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There is a curious relationship between a candidate and the reporters who cover him. It can be affected by small things like a competent press staff, enough seats, sandwiches and briefings and the ability to understand deadlines.

quote by Ronald Steel
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXXVI: Cover

We cover bitterness with satyr
We cover sadness with smile
We cover happiness with tears
We cover pride with stubbornness
We cover anger with jokes
We cover grudge with loyalty
We cover love with play
We cover lust with generosity
We cover sorrow with toughness
We cover ambition with hard work
We cover hope with pessimism
We cover fear with deniable
We cover dream with horror
We cover shame with sarcasm
We cover lone with rebellion
We cover clueless with boasting
We cover ignorance with invisibility
We cover truth with shadow
We cover trouble with distraction
We cover envy with humiliation
We cover lie with innocence

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Hallo Spaceboy

Spaceboy, youre sleepy no
Your silhouette is so stationary
Youre released but your custody calls
And I want to be free
Dont you want to be free
Do you like girls or boys
Its confusing these days
But moondust will cover you
Cover you
This chaos is killing me
So bye bye love
Yeah bye bye love
Bye bye love
Yeah bye bye love
This chaos is killing me
Hallo spaceboy
Youre sleepy now
Youre silhouette
So stationary
Youre released but your custody calls
And I want to be free
Dont you want to be free
Do you like girls or boys
Its confusing these days
But moondust will cover you
Cover you
And the chaos is killing me
Yeah bye bye love
So bye bye love
Yeah bye bye love
So bye bye love
This chaos is killing me
Moondust
Will cover you
This chaos is killing me
Moondust
Will cover you
Yeah bye bye love
Moondust
Will cover you
Bye bye love
Moondust
Will cover you
Good time love
Moondust
Moondust
Will cover you
Sweet sweet love
Moondust
Moondust

[...] Read more

song performed by David Bowie
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Hallo Space Boy (Pet Shop Boys Remix)

Spaceboy, you're sleepy no
Your silhouette is so stationary
You're released but your custody calls
And I want to be free
Don't you want to be free
Do you like girls or boys
It's confusing these days
But Moondust will cover you
Cover you
This chaos is Killing me
So bye bye love
Yeah bye bye love
Bye bye love
Yeah bye bye love
This chaos is killing me
Hallo spaceboy
You're sleepy now
You're silhouette
So stationary
You're released but your custody calls
And I want to be free
Don't you want to be free
Do you like girls or boys
It's confusing these days
But Moondust will cover you
Cover you
And the chaos is killing me
Yeah bye bye love
So bye bye love
Yeah bye bye love
So bye bye love
This chaos is killing me
Moondust
will cover you
This chaos is killing me
Moondust
Will cover you
Yeah bye bye love
Moondust
Will cover you
Bye bye love
Moondust
Will cover you
Good time love
Moondust
Moondust
Will cover you
Sweet sweet love
Moondust
Moondust

[...] Read more

song performed by David Bowie
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 11

SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais’d her head
Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed;
The pious chief, whom double cares attend
For his unburied soldiers and his friend,
Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows: 5
He bar’d an ancient oak of all her boughs;
Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac’d,
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac’d.
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked snag in triumph borne, 10
Was hung on high, and glitter’d from afar,
A trophy sacred to the God of War.
Above his arms, fix’d on the leafless wood,
Appear’d his plumy crest, besmear’d with blood:
His brazen buckler on the left was seen; 15
Truncheons of shiver’d lances hung between;
And on the right was placed his corslet, bor’d;
And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man,
Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began: 20
“Our toils, my friends, are crown’d with sure success;
The greater part perform’d, achieve the less.
Now follow cheerful to the trembling town;
Press but an entrance, and presume it won.
Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies, 25
As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.
Turnus shall fall extended on the plain,
And, in this omen, is already slain.
Prepar’d in arms, pursue your happy chance;
That none unwarn’d may plead his ignorance, 30
And I, at Heav’n’s appointed hour, may find
Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.
Meantime the rites and fun’ral pomps prepare,
Due to your dead companions of the war:
The last respect the living can bestow, 35
To shield their shadows from contempt below.
That conquer’d earth be theirs, for which they fought,
And which for us with their own blood they bought;
But first the corpse of our unhappy friend
To the sad city of Evander send, 40
Who, not inglorious, in his age’s bloom,
Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.”
Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way,
Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay.
Acoetes watch’d the corpse; whose youth deserv’d 45
The father’s trust; and now the son he serv’d
With equal faith, but less auspicious care.
Th’ attendants of the slain his sorrow share.
A troop of Trojans mix’d with these appear,
And mourning matrons with dishevel’d hair. 50

[...] Read more

poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Candidate

Inside every teenage girl there's a fountain
Inside every young pair of pants there's a mountain
Inside every mother's eyes is tommy tinkrem's bed
Inside every candidate waits a grateful dead
I make it a thing, when i'm on my own to relieve myself
I make it a thing, when i gazelle on stage to believe in myself
I make it a thing, to glance in window panes and look pleased with myself
Yeah, and pretend i'm walking home
I took it so bad, i sat in the correction room
Took me a fag, and a kick in the moon
Well, i ain't gonna suck no radar wing
Because inside this tin is tin
Would you like to techno-plate cause i'm your candidate
Oh yeah
It's a matter of life
And the way you walk, you've got a brylcream queen
It's a matter of tact
In the things you talk, that keeps his passport clean
A matter of fact
That a cock ain't a cock on a twelve inch screen
So i'll pretend i'm walking home
You don't have to scream a lot to keep an age in tune
You don't have to scream a lot to predict monsoons
You don't have to paint my contact black
Now i've hustled a pair of jeans
Do i have to give your money back when i'm the fuhrerling
I'll make you a deal
I'll say i came from from earth and my tongue is taped
I'll make you a deal
You can get your kicks on the candidate
I'll make you a deal
For your future's sake, i'm the candidate
Let's pretend we're walking home
Uh-huh, uh-huh
I'm the candidate
I'm the candidate
Vote now for the candidate

song performed by David Bowie
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I Am Curious

(carole pope / kevan staples)
Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
Im curious with myself
Im delirious from wanting
The noise that announces a seduction
Im a volcano
In a state of eruption
I live life with a wild intensity
Need to be aroused
To the point of intimacy
What are your motives?
I got to know
Im doing research
I got to know
What are your motives?
I got to know
Tell me your motives, oh, oh
cause Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
Im curious with myself
Im delirious from wanting
The fusing, the melting of two bodies
Im addicted to lethal sexuality
I live life on the edge of ecstasy
Need to be desired
Nothing else fulfils me
What are your motives?
I got to know
Im doing research
I got to know
What are your motives?
I got to know
Tell me your motives, ooh, ooh
Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
Im curious with myself
Im delirious from wanting
Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
Im curious with myself
Im delirious from wanting
Yes, Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
I am curious with myself
Too delirious from singing
cause Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
Im curious with myself
Im delirious from wanting

song performed by Dusty Springfield
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Curious

Straight as a dye
On us we rely
Yet watch how my head is turning
Distracting my eye
Its no reflection on you, yet who would believe me
Troubled by the thought of it, I cant deny
That Im curious, never meant to hurt you
Just curious, I cant deny
That Im curious, never have decieved you
Just curious, I cannot lie
Give me a reason
Ill hide my delight
Shamelessly Ill seize the moment
Just my needs in sight
Its no reflection on you, yet who would believe me
Troubled by the thought of it, I cant deny
That Im curious, never meant to hurt you
Just curious, I cant deny
That Im curious, never have decieved you
Just curious, I cannot lie
Its no reflection on you, yet who would believe me
Troubled by the thought of it, I cant deny
That Im curious, never meant to hurt you
Just curious, I cant deny
That Im curious, never have decieved you
Just curious, I cannot lie

song performed by Olive
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Sandwiches Time

Until a better time
You walk along that line
Love me
Love me
You do it
You do it
Until you're blue
You want it, ah
Into another place
You walk along the face
Love me
Love me
You do it
You do it
Until you're blue
You want it, ah
Sandwiches time
Sandwiches time
Sandwiches on my mind
You do it
You do it
Until you're blue
You want it, ah
Sandwiches time
Sandwiches time
Sandwiches on my mind
Into another place
Into another place
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

song performed by Weezer
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Cover Me With Kisses

Cover me with kisses
Jump back tell a friend
Ooh la la la
Ooh la la la
Ooh la la la
I want a movie moment
Were so in love it hurts
Wanna be the main attraction
Everybodys favourite girl
Wanna be in gucci dresses
I know you like that style
A symphony of stars to serenade us
A billion watt smile
Cover me with kisses
Sweet sweet kisses
Come on over and kiss me all over
Im gonna be here
So cover me
Running to you in slow motion
Thunderclaps and pouring rain
The world is falling down around us
We didnt notice anyway
Wanna be in gucci dresses
I know you like that style
A symphony of stars to serenade us
A billion watt smile
So cover me with kisses
Sweet sweet kisses
Come on over and kiss me all over
Im gonna be here
So cover me with kisses
Sweet sweet kisses
Come on over and kiss me all over
My love is for real
Come on come on cover me baby
Come on come on cover me baby
Come on come on cover me baby
Come on come on cover me baby
Come on come on cover me baby
Come on come on cover me baby
Come on come on cover me baby
Come on come on cover me baby
Cover me with kisses
Sweet sweet kisses
Come on over and kiss me all over
Im gonna be here
So cover me with kisses
Sweet sweet kisses
Come on over and kiss me all over
My love is for real

[...] Read more

song performed by Kylie Minogue
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Peter Bell, A Tale

PROLOGUE

There's something in a flying horse,
There's something in a huge balloon;
But through the clouds I'll never float
Until I have a little Boat,
Shaped like the crescent-moon.

And now I 'have' a little Boat,
In shape a very crescent-moon
Fast through the clouds my boat can sail;
But if perchance your faith should fail,
Look up--and you shall see me soon!

The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring,
Rocking and roaring like a sea;
The noise of danger's in your ears,
And ye have all a thousand fears
Both for my little Boat and me!

Meanwhile untroubled I admire
The pointed horns of my canoe;
And, did not pity touch my breast,
To see how ye are all distrest,
Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you!

Away we go, my Boat and I--
Frail man ne'er sate in such another;
Whether among the winds we strive,
Or deep into the clouds we dive,
Each is contented with the other.

Away we go--and what care we
For treasons, tumults, and for wars?
We are as calm in our delight
As is the crescent-moon so bright
Among the scattered stars.

Up goes my Boat among the stars
Through many a breathless field of light,
Through many a long blue field of ether,
Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her:
Up goes my little Boat so bright!

The Crab, the Scorpion, and the Bull--
We pry among them all; have shot
High o'er the red-haired race of Mars,
Covered from top to toe with scars;
Such company I like it not!

[...] Read more

poem by William Wordsworth
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The Odyssey: Book 17

When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared,
Telemachus bound on his sandals and took a strong spear that suited
his hands, for he wanted to go into the city. "Old friend," said he to
the swineherd, "I will now go to the town and show myself to my
mother, for she will never leave off grieving till she has seen me. As
for this unfortunate stranger, take him to the town and let him beg
there of any one who will give him a drink and a piece of bread. I
have trouble enough of my own, and cannot be burdened with other
people. If this makes him angry so much the worse for him, but I
like to say what I mean."
Then Ulysses said, "Sir, I do not want to stay here; a beggar can
always do better in town than country, for any one who likes can
give him something. I am too old to care about remaining here at the
beck and call of a master. Therefore let this man do as you have
just told him, and take me to the town as soon as I have had a warm by
the fire, and the day has got a little heat in it. My clothes are
wretchedly thin, and this frosty morning I shall be perished with
cold, for you say the city is some way off."
On this Telemachus strode off through the yards, brooding his
revenge upon the When he reached home he stood his spear against a
bearing-post of the cloister, crossed the stone floor of the
cloister itself, and went inside.
Nurse Euryclea saw him long before any one else did. She was putting
the fleeces on to the seats, and she burst out crying as she ran up to
him; all the other maids came up too, and covered his head and
shoulders with their kisses. Penelope came out of her room looking
like Diana or Venus, and wept as she flung her arms about her son. She
kissed his forehead and both his beautiful eyes, "Light of my eyes,"
she cried as she spoke fondly to him, "so you are come home again; I
made sure I was never going to see you any more. To think of your
having gone off to Pylos without saying anything about it or obtaining
my consent. But come, tell me what you saw."
"Do not scold me, mother,' answered Telemachus, "nor vex me,
seeing what a narrow escape I have had, but wash your face, change
your dress, go upstairs with your maids, and promise full and
sufficient hecatombs to all the gods if Jove will only grant us our
revenge upon the suitors. I must now go to the place of assembly to
invite a stranger who has come back with me from Pylos. I sent him
on with my crew, and told Piraeus to take him home and look after
him till I could come for him myself."
She heeded her son's words, washed her face, changed her dress,
and vowed full and sufficient hecatombs to all the gods if they
would only vouchsafe her revenge upon the suitors.
Telemachus went through, and out of, the cloisters spear in hand-
not alone, for his two fleet dogs went with him. Minerva endowed him
with a presence of such divine comeliness that all marvelled at him as
he went by, and the suitors gathered round him with fair words in
their mouths and malice in their hearts; but he avoided them, and went
to sit with Mentor, Antiphus, and Halitherses, old friends of his
father's house, and they made him tell them all that had happened to

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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Curious Thing

There was this guy, he was down on his luck
He was truly povertys child
Well, he had no home and he had no car
And he wore a weary smile
Moved out to l.a., knocked around for awhile
But he was getting nowhere
Then he did this movie and it did really well
Now hes a millionaire
See, life is a curious thing
Life, ooh life is a curious thing
I know a man who could paint the town red
Had a college degree in fun
till the doorbell rang and a long lost flame said
This little boy is your son
Gave him a suitcase and a bear
Left em in a cloud of dust
Now hes checking out schools and driving carpools
Learning to adjust
He says life is a curious thing
Life, ooh life is a curious thing
Well, I know that it can be demanding
I know that it can be unkind
I dont really understand it
But lord sure knows I try
Life is a curious thing
Life, ooh life is a curious thing
Let me tell you bout a kid I knew
A pudgy girl back in school
She had greasy hair and geeky glasses
Object of ridicule
The other day in the check out line
They were ringing up my rice and beans
There she was, a pretty little face
On the cover of a magazine
And I said life is a curious thing
Life, ooh life is a curious thing
(chorus)
Just goes to show that you never know
Just what tomorrow may bring
But Ill tell you this that what it is
Is seldom what it seems
cause life is a curious thing
Life, ooh life is a curious thing. . .

song performed by Amy Grant
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The Escape of the Old Grey Squirrel

Old Grey Squirrel might have been
Almost anything -
Might have been a soldier, sailor,
Tinker, tailor
(Never a beggar-man, though, nor thief).
Might have been, perhaps, a king,
Or an Indian chief.

He remained a City clerk
Doubled on a great high stool,
Totting up, from dawn to dark,
Figures, figures, figures, figures,
Red ink, black ink, double rule,
Tot-tot-totting with his pen,
Up and down and round again -
Curious Old Grey Squirrel.

No one ever really knew
What he did at night,
In his room so near the roof,
Up those steep and narrow stairs.
Old Grey Squirrel wasn't quite
The same as other men.
What he said was always true;
He was like a little child
In a thousand things.
Something shy and delicate,
Cold and grave and undefiled,
Seemed to keep him quite aloof.
You could never call him lonely,
Though he lived with memory there.

When he knelt beside his bed
He had nothing much to say
But the simplest little prayer
Learned in childhood, long ago,
And he didn't know or care
Whether Calvinists might call it
Praying for the dead.

Father, mother, sister, brother -
Memories clear as evening bells;
Yes, the very sort of thing
All your clever little scribblers
Love to satirize and sting,
So let's talk of something else.
He collected stamps, you know,
Commonplace Old Squirrel.

Ah, but could you see him there,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Noyes
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Running For Cover

Spent the best of my life running scared
In the city
Left my shoes and my clothes and
My lovers behind, yeah
Oh but I felt incomplete
Living out there in the street
I was always alone and afraid
Such a pity
Little girls just dont know what comes
Out after dark
But the devil wasnt in here
Down on that dead end street
And I say
Running for cover
Running for cover
Running for cover
Its take keeping me running
Im just scared that hes out tonight
Its keeping me running
I dont know why, but its getting dark
Say the devils in the park
And its already after dark
Running for cover
Running for cover
Running for cover, now
Life is really so hard when you live in the city
No one know what a young girl
Has on her mind, yeah
But youre headed for defect
Down on that dead end street
Never learned of the lesson
You should, such a pity
Still and all youll stay away
The others behind
And the promise in the dark
Is that the devils in the park
And I say
Running for cover
Running for cover
Running for cover
Its take keeping me running
Im just scared that hes out tonight
Its keeping me running
I dont know why, but its getting dark
Say the devils in the park
And its already after dark
Running for cover
Running for cover
Running for cover
Spent the best of my life running scared

[...] Read more

song performed by Donna Summer
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Tale XXI

The Learned Boy

An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and

hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Curious

Welcome to the great unknown
Take a journey into the O zone
Feed your fire, feel the burn
And I'm learning the thing that you learn
Let's play the game
And I'm sure that you'll be so glad that you came
You never know till you let go
And discover your potential
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
When you jump right in
This is the end, let's begin
Lose your fear like you're shedding your skin
Nothing's lost when all is won
So I'm do all the things that you done
Feel the sound
And try to write a simple rhyme of spinning round
Before I leave, you ought to know
The more you scream, the faster that you go
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
Free up your inside
You're gonna like what you will find
You're never gonna know until you try
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
When you jump right in
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up

[...] Read more

song performed by Holly Valance
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Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

FLOOD-TIDE below me! I watch you face to face;
Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face
to face.

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious
you are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning
home, are more curious to me than you suppose;
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to
me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.

The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at all hours of the
day;
The simple, compact, well-join'd scheme--myself disintegrated, every
one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme:
The similitudes of the past, and those of the future;
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings--on
the walk in the street, and the passage over the river;
The current rushing so swiftly, and swimming with me far away; 10
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them;
The certainty of others--the life, love, sight, hearing of others.

Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross from shore to
shore;
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide;
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the
heights of Brooklyn to the south and east;
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half
an hour high;
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others
will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring in of the flood-tide, the falling
back to the sea of the ebb-tide.

It avails not, neither time or place--distance avails not; 20
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many
generations hence;
I project myself--also I return--I am with you, and know how it is.

Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt;
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd;
Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the bright
flow, I was refresh'd;
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift
current, I stood, yet was hurried;
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick-
stem'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd.

[...] Read more

poem by Walt Whitman
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The Parish Register - Part III: Burials

THERE was, 'tis said, and I believe, a time
When humble Christians died with views sublime;
When all were ready for their faith to bleed,
But few to write or wrangle for their creed;
When lively Faith upheld the sinking heart,
And friends, assured to meet, prepared to part;
When Love felt hope, when Sorrow grew serene,
And all was comfort in the death-bed scene.
Alas! when now the gloomy king they wait,
'Tis weakness yielding to resistless fate;
Like wretched men upon the ocean cast,
They labour hard and struggle to the last;
'Hope against hope,' and wildly gaze around
In search of help that never shall be found:
Nor, till the last strong billow stops the breath,
Will they believe them in the jaws of Death!
When these my Records I reflecting read,
And find what ills these numerous births succeed;
What powerful griefs these nuptial ties attend;
With what regret these painful journeys end;
When from the cradle to the grave I look,
Mine I conceive a melancholy book.
Where now is perfect resignation seen?
Alas! it is not on the village-green: -
I've seldom known, though I have often read,
Of happy peasants on their dying-bed;
Whose looks proclaimed that sunshine of the breast,
That more than hope, that Heaven itself express'd.
What I behold are feverish fits of strife,
'Twixt fears of dying and desire of life:
Those earthly hopes, that to the last endure;
Those fears, that hopes superior fail to cure;
At best a sad submission to the doom,
Which, turning from the danger, lets it come.
Sick lies the man, bewilder'd, lost, afraid,
His spirits vanquish'd, and his strength decay'd;
No hope the friend, the nurse, the doctor lend -
'Call then a priest, and fit him for his end.'
A priest is call'd; 'tis now, alas! too late,
Death enters with him at the cottage-gate;
Or time allow'd--he goes, assured to find
The self-commending, all-confiding mind;
And sighs to hear, what we may justly call
Death's common-place, the train of thought in all.
'True I'm a sinner,' feebly he begins,
'But trust in Mercy to forgive my sins:'
(Such cool confession no past crimes excite!
Such claim on Mercy seems the sinner's right!)
'I know mankind are frail, that God is just,
And pardons those who in his Mercy trust;

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poem by George Crabbe
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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,

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poem by Joel Barlow
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

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poem by Charles Churchill
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