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Things are not always as they seem; the first appearance deceives many.

quote by Phaedrus
Added by Lucian Velea
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Because They Are No Good

Give me something that I can believe.
Give me something that I can believe.
Instead of nothing you just want to leave...
With me,
As a fantasy.

Give me something that I can believe.
Give me something that I can believe.
Instead of nothing you just want to leave...
With me,
As a fantasy.

You and me are now at risk,
Of losing all our happiness.
Since you seem to be convinced...
By someone,
To just leave me.

Give me,
Something that I can believe.
Give me,
Something that I can believe.
Instead of nothing you just want to leave...
With me,
As a fantasy.

You have found somebody new.
And you're doing your best to prove,
You don't care what it is I feel.
You don't care what I feel is real.

Give me something that I can believe.
Give me something that I can believe.
Instead of nothing you just want to leave...
With me,
As a fantasy.

You and me are now at risk,
Of losing all our happiness.
Since you seem to be convinced...
By someone,
To just leave me.
Someone who deceives me.
Someone who wants you pitied.
'Cause what we have is envied!

And you can't see we're envied!

Give me,
Something that I can believe.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Put Off Your Old Self

As New Creatures pulled out of darkness, we've been given new sight,
But, many professing Christians continue to live as if in the night.

We have been saved to be a blessing and to give the lost real hope,
And to fulfill our awesome task Christ's likeness must be our cloak.

Believers are not to be conformed to a world that will be condemned,
This also includes avoiding any appearances of evil my dear friend.

Avoiding the appearance of evil in this day is not a new revelation,
For living above this world's standards is The Lord's expectation.

But once you submit to The Lord and give His Word full adherence,
You will be lead by The Holy Spirit, and will avoid evil appearance.

Paul told us 'to put off your old self' with the world's filthiness,
And be clothed in garments that are truly The Lord's Righteousness.

Our appearance as a Christian does more then you can imagine or see,
A Godly appearance draws people to God who presently do not believe.

A choice to be different is a sign that you have some Hope to share,
For who would go to an unbeliever to get Truth in time of despair?

You may fool your family and your friends, but this you can be sure,
The Lord, whom you can not deceive, will one day knock at your door.

Finally Christ's illustration of the Wedding Banquet is quite clear,
Ignore Christ's way for your own and you may have something to fear.

(Copyright © 08/2002)

poem by Bob Gotti
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!

O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]

POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR

POEMS

1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song

[...] Read more

poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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He that deceives me once, shame fall him; if he deceives me twice, shame fall me.

Romanian proverbs
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If a man deceives me once, shame on him; if he deceives me twice, shame on me.

Italian proverbs
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If a rogue deceives me once, shame on him. If he deceives me twice, shame on me.

Irish proverbs
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If he deceives me once, shame on him; if he deceives me twice, shame on me.

English proverbs
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Decieves The Eye

In the earliest days of my shoplifting career,
You could safely say I was filled with fear.
It was nail biting work from the very start,
But several quick sucesses soon gave me heart.
After a while I could pick or nick or steal,
Some shirts some trousers and a few lps.
No-one ever stopped me, they didnt seem to care.
It sometimes seemed to me that there was no-one there.
Then a fine summers day my mates and me,
Set off down the westend on our usual spree.
Things were as normal for an hour or so,
Then my nimble hands were a bit too slow.
Two store detectives made a fast approach,
One grabbed my jacket (youre nicked!)
The other grabbed my throat.
So they caught me at last, one said with joy:
Youll have to do some time, my light fingered boy!
If only Id remembered my common sense,
They captured me red-handed with evidence.
If I go to the manager and say Im sorry,
Maybe hell forgive me for my youthful folly.
But what will me social worker say,
If I dont come home today?
Hell give me a clout!
What if they dont let me out?
I told him Im on me own!
Dont they understand?
Im from a broken home!
Ill tell them Im the product of a broken home,
And I always went out on my own.
Was it too late to say Id pay,
And Ill never steal again till the end of my days?
Because I have no friends to call as such,
Money and posessions I did not have much,
So I started to steal in order to get by.
The quickness of the hand deceives the eye.
Deceives the eye the eye the eye...

song performed by Madness
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Refusing To Believe

Some men just refuse to believe, in a God they cannot conceive,
In their heart or in their mind, so they put all Truth of God behind,
Following yet, man’s empty ideas, as Satan continually deceives,
Through empty theories of men, empty beliefs God will condemn.

Satan craftily uses evolution, in leading man’s spiritual revolution,
Revolting against God, over all, Who, reigns over this earthly ball,
The Lord God man simply jeers, creating time of billions of years,
This, through man’s empty theory, ignoring proven biblical history.

With man rebelling against The Lord, all biblical truths are ignored,
Becoming his own god on earth, in Jesus Christ he sees no worth,
Removing God from all he believes, as Satan, endlessly deceives,
Success, for the god of this world, as his deceptions are unfurled.

The devil hardens the heart of man, to guide him into a darker plan,
A plan Satan started in Paradise, so man today must pay the price,
For rejecting God’s Eternal Truth, facing alone His Eternal Reproof,
Which follows man’s last breath, with that price being eternal death.

All this as man refuses to believe, God, from Who they can receive,
The Lord’s gift of Everlasting Life, through God’s Son Jesus Christ,
Who bore man’s death on Calvary, so that all men can live eternally,
But continued unbelief my friend, and eternal death will be your end.

poem by Bob Gotti
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Wickedness Is Everywhere

His wicked spirit is everywhere, the prince and power of the air,
Born into a system led by him, Satan fills the world with evil sin.
God of the world, on this earth, inciting all born of natural birth,
On this earth, that God created, is a spirit by which He is hated.

God’s Kingdom is not of this world, is what Christ world herald,
Christ’s comes from God above, one filled with peace and love.
Men join His Kingdom from earth. Through Jesus and New Birth,
When in Christ we’re born again, we become to God, His friend.

That dragon is God’s enemy, who wants to destroy you and me,
Aware that he faces eternal fire, our destruction’s his only desire.
Satan’s power deceives the mind, making many spiritually blind,
This while he deceives the heart, wanting all, to from God depart.

God’s Kingdom soon will come, ruled on earth by Christ His Son,
With Satan cast into the abyss, upon earth will be Heaven’s Bliss.
Until then there’s a battle on, but, not against the weak or strong,
It’s against the evil principalities; the darker powers we can’t see.

Man was expelled from Paradise, into a world of darkened strife,
Where Satan sets out to deceive, men and women, just like Eve.
But accept as Savior Jesus Christ, and you’ll receive Eternal Life,
Delivered from this darkened night, into The Lord’s Eternal Light.

(Copyright ©04/2007)

poem by Bob Gotti
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How The Eye Deceives!

I walked to the back verandah
And stared at the midnight sky,
The moon, long gone, lay hidden
By the rainclouds, up on high,
The wind howled out in the treetops
Then grunted back through the eaves,
My mood was black as the midden,
I thought – “How the eye deceives.”

You lay with your back towards me
As you’d often lain in the past
When the gods of war were stalking
And your eyes turned red, and flashed.
My life, like the earth, was turning
While all you could do was weep,
And the pit of misunderstanding
Lay there, where you fell asleep.

I’d read in your daily journal
Some thoughts of yours that bled,
And knew that my life was over
From the words I’d found in your head.
We flared, dashed flints at each other
That sparked, lit fear and doubt,
While the storm outside kept building
And the fire in the hearth went out.

At two, or three in the morning
I rose with a fevered moan,
I thought that the air might soothe me
So staggered outside, alone;
But there by the back verandah
The earth had split like a pea,
Our path tailed off to nothing
While a planet lay in our tree.

And there lay a pit of darkness
Like no-one had ever seen,
A silence deep and deadly
So quiet, it drew me in;
I almost lost my balance
To fall in the deadly pit
Where not a star had glimmered,
No God had ever lit.

You lay with your back towards me
In peace, asleep, in bliss,
While I crawled round on the carpet
And punched at the mantlepiece,
Then madly I raised the covers

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Blind Girl Of Castel-Cuille. (From The Gascon of Jasmin)

At the foot of the mountain height
Where is perched Castel Cuille,
When the apple, the plum, and the almond tree
In the plain below were growing white,
This is the song one might perceive
On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph's Eve:

'The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom,
So fair a bride shall leave her home!
Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!'

This old Te Deum, rustic rites attending,
Seemed from the clouds descending;
When lo! a merry company
Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye,
Each one with her attendant swain,
Came to the cliff, all singing the same strain;
Resembling there, so near unto the sky,
Rejoicing angels, that kind Heaven has sent
For their delight and our encouragement.
Together blending,
And soon descending
The narrow sweep
Of the hillside steep,
They wind aslant
Towards Saint Amant,
Through leafy alleys
Of verdurous valleys
With merry sallies
Singing their chant:

'The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom,
So fair a bride shall leave her home!
Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay,
So fair a bride shall pass to-day!

It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden,
With garlands for the bridal laden!

The sky was blue; without one cloud of gloom,
The sun of March was shining brightly,
And to the air the freshening wind gave lightly
Its breathings of perfume.

When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom,
A rustic bridal, oh! how sweet it is!
To sounds of joyous melodies,
That touch with tenderness the trembling bosom,
A band of maidens

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Begend

I tell a legend I once heard
Of a race called mankind, no more heard
Placed in time that told and sang
To all who heard and they which were
This is the end of a tale begun
The time, that time began to sing his song
A song of snow and broadway shows
Telling the tale of a tree called Know
Which Adam through Eve through the serpent came to know
And in due course came to show
All they had come to know
To know the art of breaking life and hearts
Then the acts that breaks God's heart
To know the murder act and evil more
Cain killed Abel hence killed himself forevermore
A sword lived by, a sword killed by
Time named history and sadly money swings by
Sings and strings his violin strings
Hoping the lyrics of his song will pull the heartstrings
Of the noblest beast of nature's field
Of the cruelest beast of nature's field
Of a race embedded with treasures yet Seek the treasures that nature's left
A talent within exceeds the talent of gold without
A talent of gold could buy you bread without a doubt
Just like a dollar could brighten your cloud
The talent is hidden in a talent(dollar) shroud
A talented man with a chair, his mouth, his head and heart and guitar
Sat and sang and received talents of gold to buy his house
To buy his cars, feed his wife and hungry mouse
All called him great who were greats untapped
A song of rain and lonely nights
A song of pain and few respites
A tale of a race filled with guilty shadows
A race that raced against itself in a race that destroyed the race fellows
Because they thought God shouldn't have made rainbows
A race called mankind should have one colour
Why had he made them in different skin hues
The shades that ran from black to you
That's what knowing makes you think
That you know more than he who makes you think
A tale of love that transcends hues
The weaker sex through time subdued
Subdued the stronger sex as time ensued
Breath in, breath out, make your sentences
Give, receive, ask photosynthesis
Receive, don't give, break the synthesis
The synthesis of a man and a woman
Soaked with deceit, and a cheating pair
A tale of love broken by who got caught first
The only line that separates black from white

[...] Read more

poem by Jenim Dibie
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The Cross Foretold

Seven hundred years before Jesus Christ ever walked on the earth,
Isaiah prophesied that He would be born through a virgin birth,

There was much misunderstanding in the land by those who heard it,
As they simply didn’t understand it would be through The Holy Spirit.

He would be born in a little town near Jerusalem called Bethlehem,
His name will be Jesus, for He will save His people from their sin.

Isaiah went on to explain the cross in Christ’s life as he appealed,
Who has believed and to whom has the arm of The Lord been revealed?

He, having no beauty or majesty, and having no appearance of a king,
Was not desired, but despised, rejected and familiar with suffering.

Although there was nothing in His appearance for them to desire Him,
God’s desire for them was to make His Son one-day a guilt offering.

As Isaiah compared us to sheep going astray, each of us his own way,
Jesus would be afflicted and by oppression and Judgment taken away,

Taken away on a Roman cross to be pierced and afflicted with our sin,
And His appearance was so disfigured, that many were appalled at Him.

It was the nation of Israel, to whom this message was first revealed,
He was despised and rejected, but it’s by His wounds they are healed.

Isaiah assures his people that Jesus will be back to save their land,
It’s then they will see what they were not told and truly understand.

(Copyright © 05/2002)

poem by Bob Gotti
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I Thought You'd Be Glad to See Me?

I am totally baffled,
By your appearance.
And why you are here.

You were the one who told me,
Many years ago...
The way I lived was unacceptable.

The fact that I live the way I do,
I remember when you said to me...
How much I embarrassed you.

And when you drove me to the suburbs,
You rushed me into your home.
And insisted I speak quietly,
As to not disturb your neighbors...
Entertaining in the backyards,
While talking loudly on their cellphones.

And when I requested to sit in the Sun on your deck...
You rushed me to your garage,
To show me tools and artifacts you collected.

I am totally baffled,
By your appearance.
And why you are here.

You were the one who told me,
Many years ago...
The way I lived was unacceptable.
And you made that quite clear.

Does your appearance have anything to do,
With you losing your job?
Does it have anything to do with your eviction?
And repossessions from those possessions,
From you that have been dissolved.

I remember standing outside,
In the pouring rain...
When you waved to drive away.
And that was just two months ago,
As you shouted out of your car window...
To quickly say,
'I have an important meeting to attend.
I'm in a hurry.
Have a good day.'

And today you claim,
To be passing through my neighborhood.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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First appearance deceives many.

quote by Ovid
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IV. Tertium Quid

True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Aurobindo-5-Savitri-Book -1

An appreciation on Savitri-
Book I The Book of Beginnings-canto-3-
The Yoga of the King: The Yoga of the Soul's Release
Words within inverted commas are Aurobindo's

Yoga of Aswapati-

So was the necessity for a fresh tread
So was 'brought down to earth''her radiant power.'
As was the 'divine right', 'a greater sonship' too
Whose'soul lived as eternity's delegate, '
Whose 'mind was like a fire assailing heaven, '
Whose 'will a hunter in the trails of light..'
And'this bodily appearance is not all;
The form deceives, the person is a mask; '

'Across our nature's border line we escape
Into Supernature's arc of living light.
This now was witnessed in that son of Force;
In him that high transition laid its base.'
Change and cast of destiny's fortune in that son..
'The cosmic Worker set his secret hand
To turn this frail mud-engine to heaven-use.
Began 'the Yoga of the Soul's Release'

'The conscious ends of being went rolling back: '
'Life's barriers opened into the Unknown.'
'Annulled the soul's treaty with Nature's nescience.'
This wakening, be it the law of the transient to reappear
A woe-doused life to restart in lighted understanding
And the king's 'march now soared into an eagle's flight.'
'Out of apprenticeship to Ignorance
Wisdom upraised him to her master craft'

'Above mind's twilight and life's star-led night
There gleamed the dawn of a spiritual day.'
A hope and a bliss of the thirsty questers..
'Humanity framed his movements less and less;
A greater being saw a greater world'
As for the weaker beings to apprehend and follow

............My consciousness this moment,
O'Guru, I'm in awe....in invincible heights
Ineffable Thee embellishing poetic creation
My inquisitive apprehension, erring Thee may opine
May thereso, let Savitri in my self arise
Aroused thereso be knowledge and fortune

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Fingal - Book I

ARGUMENT.

Cuthullin (general of the Irish tribes, in the minority of Cormac, king of Ireland) sitting alone beneath a tree, at the gate of Tura, a castle of Ulster (the other chiefs having gone on a hunting party to Cromla, a neighboring hill,) is informed of the landing of Swaran, king of Lochlin, by Moran, the son of Fithil, one of his scouts. He convenes the chiefs; a council is held, and disputes run high about giving battle to the enemy. Connal, the petty king of Togorma, and an intimate friend of Cuthullin, was for retreating, till Fingal, king of those Caledonians who inhabited the north-west coast of Scotland, whose aid had been previously solicited, should arrive; but Calmar, the son of Matha, lord of Lara, a country in Connaught, was for engaging the enemy immediately. Cuthullin, of himself willing to fight, went into the opinion of Calmar. Marching towards the enemy, he missed three of his bravest heroes, Fergus, Duchômar, and Cáthba. Fergus arriving, tells Cuthullin of the death of the two other chiefs: which introduces the affecting episode of Morna, the daughter of Cormac. The army of Cuthullin is descried at a distance by Swaran, who sent the son of Arno to observe the motions of the enemy, while he himself ranged his forces in order of battle. The son of Arno returning to Swaran, describes to him Cuthullin's chariot, and the terrible appearance of that hero. The armies engage, but night coming on, leaves the victory undecided. Cuthullin, according to the hospitality of the times, sends to Swaran a formal invitation to a feast, by his bard Carril, the son of Kinfena. Swaran refuses to come. Carril relates to Cuthullin the story of Grudar and Brassolis. A party, by Connal's advice, is sent to observe the enemy; which closes the action of the first day.

CUTHULLIN sat by Tura's wall; by the tree of the rustling sound. His spear leaned against the rock. His shield lay on the grass by his side. Amid his thoughts of mighty Cairbar, a hero slain by the chief in war; the scout of ocean comes, Moran the son of Fithil!

"Arise," said the youth, "Cuthullin, arise. I see the ships of the north! Many, chief of men, are the foe. Many the heroes of the sea-borne Swaran!" — "Moran!" replied the blue-eyed chief "thou ever tremblest, son of Fithil! Thy fears have increased the foe. It is Fingal, king of deserts, with aid to green Erin of streams." — "I beheld their chief," says Moran, "tall as a glittering rock. His spear is a blasted pine. His shield the rising moon! He sat on the shore! like a cloud of mist on the silent hill! Many, chief of heroes! I said, many are our hands of war. Well art thou named, the mighty man; but many mighty men are seen from Tura's windy walls.

"He spoke, like a wave on a rock, 'Who in this land appears like me? Heroes stand not in my presence: they fall to earth from my hand. Who can meet Swaran in fight? Who but Fingal, king of Selma of storms? Once we wrestled on Malmor; our heels overturned the woods. Rocks fell from their place; rivulets, changing their course, fled murmuring from our side. Three days we renewed the strife; heroes stood at a distance and trembled. On the fourth, Fingal says, that the king of the ocean fell! but Swaran says he stood! Let dark Cuthullin yield to him, that is strong as the storms of his land!'

"No!" replied the blue-eyed chief, "I never yield to mortal man! Dark Cuthullin shall be great or dead! Go, son of Fithil, take my spear. Strike the sounding shield of Semo. It hangs at Tura's rustling gale. The sound of peace is not its voice! My heroes shall hear and obey." He went. He struck the bossy shield. The hills, the rocks reply. The sound spreads along the wood: deer start by the lake of roes. Curach leaps from the sounding rock! and Connal of the bloody spear! Crugal's breast of snow beats high. The son of Favi leaves the dark-brown hind. It is the shield of war, said Ronnart; the spear of Cuthullin, said Lugar! Son of the sea, put on thy arms! Calmar, lift thy sounding steel! Puno! dreadful hero, arise! Cairbar, from thy red tree of Cromla! Bend thy knee, O Eth! descend from the streams of Lena Caolt, stretch thy side as thou movest along the whistling heath of Mora: thy side that is white as the foam of the troubled sea, when the dark winds pour it on rocky Cuthon.

Now I behold the chiefs, in the pride of their former deeds! Their souls are kindled at the battles of old; at the actions of other times. Their eyes are flames of fire. They roll in search of the foes of the land. Their mighty hands are on their swords. Lightning pours from their sides of steel. They come like streams from the mountains; each rushes roaring from the hill. Bright are the chiefs of battle, in the armor of their fathers. Gloomy and dark, their heroes follow like the gathering of the rainy clouds behind the red meteors of heaven. The sounds of crashing arms ascend. The gray dogs howl between. Unequal bursts the song of battle. Rocking Cromla echoes round. On Lena's dusky heath they stand, like mist that shades the hills of autumn; when broken and dark it settles high, and lifts its head to heaven.

"Hail," said Cuthullin, "Sons of the narrow vales! hail, hunters of the deer! Another sport is drawing near: it is like the dark rolling of that wave on the coast! Or shall we fight, ye sons of war! or yield green Erin to Lochlin? O Connal! speak, thou first of men! thou breaker of the shields! thou hast often fought with Lochlin: wilt thou lift thy father's spear?"

"Cuthullin!" calm the chief replied, "the spear of Connal is keen. it delights to shine in battle, to mix with the blood of thousands. But though my hand is bent on fight, my heart is for the peace of Erin. Behold, thou first in Cormac's war, the sable fleet of Swaran. His masts are many on our coasts, like reeds on the lake of Lego. His ships are forests clothed with mists, when the trees yield by turns to the squally wind. Many are his chiefs in battle. Connal is for peace! Fingal would shun his arm, the first of mortal men! Fingal who scatters the mighty, as stormy winds the echoing Cona; and night settles with all her clouds on the hill!"

"Fly, thou man of peace!" said Colmar, "fly," said the son of Matha; "go, Connal, to thy silent hills, where the spear never brightens in war! Pursue the dark-brown deer of Cromla: stop with thine arrows the bounding roes of Lena. But blue-eyed son of Semo, Cuthullin, ruler of the field, scatter thou the Sons of Lochlin! roar through the ranks of their pride. Let no vessel of the kingdom of snow bound on the dark-rolling waves of Inistore. Rise, ye dark winds of Erin, rise! roar, whirlwinds of Lara of hinds! Amid the tempest let me die, torn, in a cloud, by angry ghosts of men; amid the tempest let Calmar die, if ever chase was sport to him, so much as the battle of shields!

"Calmar!" Connal slow replied, "I never fled, young son of Matha! I was swift with my friends in fight; but small is the fame of Connal! The battle was won in my presence! the valiant overcame! But, son of Semo, hear my voice, regard the ancient throne of Cormac. Give wealth and half the land for peace, till Fingal shall arrive on our coast. Or, if war be thy choice, I lift the sword and spear. My joy shall be in midst of thousands; my soul shall alighten through the gloom of the fight!"

"To me," Cuthullin replies, "pleasant is the noise of arms! pleasant as the thunder of heaven, before the shower of spring! But gather all the shining tribes, that I may view the sons of war! Let then pass along the heath, bright as the sunshine before a storm; when the west wind collects the clouds, and Morven echoes over all her oaks! But where are my friends in battle? the supporters of my arm in danger? Where art thou, white-bosomed Câthba? Where is that cloud in war, Duchômar? Hast thou left me, O Fergus! in the day of the storm? Fergus, first in our joy at the feast! son of Rossa! arm of death!

comest thou like a roe from Malmor? like a hart from thy echoing hills? Hall, thou son of Rossa! what shades the soul of war?"

"Four stones," replied the chief, "rise on the grave of Câthba. These hands have laid in earth Duchômar, that cloud in war! Câthba, son of Torman! thou wert a sunbeam in Erin. And thou, O valiant Duchômar! a mist of the marshy Lano; when it moves on the plains of autumn, bearing the death of thousands along. Morna! fairest of maids! calm is thy sleep in the cave of the rock! Thou hast fallen in darkness, like a star, that shoots across the desert; when the traveller is alone, and mourns the transient beam!"

"Say," said Semo's blue-eyed son, "say how fell the chiefs of Erin. Fell they by the sons of Lochlin, striving in the battle of heroes? Or what confines the strong in arms to the dark and narrow house?"

"Câthba," replied the hero, " fell by the sword of Duchômar at the oak of the noisy streams. Duchômar came to Tura's cave; he spoke to the lovely Morna. 'Morna, fairest among women, lovely daughter of strong-armed Cormac! Why in the circle of stones: in the cave of the rock alone? The stream murmurs along. The old tree groans in the wind. The lake is troubled before thee: dark are the clouds of the sky! But thou art snow on the heath; thy hair is the mist of Cromla; when it curls on the hill, when it shines to the beam of the west! Thy breasts are two smooth rocks seen from Branno of streams. Thy arms, like two white pillars in the halls of the great Fingal.'

"'From whence,' the fair-haired maid replied, 'from whence Duchômar, most gloomy of men? Dark are thy brows and terrible! Red are thy rolling eyes! Does Swaran appear on the sea? What of the foe, Duchômar?' 'From the hill I return, O Morna, from the hill of the dark-brown hinds. Three have I slain with my bended yew. Three with my long-bounding dogs of the chase. Lovely daughter of Cormac, I love thee as my soul: I have slain one stately deer for thee. High was his branchy head-and fleet his feet of wind.' 'Duchômar!' calm the maid replied, 'I love thee not, thou gloomy man! hard is thy heart of rock; dark is thy terrible brow. But Câthba, young son of Torman, thou art the love of Morna. Thou art a sunbeam, in the day of the gloomy storm. Sawest thou the son of Torman, lovely on the hill of his hinds? Here the daughter of Cormac waits the coming of Câthba!"

"'Long shall Morna wait,' Duchômar said, 'long shall Morna wait for Câthba! Behold this sword unsheathed! Here wanders the blood of Câthba. Long shall Morna wait. He fell by the stream of Branno. On Croma I will raise his tomb, daughter of blue-shielded Cormac! Turn on Duchômar thine eyes; his arm is strong as a storm.' 'Is the son of Torman fallen?' said the wildly-bursting voice of the maid; 'is he fallen on his echoing hills, the youth with the breast of snow? the first in the chase of hinds! the foe of the strangers of ocean! Thou art dark to me, Duchômar; cruel is thine arm to Morna! Give me that sword, my foe! I loved the wandering blood of Câthba!'

"He gave the sword to her tears. She pierced his manly breast! He fell, like the bank of a mountain stream, and stretching forth his hand, he spoke: 'Daughter of blue-shielded Cormac! Thou hast slain me in youth! the sword is cold in my breast! Morna; I feel it cold. Give me to Moina the maid. Duchômar was the dream of her night! She will raise my tomb; the hunter shall raise my fame. But draw the sword from my breast, Morna, the steel is cold!' She came, in all her tears she came; she drew the sword from his breast. He pierced her white side! He spread her fair locks on the ground! Her bursting blood sounds from her side: her white arm is stained with red. Rolling in death she lay. The cave re-echoed to her sighs."

"Peace," said Cuthullin, "to the souls of the heroes! their deeds were great in fight. Let them ride around me on clouds. Let them show their features of war. My soul shall then be firm in danger; mine arm like the thunder of heaven! But be thou on a moonbeam, O Morna! near the window of my rest; when my thoughts are of peace; when the din of arms is past. Gather the strength of the tribes! Move to the wars of Erin! Attend the car of my battles! Rejoice in the noise of my course! Place three spears by my side: follow the bounding of my steeds! that my soul may be strong in my friends, when battle darken around the beams of my steel!

As rushes a stream of foam from the dark shady deep of Cromla, when the thunder is traveling above, and dark-brown night sits on half the hill. Through the breaches of the tempest look forth the dim faces of ghosts. So fierce, so vast, so terrible rushed on the sons of Erin. The chief, like a whale of ocean, whom all his billows pursue, poured valor forth, as a stream, rolling his might along the shore. The sons of Lochlin heard the noise, as the sound of a winter storm. Swaran struck his bossy shield: he called the son of Arno. "What murmur rolls along the hill, like the gathered flies of the eve? The sons of Erin descend, or rustling winds roar in the distant wood! Such is the noise of Gormal, before the white tops of my waves arise. O son of Arno! ascend the hill; view the dark face of the heath!"

He went. He trembling swift returned. His eyes rolled wildly round. His heart beat high against his side. His words were faltering, broken, slow. "Arise, son of ocean, arise, chief of the dark-brown shields! I see the dark, the mountain-stream of battle! the deep. moving strength of the sons of Erin! the car of war comes on, like the flame of death! the rapid car of Cuthullin, the noble son of Semo! It bends behind like a wave near a rock; like a sun-streaked mist of the heath. Its sides are embossed with stones, and sparkle like the sea round the boat of night. Of polished yew is its beam; its seat of the smoothest bone. The sides are replenished with spears; the bottom is the foot-stool of heroes! Before the right side of the car is seen the snorting horse! the high-maned, broad-breasted, proud, wide-leaping strong steed of the hill. Loud and resounding is his hoof: the spreading of his mane above is like a stream of smoke on a ridge of rocks. Bright are the sides of his steed! his name Sulin-Sifadda!

"Before the left side of the car is seen the snorting horse! The thin-maned, high-headed, strong-hoofed fleet-bounding son of the hill: His name is Dusronnal, among the stormy sons of the sword! A thousand thongs bind the car on high. Hard polished bits shine in wreath of foam. Thin thongs, bright studded with gems, bend on the stately necks of the steeds. The steeds, that like wreaths of mist fly over the streamy vales! The wildness of deer is in their course, the strength of eagles descending on the prey. Their noise is like the blast of winter, on the sides of the snow-headed Gormal.

"Within the car is seen the chief; the strong-armed son of the sword. The hero's name is Cuthullin, son of Semo, king of shells. His red cheek is like my polished yew. The look of his blue-rolling eye is wide, beneath the dark arch of his brow. His hair flies from his head like a flame, as bending forward he wields the spear. Fly, king of ocean, fly! He comes, like a storm along the streamy vale!

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poem by James Macpherson
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The Great Hunger

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

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poem by Patrick Kavanagh
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