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By our form of government, the Christian religion is the established religion; and all sects and denominations of Christians are placed upon the same equal footing, and are equally entitled to protection in their religious liberty.

quote by Samuel Chase
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.

THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;
From whose corrupted flesh that breed
Of vermin did at first proceed.
So e're the storm of war broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various rout
Of petulant Capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts,
That first run all religion down,
And after ev'ry swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their mothers got their sons,
That were incapable t' enjoy
That empire any other way;
So PRESBYTER begot the other
Upon the good old Cause, his mother,
Then bore then like the Devil's dam,
Whose son and husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral tie of blood
Nor int'rest for the common good
Cou'd, when their profits interfer'd,
Get quarter for each other's beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But only by the ears engag'd:
Like dogs that snarl about a bone,
And play together when they've none,
As by their truest characters,
Their constant actions, plainly appears.
Rebellion now began, for lack
Of zeal and plunders to grow slack;
The Cause and covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b' out of season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O' th' King's Revenue, and the Churches,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on;
Which forc'd the stubborn'st for the Cause,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
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Wasteland

Out into the wasteland
Out into the wasteland
No religion
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion, no religion at all
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion at all
No religion
Emissionary man amongst the heathen
Cant you see a modern primitive
I came back, Im gonna find,
Im gonna give religion
When there was, no religion at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion, no religion at all
Theres a man in need of resurrection
(no religion)
Cant you see a modern primitive
(no religion)
But Im a man I need my love and
Freedom (no religion)
When there was no freedom at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion at all
No religion
No religion at all
In vr land
The future of fun
Tell me what to do
In vr law
Computer crime
Um, so sublime

[...] Read more

song performed by Billy Idol
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Placed In Your Power...

Placed, in Your Power … Are Promises
Placed, in Your Power … Are Poultices
Placed, in Your Power … Are Prodigies
Placed, in Your Power … Are Possibilities

Placed in Your Power, is my Prolonging
Placed in Your Power, is my Performing
Placed in Your Power, is my Preparing
Placed in Your Power, is my Preferring

Placed in Your Power, is my Paternal Name
Placed in Your Power, is when Privileged Came
Placed in Your Power, is my Posturing
Placed in Your Power, is my Proverbing

Placed, in Your Power is This Pearl Moon
Polished like Pewter, in Deep Purple Room
Placed, in Your Power is… Precious Time
Points of No Return and … Past Our Prime

Placed, in Your Power is… my Patience – Soon
Placed, in Your Power is Pam’s Pregnant Womb
Placed, in Your Power is The Preacher’s Prize
Placed, in Your Power… is Path to Paradise

Placed, in Your Power is … The Perfection
Placed, in Your Power is … The Protection
Placed, in Your Power is The Position… Plus
Placed, in Your Power is … The Purpose of Us

Placed, in Your Power, is … The Pure-Pleasure
Phases Out Phony, Polluted, and Plastic Peer-Pressure
Placed, in Your Power is … Permanent Productivity
Your Power, Has The Part… to Produce Panache - Proclivity

Placed, in Your Power are: Pertinent Pens and Pages
Placed, in Your Power, means - not Pinched but Pervasive
Placed, in Your Power is … Potently - Persuasive
Placed, in Your Power is … Posterity - Progressive

Placed, in Your Power … Are Poems and Prose
Placed, in Your Power is … This Pink Primrose…
… and Periwinkles, Petunias, Plums, Peaches and Pears
Partridges, Peacocks, and … Passionate People in Pairs

Placed, in Your Power is … Our Paramount Peace
Placed, in Your Power is … All Our … Please!
… and Public Praise… Private Prayers and Perpetual Psalms
For Each Particular Portrait, is in The Power of Your Palm

poem by MoonBee Canady
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Future Watch Burma To Syria Conflicts Rising

been watching
the future today...

from past lens astray

Burma as expected
has developed
ethnic problems

with sudden absence
of strict communist
dictatorship firm leash

Burmese are no longer
all brother communists
controlled by the state

past civic grievances
rise from postmortem
state of frozen stasis

past horrors play
on revenge rabid minds
need exercising?

past spectre struggles
post World War II conflicts
leave skeletons in closets

frozen nightmares divisions
war atrocities split Yugoslavia
post familiar communist thaw

emotively haunted people
seem to need to grim settle
past trauma before each

can move on embrace
future possibilities opportunities
in free market societies

when no longer linked
in brotherhood communist
cast iron citizenships

emotively many people
seem to need to settle
the past before they can

move on

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part II.

“Dame,” said the Panther, “times are mended well,
Since late among the Philistines you fell.
The toils were pitched, a spacious tract of ground
With expert huntsmen was encompassed round;
The inclosure narrowed; the sagacious power
Of hounds and death drew nearer every hour.
'Tis true, the younger lion 'scaped the snare,
But all your priestly calves lay struggling there,
As sacrifices on their altars laid;
While you, their careful mother, wisely fled,
Not trusting destiny to save your head.
For, whate'er promises you have applied
To your unfailing Church, the surer side
Is four fair legs in danger to provide;
And whate'er tales of Peter's chair you tell,
Yet, saving reverence of the miracle,
The better luck was yours to 'scape so well.”
“As I remember,” said the sober Hind,
“Those toils were for your own dear self designed,
As well as me; and with the selfsame throw,
To catch the quarry and the vermin too,—
Forgive the slanderous tongues that called you so.
Howe'er you take it now, the common cry
Then ran you down for your rank loyalty.
Besides, in Popery they thought you nurst,
As evil tongues will ever speak the worst,
Because some forms, and ceremonies some
You kept, and stood in the main question dumb.
Dumb you were born indeed; but, thinking long,
The test, it seems, at last has loosed your tongue:
And to explain what your forefathers meant,
By real presence in the sacrament,
After long fencing pushed against a wall,
Your salvo comes, that he's not there at all:
There changed your faith, and what may change may fall.
Who can believe what varies every day,
Nor ever was, nor will be at a stay?”
“Tortures may force the tongue untruths to tell,
And I ne'er owned myself infallible,”
Replied the Panther: “grant such presence were,
Yet in your sense I never owned it there.
A real virtue we by faith receive,
And that we in the sacrament believe.”
“Then,” said the Hind, “as you the matter state,
Not only Jesuits can equivocate;
For real, as you now the word expound,
From solid substance dwindles to a sound.
Methinks, an Æsop's fable you repeat;
You know who took the shadow for the meat:
Your Church's substance thus you change at will,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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‘Bees will Return to Hives! ’

The Saffronization of India?
–Phulbani, Kandhammal, Orissa, India.
'Calm follows every storm;
But Christians must be calm! '

‘Where martyrs’ blood be spilt,
More churches will be built!
Without much shame or guilt,
Fanatics hit the hilt’

Their saffron hues, they spray
On Dalit Christians, aye!
They won’t allow them pray;
They hunt them night and day!

What tragedy now looms!
‘Turn Hindu, ’ call now booms;
‘Or die; be bruised and maimed! ’
Why Christians all are blamed?

Frenzied mobs on rampage:
A war on Christians wage;
Conversion is their lie,
As Christians many die!

Can’t one profess their faith
Of choice and freedom, say?
Are Christians not Indians?
God will show them their way!

Such states are keeping quiet;
They want Christians to fight;
‘Violence begets violence’
Most Christians stay calm, hence.

Are there no basic rights?
Most Christian homes lost lights;
Hundreds have been destroyed;
Pleas have gone null and void.

Most Christians are too hurt;
No one seems to regret;
Churches are simply torched,
And human beings scorched!

As angry mobs destroy,
And loot the Christian homes;
And burn them down overnight;
O, see the Dalit’s plight!

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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The Siege of Corinth

In the year since Jesus died for men,
Eighteen hundred years and ten,
We were a gallant company,
Riding o'er land, and sailing o'er sea
Oh ! but we went merrily !
We forded the river, and clomb the high hill,
Never our steeds for a day stood still;
Whether we lay in the cave or the shed,
Our sleep fell soft on the hardest bed:
Whether we couch'd in our rough capote,
On the rougher plank of our gliding boat.
Or stretch'd on the beach, or our saddles spread
As a pillow beneath the resting head,
Fresh we woke upon the morrow:
All our thoughts and words had scope,
We had health, and we had hope,
Toil and travel, but no sorrow.
We were of all tongues and creeds; ---
Some were those who counted beads,
Some of mosque, and some of church;
Yet through the wide world might ye search,
Nor find a motlier crew nor blither.
But some are dead, and some are gone,
And some are scatter'd and alone,
And some are rebels on the hills
That look along Epirus' valleys,
Where freedom still at moments rallies,
And pays in blood oppression's ills;
And some are in a far countree,
And some all restlessly at home;
But never more, oh ! never, we
Shall meet to revel and to roam.
But those hardy days flew cheerily !
And when they now fall drearily,
My thoughts, like swallows, skim the main,
And bear my spirit back again
Over the earth, and through the air,
A wild bird and a wanderer.
'Tis this that ever wakes my strain,
And oft, too oft, implores again
The few who may endure my lay,
To follow me so far away.
Stranger --- wilt thou follow now,
And sit with me on Acro-Corinth's brow?

I
Many a vanish'd year and age,
And tempest's breath, and battle's rage,
Have swept o'er Corinth; yet she stands,
A fortress form'd to Freedom's hands.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron (1816)
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The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part III.

Much malice, mingled with a little wit,
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ;
Because the muse has peopled Caledon
With panthers, bears, and wolves, and beasts unknown,
As if we were not stocked with monsters of our own.
Let Æsop answer, who has set to view
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew;
And Mother Hubbard, in her homely dress,
Has sharply blamed a British lioness;
That queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,
Exposed obscenely naked, and asleep.
Led by those great examples, may not I
The wonted organs of their words supply?
If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then
For brutes to claim the privilege of men.
Others our Hind of folly will indite,
To entertain a dangerous guest by night.
Let those remember, that she cannot die,
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed,
Because the Lion's peace was now proclaimed;
The wary savage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her prince;
But watched the time her vengeance to complete,
When all her furry sons in frequent senate met;
Meanwhile she quenched her fury at the flood,
And with a lenten salad cooled her blood.
Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing scant,
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want.
For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove
To express her plain simplicity of love,
Did all the honours of her house so well,
No sharp debates disturbed the friendly meal.
She turned the talk, avoiding that extreme,
To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme;
Remembering every storm which tossed the state,
When both were objects of the public hate,
And dropt a tear betwixt for her own children's fate.
Nor failed she then a full review to make
Of what the Panther suffered for her sake;
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir,
Her strength to endure, her courage to defy,
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged;
Then with acknowledgments herself she charged;
For friendship, of itself an holy tie,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues would say,
They met like chance companions on the way,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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Prejudice

IN yonder red-brick mansion, tight and square,
Just at the town's commencement, lives the mayor.
Some yards of shining gravel, fenced with box,
Lead to the painted portal--where one knocks :
There, in the left-hand parlour, all in state,
Sit he and she, on either side the grate.
But though their goods and chattels, sound and new,
Bespeak the owners very well to do,
His worship's wig and morning suit betray
Slight indications of an humbler day

That long, low shop, where still the name appears,
Some doors below, they kept for forty years :
And there, with various fortunes, smooth and rough,
They sold tobacco, coffee, tea, and snuff.
There labelled drawers display their spicy row--
Clove, mace, and nutmeg : from the ceiling low
Dangle long twelves and eights , and slender rush,
Mix'd with the varied forms of genus brush ;
Cask, firkin, bag, and barrel, crowd the floor,
And piles of country cheeses guard the door.
The frugal dames came in from far and near,
To buy their ounces and their quarterns here.
Hard was the toil, the profits slow to count,
And yet the mole-hill was at last a mount.
Those petty gains were hoarded day by day,
With little cost, for not a child had they ;
Till, long proceeding on the saving plan,
He found himself a warm, fore-handed man :
And being now arrived at life's decline,
Both he and she, they formed the bold design,
(Although it touched their prudence to the quick)
To turn their savings into stone and brick.
How many an ounce of tea and ounce of snuff,
There must have been consumed to make enough !

At length, with paint and paper, bright and gay,
The box was finished, and they went away.
But when their faces were no longer seen
Amongst the canisters of black and green ,
--Those well-known faces, all the country round--
'Twas said that had they levelled to the ground
The two old walnut trees before the door,
The customers would not have missed them more.
Now, like a pair of parrots in a cage,
They live, and civic honours crown their age :
Thrice, since the Whitsuntide they settled there,
Seven years ago, has he been chosen mayor ;
And now you'd scarcely know they were the same ;
Conscious he struts, of power, and wealth, and fame ;

[...] Read more

poem by Jane Taylor
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The Columbiad: Book IV

The Argument

Destruction of Peru foretold. Grief of Columbus. He is comforte the promise of a vision of future ages. All Europe appears in vision. Effect of the discovery of America upon the affairs of Europe. Improvement in commerce; government. Revival of letters. Order of the Jesuits. Religious persecution. Inquisition. Rise and progress of more liberal principles. Character of Raleigh; who plans the settlement of North America. Formation of the coast by the gulph stream. Nature of the colonial establishments, the first great asylum and infant empire of Liberty. Liberty the necessary foundation of morals. Delaware arrives with a reinforcement of new settlers, to consolidate the colony of Virginia. Night scene, as contemplated by these patriarchs, while they are sailing up the Chesapeak, and are saluted by the river gods. Prophetic speech of Potowmak. Fleets of settlers from seyeral parts of Europe steering for America.

In one dark age, beneath a single hand,
Thus rose an empire in the savage land.
Its wealth and power with following years increase,
Its growing nations spread the walks of peace;
Religion here, that universal name,
Man's proudest passion, most ungovern'd flame,
Erects her altars on the same bright base,
That dazzled erst, and still deludes the race;
Sun, moon, all powers that forceful strike his eyes,
Earth-shaking storms and constellated skies.

Yet all the pomp his labors here unfold,
The vales of verdure and the towers of gold,
Those infant arts and sovereign seats of state,
In short-lived glory hasten to their fate.
Thy followers, rushing like an angry flood,
Too soon shall drench them in the nation's blood;
Nor thou, Las Casas, best of men, shalt stay
The ravening legions from their guardless prey.
O hapless prelate! hero, saint and sage,
Foredoom'd with crimes a fruitless war to wage,
To see at last (thy life of virtue run)
A realm unpeopled and a world undone!
While pious Valverde mock of priesthood stands,
Guilt in his heart, the gospel in his hands,
Bids, in one field, their unarm'd thousands bleed,
Smiles o'er the scene and sanctifies the deed.
And thou, brave Gasca, with persuasive strain,
Shalt lift thy voice and urge thy power in vain;
Vain are thy hopes the sinking land to save,
Or call her slaughter'd millions from the grave.

Here Hesper paused. Columbus with a sigh
Cast o'er the continent his moisten'd eye,
And thus replied: Ah, hide me in the tomb;
Why should I live to see the impending doom?
If such foul deeds the scheme of heaven compose,
And virtue's toils induce redoubled woes,
Unfold no more; but grant a kind release;
Give me, tis all I ask, to rest in peace.

And thou shalt rest in peace, the Saint rejoin'd,
Ere these conflicting shades involve mankind.
But broader views shall first thy mind engage,

[...] Read more

poem by Joel Barlow
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Table Talk

A. You told me, I remember, glory, built
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt;
The deeds that men admire as half divine,
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design.
Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears
The laurel that the very lightning spares;
Brings down the warrior’s trophy to the dust,
And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
B. I grant that, men continuing what they are,
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war,
And never meant the rule should be applied
To him that fights with justice on his side.
Let laurels drench’d in pure Parnassian dews
Reward his memory, dear to every muse,
Who, with a courage of unshaken root,
In honour’s field advancing his firm foot,
Plants it upon the line that Justice draws,
And will prevail or perish in her cause.
‘Tis to the virtues of such men man owes
His portion in the good that Heaven bestows.
And, when recording History displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days,
Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died,
Where duty placed them, at their country’s side;
The man that is not moved with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
But let eternal infamy pursue
The wretch to nought but his ambition true,
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself station’d on a towering rock,
To see a people scatter’d like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tiger feels;
Then view him self-proclaim’d in a gazette
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet.
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced,
Those ensigns of dominion how disgraced!
The glass, that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And Death’s own scythe, would better speak his power;
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead
With the king’s shoulder-knot and gay cockade;
Clothe the twin brethren in each other’s dress,
The same their occupation and success.
A. ‘Tis your belief the world was made for man;
Kings do but reason on the self-same plan:
Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn,
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Syrian Christians Minority Psychology

meanwhile in conflict Syria
Wall Street Journal reports
Christians arm themselves?

but few Christians openly sided
with Bashar al-Assad's regime
as ethnic Syrian Alawites did?

most wise Syrian Christians
have stayed completely silent
due to feared post-Assad era?

Syrian Christians fear Muslim
Brotherhood or Salafi policies in
splinter chaotic post al-Assad era?

Christians afraid fear facing same
scenario as invaded Iraqis faced...
in 2003 post US military invasion?

Christians fear their communities
caught in crossfire will be devastated
by power struggle sectarian groups?

Christians in neighboring Iraq
suffered greatly in sectarian wars
during power struggle past decade?

Christians since beginning of uprisings
consistently acted with minority psychology
an attitude of Christian passive neutrality?

in attempt overthrow of Syrian President
Bashar al-Assad Christian exclusion...
from revolution uprisings was because?

the Syrian Church warned Christians
not to participate in revolution uprisings
yet Syrian church leaders fear prospect

of an Islamic fundamentalist
future takeover in Syria represents
a greater danger to Christians?

than continuation of current President
Bashar al-Assad's administration
because during Assad era Christians

faced no real policy secular difficulty
in practicing their religion difficulties...

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Protection

Night after night
I keep holding on
You say you love me
Then you leave me so lonely
Baby, I dont believe a word
Youre sayin
I think its all some evil game
Youre playin
Still all day long all I do is think
About ya
You got me believin that I cant
Live without ya
Well if ya want it, well here is
My confession
Baby, I cant help it, youre my obsession
Protection, thats what I need
I need protection, baby from your love
Protection, thats what I need
I need protection, baby from your love
I wait at home by my telephone
When I call your house, baby
Youre not home
Knock on the door and rush
Down the stairs
When I open up, baby youre
Not there
When were together and ya put
Your arms around me
Your love sweeps away all the
Confusion that surrounds me
You keep my mind
Forever, ever in doubt
You want me believin
That baby, I cant live without
Protection thats what I need
I need protection, baby from your love
Protection, thats what I need
I need protection, baby from your love
We stand alone, at my window
And stare out, at the shadows
Down below
I feel your fingers on my face
I want to stay, I want to run away
Protection thats what I need
I need protection, baby from your love
Protection, thats what I need
I need protection, baby from your love
Protection, thats what I need
I need protection, baby from your love
Protection, thats what I need

[...] Read more

song performed by Donna Summer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Liberty

(if you wanna stay with me, at your liberty
If you wanna be with me, at your liberty)
-
(ahh, ohh, do-doo)
Ill tell you something,
To let you understand the way I feel, just what you mean to me
Thank you for fine times, we nearly made it all -
The way we know, it wasnt meant to be.
You say we feel the same, there aint no blame.. to decide
But if a little time, could change your mind, Ill be here..
And you can call me (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
You can hold me (if you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
(do you, do you)
Do you remember, how lovers right for summers - even nights,
Would never seem to end,
And as december, comes stirring with that finger of desire
To feel it once again
You worry bout youre friends, what if they find whats going on?
But if you want to try to make it come alive, Ill be here..
And you can call me (you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
You can hold me (you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
And you can call me (you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
And you can touch me girl (you wanna run to me) at your liberty.
Help me out!
I live in doubt
Sort me out, yeaaaahhhhhhh....
-
Dont make it every night, dont wanna be the love of your life
So if you are inclined to spend a little time, Ill be here..
And you can call me (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
You can hold me (if you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
And you can call me (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
And you can touch me girl (if you wanna run to me) at your liberty.
Touch me girl, (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
Help me out, (if you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
Sort me out, (if you wanna run to me), at your liberty.
Or you can set me free (if you wanna run to me), at your liberty.
(if you wanna stay with me, at your liberty).
(if you wanna be with me, at your liberty).
(if you wanna stay with me, at your liberty).
(if you wanna run to me, at your liberty).
At your liberty...

song performed by Duran Duran
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Canto the Fifth

I
When amatory poets sing their loves
In liquid lines mellifluously bland,
And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves,
They little think what mischief is in hand;
The greater their success the worse it proves,
As Ovid's verse may give to understand;
Even Petrarch's self, if judged with due severity,
Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity.

II
I therefore do denounce all amorous writing,
Except in such a way as not to attract;
Plain -- simple -- short, and by no means inviting,
But with a moral to each error tack'd,
Form'd rather for instructing than delighting,
And with all passions in their turn attack'd;
Now, if my Pegasus should not be shod ill,
This poem will become a moral model.

III
The European with the Asian shore
Sprinkled with palaces; the ocean stream
Here and there studded with a seventy-four;
Sophia's cupola with golden gleam;
The cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar;
The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream,
Far less describe, present the very view
Which charm'd the charming Mary Montagu.

IV
I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me;
And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be;
All feelings changed, but this was last to vary,
A spell from which even yet I am not quite free:
But I grow sad -- and let a tale grow cold,
Which must not be pathetically told.

V
The wind swept down the Euxine, and the wave
Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades;
'T is a grand sight from off the Giant's Grave
To watch the progress of those rolling seas
Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave
Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease;
There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Don Juan: Canto The Fifth

When amatory poets sing their loves
In liquid lines mellifluously bland,
And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves,
They little think what mischief is in hand;
The greater their success the worse it proves,
As Ovid's verse may give to understand;
Even Petrarch's self, if judged with due severity,
Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity.

I therefore do denounce all amorous writing,
Except in such a way as not to attract;
Plain- simple- short, and by no means inviting,
But with a moral to each error tack'd,
Form'd rather for instructing than delighting,
And with all passions in their turn attack'd;
Now, if my Pegasus should not be shod ill,
This poem will become a moral model.

The European with the Asian shore
Sprinkled with palaces; the ocean stream
Here and there studded with a seventy-four;
Sophia's cupola with golden gleam;
The cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar;
The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream,
Far less describe, present the very view
Which charm'd the charming Mary Montagu.

I have a passion for the name of 'Mary,'
For once it was a magic sound to me;
And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be;
All feelings changed, but this was last to vary,
A spell from which even yet I am not quite free:
But I grow sad- and let a tale grow cold,
Which must not be pathetically told.

The wind swept down the Euxine, and the wave
Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades;
'T is a grand sight from off 'the Giant's Grave
To watch the progress of those rolling seas
Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave
Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease;
There 's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

'T was a raw day of Autumn's bleak beginning,
When nights are equal, but not so the days;
The Parcae then cut short the further spinning
Of seamen's fates, and the loud tempests raise
The waters, and repentance for past sinning

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poem by Byron
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Return running back

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Destiny” in the most enchantingly celestial of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this boundless Universe; only to the periphery of the rustically bohemian palms,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Smile” in the most spell bindingly opulent of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this fathomless Universe; only to the peripher of the altruistically compassionate lips,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Empathy” in the most beautifully unassailable of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this limitless Universe; only to the periphery of the synergistically twinkling eye,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Hunger” in the most magically untainted of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this colossal Universe; only to the periphery of the tirelessly impoverished stomach,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Truth” in the most jubilantly mesmerizing of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this gigantic Universe; only to the periphery of the synergistically burgeoning conscience,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Fantasy” in the most victoriously unfettered of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this interminable Universe; only to the periphery of the uninhibitedly gifted brain,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Humanity” in the most astoundingly sparkling of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this unceasing Universe; only to the periphery of the symbiotically enchanting veins,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Strength” in the most fantastically emollient of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this endless Universe; only to the periphery of the blessedly venerated soul,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Perseverance” in the most fabulously scintillating of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this insuperable Universe; only to the periphery of the righteously perspiring armpits,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Adventure” in the most enthrallingly undying of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this poignant Universe; only to the periphery of the nimbly dancing feet,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Optimism” in the most indisputably pristine paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this Herculean Universe; only to the periphery of the fearlessly advancing stride,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Ecstasy” in the most gloriously bewitching of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this unlimited Universe; only to the periphery of the intricately nubile skin,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Melody” in the most amazingly glistening of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this unsurpassable Universe; only to the periphery of the wonderfully vivacious throat,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Artistry” in the most resplendently enigmatic of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this unbridled Universe; only to the periphery of the magnetically embellished fingers,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Sensitivity” in the most adorably effervescent of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this ebullient Universe; only to the periphery of the bounteously unimpeachable ears,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Mystery” in the most vibrantly virile of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this unbelievable Universe; only to the periphery of the tranquilly ameliorating shadow,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Sensuality” in the most iridescently redolent of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this interminable Universe; only to the periphery of the eternally fiery nostrils,

Try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Humility” in the most ubiquitously proliferating of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this impregnable Universe; only to the periphery of the harmoniously obeisant neck,

And try as hard as you could. But even if you placed “Love” in the most incredulously bedazzling of paradise; it would inevitably and still return running back; from wherever on this magical Universe; only to the periphery of the immortally throbbing heart….

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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The Borough. Letter IV: Sects And Professions In Religion

'SECTS in Religion?'--Yes of every race
We nurse some portion in our favour'd place;
Not one warm preacher of one growing sect
Can say our Borough treats him with neglect:
Frequent as fashions they with us appear,
And you might ask, 'how think we for the year?'
They come to us as riders in a trade,
And with much art exhibit and persuade.
Minds are for Sects of various kinds decreed,
As diff'rent soils are formed for diff'rent seed;
Some when converted sigh in sore amaze,
And some are wrapt in joy's ecstatic blaze;
Others again will change to each extreme,
They know not why--as hurried in a dream;
Unstable, they, like water, take all forms,
Are quick and stagnant; have their calms and storms;
High on the hills, they in the sunbeams glow,
Then muddily they move debased and slow;
Or cold and frozen rest, and neither rise nor flow.
Yet none the cool and prudent Teacher prize.
On him ther dote who wakes their ectasies;
With passions ready primed such guide they meet,
And warm and kindle with th' imparted heat;
'Tis he who wakes the nameless strong desire,
The melting rapture and the glowing fire;
'Tis he who pierces deep the tortured breast,
And stirs the terrors never more to rest.
Opposed to these we have a prouder kind,
Rash without heat, and without raptures blind;
These our Glad Tidings unconcern'd peruse,
Search without awe, and without fear refuse;
The truths, the blessings found in Sacred Writ,
Call forth their spleen, and exercise their wit;
Respect from these nor saints nor martyrs gain,
The zeal they scorn, and they deride the pain:
And take their transient, cool, contemptuous view,
Of that which must be tried, and doubtless may be true.
Friends of our Faith we have, whom doubts like these,
And keen remarks, and bold objections please;
They grant such doubts have weaker minds oppress'd,
Till sound conviction gave the troubled rest.
'But still,' they cry, 'let none their censures spare.
They but confirm the glorious hopes we share;
From doubt, disdain, derision, scorn, and lies,
With five-fold triumph sacred Truth shall rise.'
Yes! I allow, so Truth shall stand at last,
And gain fresh glory by the conflict past: -
As Solway-Moss (a barren mass and cold,
Death to the seed, and poison to the fold),
The smiling plain and fertile vale o'erlaid,

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poem by George Crabbe
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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