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Socialism is a fraud, a comedy, a phantom, a blackmail.

quote by Benito Mussolini
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Die a Log Dialogue

'While wine still trickles fickle Death
must sheath sharp sickle, pause for breath
which hope for scope empowereth.'
To phantom sigh said passer by.

'The spine that shivers sets the score
for mind beyond the shadows led,
what's lust to who may prey no more? '
To passer by ghost of reply.

'Tears, fears, arrears are paid in Time
as Trust plays out Life's p[h]antomime
awaiting Paradise sublime.'
To phantom sigh said passer by.

'Death knows no fears, they're faced before,
some trembling mirage sins restore.
Tears are drowned out by sonic roar.'
To passer by said phantom sigh.

'No favours asked, no quavers given,
by backward glance no joys are driven,
but sins forgotten, sins forgiven.'
To phantom, 'Why? ' said passer by.

'Temptation taps a semaphore
of semi quavers sped instead
of scene thats seen, Mort or Amor.'
To passer by said phantom sigh.

'All things Love conquers, victory
of life sublime, eternity
is hyphen syphon, surface sea,
which all must sail' said passer by.

'Upon Time's [s]wings, that base bass whore
all face is surface phantom sped,
desire inspires, masks empty core.'
To passer by said Phantom sigh.

'Farewell! my welfare lies elsewhere,
and yet lies not, believes in fair
winds which Time's leaves for Life prepare'
To phantom sigh said passer by.

'Your's is not pitch or toss to call,
for finger beckon none forestall,
must dropp what seems their wherewithal
to answer summons.' Phantom said.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Blackmail

(robert palmer)
Well you told me that you werent infectious
So I brought no precautions with me
And you said your old man was in texas
And anyway hed forgotten his key
So I put my cassette in your bathroom
And threw all my clothes on your floor
Next thing, door burts open
And there I am caught in the raw
Blackmail
Youre blackmailing me
Spongeing all my money
I dont think its funny
The way youve been badgering me
So Im hiding out in the basement
Wondering how on earth Im gonna survive
Well your old man hollers
Ive got ten thousand dollars for you
Coz I know you can provide
Leaving me with grounds for my divorce
Pulls out his chequebook and starts to endorse
Two benjamin franklins
And before I can thank you mama
? ? ? ?
Blackmail
Youre blackmailing me
Rendering you a service
Makes me feel real nervous
Trying to get me into your sceams
Blackmail
Youre blackmailing me
Spongeing all my money
I dont think its funny
Way you done the dirty on me
Blackmail
Youre blackmailing me
Spongeing all my money
I dont think its funny
The way youve been badgering me
Blackmail
Youre blackmailing me
Spongeing all my money
I dont think its funny
Way you,ve done the dirty on me

song performed by Robert Palmer
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Paradise Lost: Book 09

No more of talk where God or Angel guest
With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd,
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast; permitting him the while
Venial discourse unblam'd. I now must change
Those notes to tragick; foul distrust, and breach
Disloyal on the part of Man, revolt,
And disobedience: on the part of Heaven
Now alienated, distance and distaste,
Anger and just rebuke, and judgement given,
That brought into this world a world of woe,
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery
Death's harbinger: Sad talk!yet argument
Not less but more heroick than the wrath
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespous'd;
Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long
Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son:

If answerable style I can obtain
Of my celestial patroness, who deigns
Her nightly visitation unimplor'd,
And dictates to me slumbering; or inspires
Easy my unpremeditated verse:
Since first this subject for heroick song
Pleas'd me long choosing, and beginning late;
Not sedulous by nature to indite
Wars, hitherto the only argument
Heroick deem'd chief mastery to dissect
With long and tedious havock fabled knights
In battles feign'd; the better fortitude
Of patience and heroick martyrdom
Unsung; or to describe races and games,
Or tilting furniture, imblazon'd shields,
Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,
Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights
At joust and tournament; then marshall'd feast
Serv'd up in hall with sewers and seneshals;
The skill of artifice or office mean,
Not that which justly gives heroick name
To person, or to poem. Me, of these
Nor skill'd nor studious, higher argument
Remains; sufficient of itself to raise
That name, unless an age too late, or cold
Climate, or years, damp my intended wing
Depress'd; and much they may, if all be mine,
Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.
The sun was sunk, and after him the star
Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Slip Kid

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight ...
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight ...
Ive got my clipboard, text books
Ive got my clipboard, text books
Lead me to the station
Lead me to the station
Yeah, Im off to the civil war
Yeah, Im off to the civil war
Ive got my kit bag, my heavy boots
Ive got my kit bag, my heavy boots
Im runnin in the rain
Im runnin in the rain
Gonna run till my feet are raw
Gonna run till my feet are raw
Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
And Im a soldier at thirteen
And Im a soldier at thirteen
Slip kid, slip kid, realization
Slip kid, slip kid, realization
Theres no easy way to be free
Theres no easy way to be free
No easy way to be free
No easy way to be free
Its a hard, hard world
Its a hard, hard world
I left my doctors prescription bungalow behind me
I left my doctors prescription bungalow behind me
I left the door ajar
I left the door ajar
I left my vacuum flask
I left my vacuum flask
Full of hot tea and sugar
Full of hot tea and sugar
Left the keys right in my car
Left the keys right in my car
Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
Only half way up the tree
Only half way up the tree
Slip kid, slip kid, Im a relation
Slip kid, slip kid, Im a relation
Im a soldier at sixty-three
Im a soldier at sixty-three
No easy way to be free
No easy way to be free
Slip kid, slip kid
Slip kid, slip kid
Keep away old man, you wont fool me
Keep away old man, you wont fool me

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
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In different places over the years I have had to prove that socialism, which to many western thinkers is a sort of kingdom of justice, was in fact full of coercion, of bureaucratic greed and corruption and avarice, and consistent within itself that socialism cannot be implemented without the aid of coercion. Communist propaganda would sometimes include statements such as "we include almost all the commandments of the Gospel in our ideology". The difference is that the Gospel asks all this to be achieved through love, through self-limitation, but socialism only uses coercion. This is one point. Untouched by the breath of God, unrestricted by human conscience, both capitalism and socialism are repulsive.

quote by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
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Return Of The Phantom Stranger

Shape shifting high
And a haunted eye.
Falling plastic and paper demons!
No trace of time,
Im branded sly,
I am your ghostmaster baby free me.
All you know,
Is alone,
You see a,
Phantom stranger!
Down you go,
All alone,
You love my,
Phantom strange!r
My sinister sounds
Sweep the grounds
Still-born I lie beneath it
I throw it away
The freaks all stay
Deformed and laughing screaming!
All you know,
Is alone,
You see a,
Phantom stranger!
Down you go,
All alone,
You love my,
Phantom stranger!
A wretched heart
In the dark decay,
Dominate forever...
Destroy the things you love
And see if I remember
All you know,
Is alone,
You see a,
Phantom stranger!
Down you go
All alone
You love my,
Phantom stranger!

song performed by Rob Zombie
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Black Comedy

Sweet cunning eyes try to take from me
Youre too young, Im too wise, this is parody
A taste of what you like can be fatal sometimes
Arms that hold you tight but leave you cold, so cold
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
Love, maybe lust, made me sweet sixteen
So my soul lost control, nothing in between
A taste of what you want can be brutal sometimes
Arms that hold you tight but leave you cold, so cold
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy
The stars in the sky are out of reach tonight
Tears fall like rain, wrong again, words wont make me right
cause I knew from the start you were wrong for me
Call it fate if you like or black comedy

song performed by Culture Club
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Phantom Lord

Sound is ripping through your ears
The deafing sound of metal nears
Your bodies waiting for his whips
The taste of leather on your lips

Hear the cry of War
Louder than before
With his sword in hand
to control the land
Crushing metal strikes
on this frightening night
Fall onto your knees
For the Phantom Lord

Victems falling under chains
You hear them crying death pains
The fists of terrors breaking through
Now there's nothing you can do

Hear the cry of War
Louder than before
With his sword in ha o
to control the land
Crushing metal strikes
on this frightening night
Fall onto your knees
For the Phantom Lord

The leather armies have prevailed
The Phantom Lord has never failed
Smoke is lifting from the ground
The rising volume metal sound

Hear the cry of War
Louder than before
With his sword in hand
to control the land
Crushing metal strikes
on this frightening night
Fall onto your knees
For the Phantom Lord

Fall to your knees
and bow to the Phantom Lord

song performed by Metallica from Kill 'Em All
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Phantom Of The North!

Behold the Phantom of the North,
The wild, white wolf of old!
His legends nightly going forth
And in hushed tones are told...
Of how he glides across the snow,
Or leaps to touch the sky!
A ghostly figure none should know
And no need asking why...

Behold the Phantom 'twixt the trees,
One second here, then gone!
Of all the forest's fantasies,
There's much to ponder on...
For like a spectre seen at night,
That chills you to the bone,
Be thankful yet, despite the fright,
That he walks on his own!

Behold the Phantom face-to-face!
Stand fast if courage lets,
Or flee far from that awesome place,
As if without regrets...
The Phantom fears no coward soul,
He's seen them run before!
As long as each one knows his role,
He'll howl forevermore!

Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2012.

The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Phantom Of The North'.

More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com

poem by Denis Martindale
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Afrikaans: Sterregordels, Stilsonjare, Tydsbroekspypdinge, Haarsliert

Sterregordels

Cosmology in Afrikaans is an ode to joy, the
terms form sing-song strings with delightful
sounds “ewigbewegende elektron”
continuously spinning electron

“elektron in die hart van die atoomkorrel”
electron in the centre of the atom particle
- what a song!

“Triljoene Melkwegstelsels waaromheen ons
Melkweg elke tweehonderdmiljoenjaar
wentel – ‘n mallemeule van sterregordels…”

“Dobberende patrone, mesone en elektrone,
'n konfigurasie van konvekse novae”…

- these terms are singing to me!

A merry-go-round of star systems

Quotes from Adriaan Snyman “Die Messias Kode” (The Messiah Code) pp.9,10

Bombardement Van Frekwensies (English Explanation)

Waarmee sal ek hierdie leë oomblikke,
ankerloos, betekenisloos; aan die ewigheid
vasmaak - die gevoelsruimte in my hart

Is leeg, alle gevoel en denke het gesamentlik
in die donker duisternis van my brein ingeval
‘n laserbrein wat die hologramwêreld

Self moet konsituteer uit ‘n bombardement
van betekenislose frekwensies – maar
vandag is die ligstraalfokus uit

My pendulumgedagtes swaai ongefokus rond
die opgerolde, ingevoude ses-en-twintig of
meer dimensies van die virtuele werklikheid

Wil nie vir my oopgaan nie…

All thought and feeling fell into the black hole in my brain and the twenty-six or more rolled-up frequencies of reality does not want to open for me today…

Geloof In Liefde - Faith In Love

[...] Read more

poem by Margaret Alice
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The Phantom Fleet

The sunset lingered in the pale green West:
In rosy wastes the low soft evening star
Woke; while the last white sea-mew sought for rest;
And tawny sails came stealing o'er the bar.

But, in the hillside cottage, through the panes
The light streamed like a thin far trumpet-call,
And quickened, as with quivering battle-stains,
The printed ships that decked the parlour wall.

From oaken frames old admirals looked down:
They saw the lonely slumberer at their feet:
They saw the paper, headed _Talk from Town;
Our rusting trident, and our phantom fleet_:

And from a neighbouring tavern surged a song
Of England laughing in the face of war,
With eyes unconquerably proud and strong,
And lips triumphant from her Trafalgar.

But he, the slumberer in that glimmering room,
Saw distant waters glide and heave and gleam;
Around him in the softly coloured gloom
The pictures clustered slowly to a dream.

He saw how England, resting on her past,
Among the faded garlands of her dead,
Woke; for a whisper reached her heart at last,
And once again she raised her steel-clad head.

Her eyes were filled with sudden strange alarms;
She heard the westering waters change and chime;
She heard the distant tumult of her arms
Defeated, not by courage, but by Time.

Knowledge had made a deadlier pact with death,
Nor strength nor steel availed against that bond:
Slowly approached--and Britain held her breath--
The battle booming from the deeps beyond.

O, then what darkness rolled upon the wind,
Threatening the torch that Britain held on high?
Where all her navies, baffled, broken, blind,
Slunk backward, snarling in their agony!
_Who guards the gates of Freedom now?_ The cry
Stabbed heaven! _England, the shattered ramparts fall!_
Then, like a trumpet shivering through the sky
O, like white lightning rending the black pall
Of heaven, an answer pealed: _Her dead shall hear that call._

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Phantom

The Phantom stalks these many halls
The tunnels and the many rooms here
His distorted features hidden from sight
And he will not come too near

The Phantom strikes when we expect it least
When our defences are down and we are weak
His purpose is served with a beautiful girl
In times when the outcome looks bleak

The Phantom haunts the mind and soul
Of both lovers and the lonely in the night
The path of destruction is opened wide
And the scene is set for an epic fight

The Phantom though is not a real man
No demon or monster from hell
But the power we all hold in our hearts
That of which the great romantics tell

The Phantom is love both good and bad
Distorted as we are when he takes our hand
He hides in the chambers of our heart
Until the day his purpose we understand.

poem by Anthony Lund
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This Constitutes Fraud

Organizations based in inner city communities,
That are overwhelmingly those of color.
And those same organizations solicit funds,
Stating they provide activities and training...
That does not get done for everyone,
But 'some'.

And those funds are used for other purposes,
Surburbanites are hired to inspire...
Those 'urbanites' of color,
With their point of view.
As if they are suppose to!
And doing this not to train or motivate...
But to employ the chosen few!
Themselves!
That is what they do.
And to instill their ideologies.
This constitutes fraud!
And that is not only my point of view.
That is what they do!

And those living in inner cities,
Not benefitting from activities claimed.
Deserve much more than apologies.
They deserve to be praised...
Not shamed.
For raising such deceit on their backs!
Or at least identify,
Those organizations by name!
And their lack of supportive deeds,
That continue such bleeding and succeed.

'What constitutes fraud? '

Mental manipulation!
That constitutes fraud.
To deprive those in need,
By keeping the rich...
Although quite flawed,
In a state of awe and greed.
And organized to keep the needy teased.

'What constitutes fraud? '

Organizations set up like these.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dictatorship, the most extreme form of tyranny, can never lead to social liberation. In Russia, the so-called dictatorship of the proletariat has not led to Socialism, but to the domination of a new bureaucracy over the proletariat and the whole people. … What the Russian autocrats and their supporters fear most is that the success of libertarian Socialism in Spain might prove to their blind followers that the much vaunted "necessity of dictatorship" is nothing but one vast fraud which in Russia has led to the despotism of Stalin and is to serve today in Spain to help the counter-revolution to a victory over the revolution of the workers and the peasants.

quote by Rudolf Rocker
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I think that comedy really tells you how it is. The other thing about comedy is that - you don't even know if you're failing in drama, but you do know when you're failing in comedy. When you go to a comedy and you don't hear anybody laughing, you know that you've failed.

quote by Carl Reiner
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South Shores Lake Worth

Hemp's South Shore Comedy night,
you could hear comedy, have drinks and a bite.
Sitting with Jim at a table in the back,
watching the comics yak and yak.
It was fun I have to say,
Jim and me did comedy starting at 8.
Jim was a deadpan comic so he worked his punchline
he had a laugh all the time.
He even sang a Johny Cash song,
it was "Ring of Fire" a joke about his
_____not his dong.
Now I went on stage after him with Razel so cold,
she would make fun of the audience, she was bold.
For Razel would make fun of anyone she was mad at,
she was blunt and obnoxious like a brat.
Now funny times with Jim was such a delight,
we had fun at Hemp's South Shore Comedy night.
Written By Suzae Chevalier on February 13,2012

poem by Christina Sunrise
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South Shores Lake Worth

Hemp's South Shore Comedy night,
you could hear comedy, have drinks and a bite.
Sitting with Jim at a table in the back,
watching the comics yak and yak.
It was fun I have to say,
Jim and me did comedy starting at 8.
Jim was a deadpan comic so he worked his punchline
he had a laugh all the time.
He even sang a Johny Cash song,
it was 'Ring of Fire' a joke about his
_____not his dong.
Now I went on stage after him with Razel so cold,
she would make fun of the audience, she was bold.
For Razel would make fun of anyone she was mad at,
she was blunt and obnoxious like a brat.
Now funny times with Jim was such a delight,
we had fun at Hemp's South Shore Comedy night.

Written By Suzae Chevalier on February 13,2012

www.suzae.com

poem by Suzae Chevalier
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The Odyssey: Book 11

Then, when we had got down to the sea shore we drew our ship into
the water and got her mast and sails into her; we also put the sheep
on board and took our places, weeping and in great distress of mind.
Circe, that great and cunning goddess, sent us a fair wind that blew
dead aft and stayed steadily with us keeping our sails all the time
well filled; so we did whatever wanted doing to the ship's gear and
let her go as the wind and helmsman headed her. All day long her sails
were full as she held her course over the sea, but when the sun went
down and darkness was over all the earth, we got into the deep
waters of the river Oceanus, where lie the land and city of the
Cimmerians who live enshrouded in mist and darkness which the rays
of the sun never pierce neither at his rising nor as he goes down
again out of the heavens, but the poor wretches live in one long
melancholy night. When we got there we beached the ship, took the
sheep out of her, and went along by the waters of Oceanus till we came
to the place of which Circe had told us.
"Here Perimedes and Eurylochus held the victims, while I drew my
sword and dug the trench a cubit each way. I made a drink-offering
to all the dead, first with honey and milk, then with wine, and
thirdly with water, and I sprinkled white barley meal over the
whole, praying earnestly to the poor feckless ghosts, and promising
them that when I got back to Ithaca I would sacrifice a barren
heifer for them, the best I had, and would load the pyre with good
things. I also particularly promised that Teiresias should have a
black sheep to himself, the best in all my flocks. When I had prayed
sufficiently to the dead, I cut the throats of the two sheep and let
the blood run into the trench, whereon the ghosts came trooping up
from Erebus- brides, young bachelors, old men worn out with toil,
maids who had been crossed in love, and brave men who had been
killed in battle, with their armour still smirched with blood; they
came from every quarter and flitted round the trench with a strange
kind of screaming sound that made me turn pale with fear. When I saw
them coming I told the men to be quick and flay the carcasses of the
two dead sheep and make burnt offerings of them, and at the same
time to repeat prayers to Hades and to Proserpine; but I sat where I
was with my sword drawn and would not let the poor feckless ghosts
come near the blood till Teiresias should have answered my questions.
"The first ghost 'that came was that of my comrade Elpenor, for he
had not yet been laid beneath the earth. We had left his body
unwaked and unburied in Circe's house, for we had had too much else to
do. I was very sorry for him, and cried when I saw him: 'Elpenor,'
said I, 'how did you come down here into this gloom and darkness?
You have here on foot quicker than I have with my ship.'
"'Sir,' he answered with a groan, 'it was all bad luck, and my own
unspeakable drunkenness. I was lying asleep on the top of Circe's
house, and never thought of coming down again by the great staircase
but fell right off the roof and broke my neck, so my soul down to
the house of Hades. And now I beseech you by all those whom you have
left behind you, though they are not here, by your wife, by the father
who brought you up when you were a child, and by Telemachus who is the

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 10

THE GATES of heav’n unfold: Jove summons all
The gods to council in the common hall.
Sublimely seated, he surveys from far
The fields, the camp, the fortune of the war,
And all th’ inferior world. From first to last, 5
The sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d.
Then thus th’ almighty sire began: “Ye gods,
Natives or denizens of blest abodes,
From whence these murmurs, and this change of mind,
This backward fate from what was first design’d? 10
Why this protracted war, when my commands
Pronounc’d a peace, and gave the Latian lands?
What fear or hope on either part divides
Our heav’ns, and arms our powers on diff’rent sides?
A lawful time of war at length will come, 15
(Nor need your haste anticipate the doom),
When Carthage shall contend the world with Rome,
Shall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains,
And, like a flood, come pouring on the plains.
Then is your time for faction and debate, 20
For partial favor, and permitted hate.
Let now your immature dissension cease;
Sit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.”
Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge;
But lovely Venus thus replies at large: 25
“O pow’r immense, eternal energy,
(For to what else protection can we fly?)
Seest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare
In fields, unpunish’d, and insult my care?
How lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train, 30
In shining arms, triumphant on the plain?
Ev’n in their lines and trenches they contend,
And scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend:
The town is fill’d with slaughter, and o’erfloats,
With a red deluge, their increasing moats. 35
Æneas, ignorant, and far from thence,
Has left a camp expos’d, without defense.
This endless outrage shall they still sustain?
Shall Troy renew’d be forc’d and fir’d again?
A second siege my banish’d issue fears, 40
And a new Diomede in arms appears.
One more audacious mortal will be found;
And I, thy daughter, wait another wound.
Yet, if with fates averse, without thy leave,
The Latian lands my progeny receive, 45
Bear they the pains of violated law,
And thy protection from their aid withdraw.
But, if the gods their sure success foretell;
If those of heav’n consent with those of hell,
To promise Italy; who dare debate 50

[...] Read more

poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Evangeline: Part The Second. IV.

FAR in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains
Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits.
Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway,
Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon,
Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee.
Eastward, with devious course, among the Windriver Mountains,
Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska;
And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras,
Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert,
Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean,
Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations.
Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies,
Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine,
Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas.
Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck;
Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of riderless horses;
Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel;
Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children,
Staining the desert with blood; and above their terrible war-trails
Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture,
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle,
By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens.
Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders;
Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers;
And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert,
Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brookside,
And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven,
Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them.

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains,
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him.
Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil
Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him.
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke of his camp-fire
Rise in the morning air from the distant plain; but at nightfall,
When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes.
And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary,
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana
Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them.

Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered
Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose features
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her sorrow.
She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people,
From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Camanches,
Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had been murdered.
Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and friendliest welcome
Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted among them
On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the embers.
But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his companions,

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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
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