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Civilization is the lamb's skin in which barbarism masquerades.

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The Lamb and the Wolf (Ballad)

I saw a lamb to wolf turn prey!
I saw it kill’d in gruesome way;
The lamb was rather small, I say;
I saw it frolicking that day;
It bleated while busy at play;
That day, its life, it had to pay;
And soon, I heard a plaintive cry;
The grass was smeared by lambs blood dry!
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

The wolf was dressed in fine lamb-skin;
It killed by habit, kith and kin;
Like lamb, it spoke and went so near;
It acted friendly, allayed fear;
It took the lamb afar to play;
The lamb was foolish on that day;
It was so meek and frail, not bold;
It wished to see the far-off world.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

The wolf then took the lamb away,
To steep a cliff with grass to play;
In moment’s time, it pushed it down;
The foul-play was almost half-done;
The lamb remained so very dazed;
That it was live, kept me amazed;
Before it could then recover,
The wolf made plans to devour.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

The wolf noticed the lambs sad plight
And asked if it was quite alright;
It said, “I’ll take you to mother.”
The lamb believed the lie, brother!
It took it round and round and round;
There was no sign of flock on ground;
The lamb had gone really far;
Against the wolf, it could not war.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”


The lamb couldn’t walk any farther;
To pray to God, it didn’t bother;
It was so tired, hungry too;
It did not know what next to do;
The wolf then caught the lamb by throat;
The blood spilled down its white fur-coat;
The lamb was dead in moments split;
The wolf ate lamb and tried to sit;
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

The wolf had feasted like a drill;
It ate with joy and had its fill;
It worked its way with pretty skill;
It left no trace of lamb on hill;
It was the poor lambs folly still.
The lamb had vanished from the rill;
It was too weak to fight by will;
The lamb had died a death cruel.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

O shepherd good and experienced
With staff so long and strong and hooked;
If you had been awake and heard
The poor lambs cry, you could it saved;
If you had spotted wolf disguised,
One blow by staff you could have killed;
If you had watched with care, brother,
It would have stayed near its mother;
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

Then good shepherd, “Why didn’t you come
To save lambs life from wolf’s welcome? ”
The little lamb didn’t know wolf’s scent;
It was too small and innocent;
Its legs were weak and could not run;
It thought that life was only fun;
If more alert had been shepherd,
The lamb needn’t go astray or erred.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

Had shepherd failed to act aright?
Had wolf deceived the lambs eye-sight?
Did not God know the lambs poor plight?
How could a lamb give wolf a fight?
Was it an act of destiny?
Was lamb to blame for mutiny?
Perhaps, the lamb was bound to die,
Allured by wolf’s broad day-light lie!
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”

Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-11-2007

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The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway

Keep your fingers out of my eye.
While I write I like to glance at the butterflies in glass that are all around the walls. the people in memory are pinned to events I cant recall too well, but Im putting one down to watch him
K up, decompose and feed another sort of life. the one in question is all fully biodegradable material and categorised as rael. rael hates me, I like rael, - yes, even ostriches have feelings,
Our relationship is something both of us are learning to live with. rael likes a good time, I like a good rhyme, but you wont see me directly anymore - he hates my being around. so if his story
Nt stand, I might lend a hand, you understand? (ie. the rhyme is planned, dummies).
The flickering needle jumps into red. new york crawls out of its bed.
And the lamb lies down on broadway.
Early morning manhattan,
Ocean winds blow on the land.
The weary guests are asked to leave the warmth of the all-night theater, having slept on pictures others only dream on.
Movie-palace is now undone,
The all-night watchmen have had their fun.
Sleeping cheaply on the midnight show,
Its the same old ending - time to go.
Get out!
It seems they cannot leave their dream.
The un-paid extras disturb the sleeping broadway. walk to the left dont walk to the right: on broadway, directions dont look so bright. autoghosts keep the pace for the cabmans early mobile r
Theres something moving in the sidewalk steam,
And the lamb lies down on broadway.
Nightimes flyers feel their pains.
Drugstore take down the chains.
Metal motion comes in bursts,
The gas station can quench that thirst.
Suspension cracked on unmade road
The truckers eyes read overload
Enough of this - our hero is moving up the subway stairs into day- light. beneath his leather jacket he holds a spray gun which has left the message r-a-e-l in big letters on the wall leading un
Ound. it may not mean much to you but to rael it is part of the process going towards making a name for yourself. when youre not even a pure-bred puerto rican the going gets tough and the tou
Ts going.
And out on the subway,
Rael imperial aerosol kid
Exits into daylight, spraygun hid,
And the lamb lies down on broadway.
With casual sideways glances along the wet street, he checks the motion in the steam to look for potential obstruction. seeing none, he strides along the sidewalk, past the drugstore with iron g
Being removed to reveal the smile of the toothpaste girl, past the nightladies and past patrolman frank leonowich (48, married, two kids) who stands in the doorway of the wig-store. patrolman le
Ch looks at rael in much the same way that other patrolmen look at him, and rael only just hides that he is hiding something. meanwhile from out of the steam a lamb lies down. this lamb has noth
Hatsoever to do with rael, or any other lamb - it just lies down on broadway.
The lamb seems right out of place,
Yet the broadway street scene finds a focus in its face.
Somehow its lying there,
Brings a stillness to the air.
Though man-made light, at night is very bright,
Theres no whitewash victim,
As the neons dim, to the coat of white.
Rael imperial aerosol kid
Wipes his gun - hes forgotten what he did,
And the lamb lies down on broadway.
Suzanne tired her work all done,
Thinks money - honey - be on - neon.
Cabmans velvet glove sounds the horn
And the sawdust king spits out his scorn.
Wonder women you can draw your blind!
Dont look at me! Im not your kind.
Im rael!
Something inside me has just begun,
Lord knows what I have done,
And the lamb lies down on broadway.
On broadway -
They say the lights are always bright on broadway.
They say theres always magic in the air.

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The Feel Of Skin

it's nice to feel close to somebody again
to have somebody there that wants to hold your hand
to lean back your head, rest on a friendly shoulder
makes me never want to grow any older
I never knew how much I truly missed the feel of skin
missed those strong fingers, and your chest I feel is sin
even the rough squeezes on my side that make me squeal
that give me tender bruises, I still love the way you feel

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The Lion and the Lamb

I saw a Tiger's golden flank,
I saw what food he ate,
By a desert spring he drank;
The Tiger's name was Hate.

Then I saw a placid Lamb
Lying fast asleep;
Like a river from its dam
Flashed the Tiger's leap.

I saw a lion tawny-red,
Terrible and brave;
The Tiger's leap overhead
Broke like a wave.

In sand below or sun above
He faded like a flame.
The Lamb said, "I am Love;
Lion, tell your name."

The Lion's voice thundering
Shook his vaulted breast,
"I am Love. By this spring,
Brother, let us rest."

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The House Of Dust: Part 03: 13: The half-shut doors through which we heard that music

The half-shut doors through which we heard that music
Are softly closed. Horns mutter down to silence.
The stars whirl out, the night grows deep.
Darkness settles upon us. A vague refrain
Drowsily teases at the drowsy brain.
In numberless rooms we stretch ourselves and sleep.

Where have we been? What savage chaos of music
Whirls in our dreams?—We suddenly rise in darkness,
Open our eyes, cry out, and sleep once more.
We dream we are numberless sea-waves languidly foaming
A warm white moonlit shore;

Or clouds blown windily over a sky at midnight,
Or chords of music scattered in hurrying darkness,
Or a singing sound of rain . . .
We open our eyes and stare at the coiling darkness,
And enter our dreams again.

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The blood of the lamb

In spring, the blossom on the blackthorn and the lily is the same,

There in the shepherd lands, where I stayed to think of Your name.

I heard the lamb's voice, when I passed the long grass in that field,

Waiting the bleating of the lamb and waiting by You to be healed.

I saw a flash of light more white, than I had ever seen before,

Descendant deep inside, until I perceived Your divine chore.

And when I heard the angel's song in the darkness over all,

I understood that You would pass to break inside my wall.

But You showed me only all the sins I have and all I did in vain,

You left me, but I would stay waiting You to come again.

And if I'm green and happy, even tired, and yet alive I am

It is because white is my soul and red is Your blood of lamb.


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Every animal and the lion and the lamb

For the parrot in its cage
the open spaces,
of the jungle remain
and unfolds in its mind.

Though if it escapes
here in the city
it would fly aimlessly,
among the buildings
and not know
where to find food and shelter.

At the zoo lions are camped in
and are placed together,
and fed by human beings.

Away is the field
and game that graze
and and a pan,
or river to get water from.

For the lamb there’s a camp
to graze in
and feed from a human
and to remain
a farmers’ property.

Every animal and the lion and the lamb
and all of us wait
for the child,
that leads animals to freedom
and for the world
to get righteousness.

[Reference=> 'The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them' (Isaiah 11: 6) .]

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The Lamb Of God

There was Christ in the metal shell
there was blood on the pavement
The camera will make you god
that's how Jack became sainted

If you die when there's no one watching
and your ratings drop and you're forgotten
if they kill you on their TV
you're a martyr and a lamb of god
nothing's going to change
nothing's going to change the world

There was Lennon and a happy gun
There were words on the pavement
we were looking for the lamb of god
we were looking for Mark David

If you die when there's no one watching
and your ratings drop and you're forgotten
if they kill you on their TV
you're a martyr and a lamb of god

Nothing's going to change the world
nothing's going to change
Nothing's going to change the world
nothing's going to change
the world

it took three days for him to die
the born again could buy the serial rights
lamb of god have mercy on us
lamb of god won't you grant us

Nothing's going to change the world
nothing's going to change
Nothing's going to change the world
nothing's going to change
the world

If you die when there's no one watching
and your ratings drop and you're forgotten
if they kill you on their TV
you're a martyr and a lamb of god
nothing's going to change the world

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Behold The Lamb

We are told to behold The Lamb, sent to the earth by the great I Am,
To behold the very Lamb of God, who will soon rule with an iron rod.
He was the Lamb not many knew, was sent to earth for me and you,
The One who left a Glorious Throne, only to be rejected by His own.

The Lamb who took away our sin, although none was found in Him.
Indeed the only blameless sacrifice, was the God Man Jesus Christ.
Behold God’s amazing sacrifice, given so we may have Eternal Life,
The Lord above paid the price, by giving His Only Son Jesus Christ.

Behold The Lord’s amazing Grace, sending His Son to take our place,
That upon a wicked bloody cross, as He purged us of our sinful dross.
Soon every eye will indeed behold, events that many scribes foretold,
When Christ that sacrificial Lamb, returns to earth as The Great I Am.

This time around every eye shall see, The Lord and God of all Eternity.
Every heart and knee will bend, when He comes back in victory friend.
Christ’s Kingship will not be denied, even by men who pierced His side.
They’ll behold The Prince of Peace, beginning a reign that won’t cease.

Soon we shall behold His Majesty, as believers, we enter into Eternity.
The Lamb, who died upon that tree, will reign forever with you and me.
For those wouldn’t take notice of, The Lamb that God sent from above,
Will never hear of or see again, The Lamb of God who died for all men.

(Copyright ©04/2006)

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The Lion And The Lamb

Christ, He is The Lion and The Lamb, The Lord God, The Great I AM,
He always was and will always be, He’s Lord and God of all Eternity,
The Eternal God and The Creator, had left Heaven, to be The Savior,
The God of Heaven and Eternity, had come to earth for you and me.

God had sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to the earth, to be our sacrifice,
The Lamb of God for fallen man, was decreed in God’s Eternal Plan,
Christ came to earth and He died, when by sinners, He was crucified,
He died on a tree, in our stead, but after that, He rose from the dead.

Now in Heaven at God’s Right Hand, as Lord and Ruler of every land,
Again Glorified on His Eternal Throne, and interceding for all His own,
All who believe and follow The Lamb, men saved by The Son of Man,
Now children of The Eternal God, even while we’re on this earthly sod.

But our Lord is coming back again, to judge every nation and all men,
Christ as Lord and Judge this time, decreed by God’s Eternal Design,
He shall reign upon God’s Holy Hill, as God’s Word Christ does fulfill,
Reigning in God’s Righteousness, as He will judge man’s ungodliness.

Jesus Christ, Who was and is today, provided for all, Salvation’s Way,
Receiving for us, God’s Eternal Wrath, He opened up God’s only path,
Through a new and Spiritual Birth, to reign with The Lamb on this earth,
But all who reject God’s Gift to men, The Lion of Judah shall condemn.

(Copyright ©05/2010)

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Follow The Lamb

The Lamb of God can be for you, the biggest blessing you ever knew.
He was sent from Heaven up above, to the earth by The Father’s love.
Christ was sent to die upon a tree, He was sent to die for you and me.
He takes away the sin of the world, the very message John did herald.

Into the world came The Light, to guide us out of the darkness of night.
He came to take us out of the night, for us to carry a message of light.
As you believe the message of light, you are delivered out of the night.
And then you are granted New Life, and this is based solely on Christ.

From Christ you receive a New Birth, from Heaven not from this earth.
Friend, you become spiritually healed, and by His Spirit you are sealed.
Sealed until the Day of Redemption, and in Christ there is no exemption.
If you truly believe in Jesus Christ, you friend, will experience New Life.

He will fill your heart with peace, and also a joy that will never cease.
Christ will put you on a journey friend, that in and of itself will not end.
Although it starts upon this earth, it continues well into eternal mirth.
And the only door is Jesus Christ, the Door that leads to Eternal Life.

Once you walk through The Door, you’re secure in Christ forevermore.
Choose to follow The Lamb today; He will lead you in the narrow way.
As you follow The Lamb of God, He guides you with His staff and rod.
A Blessed journey will be yours, when you follow Christ as your Lord.

(Copyright ©04/2005)

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The Ballad Of The Black Fox Skin

I

There was Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike living the life of shame,
When unto them in the Long, Long Night came the man-who-had-no-name;
Bearing his prize of a black fox pelt, out of the Wild he came.

His cheeks were blanched as the flume-head foam when the brown spring freshets flow;
Deep in their dark, sin-calcined pits were his sombre eyes aglow;
They knew him far for the fitful man who spat forth blood on the snow.

"Did ever you see such a skin?" quoth he; "there's nought in the world so fine--
Such fullness of fur as black as the night, such lustre, such size, such shine;
It's life to a one-lunged man like me; it's London, it's women, it's wine.

"The Moose-hides called it the devil-fox, and swore that no man could kill;
That he who hunted it, soon or late, must surely suffer some ill;
But I laughed at them and their old squaw-tales. Ha! Ha! I'm laughing still.

"For look ye, the skin--it's as smooth as sin, and black as the core of the Pit.
By gun or by trap, whatever the hap, I swore I would capture it;
By star and by star afield and afar, I hunted and would not quit.

"For the devil-fox, it was swift and sly, and it seemed to fleer at me;
I would wake in fright by the camp-fire light, hearing its evil glee;
Into my dream its eyes would gleam, and its shadow would I see.

"It sniffed and ran from the ptarmigan I had poisoned to excess;
Unharmed it sped from my wrathful lead ('twas as if I shot by guess);
Yet it came by night in the stark moonlight to mock at my weariness.

"I tracked it up where the mountains hunch like the vertebrae of the world;
I tracked it down to the death-still pits where the avalanche is hurled;
From the glooms to the sacerdotal snows, where the carded clouds are curled.

"From the vastitudes where the world protrudes through clouds like seas up-shoaled,
I held its track till it led me back to the land I had left of old--
The land I had looted many moons. I was weary and sick and cold.

"I was sick, soul-sick, of the futile chase, and there and then I swore
The foul fiend fox might scathless go, for I would hunt no more;
Then I rubbed mine eyes in a vast surprise--it stood by my cabin door.

"A rifle raised in the wraith-like gloom, and a vengeful shot that sped;
A howl that would thrill a cream-faced corpse-- and the demon fox lay dead. . . .
Yet there was never a sign of wound, and never a drop he bled.

"So that was the end of the great black fox, and here is the prize I've won;
And now for a drink to cheer me up--I've mushed since the early sun;
We'll drink a toast to the sorry ghost of the fox whose race is run."

II

Now Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike, bad as the worst were they;
In their road-house down by the river-trail they waited and watched for prey;
With wine and song they joyed night long, and they slept like swine by day.

For things were done in the Midnight Sun that no tongue will ever tell;
And men there be who walk earth-free, but whose names are writ in hell--
Are writ in flames with the guilty names of Fournier and Labelle.

Put not your trust in a poke of dust would ye sleep the sleep of sin;
For there be those who would rob your clothes ere yet the dawn comes in;
And a prize likewise in a woman's eyes is a peerless black fox skin.

Put your faith in the mountain cat if you lie within his lair;
Trust the fangs of the mother-wolf, and the claws of the lead-ripped bear;
But oh, of the wiles and the gold-tooth smiles of a dance-hall wench beware!

Wherefore it was beyond all laws that lusts of man restrain,
A man drank deep and sank to sleep never to wake again;
And the Yukon swallowed through a hole the cold corpse of the slain.

III

The black fox skin a shadow cast from the roof nigh to the floor;
And sleek it seemed and soft it gleamed, and the woman stroked it o'er;
And the man stood by with a brooding eye, and gnashed his teeth and swore.

When thieves and thugs fall out and fight there's fell arrears to pay;
And soon or late sin meets its fate, and so it fell one day
That Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike fanged up like dogs at bay.

"The skin is mine, all mine," she cried; "I did the deed alone."
"It's share and share with a guilt-yoked pair", he hissed in a pregnant tone;
And so they snarled like malamutes over a mildewed bone.

And so they fought, by fear untaught, till haply it befell
One dawn of day she slipped away to Dawson town to sell
The fruit of sin, this black fox skin that had made their lives a hell.

She slipped away as still he lay, she clutched the wondrous fur;
Her pulses beat, her foot was fleet, her fear was as a spur;
She laughed with glee, she did not see him rise and follow her.

The bluffs uprear and grimly peer far over Dawson town;
They see its lights a blaze o' nights and harshly they look down;
They mock the plan and plot of man with grim, ironic frown.

The trail was steep; 'twas at the time when swiftly sinks the snow;
All honey-combed, the river ice was rotting down below;
The river chafed beneath its rind with many a mighty throe.

And up the swift and oozy drift a woman climbed in fear,
Clutching to her a black fox fur as if she held it dear;
And hard she pressed it to her breast--then Windy Ike drew near.

She made no moan--her heart was stone--she read his smiling face,
And like a dream flashed all her life's dark horror and disgrace;
A moment only--with a snarl he hurled her into space.

She rolled for nigh an hundred feet; she bounded like a ball;
From crag to crag she carromed down through snow and timber fall; . . .
A hole gaped in the river ice; the spray flashed--that was all.

A bird sang for the joy of spring, so piercing sweet and frail;
And blinding bright the land was dight in gay and glittering mail;
And with a wondrous black fox skin a man slid down the trail.

IV

A wedge-faced man there was who ran along the river bank,
Who stumbled through each drift and slough, and ever slipped and sank,
And ever cursed his Maker's name, and ever "hooch" he drank.

He travelled like a hunted thing, hard harried, sore distrest;
The old grandmother moon crept out from her cloud-quilted nest;
The aged mountains mocked at him in their primeval rest.

Grim shadows diapered the snow; the air was strangely mild;
The valley's girth was dumb with mirth, the laughter of the wild;
The still, sardonic laughter of an ogre o'er a child.

The river writhed beneath the ice; it groaned like one in pain,
And yawning chasms opened wide, and closed and yawned again;
And sheets of silver heaved on high until they split in twain.

From out the road-house by the trail they saw a man afar
Make for the narrow river-reach where the swift cross-currents are;
Where, frail and worn, the ice is torn and the angry waters jar.

But they did not see him crash and sink into the icy flow;
They did not see him clinging there, gripped by the undertow,
Clawing with bleeding finger-nails at the jagged ice and snow.

They found a note beside the hole where he had stumbled in:
"Here met his fate by evil luck a man who lived in sin,
And to the one who loves me least I leave this black fox skin."

And strange it is; for, though they searched the river all around,
No trace or sign of black fox skin was ever after found;
Though one man said he saw the tread of HOOFS deep in the ground.

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The Witch's frolic

[Scene, the 'Snuggery' at Tappington.-- Grandpapa in a high-backed cane-bottomed elbow-chair of carved walnut-tree, dozing; his nose at an angle of forty-five degrees,--his thumbs slowly perform the rotatory motion described by lexicographers as 'twiddling.'--The 'Hope of the family' astride on a walking-stick, with burnt-cork mustachios, and a pheasant's tail pinned in his cap, solaceth himself with martial music.-- Roused by a strain of surpassing dissonance, Grandpapa Loquitur. ]

Come hither, come hither, my little boy Ned!
Come hither unto my knee--
I cannot away with that horrible din,
That sixpenny drum, and that trumpet of tin.
Oh, better to wander frank and free
Through the Fair of good Saint Bartlemy,
Than list to such awful minstrelsie.
Now lay, little Ned, those nuisances by,
And I'll rede ye a lay of Grammarye.

[Grandpapa riseth, yawneth like the crater of an extinct volcano, proceedeth slowly to the window, and apostrophizeth the Abbey in the distance.]

I love thy tower, Grey Ruin,
I joy thy form to see,
Though reft of all,
Cell, cloister, and hall,
Nothing is left save a tottering wall,
That, awfully grand and darkly dull,
Threaten'd to fall and demolish my skull,
As, ages ago, I wander'd along
Careless thy grass-grown courts among,
In sky-blue jacket and trowsers laced,
The latter uncommonly short in the waist.
Thou art dearer to me, thou Ruin grey,
Than the Squire's verandah over the way;
And fairer, I ween,
The ivy sheen
That thy mouldering turret binds,
Than the Alderman's house about half a mile off,
With the green Venetian blinds.

Full many a tale would my Grandam tell,
In many a bygone day,
Of darksome deeds, which of old befell
In thee, thou Ruin grey!
And I the readiest ear would lend,
And stare like frighten'd pig;
While my Grandfather's hair would have stood up an end,
Had he not worn a wig.

One tale I remember of mickle dread--
Now lithe and listen, my little boy Ned!

Thou mayest have read, my little boy Ned,
Though thy mother thine idlesse blames,
In Doctor Goldsmith's history book,
Of a gentleman called King James,
In quilted doublet, and great trunk breeches,
Who held in abhorrence tobacco and witches.

Well,-- in King James's golden days,--
For the days were golden then,--
They could not be less, for good Queen Bess
Had died aged threescore and ten,
And her days, we know,
Were all of them so;
While the Court poets sung, and the Court gallants swore
That the days were as golden still as before.

Some people, 'tis true, a troublesome few,
Who historical points would unsettle,
Have lately thrown out a sort of a doubt
Of the genuine ring of the metal;
But who can believe to a monarch so wise
People would dare tell a parcel of lies?

-- Well, then, in good King James's days,--
Golden or not does not matter a jot,--
Yon ruin a sort of a roof had got;
For though, repairs lacking, its walls had been cracking
Since Harry the Eighth sent its friars a-packing,
Though joists, and floors,
And windows, and doors
Had all disappear'd, yet pillars by scores
Remain'd, and still propp'd up a ceiling or two,
While the belfry was almost as good as new;
You are not to suppose matters look'd just so
In the Ruin some two hundred years ago.

Just in that farthermost angle, where
You see the remains of a winding-stair,
One turret especially high in air
Uprear'd its tall gaunt form;
As if defying the power of Fate, or
The hand of 'Time the Innovator;'
And though to the pitiless storm
Its weaker brethren all around
Bowing, in ruin had strew'd the ground,
Alone it stood, while its fellows lay strew'd,
Like a four-bottle man in a company 'screw'd,'
Not firm on his legs, but by no means subdued.

One night --' twas in Sixteen hundred and six --
I like when I can, Ned, the date to fix,--
The month was May,
Though I can't well say
At this distance of time the particular day --
But oh! that night, that horrible night!
Folks ever afterwards said with affright
That they never had seen such a terrible sight.

The Sun had gone down fiery red;
And if that evening he laid his head
In Thetis's lap beneath the seas,
He must have scalded the goddess's knees.
He left behind him a lurid track
Of blood-red light upon clouds so black,
That Warren and Hunt, with the whole of their crew,
Could scarcely have given them a darker hue.

There came a shrill and a whistling sound,
Above, beneath, beside, and around,
Yet leaf ne'er moved on tree!
So that some people thought old Beelzebub must
Have been lock'd out of doors, and was blowing the dust
From the pipe of his street-door key.

And then a hollow moaning blast
Came, sounding more dismally still than the last,
And the lightning flash'd, and the thunder growl'd,
And louder and louder the tempest howl'd,
And the rain came down in such sheets as would stagger a
Bard for a simile short of Niagara.

Rob Gilpin 'was a citizen;'
But, though of some 'renown,'
Of no great 'credit' in his own,
Or any other town.

He was a wild and roving lad,
For ever in the alehouse boozing;
Or romping,-- which is quite as bad,--
With female friends of his own choosing.

And Rob this very day had made,
Not dreaming such a storm was brewing,
An assignation with Miss Slade,--
Their trysting-place this same grey Ruin.

But Gertrude Slade became afraid,
And to keep her appointment unwilling,
When she spied the rain on her window-pane
In drops as big as a shilling;
She put off her hat and her mantle again,--
'He'll never expect me in all this rain!'

But little he recks of the fears of the sex,
Or that maiden false to her tryst could be,
He had stood there a good half hour
Ere yet commenced that perilous shower,
Alone by the trysting-tree!

Robin looks east, Robin looks west,
But he sees not her whom he loves the best;
Robin looks up, and Robin looks down,
But no one comes from the neighbouring town.

The storm came at last, loud roar'd the blast,
And the shades of evening fell thick and fast;
The tempest grew; and the straggling yew,
His leafy umbrella, was wet through and through;
Rob was half dead with cold and with fright,
When he spies in the ruins a twinkling light --
A hop, two skips, and a jump, and straight
Rob stands within that postern gate.

And there were gossips sitting there,
By one, by two, by three:
Two were an old ill-favour'd pair;
But the third was young, and passing fair,
With laughing eyes and with coal-black hair;
A daintie quean was she!
Rob would have given his ears to sip
But a single salute from her cherry lip.

As they sat in that old and haunted room,
In each one's hand was a huge birch broom,
On each one's head was a steeple-crown'd hat,
On each one's knee was a coal-black cat;
Each had a kirtle of Lincoln green --
It was, I trow, a fearsome scene.

'Now riddle me, riddle me right, Madge Gray,
What foot unhallow'd wends this way?
Goody Price, Goody Price, now areed me aright,
Who roams the old ruins this drearysome night?'

Then up and spake that sonsie quean,
And she spake both loud and clear:
'Oh, be it for weal, or be it for woe,
Enter friend, or enter foe,
Rob Gilpin is welcome here!--

'Now tread we a measure! a hall! a hall!
Now tread we a measure,' quoth she --
The heart of Robin
Beat thick and throbbing --
'Roving Rob, tread a measure with me!'--
'Ay, lassie!' quoth Rob, as her hand he gripes,
'Though Satan himself were blowing the pipes!'

Now around they go, and around, and around,
With hop-skip-and-jump, and frolicsome bound,
Such sailing and gilding,
Such sinking and sliding,
Such lofty curvetting,
And grand pirouetting;
Ned, you would swear that Monsieur Gilbert
And Miss Taglioni were capering there!

And oh! such awful music!-- ne'er
Fell sounds so uncanny on mortal ear,
There were the tones of a dying man's groans
Mix'd with the rattling of dead men's bones:
Had you heard the shrieks, and the squeals, and the squeaks,
You'd not have forgotten the sound for weeks.

And around, and around, and around they go,
Heel to heel, and toe to toe,
Prance and caper, curvet and wheel,
Toe to toe, and heel to heel.
''Tis merry, 'tis merry, Cummers, I trow,
To dance thus beneath the nightshade bough!'--

'Goody Price, Goody Price, now riddle me right,
Where may we sup this frolicsome night?'--
'Mine Host of the Dragon hath mutton and veal!
The Squire hath partridge, and widgeon, and teal;
But old Sir Thopas hath daintier cheer,
A pasty made of the good red deer,
A huge grouse pie, and a fine Florentine,
A fat roast goose, and a turkey and chine.'--
--'Madge Gray, Madge Gray,
Now tell me, I pray,
Where's the best wassail bowl to our roundelay?'

'-- There is ale in the cellars of Tappington Hall,
But the Squire is a churl, and his drink is small;
Mine host of the Dragon
Hath many a flaggon
Of double ale, lamb's-wool, and eau de vie,
But Sir Thopas, the Vicar,
Hath costlier liquor,--
A butt of the choicest Malvoisie.
He doth not lack
Canary or Sack;
And a good pint stoup of Clary wine
Smacks merrily off with a Turkey and Chine!'

'Now away! and away! without delay,
Hey Cockalorum! my Broomstick gay,
We must be back ere the dawn of the day:
Hey up the chimney! away! away!'--
Old Goody Price
Mounts in a trice,
In showing her legs she is not over nice;
Old Goody Jones,
All skin and bones,
Follows 'like winking.' Away go the crones,
Knees and nose in a line with the toes,
Sitting their brooms like so many Ducrows;
Latest and last
The damsel pass'd,
One glance of her coal-black eye she cast;
She laugh'd with glee loud laughters three,
'Dost fear, Rob Gilpin, to ride with me!'--
Oh, never might man unscath'd espy
One single glance from that coal-black eye.
-- Away she flew!--
Without more ado
Rob seizes and mounts on a broomstick too,
'Hey! up the chimney, lass! Hey after you!'

It's a very fine thing on a fine day in June
To ride through the air in a Nassau Balloon;
But you'll find very soon, if you aim at the Moon
In a carriage like that you're a bit of a 'Spoon,'
For the largest can't fly
Above twenty miles high,
And you're not half way then on your journey, nor nigh;
While no man alive
Could ever contrive,
Mr. Green has declared, to get higher than five.
And the soundest Philosophers hold that, perhaps,
If you reach'd twenty miles your balloon would collapse,
Or pass by such action
The sphere of attraction,
Getting into the track of some comet -- Good-lack!
'Tis a thousand to one that you'd never come back;
And the boldest of mortals a danger like that must fear,
And be cautious of getting beyond our own atmosphere.
No, no; when I try
A trip to the sky,
I shan't go in that thing of yours, Mr. Gye,
Though Messieurs Monk Mason, and Spencer, and Beazly,
All join in saying it travels so easily.
No; there's nothing so good
As a pony of wood --
Not like that which, of late, they stuck up on the gate
At the end of the Park, which caused so much debate,
And gave so much trouble to make it stand straight,--
But a regular Broomstick -- you'll find that the favourite,--
Above all, when, like Robin, you haven't to pay for it.
-- Stay -- really I dread
I am losing the thread
Of my tale; and it's time you should be in your bed,
So lithe now, and listen, my little boy Ned!

The Vicarage walls are lofty and thick,
And the copings are stone, and the sides are brick,
The casements are narrow, and bolted and barr'd,
And the stout oak door is heavy and hard;
Moreover, by way of additional guard,
A great big dog runs loose in the yard,
And a horse-shoe is nail'd on the threshold sill,--
To keep out aught that savours of ill,--
But, alack! the chimney-pot's open still!
-- That great big dog begins to quail,
Between his hind-legs he drops his tail,
Crouch'd on the ground, the terrified hound
Gives vent to a very odd sort of a sound;
It is not a bark, loud, open, and free,
As an honest old watch-dog's bark should be;
It is not a yelp, it is not a growl,
But a something between a whine and a howl;
And, hark!--a sound from the window high
Responds to the watch-dog's pitiful cry:
It is not a moan,
It is not a groan;
It comes from a nose,-- but is not what a nose
Produces in healthy and sound repose.
Yet Sir Thopas the Vicar is fast asleep,
And his respirations are heavy and deep!

He snores, 'tis true, but he snores no more
As he's aye been accustom'd to snore before,
And as men of his kidney are wont to snore;--
(Sir Thopas's weight is sixteen stone four
He draws his breath like a man distress'd
By pain or grief, or like one oppress'd
By some ugly old Incubus perch'd on his breast.
A something seems
To disturb his dreams,
And thrice on his ear, distinct and clear,
Falls a voice as of somebody whispering near
In still small accents, faint and few,
'Hey down the chimney-pot!--Hey after you!'

Throughout the Vicarage, near and far,
There is no lack of bolt or of bar,
Plenty of locks
To closet and box,
Yet the pantry wicket is standing ajar!
And the little low door, through which you must go,
Down some half-dozen steps, to the cellar below,
Is also unfasten'd, though no one may know,
By so much as a guess, how it comes to be so;
For wicket and door,
The evening before,
Were both of them lock'd, and the key safely placed
On the bunch that hangs down from the Housekeeper's waist.

Oh! 'twas a jovial sight to view
In that snug little cellar that frolicsome crew!--
Old Goody Price
Had got something nice,
A turkey-poult larded with bacon and spice;--
Old Goody Jones
Would touch nought that had bones,--
She might just as well mumble a parcel of stones.
Goody Jones, in sooth, had got never a tooth,
And a New-College pudding of marrow and plums
Is the dish of all others that suiteth her gums.

Madge Gray was picking
The breast of a chicken,
Her coal-black eye, with its glance so sly,
Was fixed on Rob Gilpin himself, sitting by
With his heart full of love, and his mouth full of pie;
Grouse pie, with hare
In the middle, is fare
Which, duly concocted with science and care,
Doctor Kitchener says, is beyond all compare;
And a tenderer leveret
Robin had never ate;
So, in after times, oft he was wont to asseverate.
'Now pledge we the wine-cup!--a health! a health!
Sweet are the pleasures obtain'd by stealth!
Fill up! fill up!-- the brim of the cup
Is the part that aye holdeth the toothsomest sup!
Here's to thee, Goody Price! Goody Jones, to thee!
To thee, Roving Rob! and again to me!
Many a sip, never a slip
Come to us four 'twixt the cup and the lip!'

The cups pass quick,
The toasts fly thick,
Rob tries in vain out their meaning to pick,
But hears the words 'Scratch,' and 'Old Bogey,' and 'Nick.'
More familiar grown,
Now he stands up alone,
Volunteering to give them a toast of his own.
'A bumper of wine!
Fill thine! Fill mine!
Here's a health to old Noah who planted the Vine!'
Oh then what sneezing,
What coughing and wheezing,
Ensued in a way that was not over pleasing!
Goody Price, Goody Jones, and the pretty Madge Gray,
All seem'd as their liquor had gone the wrong way.

But the best of the joke was, the moment he spoke
Those words which the party seem'd almost to choke,
As by mentioning Noah some spell had been broke,
Every soul in the house at that instant awoke!
And, hearing the din from barrel and bin,
Drew at once the conclusion that thieves had got in.
Up jump'd the Cook and caught hold of her spit;
Up jump'd the Groom and took bridle and bit;
Up jump'd the Gardener and shoulder'd his spade;
Up jump'd the Scullion,-- the Footman,-- the Maid;
(The two last, by the way, occasion'd some scandal,
By appearing together with only one candle,
Which gave for unpleasant surmises some handle
Up jump'd the Swineherd,-- and up jump'd the big boy,
A nondescript under him, acting as pig boy;
Butler, Housekeeper, Coachman -- from bottom to top
Everybody jump'd up without parley or stop,
With the weapon which first in their way chanced to drop,--
Whip, warming-pan, wig-block, mug, musket and mop.

Last of all doth appear,
With some symptoms of fear,
Sir Thopas in person to bring up the rear,
In a mix'd kind of costume, half Pontificalibus,
Half what scholars denominate Pure Naturalibus;
Nay, the truth to express,
As you'll easily guess,
They have none of them time to attend much to dress;
But He or She,
As the case may be,
He or She seizes what He or She pleases,
Trunk-hosen or kirtles, and shirts or chemises.
And thus one and all, great and small, short and tall,
Muster at once in the Vicarage-hall,
With upstanding locks, starting eyes, shorten'd breath,
Like the folks in the Gallery Scene in Macbeth,
When Macduff is announcing their Sovereign's death.

And hark! what accents clear and strong,
To the listening throng come floating along!
'Tis Robin encoring himself in a song--
'Very good song! very well sung!
Jolly companions every one!'--

On, on to the cellar! away! away!
On, on, to the cellar without more delay!
The whole posse rush onwards in battle array.
Conceive the dismay of the party so gay,
Old Goody Jones, Goody Price, and Madge Gray,
When the door bursting wide, they descried the allied
Troops, prepared for the onslaught, roll in like a tide,
And the spits, and the tongs, and the pokers beside!--
'Boot and saddle's the word! mount, Cummers, and ride!'--
Alarm was ne'er caused more strong and indigenous
By cats among rats, or a hawk in a pigeon-house;
Quick from the view
Away they all flew,
With a yell, and a screech, and a halliballoo,
'Hey up the chimney! Hey after you!'
The Volscians themselves made an exit less speedy
From Corioli, 'flutter'd like doves' by Macready.

They are gone, save one,
Robin alone!
Robin, whose high state of civilization
Precludes all idea of aërostation,
And who now has no notion
Of more locomotion
Than suffices to kick, with much zeal and devotion,
Right and left at the party, who pounced on their victim,
And maul'd him, and kick'd him, and lick'd him, and prick'd him,
As they bore him away scarce aware what was done,
And believing it all but a part of the fun,
Hic -- hiccoughing out the same strain he'd begun,
'Jol -- jolly companions every one!'

Morning grey
Scarce bursts into day
Ere at Tappington Hall there's the deuce to pay;
The tables and chairs are all placed in array
In the old oak-parlour, and in and out
Domestics and neighbours, a motley rout,
Are walking, and whispering, and standing about;
And the Squire is there
In his large arm-chair,
Leaning back with a grave magisterial air;
In the front of his seat a
Huge volume, called Fleta,
And Bracton, both tomes of an old-fashion'd look,
And Coke upon Lyttleton, then a new book;
And he moistens his lips
With occasional sips
From a luscious sack-posset that smiles in a tankard
Close by on a side-table -- not that he drank hard,
But because at that day,
I hardly need say,
The Hong Merchants had not yet invented How Qua,
Nor as yet would you see Souchong or Bohea
At the tables of persons of any degree:
How our ancestors managed to do without tea
I must fairly confess is a mystery to me;
Yet your Lydgates and Chaucers
Had no cups and saucers;
Their breakfast, in fact, and the best they could get,
Was a sort of a déjeûner à la fourchette;
Instead of our slops
They had cutlets and chops,
And sack-possets, and ale in stoups, tankards, and pots;
And they wound up the meal with rumpsteaks and 'schalots.

Now the Squire lifts his hand
With an air of command,
And gives them a sign, which they all understand,
To bring in the culprit; and straightway the carter
And huntsman drag in that unfortunate martyr,
Still kicking, and crying, 'Come,-- what are you arter?'
The charge is prepared, and the evidence clear,
'He was caught in the cellar a-drinking the beer!
And came there, there's very great reason to fear,
With companions,-- to say but the least of them,-- queer;
Such as Witches, and creatures
With horrible features,
And horrible grins,
And hook'd noses and chins,
Who'd been playing the deuce with his Reverence's binns.'

The face of his worship grows graver and graver,
As the parties detail Robin's shameful behaviour;
Mister Buzzard, the clerk, while the tale is reciting,
Sits down to reduce the affair into writing,
With all proper diction,
And due 'legal fiction;'
Viz: 'That he, the said prisoner, as clearly was shown,
Conspiring with folks to deponents unknown,
With divers, that is to say, two thousand, people,
In two thousand hats, each hat peak'd like a steeple,
With force and with arms,
And with sorcery and charms,
Upon two thousand brooms
Enter'd four thousand rooms;
To wit, two thousand pantries, and two thousand cellars,
Put in bodily fear twenty-thousand in-dwellers,
And with sundry,-- that is to say, two thousand,-- forks,
Drew divers,-- that is to say, ten thousand,-- corks,
And, with malice prepense, down their two thousand throttles,
Emptied various,--that is to say, ten thousand,-- bottles;
All in breach of the peace, moved by Satan's malignity,
And in spite of King James, and his Crown, and his Dignity.'

At words so profound
Rob gazes around,
But no glance sympathetic to cheer him is found.
-- No glance, did I say?
Yes, one!-- Madge Gray!--
She is there in the midst of the crowd standing by,
And she gives him one glance from her coal-black eye,
One touch to his hand, and one word to his ear,--
(That's a line which I've stolen from Sir Walter, I fear,)--
While nobody near
Seems to see her or hear;
As his worship takes up, and surveys with a strict eye
The broom now produced as the corpus delicti,
Ere his fingers can clasp,
It is snatch'd from his grasp,
The end poked in his chest with a force makes him gasp,
And, despite the decorum so due to the Quorum,
His worship's upset, and so too is his jorum;
And Madge is astride on the broomstick before'em.
'Hocus Pocus! Quick, Presto! and Hey Cockalorum!
Mount, mount for your life, Rob!-- Sir Justice, adieu!--
-- Hey up the chimney-pot! hey after you!'

Through the mystified group,
With a halloo and whoop,
Madge on the pommel, and Robin en croupe,
The pair through the air ride as if in a chair,
While the party below stand mouth open and stare!
'Clean bumbaized' and amazed, and fix'd, all the room stick,
'Oh! what's gone with Robin,-- and Madge,-- and the broomstick?'
Ay, 'what's gone' indeed, Ned?-- of what befell
Madge Gray, and the broomstick I never heard tell;
But Robin was found, that morn, on the ground,
In yon old grey Ruin again, safe and sound,
Except that at first he complain'd much of thirst,
And a shocking bad headach, of all ills the worst,
And close by his knee
A flask you might see,
But an empty one, smelling of eau de vie.

Rob from this hour is an alter'd man;
He runs home to his lodgings as fast as he can,
Sticks to his trade,
Marries Miss Slade,
Becomes a Te-totaller -- that is the same
As Te-totallers now, one in all but the name;
Grows fond of Small-beer, which is always a steady sign,
Never drinks spirits except as a medicine;
Learns to despise
Coal-black eyes,
Minds pretty girls no more than so many Guys;
Has a family, lives to be sixty, and dies!

Now my little boy Ned,
Brush off to your bed,
Tie your night-cap on safe, or a napkin instead,
Or these terrible nights you'll catch cold in your head;
And remember my tale, and the moral it teaches,
Which you'll find much the same as what Solomon preaches.
Don't flirt with young ladies! don't practise soft speeches;
Avoid waltzes, quadrilles, pumps, silk hose, and kneebreeches;--
Frequent not grey ruins,--shun riot and revelry,
Hocus Pocus, and Conjuring, and all sorts of devilry;--
Don't meddle with broomsticks,--they're Beelzebub's switches;
Of cellars keep clear,--they're the devil's own ditches;
And beware of balls, banquettings, brandy, and -- witches!
Above all! don't run after black eyes,-- if you do,--
Depend on't you'll find what I say will come true,--
Old Nick, some fine morning, will 'hey after you!

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The Lamb Skin

It is not ornamental, the cost is not great,
There are other things far more useful, yet truly I state,
Though of all my possesions, there's none can compare,
With that white leather apron, which all Masons wear.

As a young lad I wondered just what it all meant,
When Dad hustled around, and so much time was spent
On shaving and dressing and looking just right,
Until Mother would say: 'It's the Masons tonight.'

And some winter nights she said: 'What makes you go,
Way up there tonight thru the sleet and the snow?
You see the same things every month of the year.'
Then Dad would reply: 'Yes, I know it, my dear.'

'Forty years I have seen the same things, it is true.
And though they are old, they always seem new,
For the hands that I clasp, and the friends that I greet,
Seem a little bit closer each time that we meet.'

Years later I stood at that very same door,
With good men and true who had entered before,
I knelt at the alter, and there I was taught
That virtue and honor can never be bought.

That the spotless white lambskin all Masons revere,
If worthily worn grows more precious each year,
That service to others brings blessings untold,
That man may be poor tho surrounded by gold.

I learned that true brotherhood flourishes there,
That enmities fade 'neath the compass and square,
That wealth and position are all thrust aside,
As there on the level men meet and abide.

So, honor the lambskin, may it always remain
Forever unblemished, and free from all stain,
And when we are called to the Great Father's love,
May we all take our place in that Lodge up above.

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The Pet-Lamb

A PASTORAL

THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, 'Drink, pretty creature, drink!'
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow-white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its side.

Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel,
While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.

The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,
Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook.
'Drink, pretty creature, drink,' she said in such a tone
That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty can the Maiden turned away:
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face:
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing:

'What ails thee, young One? what? Why pull so at thy cord?
Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
Rest, little young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?

'What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart?
Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful thou art:
This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers;
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

'If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,
This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;
For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear,
The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.

'Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away;
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

'He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:
A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam?
A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.

'Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.

'Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now,
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough;
My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

'It will not, will not rest!--Poor creature, can it be
That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?
Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

'Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there;
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

'Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe,--our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep--and at break of day I will come to thee again!'

--As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was 'mine'.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song;
'Nay,' said I, 'more than half to the damsel must belong,
For she looked with such a look and she spake with such a tone,
That I almost received her heart into my own.'

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Pet-Lamb, The: A Pastoral Poem

The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow-white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its side.

Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel,
While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.

The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,
Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure
shook.
"Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone
That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty can the Maiden turned away:
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face:
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing:

"What ails thee, young One? what? Why pull so at thy cord?
Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
Rest, little young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?

"What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart?
Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful thou art:
This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers;
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,
This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;
For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear,
The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.

"Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away;
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:
A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam?
A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.

"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.

"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now,
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough;
My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.

"It will not, will not rest!--Poor creature, can it be
That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?
Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there;
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe,--our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep--and at break of day I will come to thee again!"

--As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was 'mine'.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song;
"Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong,
For she looked with such a look and she spake with such a tone,
That I almost received her heart into my own."

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The Fall of Paradise

(after John Milton)

I. Lucifer

Thus he rebelled without anyone stopping him,
wanted to put up his throne above, at times
equal to that of the almighty Creator
and approached others for this goal,
felt at times that his jealousy was noble
where he stood at the edge of the precipice
and thunder flashed ominous around him.

He dragged a third of once holy ones along
to all at once squander their lives,
joy, virtue and nobility
and along with them
later missed the glory, peace and love
of the heavens and knew
that he (the flaming son of the morning)
is trivial to the Most High (who is always honourable)
could not even stand in His shade
and through stars, he had torn, through the heavens
to declare war, as in his heart he wanted to win
as if insanity was eating
through every reason and sensibility
and had destroyed his nobility.

When he stood alone in front of Michael and thunderbolts,
suns and comets was thrown at him
at supreme command, he new pain and misery
was banned from heaven, with all of his rebellious team
was crackled down in flames
and in his heart he had to admit that it was just,
that he could not give life to anything
and could not comprehend or have love anymore;
as might, his splendour,
his own power had overwhelm him
and then he could still fall on his knees and beg for mercy

but he was far too proud for it
and he wanted to take revenge on the Almighty One
where he cunningly deceived man
and got some more victims for his own punishment
but for man God himself came to pay the price,
Lucifer was convinced that death on the cross
was the end of God, as God had become man,
in his heart Lucifer thought that he had won
and when God rose staying available for man
Lucifer could still not comprehend or explain love
or what it is to as God have the power to life.


II. After that initial awakening

After that initial awakening
Adam realised that every animal had a mate
and in him there was a longing
for a companion, for someone beautiful to love

and with infinite care God knew about his thoughts,
made him sleep and formed a woman from his flesh,
constructed a delightful charming being,
someone to match the longing of his soul.

Radiating purity and innocence
they stared awe struck
for long moment after long moment
when at first they became aware of each other.

God Himself bonded them in connubial love,
told them to multiply, to engage with each other
in the act of utter joy and there was sheer magic
and tenderness while in each other’s arms they did rest

Such sweet happiness, sprung from love
physical, spiritual and for God divine
and was in the tender care
with which they ruled the world.

They made sheer intimate passionate love,
without realising their nakedness
found beauty, love and tranquillity
in ever movement, in every tender gesture

and it was if there was magic to everything,
as if in each insect, animal, plant and tree
they found something inspiring
while they lived with freedom of choice.


III. Glorious did that snake appear

Glorious did that snake appear,
with its scales glittering in the sun,
in a place of perfection
its charm, its voice did stun.

Its deception mixed truth and lie,
enticed the woman Eve,
to reach for more knowledge,
to reach for godliness.

To her the love
of her husband Adam was secure
and in perfection, in sheer innocence
she looked at that snake with an own radiance.

The longer they talked the more she longed,
not for the fruit of life, for immortality,
but to enter into the unknown
and by disobedience the fall of man did begin.

The taste was sweet but mortality was in it,
it made both Adam and Eve aware
of their sheer nakedness,
brought destruction to a world without strive,

but still the two humans instinctively knew
that in all of this, in the sin that they entered in
God had a plan for the salvation of man,
a plan that was unspoken but existed as a token of love.


IV. How will I now see the face of God or of His angels?

(Adam after the fall of man)

How will I now see the face
of God or any of His angels?
Will it be with sheer joy,
in a blaze of clear light?

Or will I forever be afraid,
be scared of wrath, of judgement of the brightness
that reveals the darkness of my heart,
that reveals the darkness of my passions?

In this glade where I am hiding,
where leaves are covering
my beloved Eve and me,
I long for some tranquillity

but my own iniquity, our sin
is darkening everything
and there’s shame,
so much of it

that I do not know
how to face God the righteous One,
or even one of his angel messengers
and I am longing to be forever hidden.


V. There was some tranquillity in His voice

(Adam after the fall of man)

There was some tranquillity in His voice
while He called us to appear,
to where He was wandering in the garden
but in nakedness we were hiding.

His piercing brightness made the darkness
where we were hiding day,
and He had seen us sin,
had seen us changing the way that things were

to devastation, to pain and suffering
and He told us about the earth being cursed,
to bring forth thorns and thistles,
about the struggle to earn a living,

about death that at a time will be approaching,
will be approaching everything that lives
and He made clothes of skin,
to cover our nakedness

told about the time when He would come,
to crush the head of the snake,
to die for our sins like the lamb
that He had slaughtered for us.

We knew that the punishment for sin was death,
that all things living would change,
with lions, leopards, wolfs
preying on gazelles, on antelope.

It was clear that His words were true,
that He truly loved us
even though we had fallen to sin
and His eyes were full of pain

when He looked at us
and we did not really realize
the destruction, the pain and the hardship
that we had brought about

not until much later, when our son Cain
killed his brother Able
but we cuddled together
when He left us and loved each other.

As I knew that day by day
our bodies was weakening,
saw the strain, the sorrow
on my darling, Eve’s, face

while I held her while she was crying
another plan to reverse things
suddenly came to mind
and I wanted to get fruit from the tree of life

but He knew all things
and before I could even reach that tree
He banished us from the garden of Eden,
driving us out into the wilderness

and I struggled to understand this
while mighty brilliant cherubim ready for battle
was patrolling at the entrance to Eden,
with drawn flaming swords.

[References: The Holy Bible, “Paradise Lost” by John Milton.]

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The Great Chinese Dragon

The great Chinese dragon which is the greatest dragon in all the
world and which once upon a time was towed across the
Pacific by a crew of coolies rowing in an open boat—was
the first real live dragon ever actually to reach these shores

And the great Chinese dragon passing thru the Golden Gate
spouting streams of water like a string of fireboats then broke
loose somewhere near China Camp gulped down a hundred
Chinese seamen and forthwith ate all the shrimp in San Francisco Bay

And the great Chinese dragon was therefore forever after confined
in a Chinatown basement and ever since allowed out only for
Chinese New Year’s parades and other Unamerican demonstrations
paternally watched-over by those benevolent men in
blue who represent our more advanced civilization which has
reached such a high state of democracy as to allow even a
few barbarians to carry on their quaint native customs in our midst

And thus the great Chinese dragon which is the greatest dragon
in all the world now can only be seen creeping out of an
Adler Alley cellar like a worm out of a hole sometime during
the second week in February every year when it sorties out
of hibernation in its Chinese storeroom pushed from behind
by a band of fortythree Chinese electricians and technicians
who stuff its peristaltic accordion-body up thru a sidewalk
delivery entrance

And first the swaying snout appears and then the eyes at ground
level feeling along the curb and then the head itself casting
about and swayingand heaving finally up to the corner of
Grant Avenue itself where a huge paper sign proclaims the
World’s Largest Chinatown

And the great Chinese dragon’s jaws wired permanently agape as
if by a demented dentist to display the Cadmium teeth as the
hungry head heaves out into Grant Avenue right under the
sign and raising itself with a great snort of fire suddenly proclaims
the official firecracker start of the Chinese New Year

And the lightbulb eyes lighting up and popping out on coiled wire
springs and the body stretching and rocking further and
further around the corner and down Grant Avenue like a
caterpillar rollercoaster with the eyes sprung out and waving
in the air like the blind feelers of some mechanical preying
mantis and the eyes blinking on and off with Chinese red
pupils and tiny bamboo-blind eyelids going up and down

And here comes the St. Mary’s Chinese Girls’ Drum Corps and
here come sixteen white men in pith helmets beating big bass
drums representing the Order of the Moose and here comes
a gang of happy car salesmen disguised as Islam Shriners
and here comes a chapter of the Order of Improved Red Men
and here comes a cordon of motorcycle cops in crash helmets
with radios going followed by a small papier-mâché lion fed
with Nekko wafers and run by two guys left over from a
Ten-Ten festival which in turn is followed by the great
Chinese dragon itself gooking over balconies as it comes

And the great Chinese dragon has eaten a hundred humans and
their legs pop out of his underside and are his walking legs
which are not mentioned in the official printed program in
which he is written up as the Great Golden Dragon made in
Hong Kong to the specifications of the Chinese Chamber of
Commerce and he represents the force and mystery of life
and his head sways in the sky between the balconies as he
comes followed by six Chinese boy scouts wearing Keds and
carrying strings of batteries that light up the dragon like a
nighttime freeway

And he has lain all winter among a heap of collapsed paper
lanterns and green rubber lizards and ivory backscratchers
with the iron sidewalk doors closed over his head but he has
now sprung up with the first sign of Spring like the force of
life itself and his head sways in the sky and gooks in green
windows as he comes

And he is a monster with the head of a dog and the body of a
serpent risen yearly out of the sea to devour a virgin thrown
from a cliff to appease him and he is a young man handsome
and drunk ogling the girls and he has high ideals and a
hundred sport shoes and he says No to Mother and he is a
big red table the world will never tilt and he has big eyes
everywhere thru which he sees all womankind milkwhite and
dove-breasted and he will eat their waterflowers for he is the
cat with future feet wearing Keds and he eats cake out of
pastry windows and is hungrier and more potent and more
powerful and more omnivorous than the papier-mâché lion
run by the two guys and he is a great earthworm of lucky life
filled with flowing Chinese semen and he considers his own
and our existence in its most profound sense as he comes and
he has no Christian answer to the existential question even
as he sees the spiritual everywhere translucent in the material
world and he does not want to escape the responsibility of
being a dragon or the consequences of his long horny tail still
buried in the basement but the blue citizens on their talking
cycles think that he wants to escape and at all costs he must
not be allowed to escape because the great Chinese dragon
is the greatest potential dragon in all the world and if allowed
to escape from Chinatown might gallop away up their new
freeway at the Broadway entrance mistaking it for a Great
Wall of China or some other barbarian barrier and so go
careening along it chewing up stanchions and signposts and
belching forth some strange disintegrating medium which
might melt down the great concrete walls of America and
they are afraid of how far the great Chinese dragon might
really go starting from San Francisco and so they have
secretly and securely tied down the very end of his
tail in its
hole
so that
this great pulsing phallus of life at the very end of its parade
at the very end of Chinatown gives ones wild orgasm of a shudder
and rolls over fainting in the bright night street since even
for a dragon every orgasm is a little death

And then the great Chinese dragon starts silently shrinking and
shriveling up and drawing back and back to its first cave
and the soft silk skin wrinkles up and shrinks and
shrinks on its sprung bamboo bones and the handsome
dejected head hangs down like a defeated prizefighter’s and
so is stuffed down again a last into its private place and the
cellar sidewalk doors press down again over the great wilted
head with one small hole of an eye blinking still thru the
gratings of the metal doors as the great Chinese dragon gives
one last convulsive earthquake shake and rolls over dead-dog
to wait another white year for the final coming and the final
sowing of his oats and teeth

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Blanket Syd - The World Anew

All I seek is a lust beyond the want for climax,
I seek a beauty with which to trust my soul;
A beauty to make me whole in knowing
We flow as one in the same.

Inside placid beasts lay tamed
As angels outside play games un-named.

Gabrielle opens up her eyes to you, turning her head ornamental,
Beseeching to minds lost in wonderment oriental philosophies on which to ponder.
She holds within her form the innocence of the lamb still she retains a knowledge of the flesh.
She feeds the imagination with promises of sexual gratification fresh as golden fabrics flow in swallowing her form. Her head turns upon a spine cast within the kiln as Blanket Syd distorts the visions of the helmsman holding fantasy captive within the bounds of reality.
She stands domineering in her stance. Daring you to dance for her – she’s daring you to throw inhibition from upon your shoulders - She’s daring you to know Love as your lover.

Red skin gum sticks the joint your holding stiff with your thumb.
Roll. Succumb to the numbing of the senses as the imagination leaps
In bounding, the imagination lay forever lost in searching – attempting to find that which was never there to be found.

Bend the words upon a whim
Skim the surface, don’t break the skin.

Remember, I remember the first time I saw myself from the past
A beard full in flowing clung to my cheeks, my knees forever weak within an age of longing.

Stroke the beast that keeps you calm
So soft to touch upon the palm of your hand.

Lost is ever generation, lost beyond a care.

How old these souls must be now in reflecting upon the time they spent trashed
Crashed out with Joplin’s tones upon the airwaves, screaming the blues to a tune
Of orchestral happiness – Still the blues shine through forever bound within the tragedy
Of a flower born aloft upon the wind. For every song she sung a thousand generations will cry
Awaiting her kind to be born again – The myths are made once your dues are paid then poets will sing your laments.

How culture must resent the descent of youths talent deflowered.
The music’s over yet still she holds strong the crowd.

When I think of all the souls I’ve known I know I loved them all.
Never half but always whole.

They say kissing builds up the muscles in your mouth.

Keep on feeding each other, if your too tired to chew pass it on
Next comes some poor fool lost without his cane.

The oracle serves well the mind of the acid soaked mariner
Lost upon surface of disillusionment – the depths of the abyss they beckon
Calling for confrontation – Push away the daemon for a while

Smile.

Lost in his manor, seeking solace in the arms of a strange unknowing caress
You can hear them calling upon the edge of sleep, keeping dry sanity from the rain.

Rise from the floor your throne.

One ear feels thick to the finger
Almost stuffed the other cold
As I shuffle ever knowing each second I am older
Yet time dissolves as we feel Our mother revolve
Turning, spurring on creation anew – Creation through destruction breathes
As nutrients are embraced by the soil of the earth as a given gift from Autumns trees.

I know now that meditation is to be found within the realms of masturbation.

I feel sound within myself yet can seem to lift no idea of construct sane from upon the shelf.
Still Gabrielle sings, whispering soft melodies through the winding corridors of trees.
She offers out her hand to me, promising freedom - She promised I would see the World Tree.
She sings soft as an angels charm, claiming that she hath known no death in life.


In you I perceive a beauty of wonderment
Into you I wish I could flow alike a river
Swollen with freshly thawed waters
Dripping to sip she’s sipping from the drip.

Three hours since my soul supped maddened bliss,
I wonder is this night to be mine alone.
For frozen, inescapable horrors lay slumbering upon the
Verge of perversions fantastic.

Gabrielle stirs my soul once more
Opening up the doorways of my heart
Parting the tides below which I have been hiding.
Magick resides within, empowered words vibrate from upon the paper
Surging through the eyes of the observer.
All we need is to know there is another who understands us
All we need is to know there is another who will love us.

I perceive a beauty untarnished
A beauty; raw and unpolluted
Nature at peace within the most harmonious of forms
Still her proportions differ from the norm whilst riding
The waves of storm clouds over head a-gathering
She herds the clouds with the palm of her hand.

She’s asking you to sing
So that you may know
What Love it is she brings
Beneath a blanket snow.

Love could never know the love I have for Love
War could never know the war I would wage on War.
Hate could never know the hatred I feel for Hate.

Patience beside her virtues waits shaking her head
By the cemetery gates – awaiting us to turn –
Knowing we shall one day learn to take within our stride
The undertakings of the Time’s tides ever crashing –
Ever weathering the pride we take in our forms
She awaits for us to know her shelter from the storm.

Outside the winds await in bated breathe
Un able as they are to rest upon the edge of space
‘Nothing proves a greater obstacle than first thought possible.

Out of the corner of your eye images flicker
Portraits turn as canvas eyeballs tumble in their sockets.
Lips of plastic are waxing.
Feeling inferior can lead us nowhere
But the interior of an asylum you would
Not seek as your sanctuary.
An asylum where they would have you sane
Rather than speaking with the spirits of the Dell.

They play, bubbling upon the edge of the imagination.

Are we not painting in sounds the portrait of an generation
Lost to the comfort of islands in the sky?

You’ve seen them laugh, you’ve heard them cry
Now you know what it is to wonder why.
Why it is we may feel out of proportion with our surroundings
Believing through distortion that we are grounded as
The patterns of surrounding tapestries merge as fuel of
The imaginations wanderings.

No one sees it but I see in her eyes the signs of a soul fully wasted
A which forbidden fruits hath tasted.

Speak truth beyond truth if you think you can find the words,
All it is not to go unheard,
All it is to deny the movement of the herd.

Appreciate the gratitude you find in servitude
Towards the honour of a higher cause.
Pause; consider all it is that fuels
Your attitude upon this journey of ours.

Pass away the days, pass away the hours.
For they are ours to pass away.
Make Love throughout the day
And Hold true the blues you feel
If they are all you consider as real
But know that you may peel away the
Veils of this reality we hath inherited
And you will see the world anew.

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Tiger's Rumour and other Parodies William Blake - The Tyger

Tyger’s Rumour


Rumour rushing rampant right
round faithless forests of wraith night,
what immoral hand or eye
could frame fly tearless symmetry?

In what deep and dark disguise
spread irking libel, lurking lies?
on what wasp wings dare they aspire –
e’er slander sting tongues air fame liar?

What woeful infamous black art
wrung toxic sinews, tocsin heart
rung when sin heart broke cheating beat,
what sleight of hand to greet deceit!

What wrong's hammer, what strong chain?
in what furnace forged? What brain
fed wily worms sly envy's [g]rasp,
bred spiteful deadly [t]errors’ [g]asp?


11 December 1991 revised 18 September 2009 robi3_0504_blak1_0003 PXX_JXX for previous version see below
Parody William BLAKE 1757_1827 The Tyger

Tyger’s Rumour


Rumour rushing rampant right
round faithless forests of wraith night,
what immortal hand or eye
could frame fly tearless symmetry?

In what deep and dark disguise
spread irking libel, lurking lies?
On what wasp wings dare they aspire –
e’er slander sting tongues air fame liar?

What woeful infamous black art
wrung toxic sinews, tocsin heart
rung when sin heart broke cheating beat,
what sleight of hand to greet deceit!

What wrong's hammer, what strong chain?
In what furnace forged? What brain
fed wily worms sly envy's [g]rasp,
bred them deadly, errors’ [g]asp?

11 December 1991 revised 18 September 2009 robi3_0504_blak1_0003 PXX_JXX


The Tyger

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes!
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire!

And what shoulder, and what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand! and what dread feet!

What the hammer! what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain
What the anvil, what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spear
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see
Did he who made the Lamb make thee!

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry!

William BLAKE 1757_1827

________


Tyger's Eye


Tyger Tyger, once again
we'll praise your uncontested reign
where golden eye implies rebirth,
of jungle lord's word none constrain.

From distant deeps of tropic skies.
to forests sparse where eagle flies,
your power ripples round world's girth -
how could it e'er be otherwise?

Strength in each and every part
needs no paltry poet's art
to illustrate your peerless worth
which rhymes through time in class apart.

Neither hammer, chain, may blind
furnace features, anvil mind,
you represent upon this Earth
both force and freedom none may bind.

[c] Jonathan Robin - parody William Blake written 27 June 2008 robi3_1775_blak1_0003 PXX_CNX


Tiger Siberian and Riga Balterian

Riga, Riga, brave despite
Russian army’s aimless might,
what eternal summer sky
could liberate thy people’s sigh?

Though the hammer, sickle, chain
sickly are, they still remain
a present threat, their might and main
must from within be toppled! – Plain?

Fifty years the Russian reign
ignomious has spread red stain,
fifty years too much! – again
freedom comes, no dumb refrain.

Riga, Riga, free from fright
soon, before the New Year’s Night,
independence will attain –
light and laughter come again...

© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 1 October 1991 – Parody William BLAKE – The Tyger


The Tiger

Tigre! Tigre! L’étincelle
du fond des forêts de la nuit,
quel oeil, quelle main immortelle
firent ta terrible symétrie?

Dans quelles lointaines cimes, abîmes,
prit feu la puissance en tes yeux?
quelles ailes osèrent le sublime?
quel Promothée osa ce feu?

Quelle force et savoir-faire
pliaient les muscles de ton coeur
quand ce coeur fit son tonnerre,
quelle main forte et quelle ardeur?

Quelle chaîne et quel marteau,
de quel four sort ta cervelle?
quelle enclume? Quelle poignée
défia ces terreurs mortelles?

Quand les étoiles envoient leurs dards,
versant leurs larmes au Paradis,
a-t-il souri voyant son art?
qui fit l’agneau fit toi aussi?

Tigre, Tigre! L’étincelle
du fond des forêts de la nuit,
quel oeil, quelle main immortelle,
firent ta terrible symétrie?

© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 26 January 1993 – Parody William BLAKE – The Tyger


Likable Wilma


Wilma, Wilma, in thy blouse,
Red-haired prehistoric spouse,
What immortal animator
Was thy slender waist's creator?

When the Rubble clan moved in,
Was Betty jealous of thy skin,
Thy noble nose, thy dimpled knee?
Did he who penciled Fred draw thee?

Wilma, Wilma, burning bright, ye
Cartoon goddess Aphrodite,
Was it Hanna or Barbera
Made thee hot as some caldera?

Francis HEANEY Anagram Parody William BLAKE – The Tiger


HEANEY Francis hean1_0004_hean1_0000 PWX_LXX Likable Wilma_Wilma, Wilma, in thy blouse

Nazi! Nazi!

Nazi culture burning bright
With its nordic-Grecian light,
What sub-human dare defy
Its full totemic majesty?

Greek to speceies who are not
Aryan to the fina l clot,
Its ethnic-ethic-technic dwells
In nordic livestock’s sacred cells.

Stainless Aryan youth-bands now
Teach the tourist Herr and Frau,
That all folk-stems may in turn
Kraft duch Schadenfreude learn.

Arts of blood by bloodbaths purged,
In pan-Germanic sunburst merged,
Will their rays as they aspire
Come to set the Thames on fire?

Nazi! Nazi! burning brihgt
In Europe’s deep degenerate night,
Who but Nazi’s can descry
Thy primitive sublimity?


1936
KATZIN Olga Miller 1896_198 – Parody William BLAKE – The Tyger

Reductio ad Absurdam

(The vision unfolded by Professor Schäfer of the production of life by chemical means has been declared by other scientists to be the same discovery made long since by Darwin and Huxley. The absurdity of any such pretensions in the past is, of course, easily proved by the following reference to the case of Thomas.)

Thomas, Thomas, going large
Down the Mall’s majestic marge,
What mad scientist is he
Would claim to have concocted thee?

In what oxyhydrotherm
Dwelt thy protoplasmic germ?
In what subtle chemic spasm?
What the hand dare seize the plasm?

To what end, ‘neath what pretence
Arose thy utter lack of sense?
And, bringing such a thing to pass,
What blind fool, what silly ass?

What the formule? What the fault?
In what test-tube was thy salt?
What the bunsen? What the flame
Fused the fluid of thy frame?

When the spars thrown down in spate
Formed thy weak precipitate,
Did he look on it with glee –
He who, to take a case, made me?

Thomas, Thomis going large
Down the Mall’s majestic marge,
What mad scientist is he
Dare claim to have concocted thee?

Wilfrid BLAIR 1889_1968 Sa Muse s’amuse 1914

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