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And we never got the mule, let alone the forty acres.

quote by Charles Evers
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Parrot and the Billy-Goat

There were no romping children at Doctor Quibble's door;
Long past the silver wedding, no toys lay on the floor,
But to relieve her longings, to soothe her vain regrets,
His good wife had contrived to raise a family of pets.

What! a family of pets?
Yes! a family of pets;
His good wife had contrived to raise a family of pets.

A Spanish alto, Polly, who sang from early morn;
A bearded actor, Billy, who play'd the double horn;
A mimic man, Falsetto, who scaled the treble staff,
And climb'd the ledger lines above, and made the people laugh.

What! and made the people laugh?
Yes! and made the people laugh;
And climb'd the ledger lines above, and made the people laugh.

Remark'd the joking Doctor: "My dear, you ought to get
Another one -- a basso -- and have a full quartette."
She took his words in earnest, nor thought of ridicule;
She bargain'd from a circus man a educated mule.

What! an educated mule?
Yes! an educated mule;
She bargain'd from a circus man a educated mule.

Then said the Doctor gravely: "My dear, you should engage
That circus man as tutor, to fit them for the stage;
To cultivate their voices, and train them up by rule --
The parrot and the billy goat, the monkey and the mule."

What! the monkey and the mule?
Yes! the monkey and the mule;
The parrot and the billy goat, the monkey and the mule.

Three weary weeks she waited, and then the job was done;
Their education finish'd, their tutor's fortune won.
Tho' some folks thought she carried her husband's joke too far,
She organized a trav'ling troupe, each pet to be a star.

What! each pet to be a star?
Yes! each pet to be a star;
She organized a trav'ling troupe, each pet to be a star.

She sold a thousand tickets upon the opening night;
But when the curtain lifted, 'twas on a sorry sight:
The bearded actor Billy devoured a music roll;
Then burst the big bass drum, and went headforemost thro' the hole.

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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Poor Paddy

[the pogues version]
-----------------------------------------
In eighteen hundred and forty-one
The corduroy breeches I put on
Me corduroy breeches I put on
To work upon the railway, the railway
Im weary of the railway
Poor paddy works on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-two
From hartlepool I moved to crewe
Found myself a job to do
A working on the railway
I was wearing corduroy breeches
Digging ditches, pulling switches
Dodging pitches, as I was
Working on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-three
I broke the shovel across me knee
I went to work for the company
On the leeds to selby railway
I was wearing corduroy breeches
Digging ditches, pulling switches
Dodging pitches, as I was
Working on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-four
I landed on the liverpool shore
My belly was empty me hands were raw
With working on the railway, the railway
Im sick to my guts of the railway
Poor paddy works on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-five
When daniel oconnell he was alive
When daniel oconnell he was alive
And working on the railway
I was wearing corduroy breeches
Digging ditches, pulling switches
Dodging pitches, as I was
Working on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-six
I changed my trade to carrying bricks
I changed my trade to carrying bricks
To work upon the railway
I was wearing corduroy breeches
Digging ditches, pulling switches
Dodging pitches, as I was
Working on the railway
In eighteen hundred and forty-seven
Poor paddy was thinking of going to heaven
The old bugger was thinking of going to heaven
To work upon the railway, the railway

[...] Read more

song performed by Pogues
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Rivals

Look heah! Is I evah tole you 'bout de curious way I won
Anna Liza? Say, I nevah? Well heah's how de thing wuz done.

Lize, you know, wuz mighty purty —dat's been forty yeahs ago —
'N 'cos to look at her dis minit, you might'n spose dat it wuz so.

She wuz jes de greates' 'traction in de county, 'n bless de lam'!
Eveh darkey wuz a-co'tin, but it lay 'twix me an' Sam.

You know Sam. We both wuz wukin' on de ole John Tompkin's place.
'N evehbody wuz a-watchin' t' see who's gwine to win de race.

Hee! hee! hee! Now you mus' raley 'scuse me fu' dis snickering,
But I jes can't he'p f'om laffin' eveh time I tells dis thing.

Ez I wuz a-sayin', me an' Sam wuked daily side by side,
He a-studyin', me a-studyin', how to win Lize fu' a bride.

Well, de race was kinder equal. Lize wuz sorter on de fence;
Sam he had de mostes dollars, an' I had de mostes sense.

Things dey run along 'bout eben tel der come Big Meetin' day;
Sam den thought, to win Miss Liza, he had foun' de shoest way.

An' you talk about big meetin's! None been like it 'fore nor sence;
Der wuz sich a crowd o' people dat we had to put up tents.

Der wuz preachers f'om de Eas', an' 'der wuz preachers f'om de Wes';
Folks had kilt mos' eveh chicken, an' wuz fattenin' up de res'.

Gals had all got new w'ite dresses, an' bought ribbens fu' der hair,
Fixin' fu' de openin' Sunday, prayin' dat de day'd be fair.

Dat de Reveren' Jasper Jones of Mount Moriah, it wuz 'low'd,
Wuz to preach de openin' sermon; so you know der wuz a crowd.

Fu' dat man wuz sho a preacher; had a voice jes like a bull;
So der ain't no use in sayin' dat de meetin' house wuz full.

Folks wuz der f'om Big Pine Hollow, some come 'way f'om Muddy Creek,
Some come jes to stay fu' Sunday, but de crowd stay'd thoo de week.

Some come ridin' in top-buggies wid de w'eels all painted red,
Pulled by mules dat run like rabbits, each one tryin' to git ahead.

Othah po'rer folks come drivin' mules dat leaned up 'ginst de shaf',
Hitched to broke-down, creaky wagons dat looked like dey'd drap in half.

But de bigges' crowd come walkin', wid der new shoes on der backs;
'Scuse wuz dat dey couldn't weah em 'cause de heels wuz full o' tacks.

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poem by James Weldon Johnson
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When Dacey rode the Mule

’TWAS to a small, up-country town,
When we were boys at school,
There came a circus with a clown,
Likewise a bucking mule.
The clown announced a scheme they had
Spectators for to bring—
They’d give a crown to any lad
Who’d ride him round the ring.

And, gentle reader, do not scoff
Nor think a man a fool—
To buck a porous-plaster off
Was pastime to that mule.
The boys got on he bucked like sin;
He threw them in the dirt.
What time the clown would raise a grin
By asking, “Are you hurt?”
But Johnny Dacey came one night,
The crack of all the school;
Said he, “I’ll win the crown all right;
Bring in your bucking mule.”

The elephant went off his trunk,
The monkey played the fool,
And all the band got blazing drunk
When Dacey rode the mule.
But soon there rose a galling shout
Of laughter, for the clown
From somewhere in his pants drew out
A little paper crown.
He placed the crown on Dacey’s head
While Dacey looked a fool;
“Now, there’s your crown, my lad,” he said,
“For riding of the mule!”

The band struck up with “Killaloe”,
And “Rule Britannia, Rule”,
And “Young Man from the Country”, too,
When Dacey rode the mule.

Then Dacey, in a furious rage,
For vengeance on the show
Ascended to the monkeys’ cage
And let the monkeys go;
The blue-tailed ape and the chimpanzee
He turned abroad to roam;
Good faith! It was a sight to see
The people step for home.

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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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16 Shells From A 30-06

Words and music by tom waits
Plugged 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
And the black crow flew through
A hole in the sky
And I spent all my buttons on an old pack mule
And I made me a ladder ftom a pawn shop marimba
And I leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Leaned it up against a dandelion tree
Well I cooked them feathers on the iron spit
And I filled me a sachel full of old pig corn
And I beat me a billy from an old french horn
And kicked that mule to the top of the tree
Kicked that mule to the top of the tree
Blew me a hole bout the size of a kickdrum
And I cut me a switch from a long branch elbow
Im gonna whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
Whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
Well I slept in the hotter of a dry creek bed
And I tore out the buckets from a red corvette
Tore out the buckets from a red corvette
Lionel, dave and the butcher made three
You got to meet me by the knuckles of the skinny bone tree
With the strings of a washburn
Stretched like a clothesline
You know me and that mule scrambled right through the hole
Me and that mule scrambled right through the hole
Im gonna whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells ftom a thirty-aught-six
Whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
Now I hold him prisoner in a washburn jail
And I strapped it on the back of my old kick mule
Strapped it on the back of my old kick mule
Bang on the strings just to drive him crazy
And I strum it toud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Strum it loud just to rattle his cage
Im gonna whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six
Whittle you into kindlin
Black crow 16 shells from a thirty-aught-six

song performed by Bob Seger
Added by Lucian Velea
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Scent Of A Mule

Kitty malone sat on a mule
Was riding in style
When suddenly, like the sound of a buzzards breaking
Kity felt laser beams being fired at her head
She said, I hate laser beams
And you never done see me askin
For a ufo
In tomahawk county
Well she kicked the mule
And it walked the path
And the aliens fired from behind
Till she stopped the mule
And she kicked the rump
And the big old mule took a big old dump
Scent of a mule, you better watch out where you go
Take your laser beams away
Scent of a mule, you better watch out where you go
You better stop that laser game
Or youll smell my mule
She felt the fire against her neck
And it saddened her to feel it burn
When suddenly, like the sound of a breeding holstein
Kitty said, stop, we aint lookin for fightin
In tomahawk county.
A little guy from the ufo
Came on out and said his name was joe
She said, come on over for some lemonade
Just follow me now with the whole brigade
Chorus
They walked into her cabin shack
They had never seen a southern home
And they liked it, better than their ufo
They liked it, they really liked it
They said, heres a place of elegance
Here we shower ourselves in lightness
Chorus

song performed by Phish
Added by Lucian Velea
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Scent Of Mule

Kitty Malone sat on a mule
Was riding in style
When suddenly, like the sound of a buzzard's breaking
Kity felt laser beams being fired at her head
She said, "I hate laser beams
And you never done see me askin'
For a UFO
In Tomahawk County"
Well she kicked the mule
And it walked the path
And the aliens fired from behind
Till she stopped the mule
And she kicked the rump
And the big old mule took a big old dump
Scent of a mule, you better watch out where you go
Take your laser beams away
Scent of a mule, you better watch out where you go
You better stop that laser game
Or you'll smell my mule
She felt the fire against her neck
And it saddened her to feel it burn
When suddenly, like the sound of a breeding Holstein
Kitty said, "Stop, we ain't lookin' for fightin'
In Tomahawk County."
A little guy from the UFO
Came on out and said his name was Joe
She said, "Come on over for some lemonade
Just follow me now with the whole brigade"
Chorus
They walked into her cabin shack
They had never seen a southern home
And they liked it, better than their UFO
They liked it, they really liked it
They said, "Here's a place of elegance
Here we shower ourselves in lightness"
Chorus

song performed by Phish
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dick Cavett Tv Interview

Janis it's a shame you couldn't do an up tune for us but i liked that one.
Later in the show.
Yeah, maybe later we'll be talking too. you're really shot after, after a number, let alone a whole evening i would think.
Yeah, yeah.
You tell me you kind of collapse after a show ?
Well, i'm used to it because i'm so turned on by doing one that it's hard to do, it's hard to stop after one to tell you the truth, because it just makes you wanna do more.
Your engine is revved up ?
Yeah, sort of!
I know all the hip expressions, you see. your engine is revved up.
You're a real swinger, i can tell by your shoes, man!
Wait a minute, janis, janis. these were good enough for my grand-father, they're good enough for me.
I had a lot of trouble, last week i, er, it wasn't that tune, we opened with another tune and i tore a muscle.
I heard about this. you tore a mussel somewhere near maryland. er ...
It was closer to home than that!
Well, er ...
But i played forty minutes, man! i did forty minutes!
Yeah, but how do you, how do you tear a muscle singing, was it from the exhaustion or ...
No, i went ... like that.
You actually, literally tore a muscle ... i mean like that ...
Every time, it hurt.
Could you feel it go ?
Yeah.
Phew!
Yeah.
What do they do, do they set a muscle or do they tape you up or something ?
They told me to keep still.
Janis you wrote that tune that you were just singing like we just agreed to ask about. you er, you wrote the first tune, right ?
I wrote the first tune. it's, er, yes i did, it's about men.
It's about men. it's a little hard to tell what it was about 'cause i was standing over there where the sound is a little distorted.
Well in my story that's what it is anyway.
Yeah.
D'you ever see those mule carts ?
Yeah.
They, er, there's a dumb mule on there right and a long stick with a string and a carrot, and it hangs over the mule's nose, and it runs after it all day long. some ...
Who is the man in this, in this parable, the mule, or the person holding the carrot ?
No, the woman is the, is the mule. chasing something that somebody's holds her way.
Constantly chasing her man ...
Yeah.
... who always eludes her.
Well, they always hold something more than they're prepared to give.
I have to defend my entire sex, ladies and gentlemen! the burden of the defense.
Go right ahead!
Well, one-arm wrestling i can take you two out of three.
I hope so.
Do you, er, do you actually sit down when you get up in the morning and, and write out a song, or do you . . . when you say you write it, you compose it you write it on a paper.
You just make it up, i don't write songs, i make them up.
They don't exist on paper your songs, don't they ?
Sometimes i just write down the words so i don't forget 'em, but i mean i don't write songs, that's a whole different concept. i just make 'em up.
Yeah. did you ever get back to port arthur, texas ?
No, but i'm going back next in august, man. and guess what i'm doin' ?

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song performed by Janis Joplin
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It is true that Mr. Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, after which there was a commitment to give 40 acres and a mule. That's where the argument, to this day, of reparations starts. We never got the 40 acres. We went all the way to Herbert Hoover, and we never got the 40 acres. We didn't get the mule. So we decided we'd ride this donkey as far as it would take us.

quote by Al Sharpton
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Mule Skinner Blues

Well good morning captain
Good morning to you sir
Hey hey yeah
Do you need another mule skinner
Down on your new mud run
Hey hey yeah
Yodel-a-ee-he-he
He-he-he-he-he-he
Well Im a lady mule skinner
From down old tennessee way
Hey hey I come from tennessee
I can make any mule listen
Or I wont accept your pay
Hey hey I wont take your pay
Yodel-a-ee-he-he
He-he-he-he-he-he
Well hey hey little waterboy
Wont you bring your water round
Hey hey
If you dont like your job
Well you can throw your bucket down
Throw it down boy, throw it down
Yodel-a-ee-he-he
He-he-he-he-he-he
Well Ive been working down in georgia
At a greasy spoon caf?
Hey that lovely joint
Just to let a no good man
Call every cent of my pay
Hey hey and Im sick of it
And wanna be a mule skinner
Yodel-a-ee-he-he
He-he-he-he-he-he
Yodel-a-ee-he-he
He-he-he-he-he-he
Mule skinner blues

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Charge Of The Mule Brigade

Half a mile, half a mile,
Half a mile onward,
Right through the Georgia troops
Broke the two hundred.
'Forward the Mule Brigade!
Charge for the Rebs,' they neighed.
Straight for the Georgia troops
Broke the two hundred.

'Forward the Mule Brigade!'
Was there a mule dismayed?
Not when their long ears felt
All their ropes sundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to make Rebs fly.
On! to the Georgia troops
Broke the two hundred.

Mules to the right of them,
Mules to the left of them,
Mules behind them
Pawed, neighed, and thundered.
Breaking their own confines
Breaking through Longstreet's lines
Into the Georgia troops
Stormed the two hundred.

Wild all their eyes did glare,
Whisked all their tails in air
Scattering the chivalry there,
While all the world wondered.
Not a mule back bestraddled,
Yet how they all skedaddled -
Fled every Georgian,
Unsabred, unsaddled,
Scattered and sundered!
How they were routed there
By the two hundred!

Mules to the right of them,
Mules to the left of them,
Mules behind them
Pawed, neighed, and thundered;
Followed by hoof and head
Full many a hero fled,
Fain in the last ditch dead,
Back from an ass's jaw
All that was left of them, -
Left by the two hundred.

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Iliad: Book 23

Thus did they make their moan throughout the city, while the
Achaeans when they reached the Hellespont went back every man to his
own ship. But Achilles would not let the Myrmidons go, and spoke to
his brave comrades saying, "Myrmidons, famed horsemen and my own
trusted friends, not yet, forsooth, let us unyoke, but with horse
and chariot draw near to the body and mourn Patroclus, in due honour
to the dead. When we have had full comfort of lamentation we will
unyoke our horses and take supper all of us here."
On this they all joined in a cry of wailing and Achilles led them in
their lament. Thrice did they drive their chariots all sorrowing round
the body, and Thetis stirred within them a still deeper yearning.
The sands of the seashore and the men's armour were wet with their
weeping, so great a minister of fear was he whom they had lost.
Chief in all their mourning was the son of Peleus: he laid his
bloodstained hand on the breast of his friend. "Fare well," he
cried, "Patroclus, even in the house of Hades. I will now do all
that I erewhile promised you; I will drag Hector hither and let dogs
devour him raw; twelve noble sons of Trojans will I also slay before
your pyre to avenge you."
As he spoke he treated the body of noble Hector with contumely,
laying it at full length in the dust beside the bier of Patroclus. The
others then put off every man his armour, took the horses from their
chariots, and seated themselves in great multitude by the ship of
the fleet descendant of Aeacus, who thereon feasted them with an
abundant funeral banquet. Many a goodly ox, with many a sheep and
bleating goat did they butcher and cut up; many a tusked boar
moreover, fat and well-fed, did they singe and set to roast in the
flames of Vulcan; and rivulets of blood flowed all round the place
where the body was lying.
Then the princes of the Achaeans took the son of Peleus to
Agamemnon, but hardly could they persuade him to come with them, so
wroth was he for the death of his comrade. As soon as they reached
Agamemnon's tent they told the serving-men to set a large tripod
over the fire in case they might persuade the son of Peleus 'to wash
the clotted gore from this body, but he denied them sternly, and swore
it with a solemn oath, saying, "Nay, by King Jove, first and mightiest
of all gods, it is not meet that water should touch my body, till I
have laid Patroclus on the flames, have built him a barrow, and shaved
my head- for so long as I live no such second sorrow shall ever draw
nigh me. Now, therefore, let us do all that this sad festival demands,
but at break of day, King Agamemnon, bid your men bring wood, and
provide all else that the dead may duly take into the realm of
darkness; the fire shall thus burn him out of our sight the sooner,
and the people shall turn again to their own labours."
Thus did he speak, and they did even as he had said. They made haste
to prepare the meal, they ate, and every man had his full share so
that all were satisfied. As soon as they had had had enough to eat and
drink, the others went to their rest each in his own tent, but the son
of Peleus lay grieving among his Myrmidons by the shore of the
sounding sea, in an open place where the waves came surging in one

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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A Sicilian Idyll

(First Scene) Damon
I thank thee, no;
Already have I drunk a bowl of wine . . .
Nay, nay, why wouldst thou rise?
There rolls thy ball of worsted! Sit thee down;
Come, sit thee down, Cydilla,
And let me fetch thy ball, rewind the wool,
And tell thee all that happened yesterday.

Cydilla
Thanks, Damon; now, by Zeus, thou art so brisk,
It shames me that to stoop should try my bones.

Damon
We both are old,
And if we may have peaceful days are blessed;
Few hours of bouyancy will come to break
The sure withdrawal from us of life's flood.

Cydilla
True, true, youth looks a great way off! To think
It wonce was age did lie quite out of sight!

Damon
Not many days have been so beautiful
As yesterday, Cydilla; yet one was;
And I with thee broke tranced on its fine spell;
Thou dost remember? Yes? but not with tears,
Ah, not with tears, Cydilla, pray, oh, pray!

Cydilla
Pardon me, Damon,
'Tis many years since thou hast touched thereon;
And something stirs about thee -
Such air of eagerness as was thine when
I was more foolish than in my life, I hope
To ever have been at another time.

Damon
Pooh! foolish? - thou wast then so very wise
That, often having seen thee foolish since,
Wonder has made me faint that thou shouldst err.

Cydilla
Nay, then I erred, dear Damon; and remorse
Was not so slow to find me as thou deemst.

Damon
There, mop those dear wet eyes, or thou'lt ne'er hear
What it was filled my heart yesterday.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Sturge Moore
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40-40 Home

Think in time
Early evening light will start to fade
And well be called inside
To wait for chance to say
Can I stay out late or maybe just an hour
But when you call I know that all I have to say is...
Forty forty home
You never could catch me
With a stocking and a ball
Around the world a yo-yo spun
You would skip and I would run
Those long days are slipping away
Days will pass
Taking turns to hide and lose our way
And beats will change the rhythm of the year
A worn out gate will swingalongasister
And running out calling to a friendly teaser
Forty forty home
You never would catch me
My ball against the wall
But around the world a yo-yo spun
Dodge the conkers one by one
But yours always came my way
Cross my path was something
I could not expect again
From beast to beauty, beautiful remain
Slide this way
Dont leave your past in shadow
And paper plane will fly your way on golden wings of...
Forty forty home
So now you have caught me
Your stocking said it all
Played the game and won, two, three
Made your move and captured me
So never let me go
Counting the spots on the lino
It seemed such a waste of time
But cant you stick to your side of the garden?
And I to mine!
Forty forty home
You never would catch me
My ball against the wall
But around the world a yo-yo spun
Dodge the conkers one by one
But yours always came my way

song performed by Haircut 100
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The Iliad: Book 2

Now the other gods and the armed warriors on the plain slept
soundly, but Jove was wakeful, for he was thinking how to do honour to
Achilles, and destroyed much people at the ships of the Achaeans. In
the end he deemed it would be best to send a lying dream to King
Agamemnon; so he called one to him and said to it, "Lying Dream, go to
the ships of the Achaeans, into the tent of Agamemnon, and say to
him word to word as I now bid you. Tell him to get the Achaeans
instantly under arms, for he shall take Troy. There are no longer
divided counsels among the gods; Juno has brought them to her own
mind, and woe betides the Trojans."
The dream went when it had heard its message, and soon reached the
ships of the Achaeans. It sought Agamemnon son of Atreus and found him
in his tent, wrapped in a profound slumber. It hovered over his head
in the likeness of Nestor, son of Neleus, whom Agamemnon honoured
above all his councillors, and said:-
"You are sleeping, son of Atreus; one who has the welfare of his
host and so much other care upon his shoulders should dock his
sleep. Hear me at once, for I come as a messenger from Jove, who,
though he be not near, yet takes thought for you and pities you. He
bids you get the Achaeans instantly under arms, for you shall take
Troy. There are no longer divided counsels among the gods; Juno has
brought them over to her own mind, and woe betides the Trojans at
the hands of Jove. Remember this, and when you wake see that it does
not escape you."
The dream then left him, and he thought of things that were,
surely not to be accomplished. He thought that on that same day he was
to take the city of Priam, but he little knew what was in the mind
of Jove, who had many another hard-fought fight in store alike for
Danaans and Trojans. Then presently he woke, with the divine message
still ringing in his ears; so he sat upright, and put on his soft
shirt so fair and new, and over this his heavy cloak. He bound his
sandals on to his comely feet, and slung his silver-studded sword
about his shoulders; then he took the imperishable staff of his
father, and sallied forth to the ships of the Achaeans.
The goddess Dawn now wended her way to vast Olympus that she might
herald day to Jove and to the other immortals, and Agamemnon sent
the criers round to call the people in assembly; so they called them
and the people gathered thereon. But first he summoned a meeting of
the elders at the ship of Nestor king of Pylos, and when they were
assembled he laid a cunning counsel before them.
"My friends," said he, "I have had a dream from heaven in the dead
of night, and its face and figure resembled none but Nestor's. It
hovered over my head and said, 'You are sleeping, son of Atreus; one
who has the welfare of his host and so much other care upon his
shoulders should dock his sleep. Hear me at once, for I am a messenger
from Jove, who, though he be not near, yet takes thought for you and
pities you. He bids you get the Achaeans instantly under arms, for you
shall take Troy. There are no longer divided counsels among the
gods; Juno has brought them over to her own mind, and woe betides
the Trojans at the hands of Jove. Remember this.' The dream then

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poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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One Viceroy Resigns

(Lord Dufferin to Lord Lansdowne)

So here's your Empire. No more wine, then?
Good.
We'll clear the Aides and khitmatgars away.
(You'll know that fat old fellow with the knife --
He keeps the Name Book, talks in English too,
And almost thinks himself the Government.)
O Youth, Youth, Youth! Forgive me, you're so young.
Forty from sixty -- twenty years of work
And power to back the working. Ay def mi!
You want to know, you want to see, to touch,
And, by your lights, to act. It's natural.
I wonder can I help you. Let me try.
You saw -- what did you see from Bombay east?
Enough to frighten any one but me?
Neat that! It frightened Me in Eighty-Four!
You shouldn't take a man from Canada
And bid him smoke in powder-magazines;
Nor with a Reputation such as -- Bah!
That ghost has haunted me for twenty years,
My Reputation now full blown -- Your fault --
Yours, with your stories of the strife at Home,
Who's up, who's down, who leads and who is led --
One reads so much, one hears so little here.
Well, now's your turn of exile. I go back
To Rome and leisure. All roads lead to Rome,

Or books -- the refuge of the destitute.
When you ... that brings me back to India. See!
Start clear. I couldn't. Egypt served my turn.
You'll never plumb the Oriental mind,
And if you did it isn't worth the toil.
Think of a sleek French priest in Canada;
Divide by twenty half-breeds. Multiply
By twice the Sphinx's silence. There's your East,
And you're as wise as ever. So am I.
Accept on trust and work in darkness, strike
At venture, stumble forward, make your mark,
(It's chalk on granite), then thank God no flame
Leaps from the rock to shrivel mark and man.
I'm clear -- my mark is made. Three months of drought
Had ruined much. It rained and washed away
The specks that might have gathered on my Name.
I took a country twice the size of France,
And shuttered up one doorway in the North.
I stand by those. You'll find that both will pay,
I pledged my Name on both -- they're yours to-night.
Hold to them -- they hold fame enough for two.

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Paradise Regained

THE FIRST BOOK

I, WHO erewhile the happy Garden sung
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing
Recovered Paradise to all mankind,
By one man's firm obedience fully tried
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness.
Thou Spirit, who led'st this glorious Eremite
Into the desert, his victorious field
Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence 10
By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire,
As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute,
And bear through highth or depth of Nature's bounds,
With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds
Above heroic, though in secret done,
And unrecorded left through many an age:
Worthy to have not remained so long unsung.
Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice
More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried
Repentance, and Heaven's kingdom nigh at hand 20
To all baptized. To his great baptism flocked
With awe the regions round, and with them came
From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed
To the flood Jordan--came as then obscure,
Unmarked, unknown. But him the Baptist soon
Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore
As to his worthier, and would have resigned
To him his heavenly office. Nor was long
His witness unconfirmed: on him baptized
Heaven opened, and in likeness of a Dove 30
The Spirit descended, while the Father's voice
From Heaven pronounced him his beloved Son.
That heard the Adversary, who, roving still
About the world, at that assembly famed
Would not be last, and, with the voice divine
Nigh thunder-struck, the exalted man to whom
Such high attest was given a while surveyed
With wonder; then, with envy fraught and rage,
Flies to his place, nor rests, but in mid air
To council summons all his mighty Peers, 40
Within thick clouds and dark tenfold involved,
A gloomy consistory; and them amidst,
With looks aghast and sad, he thus bespake:--
"O ancient Powers of Air and this wide World
(For much more willingly I mention Air,
This our old conquest, than remember Hell,
Our hated habitation), well ye know
How many ages, as the years of men,

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poem by John Milton
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At A Meeting Of Friends

AUGUST 29, 1859

I REMEMBER--why, yes! God bless me! and was it so long ago?
I fear I'm growing forgetful, as old folks do, you know;
It must have been in 'forty--I would say 'thirty-nine--
We talked this matter over, I and a friend of mine.

He said, 'Well now, old fellow, I'm thinking that you and I,
If we act like other people, shall be older by and by;
What though the bright blue ocean is smooth as a pond can be,
There is always a line of breakers to fringe the broadest sea.

'We're taking it mighty easy, but that is nothing strange,
For up to the age of thirty we spend our years like Change;
But creeping up towards the forties, as fast as the old years fill,
And Time steps in for payment, we seem to change a bill.'

'I know it,' I said, 'old fellow; you speak the solemn truth;
A man can't live to a hundred and likewise keep his youth;
But what if the ten years coming shall silver-streak my hair,
You know I shall then be forty; of course I shall not care.

'At forty a man grows heavy and tired of fun and noise;
Leaves dress to the five-and-twenties and love to the silly boys;
No foppish tricks at forty, no pinching of waists and toes,
But high-low shoes and flannels and good thick worsted hose.'

But one fine August morning I found myself awake
My birthday:--By Jove, I'm forty! Yes, forty, and no mistake!
Why, this is the very milestone, I think I used to hold,
That when a fellow had come to, a fellow would then be old!

But that is the young folks' nonsense; they're full of their
foolish stuff;
A man's in his prime at forty,--I see that plain enough;
At fifty a man is wrinkled, and may be bald or gray;
I call men old at fifty, in spite of all they say.

At last comes another August with mist and rain and shine;
Its mornings are slowly counted and creep to twenty-nine,
And when on the western summits the fading light appears,
It touches with rosy fingers the last of my fifty years.

There have been both men and women whose hearts were firm and bold,
But there never was one of fifty that loved to say 'I'm old';
So any elderly person that strives to shirk his years,
Make him stand up at a table and try him by his peers.

Now here I stand at fifty, my jury gathered round;
Sprinkled with dust of silver, but not yet silver-crowned,

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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Give The Mule What He Wants

Mule want it
Mule want it Sunday
He'll eat it
He'll eat it in one day
How long...do I wait
Be the mule that you gotta be

Underwater
Underwater one day
Gonna sink it and make 'em think it's too late
For your love...for your love
Be the mule that you gotta be

song performed by Queens Of The Stone Age from Queens Of The Stone Age
Added by Lucian Velea
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At The Gate Of The Convent

Beside the Convent Gate I stood,
Lingering to take farewell of those
To whom I owed the simple good
Of three days' peace, three nights' repose.

My sumpter-mule did blink and blink;
Was nothing more to munch or quaff;
Antonio, far too wise to think,
Leaned vacantly upon his staff.

It was the childhood of the year:
Bright was the morning, blithe the air;
And in the choir I plain could hear
The monks still chanting matin prayer.

The throstle and the blackbird shrilled,
Loudly as in an English copse,
Fountain-like note that, still refilled,
Rises and falls, but never stops.

As lush as in an English chase,
The hawthorn, guessed by its perfume,
With folds on folds of snowy lace
Blindfolded all its leaves with bloom.

Scarce seen, and only faintly heard,
A torrent, 'mid far snow-peaks born,
Sang kindred with the gurgling bird,
Flowed kindred with the foaming thorn.

The chanting ceased, and soon instead
Came shuffling sound of sandalled shoon;
Each to his cell and narrow bed
Withdrew, to pray and muse till noon.

Only the Prior-for such their Rule-
Into the morning sunshine came.
Antonio bared his locks; the mule
Kept blinking, blinking, just the same.

I thanked him with a faltering tongue;
I thanked him with a flowing heart.
``This for the poor.'' His hand I wrung,
And gave the signal to depart.

But still in his he held my hand,
As though averse that I should go.
His brow was grave, his look was bland,
His beard was white as Alpine snow.

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poem by Alfred Austin
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