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Kentucky Lucky?

There once was a man,
Come from Kentucky,
Who was the luckiest of the lucky.
He paraded the street, as if he were elite-
He fell and got his tucks mucky.

poem by Macy Dvirnak
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Twin State

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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Kentucky Is My Land

Kentucky is my land
Kentucky is my hope
Kentucky is my heart
Kentucky is my soul.

Kentucky is my mountains
Kentucky is my Earth
Kentucky is my poems
Kentucky is my birth.

As I walk along the river
I watch in wonder as she flows
Up against my Kentucky land
As my Kentucky wind, gently blows.
So I sit and write of her beauty
I sit and write as I hold her hand
As Kentucky is my happiness
Kentucky, is this man.

Kentucky is my wonders
Kentucky is my dreams
Kentucky is my bluegrass
Kentucky is my trees.

Kentucky is the horses
Kentucky is the lakes
Kentucky is the people
Kentucky, I will never forsake.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Kentuckey Gambler

He wanted more from like
Than four kids and a wife
And a job in the dark kentucky mines
A twenty-acre farm
With a shacky house and barn
That's all he had
And all he left behind
At gambling he was lucky
So he left kentucky
Left behind his woman and his kids
Into the gay casino
In nevada's town of reno
Kentucky gambler planned to get rich quick
Kentucky gambler, who's gonna love your woman in kentucky
Who's gonna be the one to give her what she needs
Kentucky gambler, who's gonna raise your children in kentucky
Who's gonna keep them fed and keep shoes on their feet
At the gamblers' paradise
Lady luck was on his side
Kentucky gambler played his cards just right
He won at everything he played
Kentucky gambler had it made
And he should have quit and gone on home that night
But when you love the greenback dollar
Sorrow's always bound to follow
Reno dreams fade into neon amber
And lady luck, she'll leave you on
She'll saty awhile, and then she's gone
You'd better go on home kentucky gambler
But a gambler never seems to stop
Til he loses all he's got
And so, kentucky gambler, he played on
He played til he lost all he won
He was right back where he started from
Then he started wanting to go home
Kentucky gambler, there ain't nobody waiting in kentucky
When you walked out, somebody else walked in
Kentucky gambler, looks like you ain't really very lucky
Seems to me a gambler looses much more than he wins
So you think about it
Kentucky gambler

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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Kentucky Gambler

He wanted more from like
Than four kids and a wife
And a job in the dark kentucky mines
A twenty-acre farm
With a shacky house and barn
Thats all he had
And all he left behind
At gambling he was lucky
So he left kentucky
Left behind his woman and his kids
Into the gay casino
In nevadas town of reno
Kentucky gambler planned to get rich quick
Kentucky gambler, whos gonna love your woman in kentucky
Whos gonna be the one to give her what she needs
Kentucky gambler, whos gonna raise your children in kentucky
Whos gonna keep them fed and keep shoes on their feet
At the gamblers paradise
Lady luck was on his side
Kentucky gambler played his cards just right
He won at everything he played
Kentucky gambler had it made
And he should have quit and gone on home that night
But when you love the greenback dollar
Sorrows always bound to follow
Reno dreams fade into neon amber
And lady luck, shell leave you on
Shell saty awhile, and then shes gone
Youd better go on home kentucky gambler
But a gambler never seems to stop
Til he loses all hes got
And so, kentucky gambler, he played on
He played til he lost all he won
He was right back where he started from
Then he started wanting to go home
Kentucky gambler, there aint nobody waiting in kentucky
When you walked out, somebody else walked in
Kentucky gambler, looks like you aint really very lucky
Seems to me a gambler looses much more than he wins
So you think about it
Kentucky gambler

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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Kentucky Woman

Kentucky woman
She shines in her own kind of light
She looks at you once in a day
And whats wrong is alright
And I love her,
God knows I love her
Kentucky woman
She gets to know you
She gets to hold you
Kentucky woman
She aint the kind to turn
At the drop of her name
Well all the things she does
They turn you on just the same
And I love her,
God knows I love her
Kentucky woman
She gets to know you
She gets to hold you
Kentucky woman
I dont want much
The good lords earth beneath my feet
A gentle touch
Cause that one girl in life is sweet and good
There aint no doubt, Im talking about
Kentucky woman
She gets to know you
She gets to hold you
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman she shines in her own kind of light
She looks at you once in a day
And whats wrong is alright
And I love her, yes I do, I love her
Kentucky woman
She gets to know you
She gets to hold you
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman

song performed by Deep Purple
Added by Lucian Velea
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Kentucky Woman

Written by: neil diamond
Kentucky woman
She shines with her own kind of light
She looks at you once
And a day thats all wrong looks all right
And I love her
God knows I love her
Kentucky woman
If she get to know you
She goin to own you
Kentucky woman
Well, she aint the kind
Make heads turn at the drop of her name
But something inside
That shes got turns you on just the same
And I love her
God knows I love her
Kentucky woman
If she get to know you
She goin to own you
Kentucky woman
I dont want much
The good lords earth beneath the feet
A gentle touch
Of that one girl and life is
Sweet and good
There aint no doubt
Hey, Im talking about
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
I dont want much
The good lords earth beneath the feet
A gentle touch
Of that one girl and life is
Sweet and good
There aint no doubt
Hey, Im talking about
Kentucky woman
If she get to know you
She goin to own you
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman
Kentucky woman

song performed by Neil Diamond
Added by Lucian Velea
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Give The Po Man A Break

Give po man a break
Give po man a break
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[...] Read more

song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Old Kentucky Home, Good Night!

1 The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home,
2 'Tis summer, the darkies are gay,
3 The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom
4 While the birds make music all the day.
5 The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
6 All merry, all happy and bright:
7 By'n by Hard Times comes a knocking at the door,
8 Then my old Kentucky Home, good night!

9 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
10 We will sing one song
11 For the old Kentucky Home,
12 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.

13 [Solo] They hunt no more for the possum and the coon
14 On the meadow, the hill and the shore,
15 They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
16 On the bench by the old cabin door.
17 The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,
18 With sorrow where all was delight:
19 The time has come when the darkies have to part,
20 Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!

21 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
22 We will sing one song
23 For the old Kentucky Home,
24 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.

25 [Solo] The head must bow and the back will have to bend,
26 Wherever the darkey may go:
27 A few more days, and the trouble all will end
28 In the field where the sugar-canes grow.
29 A few more days for to tote the weary load,
30 No matter 'twill never be light,
31 A few more days till we totter on the road,
32 Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!

33 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
34 We will sing one song
35 For the old Kentucky Home,
36 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.

poem by Stephen C. Foster
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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:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Kentucky Homemade Christmas

They shut down the mine last summer, we're gettin' by on welfare
It's Christmas Eve, I'm walkin' home, not a dollar to my name
Night is almost on me, a night I'm almost dreading
No store bought gifts to open, but there'll be Christmas just the same
It's just another ho-omemade Christmas i-in Kentucky
Just odds and ends I fashioned with my hear-eart and with my hands
It's just another ho-omemade Christmas i-in Kentucky
Our fine and fancy homemade love, God's precious gi-ift from up above
Make up the homemade Christmas of this poor Kentucky man
There's a brand new Barlow knife with a shiny wooden handle
Gleamin' in the window down at Galen Johnson's store
My wide eyed little Billy Boy, his face pressed to the window
Too young for understandin' what it means to be so poor
It's just another ho-omemade Christmas i-in Kentucky
Just odds and ends I fashioned with my heart and with my hands
It's just another ho-omemade Christmas i-in Kentucky
Our fine and fancy homemade love, God's precious gi-ift from up above
Make up the homemade Christmas of this poor Kentucky man
Little Linda ain't no baby, hell she turns thirtee-een in April
She's been dreamin' about that dolly in the window for half her life
She's old enough to realise that it ain't never comin'
I'd damn near rob a bank to get that doll and Billy's knife
It's just another ho-omemade Christmas i-in Kentucky
Just odds and ends I fashioned with my hear-eart and with my ha-ands
It's just another ho-omemade Christmas i-in Kentucky
Our fine and fancy homemade love, God's precious gi-ift from up above
Make up the homemade Christmas of this poor Kentucky man
It's just an

song performed by Kenny Rogers
Added by Lucian Velea
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Street Fighting Man

Everywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy
cause summers here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy
Tell me what can a poor boy do
cept for sing for a rock n roll band
cause in this sleepy l.a. town
Theres just no place for a street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
Do you think the time is right for a palace revolution
Where I live the game to play is compromise solution
Well then what can a poor boy
cept for sing for a rock n roll band
cause in this sleepy l.a. town
Theres just no place for a street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Hey my name is called disturbance
Ill shout and scream, Ill kill the king, Ill rail at all his servants
Well what can a poor boy do
For sing for a rock n roll band
In this sleepy l.a. town
Theres just no place for
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man

song performed by Rage Against The Machine
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lucky One

Youre the kind
When you love you love with all your might and
Youre the kind
I would dream about at night
Now Im the lucky one
Baby Im the lucky one
Youre the kind
That I want to be with in the dark and
Youre the kind
Who is capturing my heart
And Im the lucky one
Baby Im the lucky one
And I have never been the one to fall in love so soon
But I could never face another night or day without you
Baby Im the lucky one
Youre the kind
With poetry and valentines and
Youre the kind
Who will never ever leave
And Im the lucky one
The luckiest girl
My, my, my baby
Baby Im the lucky one
And I have never been the one to fall in love so soon
But I could never face another night or day without you, you-hoo
Im the lucky one
Baby Im the lucky one
I said
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Doot-doo, the lucky one
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Ah, my, my, my baby
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Doot-doo, the lucky one
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Baby Im the lucky one
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Doot-doo, hey, Im the lucky one
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Ah, my, my, my baby
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Doot-doo, the lucky one
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Hey Im the lucky one
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Baby Im the lucky one
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Doot-doo, the lucky one
Doot-doo, doot-doo-n-doo-doo
Hey Im the lucky one

song performed by Amy Grant
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

[...] Read more

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Kentucky Rose

Words & music: wayne kirkpatrick and michael w. smith
Sun comes up - sunday morn
On the little church where I been since I was born
And there he stood - a hearty smile
You could hear his voice ringing out for a country mile
And he could place your mind at ease
With his tenderness and a heart that aimed to please
A paupers hands - a farmers clothes
Just a preacher man we called kentucky rose
He worked the soul like he worked the land
He spoke in ways that anyone could understand
Simple words of simple faith
And when it came to love, he would go out of his way
A helping hand - a soothing chat
And he practiced what he preached - imagine that
And as far as kindness goes
There was none compared to old kentucky rose
Evening stroll cross shylers bridge
Thats when he saw the boy trapped below that rocky ridge
He knew the danger he would face
But its as if he saved the child only to take his place
For on that ridge of stone and ice
Kentucky met his maker in sacrifice
Why hes gone, God only knows
Maybe for the company of his kentucky rose
So peaceful in his sunday best
He was buried on a hill and laid to rest
When people heard they came in droves
To say their last good-byes to sweet kentucky rose
Now, on that hill one flower grows
They say it is the spirit of kentucky rose
They say it is the spirit of kentucky rose
I believe it is the spirit of kentucky rose...

song performed by Michael W. Smith
Added by Lucian Velea
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Satan Absolved

(In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groups conversing.)
Satan. To--day is the Lord's ``day.'' Once more on His good pleasure
I, the Heresiarch, wait and pace these halls at leisure
Among the Orthodox, the unfallen Sons of God.
How sweet in truth Heaven is, its floors of sandal wood,
Its old--world furniture, its linen long in press,
Its incense, mummeries, flowers, its scent of holiness!
Each house has its own smell. The smell of Heaven to me
Intoxicates and haunts,--and hurts. Who would not be
God's liveried servant here, the slave of His behest,
Rather than reign outside? I like good things the best,
Fair things, things innocent; and gladly, if He willed,
Would enter His Saints' kingdom--even as a little child.

[Laughs. I have come to make my peace, to crave a full amaun,
Peace, pardon, reconcilement, truce to our daggers--drawn,
Which have so long distraught the fair wise Universe,
An end to my rebellion and the mortal curse
Of always evil--doing. He will mayhap agree
I was less wholly wrong about Humanity
The day I dared to warn His wisdom of that flaw.
It was at least the truth, the whole truth, I foresaw
When He must needs create that simian ``in His own
Image and likeness.'' Faugh! the unseemly carrion!
I claim a new revision and with proofs in hand,
No Job now in my path to foil me and withstand.
Oh, I will serve Him well!
[Certain Angels approach. But who are these that come
With their grieved faces pale and eyes of martyrdom?
Not our good Sons of God? They stop, gesticulate,
Argue apart, some weep,--weep, here within Heaven's gate!
Sob almost in God's sight! ay, real salt human tears,
Such as no Spirit wept these thrice three thousand years.
The last shed were my own, that night of reprobation
When I unsheathed my sword and headed the lost nation.
Since then not one of them has spoken above his breath
Or whispered in these courts one word of life or death
Displeasing to the Lord. No Seraph of them all,
Save I this day each year, has dared to cross Heaven's hall
And give voice to ill news, an unwelcome truth to Him.
Not Michael's self hath dared, prince of the Seraphim.
Yet all now wail aloud.--What ails ye, brethren? Speak!
Are ye too in rebellion? Angels. Satan, no. But weak
With our long earthly toil, the unthankful care of Man.

Satan. Ye have in truth good cause.

Angels. And we would know God's plan,
His true thought for the world, the wherefore and the why
Of His long patience mocked, His name in jeopardy.

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Lucky Arms

(j.b. rudd/vip vipperman)
Hes got lucky arms
He gets to hold her
The way I know I never will again
Theyre dancing close
With her head on his shoulder
Lucky arms, lucky heart, lucky him
They dont see me standing in these shadows
She dont know how bad my heart still aches
Hes holding on to everything I let go
Sure is making good off my mistakes
Hes got lucky arms
He gets to hold her
The way I know I never will again
Theyre dancing close
With her head on his shoulder
Lucky arms, lucky heart, lucky him
Before too long the music will stop playing
Hell take her hand and then hell take her home
And I can just imagine what hes saying
The way hes smiling I can tell he knows
Hes got lucky arms
He gets to hold her
The way I know I never will again
Theyre dancing close
With her head on his shoulder
Lucky arms, lucky heart, lucky him
Lucky arms, lucky heart
He ought to thank his lucky stars
Lucky arms, lucky heart, lucky him

song performed by John Michael Montgomery
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;

Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Iliad: Book 16

Thus did they fight about the ship of Protesilaus. Then Patroclus
drew near to Achilles with tears welling from his eyes, as from some
spring whose crystal stream falls over the ledges of a high precipice.
When Achilles saw him thus weeping he was sorry for him and said,
"Why, Patroclus, do you stand there weeping like some silly child that
comes running to her mother, and begs to be taken up and carried-
she catches hold of her mother's dress to stay her though she is in
a hurry, and looks tearfully up until her mother carries her- even
such tears, Patroclus, are you now shedding. Have you anything to
say to the Myrmidons or to myself? or have you had news from Phthia
which you alone know? They tell me Menoetius son of Actor is still
alive, as also Peleus son of Aeacus, among the Myrmidons- men whose
loss we two should bitterly deplore; or are you grieving about the
Argives and the way in which they are being killed at the ships, throu
their own high-handed doings? Do not hide anything from me but tell me
that both of us may know about it."
Then, O knight Patroclus, with a deep sigh you answered,
"Achilles, son of Peleus, foremost champion of the Achaeans, do not be
angry, but I weep for the disaster that has now befallen the
Argives. All those who have been their champions so far are lying at
the ships, wounded by sword or spear. Brave Diomed son of Tydeus has
been hit with a spear, while famed Ulysses and Agamemnon have received
sword-wounds; Eurypylus again has been struck with an arrow in the
thigh; skilled apothecaries are attending to these heroes, and healing
them of their wounds; are you still, O Achilles, so inexorable? May it
never be my lot to nurse such a passion as you have done, to the
baning of your own good name. Who in future story will speak well of
you unless you now save the Argives from ruin? You know no pity;
knight Peleus was not your father nor Thetis your mother, but the grey
sea bore you and the sheer cliffs begot you, so cruel and
remorseless are you. If however you are kept back through knowledge of
some oracle, or if your mother Thetis has told you something from
the mouth of Jove, at least send me and the Myrmidons with me, if I
may bring deliverance to the Danaans. Let me moreover wear your
armour; the Trojans may thus mistake me for you and quit the field, so
that the hard-pressed sons of the Achaeans may have breathing time-
which while they are fighting may hardly be. We who are fresh might
soon drive tired men back from our ships and tents to their own city."
He knew not what he was asking, nor that he was suing for his own
destruction. Achilles was deeply moved and answered, "What, noble
Patroclus, are you saying? I know no prophesyings which I am
heeding, nor has my mother told me anything from the mouth of Jove,
but I am cut to the very heart that one of my own rank should dare
to rob me because he is more powerful than I am. This, after all
that I have gone through, is more than I can endure. The girl whom the
sons of the Achaeans chose for me, whom I won as the fruit of my spear
on having sacked a city- her has King Agamemnon taken from me as
though I were some common vagrant. Still, let bygones be bygones: no
man may keep his anger for ever; I said I would not relent till battle
and the cry of war had reached my own ships; nevertheless, now gird my

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poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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The Iliad: Book 5

Then Pallas Minerva put valour into the heart of Diomed, son of
Tydeus, that he might excel all the other Argives, and cover himself
with glory. She made a stream of fire flare from his shield and helmet
like the star that shines most brilliantly in summer after its bath in
the waters of Oceanus- even such a fire did she kindle upon his head
and shoulders as she bade him speed into the thickest hurly-burly of
the fight.
Now there was a certain rich and honourable man among the Trojans,
priest of Vulcan, and his name was Dares. He had two sons, Phegeus and
Idaeus, both of them skilled in all the arts of war. These two came
forward from the main body of Trojans, and set upon Diomed, he being
on foot, while they fought from their chariot. When they were close up
to one another, Phegeus took aim first, but his spear went over
Diomed's left shoulder without hitting him. Diomed then threw, and his
spear sped not in vain, for it hit Phegeus on the breast near the
nipple, and he fell from his chariot. Idaeus did not dare to
bestride his brother's body, but sprang from the chariot and took to
flight, or he would have shared his brother's fate; whereon Vulcan
saved him by wrapping him in a cloud of darkness, that his old
father might not be utterly overwhelmed with grief; but the son of
Tydeus drove off with the horses, and bade his followers take them
to the ships. The Trojans were scared when they saw the two sons of
Dares, one of them in fright and the other lying dead by his
chariot. Minerva, therefore, took Mars by the hand and said, "Mars,
Mars, bane of men, bloodstained stormer of cities, may we not now
leave the Trojans and Achaeans to fight it out, and see to which of
the two Jove will vouchsafe the victory? Let us go away, and thus
avoid his anger."
So saying, she drew Mars out of the battle, and set him down upon
the steep banks of the Scamander. Upon this the Danaans drove the
Trojans back, and each one of their chieftains killed his man. First
King Agamemnon flung mighty Odius, captain of the Halizoni, from his
chariot. The spear of Agamemnon caught him on the broad of his back,
just as he was turning in flight; it struck him between the
shoulders and went right through his chest, and his armour rang
rattling round him as he fell heavily to the ground.
Then Idomeneus killed Phaesus, son of Borus the Meonian, who had
come from Varne. Mighty Idomeneus speared him on the right shoulder as
he was mounting his chariot, and the darkness of death enshrouded
him as he fell heavily from the car.
The squires of Idomeneus spoiled him of his armour, while
Menelaus, son of Atreus, killed Scamandrius the son of Strophius, a
mighty huntsman and keen lover of the chase. Diana herself had
taught him how to kill every kind of wild creature that is bred in
mountain forests, but neither she nor his famed skill in archery could
now save him, for the spear of Menelaus struck him in the back as he
was flying; it struck him between the shoulders and went right through
his chest, so that he fell headlong and his armour rang rattling round
him.
Meriones then killed Phereclus the son of Tecton, who was the son of

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poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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