.
I respect, the unquenchable thirst of creativity.
I respect, the farmers and workers that toil in the field.

I respect, the good in man.
I respect, the virtue in woman.
I respect, the innocence of children.
I respect, the generosity of mankind.

Most of all...I respect the maker of
life and the love, that each of us
have within us.


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The Good In Man...

I respect, another mans religion, or color or creed.
I respect, and follow, the will of my maker.
I respect, the truth, no matter how unpopular.

I respect, a good work ethic.
I respect, the values on which this country was founded.
I respect, those who would champion the under privileged.
I respect, those of differences, who seek common ground.

I respect, the concept of monogamy.
I respect, those faithful to principal.
I respect, change, that is for the better.
I respect, an honest days work.

I respect, the great talents of the entertainment world.
I respect, thought provoking works, of the written word.
I respect, the unquenchable thirst of creativity.
I respect, the farmers and workers that toil in the field.

I respect, the good in man.
I respect, the virtue in woman.
I respect, the innocence of children.
I respect, the generosity of mankind.

Most of all...I respect the maker of
life and the love, that each of us
have within us.

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Things I Believe In...

I respect, another mans religion, or color or creed.
I respect, and follow, the will of my maker.
I respect, the truth, no matter how unpopular.

I respect, a good work ethic.
I respect, the values on which this country was founded.
I respect, those who would champion the under privileged.
I respect, those of differences, who seek common ground.

I respect, the concept of monogamy.
I respect, those faithful to principal.
I respect, change, that is for the better.
I respect, an honest days work.

I respect, the great talents of the entertainment world.
I respect, thought provoking works, of the written word.
I respect, the unquenchable thirst of creativity.
I respect, the farmers and workers that toil in the field.

I respect, the good in man.
I respect, the virtue in woman.
I respect, the innocence of children.
I respect, the generosity of mankind.

Most of all...I respect the maker of
life and the love, that each of us
have within us.


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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Courtship of Miles Standish

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST

I

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

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