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turquoise and pewter
with silver lining, the sky
the morning, the bay

haiku by Ray Schreiber
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Nestling

When to summon the sky
Little nestling?
When to summon the sky?

And suffer the risk - abscond in dread -
The knowledge of sort that you'll be dead
Upon a calamitous fall;

Or taken in flight - a hawkish pounce -
Demolished as prey; your fate pronounce
You gone, and to never recall.

O when to summon the sky
Little nestling?
When to summon the sky?

Aborting a den with
Feathered bed,
Unwavering mother who
Saw you fed -
Surrendering all so
You may spread
Your reach of tentative wings!

‘Tis only instinct -
E'er the reason -
Forging life:
The Nesting Season
And the trials it brings.

So up and summon the sky
Little nestling,
Up! and summon the sky!

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Silver Lining

My muffins are in the toaster
I got my raspberry jam
My grandfather was a sailor
That came onto this land
And he was looking for gold,
A pretty hand to hold,
Or some cards to fold.
At least, thats what I was told.
Silver lining
Silver lining, whered you go?
Turn on my tv
They got talking heads in space
Used to be so easy
To have a little faith
I used to rely on luck
I didnt feel so stuck
Could earn an honest buck
Without lookin round, like jon kruk.
Silver lining
Silver lining, whered you go?
I used to have hope
Now we got soap on a rope
I used to have dreams
Now we got overplayed baseball teams
We got grocery baggers, grafitti taggers,
Golf-ball shaggers, go team go.
Silver lining
Silver lining, whered you go?
My landlord knocks upon my door
Hes got that payday face
I swear to God he should be payin me
To live inside this place
Its filled with sharks and fins
Whose double chins say
Thicken your skin, child
If you want to win
Silver lining
Silver lining, whered you go?
I fix myself some herbal tea
Cause its healthier they say
Well, healthier aint half as fun
I take a cold beer anyday
I used to have dysfunctional fun
In the cancerous sun
With my co-dependent hon
Eatin greasy greasy hotdogs on a buttered up bun
Silver lining
Silver lining, whered you go?
Silver lining
Silver lining, whered you go?

[...] Read more

song performed by Jewel
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Silver Heels

Written by bob welch.
She came in like a hurricane
Wearing boots and diamond rings
With a fox fur on her shoulder
She set wondering
And I could tell she was feeling abandoned
Because she flashed a look across my way
She said hop for a ride
Youll never ask me but Ill tell you anyway
She took me out on the blackboard jungle
Put me straight in a hurricane
She hypnotized my eyes with her silver heeled ways
If I could sing like paul mccartney, or get funky like etta james
Id never change, Id never change, Id never change silver heeled ways
She came in and her flags were flying
She was a sailboat of sweet perfume
And I could see that her eyes were smiling
From across the room
Well I couldnt think of conversation
I was busy looking at her furs
She said hey, youll never ask me
So I guess Ill say the word
She took me out on the blackboard jungle
Put me straight in a hurricane
She hypnotized my eyes with her silver heeled ways
If I could sing like paul mccartney, and funky like etta james
Id never change, Id never change, no Id never change silver heeled ways
(silver, silver heels) thats what I mean
(silver) whoo talking bout silver (silver heels)
(silver) alright (silver heels)
Im talkin bout silver (silver) silver heels (silver)
She took me out on the blackboard jungle
Put me straight in a hurricane
She hypnotized my eyes with her silver heeled ways
If I could sing like paul mccartney, and funky like etta james
Id never change, no Id never change her, Id never change silver heeled ways
(silver) oooh silver heels
(silver) talkin bout silver heels
(silver) silver heels
(silver) thats what I mean...

song performed by Fleetwood Mac
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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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A Pearls Worth

Silver pearls fall down her skin
She knows she must do it for she can't stay strong
For all she has to do is count to ten
She knows he's always wrong

Silver pearls fall down her face
In the dead of night, it is so dark
She stands in the room with fear, with hate
In her soul the pain he gave has left its mark

Silver pearls fall on the barrel
As she holds the gun in her hands
For long before this night their love grew stale
And oh how she thinks it is easy to hold life and death in her hands

Silver pearls fall over bruises, the pain
She bites her lip as she counts one... two
In her heart he's left the stain
She looks at his still body three... four

Silver pearls fall as she moves her hands
She walks to his side
In front of his face she stands
As her mind starts the chant 'he lied'

Silver pearls fall five... six
She holds the barrel to his head
Seven... Eight... she moves her feet just to stall
She knows it won't matter for she is already dead

Silver pearls shade her eyes
Nine... she counts on
her mind filled with his lies
Ten... her finger tightens as he opens his eyes

Silver pearls fall as she pulls the trigger, pulls the string
His eyes wonder, as he fades
His mouth moves, and she remembers the thing
Now she only see dark shades

Silver pearls fall as he leaves her, as she turns
Her daughter stands at the door at only six
Her hand turns
Her eyes search through the young girls eyes

Silver pearls fall as she mouths her last breath
The trigger is pulled as she sinks to her knees
The girls screams fill her mind, for she feels the hand of death
And only now she sees

[...] Read more

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Silver And Gold

Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold

song performed by Vanessa Williams
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Silver & Gold

Words and Music by Johnny Marks.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Ev'ryone wishes for silver and gold
How do you measure its worth?
Just by the pleasure it gives here on earth.
Silver and gold, silver and gold
Mean so much more when I see
Silver and gold decorations
On ev'ry Christmas tree.
Silver, silver and gold
Silver, silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Silver and gold
Wise men brought gifts to the mange I'm told
Mary was humble to see
Shepherds and kings there on bended knees
It's silver and gold, silver and gold
Feeling the world with their lives
Silver and gold how they shimmer on ev'ry Christmas night
On ev'ry Christmas night
Silver, silver and gold

song performed by Vanessa Williams
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So where's my silver lining?

I ofetn ly awake and wonder
while outside the stars are shining
well, on this earth someone sure loves me
and he's called my silver lining...

When i think of what he's like i see
his smile's mischivious, his eyes are loving
he's promised to love me all my life
and he's called my silver lining...

When i think of what his nature would be
so true are this thoughts & genuine each feeling
i sure hope he always stays that way
and he's called my silver lining...

When i think of what our relation feels life
he's my hero, he's protective & calls me his darling
he shares & cares, he understands my silence
and he's called my silver lining...

Well on this earth, someone sure loves me
and he's called my silver lining...
with dreams in my eyes, i'm waiting right now
so where's my silver living?

poem by Nitya Pillai
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Silver Lining (A Tribute To Geometry)

Sent a note home to my mom
Expecting it to be a bomb
But my mom hates my teacher
And her whining
And the fact that I don’t care
Is silver lining
I have failed
And there’s no catching up
So I’ve decided I’ve had enough
And if you care then that’s just tough
The phone is ringing for my mom
Expecting it to be a bomb
But my mom hates my teacher
And her whining
And the fact that I don’t care
Is silver lining
I have failed
To the extreme
Passing this class
Is beyond my dreams
No motivation when there’s no catching up
And if you care well then that’s just tough
Sent a note home with me
Expecting me to drown in misery
But I hate her and her whining
And the fact that I don’t care
Is silver lining
I have failed
And I don’t care
She’s raining Hell
It’s so unfair
I am sick of her
And her whining
The fact that I don’t care
Is silver lining
I have failed
Beyond repair
This class is Hell
And I don’t care
I’m sick of her
And her whining
And the fact that I don’t care
Is the silver lining

poem by Jake Warren
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Grandma's Treasure Box

Each of us
when we reached 14
would make the Visit to

Grandmothers house
to see what was inside
her Treasure Box;

the Family Treasure Box
where each year
one of us
got to see
what she had
hidden there..

My Dad had been;
my older brother
had been
and now it was my turn
to see that part of
Family History.

No one who'd seen
could talk of it.

No one could reveal to anyone
what was in Grandma's secret box.

No one did.
No one would risk
Grandmother's upset.

She lived beneath
the 'L' in Chicago
refusing to move
and they built
the tracks
right over her house;
each time one passed
it rocked her house
like rolling thunder;
Varoom, clacky clack
another one
going by.

Stubborn was not the word
for Grandmother.

She still wrote letters
30 years later

[...] Read more

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Mando Bay

Here comes the night again
Nights that ever end
Aint got no friend to guide me anymore , believe me
I just want your heart
Were two roads apart
To walk on the white sands with you forever more
Mando bay , mando bay , where the happy children play
Where my heart just longs to stay
Im going home to mando bay
One more night with you
Paradise on blue
Well walk on the sand and Ill fall in love with you
You know , my arms are open wide
I cant wait so long
Till I walk on the white sand with you by my side
Mando bay , mando bay , where the happy children play
Where my heart just longs to stay
Im going home to mando bay
Here comes the night again
Nights that never end
Aint got no friend to guide me anymore , believe me
I will be right there
The sunshine in your hair
To walk on the white sands with you forever more
Mando bay , mando bay , where the happy children play
Where she longs for me to stay
Im going home to mando bay
Mando bay , mando bay , where the happy children play
Where she longs for me to stay
Im going home to mando bay

song performed by Bee Gees
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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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Life of a Cloud

Warming thermals whisper as they rise,
To tell us they are soon to bring to view
In cooler air aloft before your eyes:
A gentle wisp to counterpoint the blue.

Powder puffs emerge to grant her grace
That further bloom as would for stately tree, and
Yield a sight that calls for our embrace:
Another cloud anew above the lea.

Cruising forth, she yearns for ageless life.
O how her hopes will soon be dashed in vain,
For up there in the cold she courts her strife,
To fade away as drops of closing rain.

Scant and lacy speak her living span,
And fair among us could be brought to mourn,
But she was there to populate her clan:
From fallen tears, new daughters will be born.

Copyright © Mark R slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Zenana

WHAT is there that the world hath not
Gathered in yon enchanted spot?
Where, pale, and with a languid eye,
The fair Sultana listlessly
Leans on her silken couch, and dreams
Of mountain airs, and mountain streams.
Sweet though the music float around,
It wants the old familiar sound;

And fragrant though the flowers are breathing,
From far and near together wreathing,
They are not those she used to wear,
Upon the midnight of her hair.—

She's very young, and childhood's days
With all their old remembered ways,
The empire of her heart contest
With love, that is so new a guest;
When blushing with her Murad near,
Half timid bliss, half sweetest fear,
E'en the beloved past is dim,
Past, present, future, merge in him.
But he, the warrior and the chief,
His hours of happiness are brief;
And he must leave Nadira's side
To woo and win a ruder bride;

Sought, sword in hand and spur on heel,
The fame, that weds with blood and steel.
And while from Delhi far away,
His youthful bride pines through the day,
Weary and sad: thus when again
He seeks to bind love's loosen'd chain;
He finds the tears are scarcely dry
Upon a cheek whose bloom is faded,
The very flush of victory
Is, like the brow he watches, shaded.
A thousand thoughts are at her heart,
His image paramount o'er all,
Yet not all his, the tears that start,
As mournful memories recall
Scenes of another home, which yet
That fond young heart can not forget.
She thinks upon that place of pride,
Which frowned upon the mountain's side;

While round it spread the ancient plain,
Her steps will never cross again.
And near those mighty temples stand,
The miracles of mortal hand,

[...] Read more

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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The Siege of Corinth

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Byron (1816)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST

I

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Sydney International Exhibition

Now, while Orion, flaming south, doth set
A shining foot on hills of wind and wet—
Far haughty hills beyond the fountains cold
And dells of glimmering greenness manifold—
While August sings the advent of the Spring,
And in the calm is heard September’s wing,
The lordly voice of song I ask of thee,
High, deathless radiance—crowned Calliope!
What though we never hear the great god’s lays
Which made all music the Hellenic days—
What though the face of thy fair heaven beams
Still only on the crystal Grecian streams—
What though a sky of new, strange beauty shines
Where no white Dryad sings within the pines:
Here is a land whose large, imperial grace
Must tempt thee, goddess, in thine holy place!
Here are the dells of peace and plenilune,
The hills of morning and the slopes of noon;
Here are the waters dear to days of blue,
And dark-green hollows of the noontide dew;
Here lies the harp, by fragrant wood-winds fanned,
That waits the coming of thy quickening hand!
And shall Australia, framed and set in sea,
August with glory, wait in vain for thee?
Shall more than Tempe’s beauty be unsung
Because its shine is strange—its colours young?
No! by the full, live light which puts to shame
The far, fair splendours of Thessalian flame—
By yonder forest psalm which sinks and swells
Like that of Phocis, grave with oracles—
By deep prophetic winds that come and go
Where whispering springs of pondering mountains flow—
By lute-like leaves and many-languaged caves,
Where sounds the strong hosanna of the waves,
This great new majesty shall not remain
Unhonoured by the high immortal strain!
Soon, soon, the music of the southern lyre
Shall start and blossom with a speech like fire!
Soon, soon, shall flower and flow in flame divine
Thy songs, Apollo, and Euterpe, thine!
Strong, shining sons of Delphicus shall rise
With all their father’s glory in their eyes;
And then shall beam on yonder slopes and springs
The light that swims upon the light of things.
And therefore, lingering in a land of lawn,
I, standing here, a singer of the dawn,
With gaze upturned to where wan summits lie
Against the morning flowing up the sky—
Whose eyes in dreams of many colours see
A glittering vision of the years to be—

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Kendall
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Sasha Fierce

B'bay Bay you're so fine.
Sun shines on you all they time.
Say Sasha!
Sasha Fierce.

B'bay Bay you're so fine.
Sun shines on you all they time.
Say Sasha!
Sasha Fierce.

I know whatcha got.
And you are hotter than hot.
My Sasha.
Sasha Fierce.

I know whatcha got.
And you are hotter than hot.
My Sasha.
Sasha Fierce.

B'bay Bay you're so fine.
Sun shines on you all they time.
Say Sasha!
Sasha Fierce.

Though this is only morning glow.
That comes to leave me blown away.
Beyoncé made me feel this way.

And when I noticed her in you...
My heart took flight on something new.
So rare it is,
I knew it came to stay.

B'bay Bay you're so fine.
Sun shines on you all they time.
Say Sasha!
Sasha Fierce.

B'bay Bay you're so fine.
Sun shines on you all they time.
Say Sasha!
Sasha Fierce.

I know whatcha got.
And you are hotter than hot.
My Sasha.
Sasha Fierce.

I know whatcha got.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Silver City Bound

Lomax, ledbetter
Yeah...
This is a song... was sung by leadbelly and it was written for...his friend...
He had a friend named blind lemon...
And they used to ride back and forth on a train from somewhere to texas...
And I leraned this tune from a record
I heard by him
Silver city bound Im silver city bound
Im gonna tell my little baby Im silver city bound
Im gonna meet blind lemon gonna ride on down
Silver city bound Im silver city bound
Im gonna tell my little baby Im silver city bound
Im gonna meet blind lemon gonna ride on down
Take me by the hand oh babe
And lead me to the promises land
Take me by the hand oh babe
And lead me to the promised land
Silver city bound Im silver city bound
Im gonna tell my little baby Im silver city bound
Im gonna meet blind lemon gonna ride on down
Take me by the hand oh babe
And lead me to the promises land
Take me by the hand oh babe
And lead me to the promised land
Im silver city bound Im silver city bound
Im gonna tell my little baby Im silver city bound
Im gonna meet blind lemon gonna ride on down
Silver city bound Im silver city bound
Im gonna tell my little baby Im silver city bound
Im gonna meet blind lemon gonna ride on down

song performed by Nina Simone
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The Columbiad: Book III

The Argument

Actions of the Inca Capac. A general invasion of his dominions threatened by the mountain savages. Rocha, the Inca's son, sent with a few companions to offer terms of peace. His embassy. His adventure with the worshippers of the volcano. With those of the storm, on the Andes. Falls in with the savage armies. Character and speech of Zamor, their chief. Capture of Rocha and his companions. Sacrifice of the latter. Death song of Azonto. War dance. March of the savage armies down the mountains to Peru. Incan army meets them. Battle joins. Peruvians terrified by an eclipse of the sun, and routed. They fly to Cusco. Grief of Oella, supposing the darkness to be occasioned by the death of Rocha. Sun appears. Peruvians from the city wall discover Roch an altar in the savage camp. They march in haste out of the city and engage the savages. Exploits of Capac. Death of Zamor. Recovery of Rocha, and submission of the enemy.

Now twenty years these children of the skies
Beheld their gradual growing empire rise.
They ruled with rigid but with generous care,
Diffused their arts and sooth'd the rage of war,
Bade yon tall temple grace their favorite isle,
The mines unfold, the cultured valleys smile,
Those broad foundations bend their arches high,
And rear imperial Cusco to the sky;
Wealth, wisdom, force consolidate the reign
From the rude Andes to the western main.

But frequent inroads from the savage bands
Lead fire and slaughter o'er the labor'd lands;
They sack the temples, the gay fields deface,
And vow destruction to the Incan race.
The king, undaunted in defensive war,
Repels their hordes, and speeds their flight afar;
Stung with defeat, they range a wider wood,
And rouse fresh tribes for future fields of blood.

Where yon blue ridges hang their cliffs on high,
And suns infulminate the stormful sky,
The nations, temper'd to the turbid air,
Breathe deadly strife, and sigh for battle's blare;
Tis here they meditate, with one vast blow,
To crush the race that rules the plains below.
Capac with caution views the dark design,
Learns from all points what hostile myriads join.
And seeks in time by proffer'd leagues to gain
A bloodless victory, and enlarge his reign.

His eldest hope, young Rocha, at his call,
Resigns his charge within the temple wall;
In whom began, with reverend forms of awe,
The functions grave of priesthood and of law,

In early youth, ere yet the ripening sun
Had three short lustres o'er his childhood run,
The prince had learnt, beneath his father's hand,
The well-framed code that sway'd the sacred land;
With rites mysterious served the Power divine,
Prepared the altar and adorn'd the shrine,
Responsive hail'd, with still returning praise,
Each circling season that the God displays,

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poem by Joel Barlow
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