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Romantic Intentions

As the darkness of the night sets in
Wonderous dreams of romance begin
Couples walking hand in hand in the moonlight
Wishing dreams of sweet delight
They gaze into each others eyes
Oblivious to time as it passes by
Their lips meet in an act of lustful passion
Sweet adoration for each other never going out of fashion
Uninhiberted acts of love making throughout the night
Accompanied with joyous gasps of sweet delight
Destined to be together until the end of days
Will their love last forever full of passion and blaze.

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Death is not the end For M'lady Ernestine

Death is not the end.

A ray of sunlight penetrates
the quiet gloom of the sick room
Wherein a dying lady waits.

For death to call impatiently.
She has no fear she is content
To know that soon she will be free.

For ninety years she’s done her best.
To her the sunlight seems to be
A sign that she has passed the test.

The ray of light eventually
illuminates her final smile.
She passes over quietly.

Her empty shell lies peacefully.
Almost as if she slumbered still.
Her spirit soars triumphantly.

Towards the light she hopes to see.
Remaining faithful to the end
She goes ahead confidently.

She has outlived her family
and all her friends are long since dead.
She lived her life successfully.

She lived and died competently
and she passed on with no regrets.
To start a new life hopefully.

Wednesday,30 June 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

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Seeking the Universal beyond Ideology

Seeking the Universal beyond Ideology

When I teach the Great Tribulation period is coming I must teach it as I see the Bible teaches it. If I see the killing of innocent children in their mothers womb is injustice I am going to say it; if I see USA corporations exploiting third world peoples for sweat shop labor and low environmental standards and that this injustice is wrong I am going to say it. The ideologues and political people who see the world through their systems of indoctrination don't want me too. They want their cake and eat it too. Their party partisan world views do not want to be disrupted but they clap so loudly when their so called enemies from the other side are rebuked or stumble. The church is to back the universal not parties and ideologies. We all are tainted and see through our own backgrounds with our own a priori. I understand this but we must make a real effort to leave all parties in our hearts and put the eternal kingdom of God first.
The Bible openly condemns the practice of homosexuality yet there are people who will talk health care and social justice until they are blue in the face and back gay marriage and call themselves Christians. Their Christianity rationalizes the Scriptures and claims science and scholarship equal with Scripture and they pick and choose what Scripture they call real. I don't care if someone backs up civil liberties thus gays but the true church cannot try to justify sin and go against Scripture. Their rabbits foot Christ is an existential projection with a transit modern basis ever changing because they have given up Sola Scriptura. Their liberation theology is full of Marxist and secular ideologies. Jesus is a placard for their cause against imperialism, colonialism, racism, feminism etc. They replace revelation with reasoning yet can't figure out death so hold onto portions of the Bible. Their message is a bit mystical but mostly social gospel and political. Many many left wingers are into this who want some religion to go with their politics. I totally reject this position and will never be card carrying anything. I am a universalist and as a Christian can see their good statements without belonging to their groups in away that taints my thinking. I will never accept gay marriage or gays adapting children etc. Much of what they say about greed and capitalism is true but that truth to me is universal and transcends secular schools. They also reject Bible prophecy and eschatology. The won't accept Israel as a nation as apart of prophecy and the coming of the anti-christ, false church and wars of the Great Tribulation culminating in the battle of Armageddon. They equate modern theology equal with Scripture in many ways. Their Jesus is a socialist and their message is basically man and movements can bring in the eternal kingdom by our own hands and efforts. The world continues to get progressively worse while they hide in their bubble and utopian womb. Without eschatology and God eventually changing things they have the weight of the world on their shoulders so they struggle to change a world that is actually decaying worse than ever. Their position during the 30's through the 70's turned some ears but today they have little relevance and are a laughing stock to most realists. Those that try to believe stumble with higher criticism and post modernism and their loss of real faith in the Jesus of the Scriptures is exchanged for a heavy weighty philosophy, theology, dialectical materialism, sociology and so called science and rational reasoning faith causes them to always be evolving and never arriving at a solid position. They are marginalized into their own little frustrated circles and many are depressed and neurotic with a position so heavy even they can't bare it let alone teach it. They have to stay small because they have no structure so they blog and try to feel important but they are lost in a wilderness going in circles. There is no peace in this kind of position and they lack joy outside of nature and the everyday things God has given to all men. They don't believe in the fall of the devil with a third of the angels so they beat the air and shadow box in their fight while they idealize Scandinavia. Their intellectualism from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil leads them into covering themselves with works of the law and in many ways they are the new legalism. Many have never ever voted for another party so they are truly entrenched. I feel sorry for these angst ridden neurotics and many are alcoholics with addictive personalities. Ever learning but never able to come to the knowledge of the truth. When you loose the simplicity of Christ according to the Scriptures you head for a horrible wilderness. They will dropp names all day long and use great swelling words then go home and take their anti-depressants. Heresy has no peace!
The next group are Pan American right wingers who believe in America as an idol and mix nationalism in their religion to the point of craziness, Roe V Wade caused a lot of evangelicals to consolidate behind the republican party and the Bible Belt Christianity of today is full of militarism, Civil religion, backing of the rich, corporations are wonderful, capitalism is God ordained and America is the greatest country in the world and should protect its interests with its military around the world. This culture of right wing ideology forebodes many evangelical churches. You will constantly hear about the evil over there, the evil in Islam and 9'11 sermons while not hearing a word about American Corporate power oppressing the world and backing national guards in third world countries to get cheap labor and goods and maximum corporate profits. The rebellions to these situations are looked at like Castro's and Che Guevara's. Movies like 'The Patriot' make them cry. They will interrupt a Bible study when it goes against their party political burnt out minds. They actually stand up against health care while pouring trillions of wasted dollars on military spending. PROTECT OUR COUNTRY is their mantra while letting an insurance company dropping a pre-existing illness in a child. They had both houses under Clinton's last term and George Bush and never passed anything against the insurance companies. My twin brother died of cancer in 2006 and the insurance company dropped him though he worked his entire life and was never unemployed and my father was wounded twice in world war two with two purple hearts. These right wing Christians are so hypnotized and full of a priori they stand for the ultra rich and they call the poor lazy while the jobs were shipped to sweat shop labor with horrible environmental standards. Some are so shot they have never voted another party and now as Christians they bring their political religion into everything. They will preach against homosexuality but stand up for ruining the environment by lowering standards every where. The extreme tea party house won't even allow GMO's to be labelled. They back up corporate power, prisons for profit, a failed war on drugs, the corrupt pharmaceutical industries. Everything is the communists are coming! ! ! ! Let the rich kids go to school we don't want anything socialized yet the police and the fire stations are a kind of socialized effort. I meet these evangelicals all the time. Why are you taking the humanity courses and sociology and not a business course to make money they will tell their kids? I have been told so many times...Why don't you leave this country if you don't like it? I laugh at these shills and bubba Christians of the me, I and mine mentality tied into the dumbing of America so they can be apart of the union busting right to work culture of the cattle right. I am going to teach the tribulation and not America. Sin is here not just over in Islam. Greed and unfair laws are here. Monsanto and other corporations are getting away with murder. The entire food industry is being taken over by corporate powers that are using carcinogens and genetically modifying our food. Chickens and cattle were meant to graze. The cruelty to animals of our times is a total sin by these industries and the evil is not just over in Iran. These right wingers are something out of George Orwell's 1984 and Animal Farm. The war and evil over there is like a scape goat so they don't have to look at the evil right in their own back yard and homes. They are bloated with right wing politics to keep them blind.they are puffed up with nationalism and right wing propaganda. They block the universal of God's justice and mercy with their ideology and politics. They think a Great Tribulation is coming because we head toward socialism not seeing that corporate socialism is already in play like the Tower of Babel and is reinforced by their minds. They mix religion and politics and see through rose colored glasses. Jesus said my Kingdom is not of this world - the people of God are his Holy Nation not the USA. Someone from Ukraine or France should be proud of their country just like someone here but as Christians we are suppose to put his kingdom first and like Abraham of old leave our background and become sojourners and strangers looking for a city not built by the hands of man. I am so tired of this phony idolatrous nationalism that is so jingoistic and arrogant; so condescending and patronizing.
I will never be apart of this. When I teach I will teach what I truly feel the Bible says and there are enough rainbow churches and right wing churches for people to go too who don't want to work with me. All of these organizations and ideologies are not going in the rapture of the church. Come out from among them and be a separate people and let the world die to the eternal Kingdom. Move with the cloud over the tabernacle in the wilderness and leave worldly politics in the sense that we stand for the universal and truth. Admit when evil is on the left or right or in any organization. Quit backing and rationalizing for parties and ideologies. This time period is the last days of the church age and we are soon to see this world go into the great tribulation period and no party, movement, ideology is going to prevent it. Take off the blinders!

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The Luck Of The Irish

If you had the luck of the irish
Youd be sorry and wish you were dead
You should have the luck of the irish
And youd wish you was english instead!
A thousand years of torture and hunger
Drove the people away from their land
A land full of beauty and wonder
Was raped by the british brigands! goddamn! goddamn!
If you could keep voices like flowers
Thered be shamrock all over the world
If you could drink dreams like irish streams
Then the world would be high as the mountain of morn
In the pool they told us the story
How the english divided the land
Of the pain, the death and the glory
And the poets of auld eireland
If we could make chains with the morning dew
The world would be like galway bay
Lets walk over rainbows like leprechauns
The world would be one big blarney stone
Why the hell are the english there anyway?
As they kill with God on their side
Blame it all on the kids the ira
As the bastards commit genocide! aye! aye! genocide!
If you had the luck of the irish
Youd be sorry and wish you was dead
You should have the luck of the irish
And youd wish you was english instead!
Yes youd wish you was english instead!

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The Luck Of The Irish

Ok, one, two, three, one two, three
If you had the luck of the irish,
You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.
You should have the luck of the irish,
And you'd wish you was english instead.
A thousand years of torture and hunger,
Drove the people away from their land.
A land full of beauty and wonder
Was raped by the british brigands!
Goddamned!
Goddamned!
If you could keep voices like flowers,
There's be shamrock all over the world.
If you could drink dreams like irish streams,
Then the world would be as high as the mountain of morn.
In the 'pool they told us the story
How the english divided the land.
Of the pain and the death and the glory
And the poets of auld eireland.
If we could make chains with the morning dew,
The world would be like galway bay.
Let's walk over rainbows like leprechauns,
The world would be one big blarney stone.
Why the hell are the english there anyway?
As they kill with god on their side!
Blame it all on the kids and the i.r.a.
As the bastards commit genocide!
Aye! aye!
Genocide!
Okay!
You should have the luck of the irish,
You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.
You should have the luck of the irish,
And you'd wish you was english instead.
One more time!
You should have the luck of the irish,
You'd be sorry and wish you were dead.
You should have the luck of the irish,
And you'd wish you was english instead,
Hey, yes, you'd wish you were english instead.
- "thank you!

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From Now Until The End

I ve never known a love like like u nor thought it b true but everytime i kiss ur lips i feel what can do with hair like silk and lipos so tender each moment with u makes my heart surrrender i coulfnt live or couldnt breathe with out u by my side never will i let u go my love will nvr hide and in my heart you; 'll always be from now on until forever end no matter what no matter where remember my words remember my love for you above all esle from now on til the end.

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Bestfriends Until The End

Pigtails, Boycooties, Recess, Barbies
These are some of what led us to be bestfriends
In the elementary days
We had fun in each and every way

Boycrushes, Sleepovers, Secrets, Puberty
These are what got us through middle school
We'd fight, then hug and cry all in hour
We even had a saying 'pretty, pretty flower'

Dates, Prom, Hours on Phone, Same Classes
Highschool brought us even closer
We went through everything together
We were never apart

Graduation, Marriage, Move to WA, Tough times
These are what tore us apart
We always said nothing would change us
I guess we really aren't bestfriends until the end

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Until The End

With no regrets for moments gone
Or the things we left behind since the beginning
We have come a long way
We know the dreams we had were much too much
But we must keep in mind that what we did
We did in our own way
So, we have to break down the walls
And let ourselves out
We have to take a stand and try to be strong
If this is what we really want then there can be no doubt
This is no place for us, we got to move on
We gotta win this war together
We will fight until the end of the world
We gotta keep it up forever
We will fight until the end of the world
Til the end....
We have to use our a.d.d.*
So we can cruise around the flow
Then we will see that there are brighter times to come
Now we must set the world on fire,
We cant be afraid to go
We got the atmosphere we know where its from
So, we have to break down the walls
And let ourselves out
We have to take a stand and try to be strong
If this is what we really want then there can be no doubt
This is no place for us, we got to move on
We gotta win this war together
We will fight until the end of the world
We gotta keep it up forever
We will fight until the end of the world
Til the end....
Bound to hit soon
Until the end of the world
Until the end of the world
We gotta win this war together
(until the end of the world)
We gotta keep it up forever
(until the end of the world)

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The Idols

An Ode
Luce intellettual, piena d' amore


Prelude
Lo, the spirit of a pulsing star within a stone
Born of earth, sprung from night!
Prisoned with the profound fires of the light
That lives like all the tongues of eloquence
Locked in a speech unknown!
The crystal, cold and hard as innocence,
Immures the flame; and yet as if it knew
Raptures or pangs it could not but betray,
As if the light could feel changes of blood and breath
And all--but--human quiverings of the sense,
Throbs of a sudden rose, a frosty blue,
Shoot thrilling in its ray,
Like the far longings of the intellect
Restless in clouding clay.

Who has confined the Light? Who has held it a slave,
Sold and bought, bought and sold?
Who has made of it a mystery to be doled,
Or trophy, to awe with legendary fire,
Where regal banners wave?
And still into the dark it sends Desire.
In the heart's darkness it sows cruelties.
The bright jewel becomes a beacon to the vile,
A lodestar to corruption, envy's own:
Soiled with blood, fought for, clutched at; this world's prize,
Captive Authority. Oh, the star is stone
To all that outward sight,
Yet still, like truth that none has ever used,
Lives lost in its own light.

Troubled I fly. O let me wander again at will
(Far from cries, far from these
Hard blindnesses and frozen certainties!)
Where life proceeds in vastness unaware
And stirs profound and still:
Where leafing thoughts at shy touch of the air
Tremble, and gleams come seeking to be mine,
Or dart, like suddenly remembered youth,
Like the ache of love, a light, lost, found, and lost again.
Surely in the dusk some messenger was there!
But, haunted in the heart, I thirst, I pine.--
Oh, how can truth be truth
Except I taste it close and sweet and sharp
As an apple to the tooth?


I.1
On a starr'd, a still mid--night
Lost I halted, lost I gazed about.
Great shapes of trees branched black into the sky:
There was no way but wandered into doubt;
There was no light
In the uncertain desert of dim air
But such as told me of all that was not I,--
Of powers absorbed, intent, and active without sound,
That rooted in their unimagined might,
Over me there ignoring towered and spread.
Homeless in my humanity, and drowned
In a dark world, I listened, all aware;
And that world drew me.
The shadowy crossing of the boughs above my head
Enmeshed me as with undecipherable spells:
The silence laid invisible hands upon my heart,
And the Night knew me.

She put not forth her full power, well I knew:
She only toyed
With reason, used to sunshine flatteries,
The praise of happy senses, trusted true,
And smile of stable Earth's affirming ease.
Yet even in this her ante--room I felt,
Near me, that void
Without foundation, roof, or bound, or end,
Where the eyes fast from their food, the heavenly light,
The untallied senses falter, being denied,
The mind into itself is pressed, is penned,
Even memoried glories of experience melt
Into one mapless, eyeless, elemental Night.
It was so near
That like a swimmer toiled in a full--streaming tide
Drawing him unawares down the unsounded seas,
My soul sank into fear.

O for one far beam of the absenting sun!
O for a voice to assure me, and to release
Out of this clutching silence! There is none:
Shadow on shadow, and stillness on stillness
Enclose me, and fasten round.
Is this a world which Day never has known?
A world made only of doubt and dream and dread?
Is this the interior Night of the dark human soul,
And the immaterial blackness branching from the ground
A fearful forest that itself has sown
Against the stars to tower,--
Stars that dispense their faint uncertain dole
Of light, that darkness may the more abound?
Whither am I come? Where have my wandered feet
Brought me on circling steps, led by what furtive power?
Alas! in this dumb gloom wherein my spirit gropes
Only myself I meet.

Only myself; but in what strange image
Encountered and phantasmally surprised!
This thing of stealth that rises from the shrouds of sleep,
I know it, I with shuddering guess presage
An enemy,--the native of the night
That in me was disguised.
Hollow--echoing caverns where blind rivers creep
With soundless motion; ice--cold, sudden breath
Of climbing cloud, at whose abstracting touch
The upholding rock seems baseless as the mist;
Black silence in the eagle's captive stare
Empty of all but the baulked lust of death,
Could not oppress so much.
Even that which in the dark brain says ``I am,''
Desperate in its faltering to persist,
Flickers like an expiring lamp's last leap of flame
To leave me I know not where.

Let not the beautiful world perish and cease!
My heart cries, freezing in its secret cells.
Let me not be extinguished in the abyss,
Losing the blessèd touch and taste of things,
Earth's heaven of hues and smells!
I am so far from worlds where any fountain springs,
Sunken into this placeless dungeon--dream,
That holds me without wall, or roof, or door.
The light is only legend: I begin
To give away my being like a stream
Wandering among unshapen shapes, that spin
A world of unintelligible dread;
And this world seeks me for its own!
All is dissolved, nothing has meaning more.
Each moment heaps an age of time above my head.
It is the very Mind of Darkness I am in,
Lost, and alone, alone!


I.2
The Forests of the Night awaken blind in heat
Of black stupor; and stirring in its deep retreat,
I hear the heart of Darkness slowly beat and beat.

As if Earth, shrouded dense in gloom,
Shuddered in her guilty womb;
As if a power from under earth
Would bring some monstrous spirit to birth;
As if a spirit ran pursued
And sobbing through the shadowy wood;
Ghostly throbs of sound begin
To circle from the distance in,
A phantom beating, dulled, remote,
With madness in its fever--note.

I know not what about me or what above me oppresses
The suffocating air; but fear within me guesses
A peopling of the caverned glooms, miasma--cold recesses.

Leaves depending still, still,
Bronzed to blackness, spill
Dead light from a sinking moon,
Wholly to be sunken soon,
Wandering down a desert coast
At the horizon's end, a lost
Eternal exile from the Day,
Whence she stole a perished ray
That falls from off those fingered fronds,
Black as vipers, cold as bronze.

O is it from my heart or from the darkness round,
The far reverberation, the dull throb of sound,
A pulse, a fearful pulse, in air or underground?

Closer, quicker, through the heat
Drones, insists, the incessant beat.
Round in shuddering circle comes
Beat on frenzied beat of drums,
Nearer in from every side
Thudding, madly multiplied,
To seize the heart and blind the brain
With a monotone insane.
Terrible, terrible in continuance,
It holds me fastened in a trance.

O for a spirit that is not mine, to bear
This weight of the unfathomable night!
O for a spirit of more than mortal might
To take upon him this my load
Of infinitely wide world--quivering fear!
O for a Demon or a God
In saving presence to appear!

What is it that my eyes amid the gloom divine
There in the furtive filterings of the ghast moonshine?
What bodies sway and cry and to the ground incline?

The fear that held me falls apart,
But leaves a horror in my heart.
Stony, stony, of blank stone,
Fixt on that secret altar--throne,
Inhuman human Shape, with hands on knees,
With remote stare that nothing, nothing sees,
Yet is a magnet to a thousand eyes,
A thousand forms that crouch, scenting the scent of blood,
Beat breasts and writhe before you with ejected cries,--
Unbrothered beast, abominable God!
Who made you, and shaped you into more than breath
Can give a will to? What power drove the hand
With terror strong as lust, to shape you there
Immovable as Death,
And carve the rock of darkness in the mind
To horrible resemblance of my kind?
Lost Light, sunken Light!
From what I am, save me!
The fever--beat of sound is in my veins.
I breathe the black, blood--smelling air.
The ecstasy of fear, the blind throb in the breast,
I share it, I must share.
It is not I, I cry;
Yet it is I.
These are the powers that crave me;
This is the full dominion of the Night.

The victims, ah, the victims shriek and die:
And on them the eternal Idol stares.
But they have made him incense of their prayers,
Voluptuously have knelt before their own
Black terror, bodied into stone.
Not the expiring cry
So lacerates my mind, while without end
Through ages up the altar--fumes ascend,
And fading into shadow, from their bodies rent,
Stream spirits without number to conceive,--
But this, O victims, this, that you consent,
That you believe!

They were all human. My heart falters: how
That infinite bond refuse?
Like last reverberations of a bell
That in their ebb and last expiry tell
Of stupefying clamour, when it heaved
And shook its tower to the foundation,--now
Whispers out of the dark accuse, accuse:
I have consented, I have believed.


I.3
There is singing of brooks in the shadow, and high in a stainless
Solitude of the East
Ineffable colour ascends like a spirit awaking:
Slowly Earth is released.
It is dawn, it is dawn, the light is budding and breaking.

Earth is released, flowing out from the void of the darkness
Into body and bloom;
Flowing out from the nameless immensity, night, where she waited
Myriad forms to resume,
Gloriously moulded, as if in her freshness created.

The lineaments of the hills, serene in their order,
Arise, and the trees
With their motionless fountains of foliage, perfect in slumber;
And by lovely degrees
The blades of the grass re--appear, minute without number.

The rounded rock glistens and warms, where the water slips by it,
Familiar of old.
The tree stretches up to the air its intimate branches
Bathing in gold;
And the dew--dazzle colours in fire the lichen it blanches.

Each is seen in its beauty of difference, deeply companioned,
Leaf, root, and the stone,
And drawn by the light from their dream in earth's prison, emerging
Distinct in their own
Form, from the formless a million natures are urging.

I see them, I know them, I name them, I share in their being;
I am not betrayed:
I feel in my fibre the touch of a spirit that knows me;
For this was I made;
In a world of delight and of wonder my senses enclose me.

Whence come they, the water--brooks? Out of the mountainous darkness,
Where no life is seen,
From caverns of night are they come, but because of their springing
Meadows laugh to be green;
And hearing the voice of their carol, the children go singing.

The children go singing, they read in the books of the Light
Things hidden from the sage.
Unschooled are their bodies, that run like a ripple and fear not
Coming of grief and age:
The sighs of the night, the doubt in the shadow, they hear not.

Lo, single mid grasses a flower upspringing before me
In delicate poise
Takes the light like a kiss from an innocent mouth, as it quivers
Confiding its joys
To the air, and my heart from its prison of self it delivers.

I stand in the dew and the radiance, my shadow behind me,
Lost out of thought.
The bright beams ascend, and ascending, from earth they uncover
The secret they sought.
Enter me; make me afresh, O Light, my lover!


I.4
Why are these beams so twined with sweetness and with pain,
Injury and anger, fear, and all desire,
Whose purity should stream through pulse and brain
Not thickened in dull fume or frayed with fire
But absolute and whole
Into the central soul
Disclouded from those lures and all their train,
Knowing what is and is not; white and bare
As the bathed body quit of day's disguise?
But the only truth is coloured with the secret stain
Of our mortality, that unaware
Infects the farthest vision of the eyes
And region of invisible thought: Vain, vain
That throbbing search! The Light
Is more profound, more secret than the Night.

Who has built an airy mansion for the unresting mind
To inhabit and rejoicing contemplate,--
A many--pillared universe, designed
In order clear, complete and intricate,
Intelligible wonder, not
Too vast to hold man's lot,--
But he has waked on some malignant morn to find
The certainty, too certain to be true,
Distasted, and that palace only a maze
Wherein he wanders and is still confined,
The pillars of it fallen, and no clue,
But through the ruin penetrates a blaze
Of glory beyond glory and of light behind
The light: and the strength fails in him; he knows
Himself lost in a world that overflows.

Yet no power stills the ache or stops the springing need.
The dark creative spiritual Desire
Seizes upon his heart which holds that seed
And straightway, till the last of breath expire,
Like tool upon the wheel
Sharpened the more to feel,
He counts all else waste,--honour, wealth, a weed:
The burden of the beauty is too great,
The eternal mystery in the heart a wound,
Until his vision in the end be freed,
Until he has spent his all to incarnate
An airy spirit upon earthly ground,--
Forms for a God to dwell in and exceed
This fading flesh. Alas! from godlike shapes
Some yet diviner essence still escapes.

O that the form which once kindled to ecstasy
The rapt gazer, and freed him, should become
A cold thing to appraise with leisure's eye,
A beauty disinherited and dumb!
Whither is the spirit flown
From the forsaken stone
That seemed our sunken selves to deify?
O that the thought, the word, which into the heart leapt
Pregnant with light and troubling even to tears,
Should fade and wither, should grow old and dry,
By repetition dulled upon the ears
Like cheapened courtesies the lips accept,
And falsehood, custom cares not to deny;
A scumm'd and stirless pool, a frozen rut,
A path deserted, a door shut.

But that the life should be less living than the dead,
This is the worst; that perfect form and word
Should perish of perfection, yet be fed
With incense still, and duteously adored;
A name prostrate the throng
The presence moved among
Unrecognized; neglected and forsaken bled!
Time's treachery sleeks and glozes to our use
The bright eternal bareness: dearer grows
To mortals what is mortal, comforted
Mid alteration rather to keep truce
With the ancestral darkness than oppose
Too arduous scrutiny: by dreams we are led
Content: to pleasure us, our truth decays.
The God departs, the Idol stays.

II.1
I have heard voices under the early stars
Where, among hills, the cold roads glimmer white,--
Voices of shadows passing, each to the other,
Clear in the airy stillness
Call their familiar greeting and Good--night.

Were they not come as guests to a remembered room,
Those words, surrounded by the befriending silence?
But words, ah, words--who can tell what they are made of,
Or how inscrutably shaped to colour and bloom?
Sharp odours they breathe, and bitter and sweet and strong,
Born from exultation, endurance, and desire;
Flying from mind to mind, to bud a thought again,
Spring, and in endless birth their wizard power prolong.

There was a voice on a sun--shafted stair
That sang; I heard it singing:
The very trees seemed listening to their roots
Out in the sunshine, and like drops in light
The words rained on the grasses greenly springing.

Ah, lovely living words, what have we done to you?
Each infant thought a soul exulting to be born
Into a body, a breath breathed from the lips, a word
Dancing, tingling, pulsing, a body fresh as dew!
Once in the bonds of use manacled and confined
How have we made you labour, thinned from beauty and strength,
Dulled with our dullness, starved to the apathy of a serf,
Outcast in streets, abandoned foundlings of the mind!

Yet once, in stillness of night's stillest hour,
Words from the page I read
Rose like a spirit to embrace my spirit.
Their radiant secret shook me: earth was new;
And I throbbed, like one wakened from the dead.

O swift words, words like flames, proud as a victor's eye,
Words armed and terrible, storming the heart, sending
Waves of love, and fear, and accusation over
Peoples,--kindling, changing! Alas, but can you die,
Hardened to wither round the thought wherein you grew?
Become as the blind leading with slow shuffle the blind,
Heavy like senseless stones the savage kneels before?
O shamed, O victim words, what have we done to you?


II.2
The Presses are awake. Under the midnight cloud,
Mid labyrinthine silence of the spectral streets,
Sound upon darkness beats,
A pulse, quivering aloud
Insanely, as if a fever throbbed in stone,
As if a demon plied in palpitating gloom
The hurry of his loom
To weave that tissue, white for an instant, then
Populated with words, shadows of thought and act,
Death, birth, fear, madness, joy, disaster, packed
Headlong into a medley, a monotone
Indifferently echoing alike
Laughter and the moan of men!

In the avaricious gloom a secret Ear
Sucks with a whirlpool greed out of the skies
Words, voiceless words, drawn in from far and near,
Bubble--blown rumour, whisperings like spies,
The knife--stab in the night, the fall of thrones,
Alarm of nations like a beating bell,
Jubilant feat, and misery grey,
Caught from all corners of the air pell--mell
In a voice that no man owns,
That a multitude of brazen masks shall shout
To the multitudes of Day.

The few stars, solitary in heights of night
Thieved by the cloud, shine and are dimmed again,
Though none puts out their light.
So solitary in the heart is pain,
Solitary the Dream,
Solitary the Vow, solitary the Deed!
There is no room for these
In that invisible cloud, woven of things that seem,
Sure of accepting softness and the greed
That it shall cling to and make cheaply wise,--
An all--uniting web of lies and of half--lies
And lying silences.

Into my ear, remote, remote, is blown
Out of the darkness and across the seas
Sound of a forest falling, young bodies of trees
One by one falling prone,
To be tamed to a helpless tissue, and to feed
The insatiate Presses' need.
Oh, did they spring to scent the blue silence of air
And sway slow to the wind, launching the light--winged birds?
Ghosts only are there,
The ghosts of trees that shoot no fresh leaf any more
But, drones of darkness, in the midnight bear
Black myriads of words.

Invisibly the night thickens with words that glide
Driven thronging on blind errands, soon to fall
Into a million minds, and glorified
To be their momentary oracle,
Glitter, and then--they are like the innumerable snow
Chance--timed, indifferent, random, swift and slow
That falls to a stillness out of whirling flurry;
And workers heavy--eyed
That under the chill cloud of morning hurry,
Muffled against the shiver in the blood,
Soil it at every stride,
Till each articulate crystal whiteness is confused,
And where the moment's wonder shone is mud,
Trodden, stale, and used.


II.3
Hewn and heavy, of granite hewn
Heavy and hard, the walls ascend
Bare, without measure to the eye:
Indifferent to night or noon,
Over pavement they impend.
Locked, impassive, huge, the Door
Stands caverned in the midst: on high,
Ruled and squared, the lintel stone
Bears the carven Janitor,
Justice, blind upon her throne.
Her no praying hands implore:
To her bound eyes no eyes plead.
Reason's idol, calm she sits,
Weighing only the gross deed,
Scrupulous with mind unsoiled
Not to know the thoughts that bleed
In the dumb soul, fluttering, beating
Hither, thither in its cage
Of ancestral ignorance foiled,
Rushing blinded into rage
And its own desire defeating.
Behind the door, within the wall
Locked, they sit, the numbered ones,
Secret from each other, all
Lost to name, like spectres passed
From the region of the sun's
Changeful glory on young limbs
Free to dance and free to leap.
From the acted thought they fast:
Them a roof of silence dims.
The midnight stars move over them;
They move not; but ruled times they keep
With the shadows on the floor.
They are mortised in a scheme,
Where the walls and fastened door,
Built of words that are become
Stones, are like their spirits dumb.

In ripened rustle of the corn
The wind becomes a flowing flame;
As swift it curves and slow relents
The body of a wave is born.
It passes--whither? No one knows;
But in the vision that consents
It is the beauty it became.
The wind blows and the spirit blows,
No moment ever yet the same,
And fresher than a sparkling spring
The unrepeated beauty flows;
And in the child that claps his hands
To see the daisy on the green,
And in the young man where he stands
Poised for the naked plunge; and in
The invisible bursting of the bud,
The leafing of the bough, that sends
Lightness like laughter through the blood
Of dancing girls, its wave is seen;
It flows and sings and never ends!
And flowers, trembling heavenly hues
In a lonely mountain place,
And chiming water's liquid curve,
The torrent's white, rock--ruffled race
Freed for splendour of its swerve,
And clouds that steal the solemn blues
Of noon, unregioned in their trace,
Or, ghostly travellers, invade
The mountains they dissolve in dream;
And mazes of the stars that fade
At dawn, still moving, lost in light;--
All, all the threads of music bind
Together in the visioned mind:
Eternity has imaged them.

O lovely is their secret Law
Timing all their motions true.
They know it not, yet they obey
Without thought and without awe,
Of that fountain unaware
Which they spring from and renew,
Finding out their missioned way,
Everywhere, oh, everywhere!
It is wild as a wild rose
And fearful as the weltering wave.
It is courage to the brave,
Wisdom to the eye that knows.
But we have bound it as with cords,
We have built it into stone,
All its motions frozen stark
Round a hidden human moan.
We have made it old and dark
Out of maiming thought and fears,
And the things our fears forbid,
Out of self--hurt and of rue.
We have built it into words,
And the words are stones! We did
What we could not help but do,--
We, the eternal Prisoners.

Break the word and free the thought!
Break the thought and free the thing!
But who in any net has caught
The wind, or in a sieve the spring?
As soon shall he dissever these,
Through which the life--blood single streams
From germ unknown to fruit unguessed,
Nourished with wonder and with dreams,
In its deep essence unpossessed
And smiling out of mysteries.
The flower is in the bud, the bud
Within the seed, beneath the ground.
But all is flowing of one flood
That is not seen, that is not bound.

This palace--prison of the mind
How in the youthful morn it glows!
Its windows flame with angel--light,
Auroral flushes of the rose,
And all the airs of heaven invite
With miracle of breathing blue
And shifting glory of sun and showers
To ecstasy and song,--and who
Remembers how therein confined
In sunken cells are captive powers,
Powers that a jailer fetters close
With chains of the invisible hours,
To one another hardly known
In furtive glimpse, and each alone?
O marvel of the world, O bright
And luminous palace, built to hold
The light of heaven within its walls
Precious with glory as of gold,
Why comes the night, why comes the night,
When, as about it the sky falls
Filled with the dark, it seems to stand
A dark tower in a lonely land!


II.4
In the wonder of dreams on a wave of the sky buoyed
My body was the body of a wish, the word of a thought
Uttered whole from a throb of the heart in a cry's delight.
Never bird out of Africa beating a golden void,
Shifting the coloured regions that Spring has caught,
Pursued the desire of its being in flight
Happier: Time an idle ruin gleamed
Where vision flamed or flowered or streamed.

Slow, slow the mind gropes back to curb and term
Of this strange world; to Time that's used, and all
The enclosing, age--descended ritual,
The invisible garment, cobweb--fine and firm,
Wherein the limbs move to the ancestral call,
And hands repeat what dead hands did before,
And the mind lingers as behind a door.
The hinted glory of liberty is fled,
And in its stead
Is only the shadow of Man's ancient nurse,
Dear Custom, at whose knees he learnt the ways
Of his uncounted tribe, schooled to rehearse
Cruelty and folly, and, ere he comprehend,
Make these his virtue, so to earn her praise.

Massive as mountain to his childish gaze
Is that unmoved authority of power,
His fibre trembles to offend.
And slow as the Earth is in her seasons, she
Befriends and punishes like sun and shower;
Well--used to tears and the heart--broken hour,
Smoulder of mutiny and anger, tamed in the end,
Indulgent of a laughter brief as those,
For all come back at night--fall to her knee,
When the old shadows descend.
With mutter upon her lips, with eyes half blind,
Buried mysteries she knows.
With dark fountains of ignorance in her mind,
How wise she seems, amassed in ancient certitudes!
Her silences, how comfortably kind!
The human slowly grows
Inhuman, where she broods.
And if a solitary spirit would wrest
His wrongs away from what so closely cleaves,
And break into the world that he believes,
Betrayers from within, crying Traitor! seek
To pull him back, securely weak,
In passiveness: he sucked it from her breast.

O away and away and afar from this alien home,
Where spirits are woven together in words of fear,
Released into innocence let me have being and breath!
But is it alone by mercy of dreams that I roam,
Liberated to joy's essential sphere,
In an antechamber of birth or beyond death?
All flushes around me and then dissolves away.
The heavenly dawning closes gray.


II.5
Once, only once, never again, never,
The idle curve my hand traces in air,
The first flush on the cloud, lost in the morning's height,
Meeting of the eyes and tremble of delight,
Before the heart is aware
Gone! to return, never again, never!

Futurity flows toward me, all things come
Smooth--flowing, and ere this pulse beat they are bound
In fixity that no repenting power can free;
They are with Egypt and with Nineveh,
Cold as a grave in the ground;
And still, undated, all things toward me come.

Why is all strange? Why do I not grow used?
The ripple upon the stream that nothing stays,
The bough above, in glory of warm light waving slow,
Trouble me, enchant me, as with the stream I flow
Lost into the endless days.
Why is all strange? Why do I not grow used?

Eternity! Where heard I that still word?
Like one that, moving through a foreign street,
Has felt upon him bent from far some earnest look,
Yet sees not whence, and feigns that he mistook,
I marvel at my own heart--beat.
Eternity! how learnt I that far word?


III.1

Not for pity and pardon, for Judgment now I cry!
To be seen, that I may see; known, that I may know,
For this I cry.
Dwelling among dear images dream--created,
Flattered or daunted by a deluding mirror
That is not I,--
O to taste the light as my body tastes the air,
Let fall defence, cast off the obstinately excusing
Pleas, and myself be my only vindication!
Nothing but this in the end can satisfy.

Why does this desire pursue me and so possess me?
Is not breath sweet, and the young smile of the morning?
Yet inly to know
That I am bound in a net of minutes and of hours,
Inheriting bondages of habit, and fear,
And ancient woe;
To be rooted so deep in lost ages of time,
With tendrils of hope and want and frail repining,
The ignorant accomplice of purposes abhorred:
This thought is my companion and my foe.

Sometimes to fly to some remoteness of the air
To perceive with different senses, a new body,
I pine and ache;
As on this bed of self, whereon I am bound, I toss
Day and night, filled with ineffectual longing
That bond to break.
O yet, enslaved, I know not to what I am enslaved:
Only this husk and shard of what I am, this fond
Dreamer of dreams, eater and drinker of untruth,
This only I know, and this cannot forsake.

Wondrous glories crowd into the eye's treasure--chamber,
Wondrous harmonies linger in the ear's recesses,
Stored for delight.
But beyond the ear's compass what modulations fine
Tremble, and what marvels unapprehended sparkle
Beyond the sight!
Oh, and beyond the mind's capacity of conceiving,
Much less of measuring, amplitudes of wisdom,
Fit to sustain eternal serenity and courage,
While we go clouded, faltering, finite!

Were I stationed in the sun, to behold the worlds
Not nightly in declension but in dance triumphant
And timeless rolled;
Had I the vision, closed to the eye's horizon,
Labyrinths of an unimagined minuteness
In the mind to hold;
Could I attain the greatest and assume the least,
Shrink to be a blade of the innumerable grass,
Soar eagle--winged amid the altitudes of noontide,
Then might I measure, and what I am behold.

But rained over with riches of hours and moments,
Meshing me as a lily, thick with honeyed light,
The drunken bee;
Intoxicated with wild sweetnesses of sense,
Fullness of the opened heart, glory of earth, and beauty
Enamouring me,--
Roofed in a den I am, a poor captive rather
Who sits in fetters eyeing the barred, the precious blue,
Where high in the envied air a cloud lingers in light
And wings fly whither they desire to be.

Lying in the night I hear from graves unnumbered,
Under stars that have seen all history passing,
The indignant cry:
Must we only in effigy and phantom be remembered,
Malignly obscured or mocked with gilded pretences,
Wherefrom we fly?
Will none unwind these cerements? none lift up from us
This load of false praise and false fortune's betrayal?
Let us be known in nakedness of our nature!
Deliver us from dominion of the lie!

As if they wandered in deserts and groped in caves,
I hear the exclaiming of disenchanted spirits
In bitter lament
Beholding the barren things for which they wasted
The world, the pitiable causes whereon their breath
And blood were spent!
Was this the Light, this little candle at noon? This loathed
Cruelty, the righteousness for which they thirsted,
Sacrificing to invisible idols of the mind?
They see. But who hears? This world is content.

Perfect Experience! Is not the mind worthy
This, when for glimpses only and shining fragments
The martyrs bled?
Majesty and splendour of overcoming vision,
Vision all--judging, certain and universal,
Not this I dread,
But to remain banished into a parcelled being,
Eternized in all these faculties of error!
Better a perfect oblivion in Earth's vastness,
By that eternal ignorance comforted.

Yet does my heart not cease from its supplication,
Yet I remember and cannot be satisfied,
By Time oppressed.
And, as if summoned and drawn whither I know not,
Clinging into earth with strong fibres of nature,
In dark unrest
I burn like a seed that in burial forgotten
Pushes its hope up, growing in blind affiance
Toward the light shining over an unconceived world,
There to be lost, illumined and released.


III.2
In my dream there was a Door.
Dark on my musing path it stood
Before me, and straightway I knew
(The certainty ran through my blood)
That, did I open and pass through,
I should know all for evermore.
Those slow hinges, and that weight
Relenting on them, would unroll
The hidden map of all my fate
And all the world and the world's soul.

Who has trembled not at doors?
Motionless, they shake the heart.
Hope and menace on them hang:
They are the closed lips' counterpart
Wherein the sentence is concealed
For leaping joy or lancing pang.
Ah, what answer will they yield?
Will it be barren as the shores
That endless waves beat, like a knell
Slowly repeated to Time's end?
Or will it be the ineffable
Still radiance that shall all amend,
Melting out Time's ancient stain?
Will they open on sunrise
Everlasting, or will they
Close upon the light again,
Like eyelids closing over eyes
That see for the last time the day?
Is it not by such ancient dread
Inspired,--the warning doubt of what
Our prospering spirits has full--fed
With certainties by hope begot--
That on his progress proud we raise
For the returning conqueror
The arch, the immaterial door,
So he may pass, amid the blaze
And loud acclaim at glory's height,
Beneath a shadow of the night,
Where the hinted powers take toll
Of what is mortal in the soul?

O Door, like sealed fatal decree,
Image of death, image of birth,
Ever uncertain certainty!
O silence as of silent earth,
O silence into substance built,
O night projected into day,
O still unspoken Yea or Nay,
O brimming vessel still unspilt,
O end that meets us on the way!
What lies behind your blank accost?
Is it the treasure we have lost
And laboured wearily to recover?
Or something that we never knew,--
Another mind with other measures
Laughing to scorn our pangs and pleasures?
Is it at last the only true,
The unknown Love, the unknown Lover?

With all my soul at earnest gaze
Fixed upon that silent Door,
I stretched my hand the latch to raise,
I lifted up my hand, and then
Some power forbade me, and I forbore.

In the changes of my dream
I was borne to a far place
Empty and wide, and all a--gleam
With sunlit quivering of the grass.
There rose before me, vast and blind,
A towered prison, walled and old;
It seemed a prison--house so great
It could have held all human--kind.
In the midst there was a gate.
And as I dreamed my dream, behold
I saw the prisoners released.
The gates rolled back; and forth they came
Stumbling in the light that smote
Full on them from the dazzling East.
Like knives it stabbed them; like a flame
It seared them; with their hands they hid
Their faces, or as if by rote
Stretched out vain arms, to touch and feel
Familiar walls closing around;
Then, lacking fetters, halted lame
Waiting to do what they were bid.
Their helpless motions made as though
They would run back, or fall, or kneel
Or hide themselves beneath the ground.
This way and that they looked to go.
O never may I see again
Such looks of blank and empty pain!
They were looks of men betrayed
And of their naked souls afraid.
But some there were, a few, that stood
And stretched their arms up to the sun,
As if the light streamed through their blood,
As if their breath was now begun;
As if their spirits till then had slept,
As if they never yet had known
The world of life that was their own.
These it was, not those, who wept.
Was it for pity of all that sad
Throng, or the extreme joy they had?
O that on earth I could have sight
Of those faces, and that light!


III.3
I am laid within a place of summer leaves.
Solid boles mount through foliage out of sight.
No shadow lacks some intimacy of light,
No penetrating radiance but receives
Shadowy immersion. Dream
Is on me, is on the hushed, the thronged and drowsing glow.
Even the thoughts emerging from the mind,
Like voices in a sleeping city, seem
Reproved. This is old Earth, so old and kind,
That she is lenient in her overflow
To all things human. Why, why tease the sense
For a hope to a fear unmated?
Why rend the rich seam of experience?
Why toss upon thoughts frustrated?

Each way appears a closing avenue,
Leading, among warm scents, I know not where.
But Whither is to the idle mind no care,
For always there is fragrance of some clue
Neglected, that might guide
As in a trance the veiled soul to its unknown peace:
Peace such as comes like lips laid upon lips,
A brimmed oblivion of all else beside;
Like anchorage to tempest--blinded ships
When the thwart waves resign, and the winds cease.
Earth with warm arms embrace me, and let me feel,
Feel only, a wonder working,
Until the tender and still sense reveal
The secrets round me lurking.

Now might you come back, old divinities,
Earth--born, from cradling green and lost recess,
Serene in your unclouded nakedness,
To enrich the mirror of my musing eyes.
As fruit on the rough bough
Globes itself, the last golden glory of the tree,
Smooth from wild earth the human image rose;
And what diviner shape should hear the vow
Of mortals, or what else their secret knows,
Though past the ache of our mortality?
Shall I not sacrifice unrest and fume
On an altar here secluded?
Let the vext mind re--open like a bloom
Upon which the light has brooded?

Delay me from the sight that only sees!--
Frost of a dawn disclosing the world bare,
And, stript of splendour, all things as they are,
When stiffened grasses and stark branches freeze
And the mind shrinks apart
With all the living colours famished out of it.
O kindly mediation, interpose
Images of those forms that hold the heart,
Warm, wondrous forms whereinto the world flows
To bloom and to perfect them: O admit
Certitude to obscurity awhile,
As cloud in the light suspended.
Gracious is Earth; not far her secret smile:
And here is the soul befriended.

Only such sorrow as lingered in the gaze
Of Proserpine, returning from the dark,
Such tears as filled her, listening to the lark
And looking on the flower that springs and sways,--
All humanized for her
As even the shadows were, when she was throned in night;
No more than these, to enhance the glowing day
Shall enter where the green leaves are astir!
Shall I not be sufficed, and charm away
Perplexities to soft and shadowy flight?
Shall I not now--O whence is this breath come
Of Time in a stealing chillness?
Why cries my heart out? Why are all things dumb,
And strange, strange the stillness?


III.4
Whisper to me, whisper! I have listened and have not heard.
Whisper to me, you leaves; have you not more to say?
Now at the ebb of the low evening ray
Whisper some word left over from the day,
The one word, the lost word!--
So I cried; and then was stilled.
For suddenly, unsought, unwilled,
I knew not how, I knew not whence,
There came a lightening of the sense;
I found an answer from within,
That made me to the stars akin;
My pulse obeyed the lovely Law;
With ears I heard, with eyes I saw;
And one leaf, veined with green, indwelling light
Seemed the world's secret and absorbed me quite.
Eternity through a moment
Sparkled; I could not turn away my sight.

What thing, long contemplated, alters not
Its seeming substance, as the deepening mind
By contemplation passes out of thought,
Immenser worlds to find?
The Mother as she clasps her infant boy,
Bent over him with the deep looks of joy,
Becomes her own hope; oh, she stays
Not with the idol of her gaze,
But she is gone beyond her farthest prayer
And Time's last injury, to meet him there.
All that distracts him from her bosom now,--
White butterflies, a waving bough--
Presages the usurping world: she grows
To something more than fear and hope forebode,
Wide as the sky. He goes
Out of her heart's possession;
Yet in her arms he lies, that stranger and that God.

Free on its wings the mind can hover, worlds away,
To where the vast Atlantic stream
Dwindles to a watery gleam,
And like a star in bright noonday
The body's home is lost.
The mind can tell me that these mossed
Gray boulders in green shadow deep,
Appearing sunk and socketed in sleep,
Beneath their image of repose
Are all a dizzy motion whirled,
A streaming dust our sight so gross
Confuses to a solid world.
Never mortal eye has seen
Those minim motes, no thought can lodge between,
So restless in their secret fever
They dance invisibly for ever.
Alone the soul has knowledge of release;
Only in the soul is stillness,
Poised to receive a universe in peace.

Only in the soul is stillness! I remember an hour,--
It was the May--month and wild throats were singing
From bough to bough that breathed in bud and flower,
And the full grass was springing
Beneath an old gray tower--
I remember those blue, scented airs,
And how I came at unawares
Beside the daisied border of a mead
Upon a pool so magically clear,
It made each coloured pebble and furry weed
And star--grained sand within its depth appear
Like things of Paradise, unearthly bright;--
No surface seemed to intervene
Fairy floor and eye between,
Save for a traceless quivering of the light,
Gentle as breathing sleep, where stole
Up from its pregnant darkness
The living spring, as private as the soul.

Love from its inward well, a secret wonder, arising
Clear as the trembling water--spring,
A spirit that knows not anything,
Simple in the world and nought despising,
Changes all it meets,--the stone
Becomes a gem, the weed a rose;
But oh, within itself it grows
By all it touches, all it makes its own,
Vast and multitudinous, a Power
To act, to kindle and to dower
In pain's and fear's despite
With glory of unending light.
O fountain in my heart, I feel you now
Full and resistless, so I nothing scorn.
How could I lose you, how
Ever for an hour forget you?
This is the world whereinto I was born.

Why did I tread long roads, seeking, seeking in vain?
Why did I make lament of the dark night?
Why crouch with images of old affright?
Eternal Moment, hold me again, again,
Bathe me in wells of light!
It is now and it is here
The something beyond all things dear,
The miracle that has no name!
When I am not, then I am:
Having nothing, I have all.
It was my hands that built my prison--wall,
It was my thought that did my thought confine,
It was my heart refrained my heart from love.
Now I am stilled as in a gaze divine,
Now I flow upward from my secret well,
Now I behold what spirit I am of.
The Body is the Word; nothing divides
This blood and breath from thought ineffable.
Hold me, Eternal Moment!
The Idols fade: the God abides.

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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 7

AND thou, O matron of immortal fame,
Here dying, to the shore hast left thy name;
Cajeta still the place is call’d from thee,
The nurse of great Æneas’ infancy.
Here rest thy bones in rich Hesperia’s plains; 5
Thy name (’t is all a ghost can have) remains.
Now, when the prince her fun’ral rites had paid,
He plow’d the Tyrrhene seas with sails display’d.
From land a gentle breeze arose by night,
Serenely shone the stars, the moon was bright, 10
And the sea trembled with her silver light.
Now near the shelves of Circe’s shores they run,
(Circe the rich, the daughter of the Sun,)
A dang’rous coast: the goddess wastes her days
In joyous songs; the rocks resound her lays: 15
In spinning, or the loom, she spends the night,
And cedar brands supply her father’s light.
From hence were heard, rebellowing to the main,
The roars of lions that refuse the chain,
The grunts of bristled boars, and groans of bears, 20
And herds of howling wolves that stun the sailors’ ears.
These from their caverns, at the close of night,
Fill the sad isle with horror and affright.
Darkling they mourn their fate, whom Circe’s pow’r,
(That watch’d the moon and planetary hour,) 25
With words and wicked herbs from humankind
Had alter’d, and in brutal shapes confin’d.
Which monsters lest the Trojans’ pious host
Should bear, or touch upon th’ inchanted coast,
Propitious Neptune steer’d their course by night 30
With rising gales that sped their happy flight.
Supplied with these, they skim the sounding shore,
And hear the swelling surges vainly roar.
Now, when the rosy morn began to rise,
And wav’d her saffron streamer thro’ the skies; 35
When Thetis blush’d in purple not her own,
And from her face the breathing winds were blown,
A sudden silence sate upon the sea,
And sweeping oars, with struggling, urge their way.
The Trojan, from the main, beheld a wood, 40
Which thick with shades and a brown horror stood:
Betwixt the trees the Tiber took his course,
With whirlpools dimpled; and with downward force,
That drove the sand along, he took his way,
And roll’d his yellow billows to the sea. 45
About him, and above, and round the wood,
The birds that haunt the borders of his flood,
That bath’d within, or basked upon his side,
To tuneful songs their narrow throats applied.
The captain gives command; the joyful train 50
Glide thro’ the gloomy shade, and leave the main.
Now, Erato, thy poet’s mind inspire,
And fill his soul with thy celestial fire!
Relate what Latium was; her ancient kings;
Declare the past and present state of things, 55
When first the Trojan fleet Ausonia sought,
And how the rivals lov’d, and how they fought.
These are my theme, and how the war began,
And how concluded by the godlike man:
For I shall sing of battles, blood, and rage, 60
Which princes and their people did engage;
And haughty souls, that, mov’d with mutual hate,
In fighting fields pursued and found their fate;
That rous’d the Tyrrhene realm with loud alarms,
And peaceful Italy involv’d in arms. 65
A larger scene of action is display’d;
And, rising hence, a greater work is weigh’d.
Latinus, old and mild, had long possess’d
The Latin scepter, and his people blest:
His father Faunus; a Laurentian dame 70
His mother; fair Marica was her name.
But Faunus came from Picus: Picus drew
His birth from Saturn, if records be true.
Thus King Latinus, in the third degree,
Had Saturn author of his family. 75
But this old peaceful prince, as Heav’n decreed,
Was blest with no male issue to succeed:
His sons in blooming youth were snatch’d by fate;
One only daughter heir’d the royal state.
Fir’d with her love, and with ambition led, 80
The neighb’ring princes court her nuptial bed.
Among the crowd, but far above the rest,
Young Turnus to the beauteous maid address’d.
Turnus, for high descent and graceful mien,
Was first, and favor’d by the Latian queen; 85
With him she strove to join Lavinia’s hand,
But dire portents the purpos’d match withstand.
Deep in the palace, of long growth, there stood
A laurel’s trunk, a venerable wood;
Where rites divine were paid; whose holy hair 90
Was kept and cut with superstitious care.
This plant Latinus, when his town he wall’d,
Then found, and from the tree Laurentum call’d;
And last, in honor of his new abode,
He vow’d the laurel to the laurel’s god. 95
It happen’d once (a boding prodigy!)
A swarm of bees, that cut the liquid sky,
(Unknown from whence they took their airy flight,)
Upon the topmost branch in clouds alight;
There with their clasping feet together clung, 100
And a long cluster from the laurel hung.
An ancient augur prophesied from hence:
“Behold on Latian shores a foreign prince!
From the same parts of heav’n his navy stands,
To the same parts on earth; his army lands; 105
The town he conquers, and the tow’r commands.”
Yet more, when fair Lavinia fed the fire
Before the gods, and stood beside her sire,
(Strange to relate!) the flames, involv’d in smoke
Of incense, from the sacred altar broke, 110
Caught her dishevel’d hair and rich attire;
Her crown and jewels crackled in the fire:
From thence the fuming trail began to spread
And lambent glories danc’d about her head.
This new portent the seer with wonder views, 115
Then pausing, thus his prophecy renews:
The nymph, who scatters flaming fires around,
Shall shine with honor, shall herself be crown’d;
But, caus’d by her irrevocable fate,
War shall the country waste, and change the state.’ 120
Latinus, frighted with this dire ostent,
For counsel to his father Faunus went,
And sought the shades renown’d for prophecy
Which near Albunea’s sulph’rous fountain lie.
To these the Latian and the Sabine land 125
Fly, when distress’d, and thence relief demand.
The priest on skins of off’rings takes his ease,
And nightly visions in his slumber sees;
A swarm of thin ærial shapes appears,
And, flutt’ring round his temples, deafs his ears: 130
These he consults, the future fates to know,
From pow’rs above, and from the fiends below.
Here, for the gods’ advice, Latinus flies,
Off’ring a hundred sheep for sacrifice:
Their woolly fleeces, as the rites requir’d, 135
He laid beneath him, and to rest retir’d.
No sooner were his eyes in slumber bound,
When, from above, a more than mortal sound
Invades his ears; and thus the vision spoke:
“Seek not, my seed, in Latian bands to yoke 140
Our fair Lavinia, nor the gods provoke.
A foreign son upon thy shore descends,
Whose martial fame from pole to pole extends.
His race, in arms and arts of peace renown’d,
Not Latium shall contain, nor Europe bound: 145
’T is theirs whate’er the sun surveys around.’
These answers, in the silent night receiv’d,
The king himself divulg’d, the land believ’d:
The fame thro’ all the neighb’ring nations flew,
When now the Trojan navy was in view. 150
Beneath a shady tree, the hero spread
His table on the turf, with cakes of bread;
And, with his chiefs, on forest fruits he fed.
They sate; and, (not without the god’s command,)
Their homely fare dispatch’d, the hungry band 155
Invade their trenchers next, and soon devour,
To mend the scanty meal, their cakes of flour.
Ascanius this observ’d, and smiling said:
“See, we devour the plates on which we fed.”
The speech had omen, that the Trojan race 160
Should find repose, and this the time and place.
Æneas took the word, and thus replies,
Confessing fate with wonder in his eyes:
“All hail, O earth! all hail, my household gods!
Behold the destin’d place of your abodes! 165
For thus Anchises prophesied of old,
And this our fatal place of rest foretold:
‘When, on a foreign shore, instead of meat,
By famine forc’d, your trenchers you shall eat,
Then ease your weary Trojans will attend, 170
And the long labors of your voyage end.
Remember on that happy coast to build,
And with a trench inclose the fruitful field.’
This was that famine, this the fatal place
Which ends the wand’ring of our exil’d race. 175
Then, on to-morrow’s dawn, your care employ,
To search the land, and where the cities lie,
And what the men; but give this day to joy.
Now pour to Jove; and, after Jove is blest,
Call great Anchises to the genial feast: 180
Crown high the goblets with a cheerful draught;
Enjoy the present hour; adjourn the future thought.”
Thus having said, the hero bound his brows
With leafy branches, then perform’d his vows;
Adoring first the genius of the place, 185
Then Earth, the mother of the heav’nly race,
The nymphs, and native godheads yet unknown,
And Night, and all the stars that gild her sable throne,
And ancient Cybel, and Idæan Jove,
And last his sire below, and mother queen above. 190
Then heav’n’s high monarch thunder’d thrice aloud,
And thrice he shook aloft a golden cloud.
Soon thro’ the joyful camp a rumor flew,
The time was come their city to renew.
Then ev’ry brow with cheerful green is crown’d, 195
The feasts are doubled, and the bowls go round.
When next the rosy morn disclos’d the day,
The scouts to sev’ral parts divide their way,
To learn the natives’ names, their towns explore,
The coasts and trendings of the crooked shore: 200
Here Tiber flows, and here Numicus stands;
Here warlike Latins hold the happy lands.
The pious chief, who sought by peaceful ways
To found his empire, and his town to raise,
A hundred youths from all his train selects, 205
And to the Latian court their course directs,
(The spacious palace where their prince resides,)
And all their heads with wreaths of olive hides.
They go commission’d to require a peace,
And carry presents to procure access. 210
Thus while they speed their pace, the prince designs
His new-elected seat, and draws the lines.
The Trojans round the place a rampire cast,
And palisades about the trenches plac’d.
Meantime the train, proceeding on their way, 215
From far the town and lofty tow’rs survey;
At length approach the walls. Without the gate,
They see the boys and Latian youth debate
The martial prizes on the dusty plain:
Some drive the cars, and some the coursers rein; 220
Some bend the stubborn bow for victory,
And some with darts their active sinews try.
A posting messenger, dispatch’d from hence,
Of this fair troop advis’d their aged prince,
That foreign men of mighty stature came; 225
Uncouth their habit, and unknown their name.
The king ordains their entrance, and ascends
His regal seat, surrounded by his friends.
The palace built by Picus, vast and proud,
Supported by a hundred pillars stood, 230
And round incompass’d with a rising wood.
The pile o’erlook’d the town, and drew the sight;
Surpris’d at once with reverence and delight.
There kings receiv’d the marks of sov’reign pow’r;
In state the monarchs march’d; the lictors bore 235
Their awful axes and the rods before.
Here the tribunal stood, the house of pray’r,
And here the sacred senators repair;
All at large tables, in long order set,
A ram their off’ring, and a ram their meat. 240
Above the portal, carv’d in cedar wood,
Plac’d in their ranks, their godlike grandsires stood;
Old Saturn, with his crooked scythe, on high;
And Italus, that led the colony;
And ancient Janus, with his double face, 245
And bunch of keys, the porter of the place.
There good Sabinus, planter of the vines,
On a short pruning hook his head reclines,
And studiously surveys his gen’rous wines;
Then warlike kings, who for their country fought, 250
And honorable wounds from battle brought.
Around the posts hung helmets, darts, and spears,
And captive chariots, axes, shields, and bars,
And broken beaks of ships, the trophies of their wars.
Above the rest, as chief of all the band, 255
Was Picus plac’d, a buckler in his hand;
His other wav’d a long divining wand.
Girt in his Gabin gown the hero sate,
Yet could not with his art avoid his fate:
For Circe long had lov’d the youth in vain, 260
Till love, refus’d, converted to disdain:
Then, mixing pow’rful herbs, with magic art,
She chang’d his form, who could not change his heart;
Constrain’d him in a bird, and made him fly,
With party-color’d plumes, a chatt’ring pie. 265
In this high temple, on a chair of state,
The seat of audience, old Latinus sate;
Then gave admission to the Trojan train;
And thus with pleasing accents he began:
“Tell me, ye Trojans, for that name you own, 270
Nor is your course upon our coasts unknown—
Say what you seek, and whither were you bound:
Were you by stress of weather cast aground?
(Such dangers as on seas are often seen,
And oft befall to miserable men,) 275
Or come, your shipping in our ports to lay,
Spent and disabled in so long a way?
Say what you want: the Latians you shall find
Not forc’d to goodness, but by will inclin’d;
For, since the time of Saturn’s holy reign, 280
His hospitable customs we retain.
I call to mind (but time the tale has worn)
Th’ Arunci told, that Dardanus, tho’ born
On Latian plains, yet sought the Phrygian shore,
And Samothracia, Samos call’d before. 285
From Tuscan Coritum he claim’d his birth;
But after, when exempt from mortal earth,
From thence ascended to his kindred skies,
A god, and, as a god, augments their sacrifice.”
He said. Ilioneus made this reply: 290
“O king, of Faunus’ royal family!
Nor wintry winds to Latium forc’d our way,
Nor did the stars our wand’ring course betray.
Willing we sought your shores; and, hither bound,
The port, so long desir’d, at length we found; 295
From our sweet homes and ancient realms expell’d;
Great as the greatest that the sun beheld.
The god began our line, who rules above;
And, as our race, our king descends from Jove:
And hither are we come, by his command, 300
To crave admission in your happy land.
How dire a tempest, from Mycenæ pour’d,
Our plains, our temples, and our town devour’d;
What was the waste of war, what fierce alarms
Shook Asia’s crown with European arms; 305
Ev’n such have heard, if any such there be,
Whose earth is bounded by the frozen sea;
And such as, born beneath the burning sky
And sultry sun, betwixt the tropics lie.
From that dire deluge, thro’ the wat’ry waste, 310
Such length of years, such various perils past,
At last escap’d, to Latium we repair,
To beg what you without your want may spare:
The common water, and the common air;
Sheds which ourselves will build, and mean abodes, 315
Fit to receive and serve our banish’d gods.
Nor our admission shall your realm disgrace,
Nor length of time our gratitude efface.
Besides, what endless honor you shall gain,
To save and shelter Troy’s unhappy train! 320
Now, by my sov’reign, and his fate, I swear,
Renown’d for faith in peace, for force in war;
Oft our alliance other lands desir’d,
And, what we seek of you, of us requir’d.
Despite not then, that in our hands we bear 325
These holy boughs, and sue with words of pray’r.
Fate and the gods, by their supreme command,
Have doom’d our ships to seek the Latian land.
To these abodes our fleet Apollo sends;
Here Dardanus was born, and hither tends; 330
Where Tuscan Tiber rolls with rapid force,
And where Numicus opes his holy source.
Besides, our prince presents, with his request,
Some small remains of what his sire possess’d.
This golden charger, snatch’d from burning Troy, 335
Anchises did in sacrifice employ;
This royal robe and this tiara wore
Old Priam, and this golden scepter bore
In full assemblies, and in solemn games;
These purple vests were weav’d by Dardan dames.” 340
Thus while he spoke, Latinus roll’d around
His eyes, and fix’d a while upon the ground.
Intent he seem’d, and anxious in his breast;
Not by the scepter mov’d, or kingly vest,
But pond’ring future things of wondrous weight; 345
Succession, empire, and his daughter’s fate.
On these he mus’d within his thoughtful mind,
And then revolv’d what Faunus had divin’d.
This was the foreign prince, by fate decreed
To share his scepter, and Lavinia’s bed; 350
This was the race that sure portents foreshew
To sway the world, and land and sea subdue.
At length he rais’d his cheerful head, and spoke:
The pow’rs,” said he, “the pow’rs we both invoke,
To you, and yours, and mine, propitious be, 355
And firm our purpose with their augury!
Have what you ask; your presents I receive;
Land, where and when you please, with ample leave;
Partake and use my kingdom as your own;
All shall be yours, while I command the crown: 360
And, if my wish’d alliance please your king,
Tell him he should not send the peace, but bring.
Then let him not a friend’s embraces fear;
The peace is made when I behold him here.
Besides this answer, tell my royal guest, 365
I add to his commands my own request:
One only daughter heirs my crown and state,
Whom not our oracles, nor Heav’n, nor fate,
Nor frequent prodigies, permit to join
With any native of th’ Ausonian line. 370
A foreign son-in-law shall come from far
(Such is our doom), a chief renown’d in war,
Whose race shall bear aloft the Latian name,
And thro’ the conquer’d world diffuse our fame.
Himself to be the man the fates require, 375
I firmly judge, and, what I judge, desire.”
He said, and then on each bestow’d a steed.
Three hundred horses, in high stables fed,
Stood ready, shining all, and smoothly dress’d:
Of these he chose the fairest and the best, 380
To mount the Trojan troop. At his command
The steeds caparison’d with purple stand,
With golden trappings, glorious to behold,
And champ betwixt their teeth the foaming gold.
Then to his absent guest the king decreed 385
A pair of coursers born of heav’nly breed,
Who from their nostrils breath’d ethereal fire;
Whom Circe stole from her celestial sire,
By substituting mares produc’d on earth,
Whose wombs conceiv’d a more than mortal birth. 390
These draw the chariot which Latinus sends,
And the rich present to the prince commends.
Sublime on stately steeds the Trojans borne,
To their expecting lord with peace return.
But jealous Juno, from Pachynus’ height, 395
As she from Argos took her airy flight,
Beheld with envious eyes this hateful sight.
She saw the Trojan and his joyful train
Descend upon the shore, desert the main,
Design a town, and, with unhop’d success, 400
Th’ embassadors return with promis’d peace.
Then, pierc’d with pain, she shook her haughty head,
Sigh’d from her inward soul, and thus she said:
“O hated offspring of my Phrygian foes!
O fates of Troy, which Juno’s fates oppose! 405
Could they not fall unpitied on the plain,
But slain revive, and, taken, scape again?
When execrable Troy in ashes lay,
Thro’ fires and swords and seas they forc’d their way.
Then vanquish’d Juno must in vain contend, 410
Her rage disarm’d, her empire at an end.
Breathless and tir’d, is all my fury spent?
Or does my glutted spleen at length relent?
As if ’t were little from their town to chase,
I thro’ the seas pursued their exil’d race; 415
Ingag’d the heav’ns, oppos’d the stormy main;
But billows roar’d, and tempests rag’d in vain.
What have my Scyllas and my Syrtes done,
When these they overpass, and those they shun?
On Tiber’s shores they land, secure of fate, 420
Triumphant o’er the storms and Juno’s hate.
Mars could in mutual blood the Centaurs bathe,
And Jove himself gave way to Cynthia’s wrath,
Who sent the tusky boar to Calydon;
(What great offense had either people done?) 425
But I, the consort of the Thunderer,
Have wag’d a long and unsuccessful war,
With various arts and arms in vain have toil’d,
And by a mortal man at length am foil’d.
If native pow’r prevail not, shall I doubt 430
To seek for needful succor from without?
If Jove and Heav’n my just desires deny,
Hell shall the pow’r of Heav’n and Jove supply.
Grant that the Fates have firm’d, by their decree,
The Trojan race to reign in Italy; 435
At least I can defer the nuptial day,
And with protracted wars the peace delay:
With blood the dear alliance shall be bought,
And both the people near destruction brought;
So shall the son-in-law and father join, 440
With ruin, war, and waste of either line.
O fatal maid, thy marriage is endow’d
With Phrygian, Latian, and Rutulian blood!
Bellona leads thee to thy lover’s hand;
Another queen brings forth another brand, 445
To burn with foreign fires another land!
A second Paris, diff’ring but in name,
Shall fire his country with a second flame.”
Thus having said, she sinks beneath the ground,
With furious haste, and shoots the Stygian sound, 450
To rouse Alecto from th’ infernal seat
Of her dire sisters, and their dark retreat.
This Fury, fit for her intent, she chose;
One who delights in wars and human woes.
Ev’n Pluto hates his own misshapen race; 455
Her sister Furies fly her hideous face;
So frightful are the forms the monster takes,
So fierce the hissings of her speckled snakes.
Her Juno finds, and thus inflames her spite:
“O virgin daughter of eternal Night, 460
Give me this once thy labor, to sustain
My right, and execute my just disdain.
Let not the Trojans, with a feign’d pretense
Of proffer’d peace, delude the Latian prince.
Expel from Italy that odious name, 465
And let not Juno suffer in her fame.
’T is thine to ruin realms, o’erturn a state,
Betwixt the dearest friends to raise debate,
And kindle kindred blood to mutual hate.
Thy hand o’er towns the fun’ral torch displays, 470
And forms a thousand ills ten thousand ways.
Now shake, from out thy fruitful breast, the seeds
Of envy, discord, and of cruel deeds:
Confound the peace establish’d, and prepare
Their souls to hatred, and their hands to war.” 475
Smear’d as she was with black Gorgonian blood,
The Fury sprang above the Stygian flood;
And on her wicker wings, sublime thro’ night,
She to the Latian palace took her flight:
There sought the queen’s apartment, stood before 480
The peaceful threshold, and besieg’d the door.
Restless Amata lay, her swelling breast
Fir’d with disdain for Turnus dispossess’d,
And the new nuptials of the Trojan guest.
From her black bloody locks the Fury shakes 485
Her darling plague, the fav’rite of her snakes;
With her full force she threw the pois’nous dart,
And fix’d it deep within Amata’s heart,
That, thus envenom’d, she might kindle rage,
And sacrifice to strife her house and husband’s age. 490
Unseen, unfelt, the fiery serpent skims
Betwixt her linen and her naked limbs;
His baleful breath inspiring, as he glides,
Now like a chain around her neck he rides,
Now like a fillet to her head repairs, 495
And with his circling volumes folds her hairs.
At first the silent venom slid with ease,
And seiz’d her cooler senses by degrees;
Then, ere th’ infected mass was fir’d too far,
In plaintive accents she began the war, 500
And thus bespoke her husband: “Shall,” she said,
“A wand’ring prince enjoy Lavinia’s bed?
If nature plead not in a parent’s heart,
Pity my tears, and pity her desert.
I know, my dearest lord, the time will come, 505
You would, in vain, reverse your cruel doom;
The faithless pirate soon will set to sea,
And bear the royal virgin far away!
A guest like him, a Trojan guest before,
In shew of friendship sought the Spartan shore, 510
And ravish’d Helen from her husband bore.
Think on a king’s inviolable word;
And think on Turnus, her once plighted lord:
To this false foreigner you give your throne,
And wrong a friend, a kinsman, and a son. 515
Resume your ancient care; and, if the god
Your sire, and you, resolve on foreign blood,
Know all are foreign, in a larger sense,
Not born your subjects, or deriv’d from hence.
Then, if the line of Turnus you retrace, 520
He springs from Inachus of Argive race.”
But when she saw her reasons idly spent,
And could not move him from his fix’d intent,
She flew to rage; for now the snake possess’d
Her vital parts, and poison’d all her breast; 525
She raves, she runs with a distracted pace,
And fills with horrid howls the public place.
And, as young striplings whip the top for sport,
On the smooth pavement of an empty court;
The wooden engine flies and whirls about, 530
Admir’d, with clamors, of the beardless rout;
They lash aloud; each other they provoke,
And lend their little souls at ev’ry stroke:
Thus fares the queen; and thus her fury blows
Amidst the crowd, and kindles as she goes. 535
Nor yet content, she strains her malice more,
And adds new ills to those contriv’d before:
She flies the town, and, mixing with a throng
Of madding matrons, bears the bride along,
Wand’ring thro’ woods and wilds, and devious ways, 540
And with these arts the Trojan match delays.
She feign’d the rites of Bacchus; cried aloud,
And to the buxom god the virgin vow’d.
“Evoe! O Bacchus!” thus began the song;
And “Evoe!” answer’d all the female throng. 545
“O virgin! worthy thee alone!” she cried;
“O worthy thee alone!” the crew replied.
For thee she feeds her hair, she leads thy dance,
And with thy winding ivy wreathes her lance.”
Like fury seiz’d the rest; the progress known, 550
All seek the mountains, and forsake the town:
All, clad in skins of beasts, the jav’lin bear,
Give to the wanton winds their flowing hair,
And shrieks and shoutings rend the suff’ring air.
The queen herself, inspir’d with rage divine, 555
Shook high above her head a flaming pine;
Then roll’d her haggard eyes around the throng,
And sung, in Turnus’ name, the nuptial song:
“Io, ye Latian dames! if any here
Hold your unhappy queen, Amata, dear; 560
If there be here,” she said, “who dare maintain
My right, nor think the name of mother vain;
Unbind your fillets, loose your flowing hair,
And orgies and nocturnal rites prepare.”
Amata’s breast the Fury thus invades, 565
And fires with rage, amid the sylvan shades;
Then, when she found her venom spread so far,
The royal house embroil’d in civil war,
Rais’d on her dusky wings, she cleaves the skies,
And seeks the palace where young Turnus lies. 570
His town, as fame reports, was built of old
By Danæ, pregnant with almighty gold,
Who fled her father’s rage, and, with a train
Of following Argives, thro’ the stormy main,
Driv’n by the southern blasts, was fated here to reign. 575
’T was Ardua once; now Ardea’s name it bears;
Once a fair city, now consum’d with years.
Here, in his lofty palace, Turnus lay,
Betwixt the confines of the night and day,
Secure in sleep. The Fury laid aside 580
Her looks and limbs, and with new methods tried
The foulness of th’ infernal form to hide.
Propp’d on a staff, she takes a trembling mien:
Her face is furrow’d, and her front obscene;
Deep-dinted wrinkles on her cheek she draws; 585
Sunk are her eyes, and toothless are her jaws;
Her hoary hair with holy fillets bound,
Her temples with an olive wreath are crown’d.
Old Chalybe, who kept the sacred fane
Of Juno, now she seem’d, and thus began, 590
Appearing in a dream, to rouse the careless man:
“Shall Turnus then such endless toil sustain
In fighting fields, and conquer towns in vain?
Win, for a Trojan head to wear the prize,
Usurp thy crown, enjoy thy victories? 595
The bride and scepter which thy blood has bought,
The king transfers; and foreign heirs are sought.
Go now, deluded man, and seek again
New toils, new dangers, on the dusty plain.
Repel the Tuscan foes; their city seize; 600
Protect the Latians in luxurious ease.
This dream all-pow’rful Juno sends; I bear
Her mighty mandates, and her words you hear.
Haste; arm your Ardeans; issue to the plain;
With fate to friend, assault the Trojan train: 605
Their thoughtless chiefs, their painted ships, that lie
In Tiber’s mouth, with fire and sword destroy.
The Latian king, unless he shall submit,
Own his old promise, and his new forget—
Let him, in arms, the pow’r of Turnus prove, 610
And learn to fear whom he disdains to love.
For such is Heav’n’s command.” The youthful prince
With scorn replied, and made this bold defense:
“You tell me, mother, what I knew before:
The Phrygian fleet is landed on the shore. 615
I neither fear nor will provoke the war;
My fate is Juno’s most peculiar care.
But time has made you dote, and vainly tell
Of arms imagin’d in your lonely cell.
Go; be the temple and the gods your care; 620
Permit to men the thought of peace and war.”
These haughty words Alecto’s rage provoke,
And frighted Turnus trembled as she spoke.
Her eyes grow stiffen’d, and with sulphur burn;
Her hideous looks and hellish form return; 625
Her curling snakes with hissings fill the place,
And open all the furies of her face:
Then, darting fire from her malignant eyes,
She cast him backward as he strove to rise,
And, ling’ring, sought to frame some new replies. 630
High on her head she rears two twisted snakes,
Her chains she rattles, and her whip she shakes;
And, churning bloody foam, thus loudly speaks:
“Behold whom time has made to dote, and tell
Of arms imagin’d in her lonely cell! 635
Behold the Fates’ infernal minister!
War, death, destruction, in my hand I bear.”
Thus having said, her smold’ring torch, impress’d
With her full force, she plung’d into his breast.
Aghast he wak’d; and, starting from his bed, 640
Cold sweat, in clammy drops, his limbs o’erspread.
“Arms! arms!” he cries: “my sword and shield prepare!”
He breathes defiance, blood, and mortal war.
So, when with crackling flames a caldron fries,
The bubbling waters from the bottom rise: 645
Above the brims they force their fiery way;
Black vapors climb aloft, and cloud the day.
The peace polluted thus, a chosen band
He first commissions to the Latian land,
In threat’ning embassy; then rais’d the rest, 650
To meet in arms th’ intruding Trojan guest,
To force the foes from the Lavinian shore,
And Italy’s indanger’d peace restore.
Himself alone an equal match he boasts,
To fight the Phrygian and Ausonian hosts. 655
The gods invok’d, the Rutuli prepare
Their arms, and warn each other to the war.
His beauty these, and those his blooming age,
The rest his house and his own fame ingage.
While Turnus urges thus his enterprise, 660
The Stygian Fury to the Trojans flies;
New frauds invents, and takes a steepy stand,
Which overlooks the vale with wide command;
Where fair Ascanius and his youthful train,
With horns and hounds, a hunting match ordain, 665
And pitch their toils around the shady plain.
The Fury fires the pack; they snuff, they vent,
And feed their hungry nostrils with the scent.
’Twas of a well-grown stag, whose antlers rise
High o’er his front; his beams invade the skies. 670
From this light cause th’ infernal maid prepares
The country churls to mischief, hate, and wars.
The stately beast the two Tyrrhidæ bred,
Snatch’d from his dams, and the tame youngling fed.
Their father Tyrrheus did his fodder bring, 675
Tyrrheus, chief ranger to the Latian king:
Their sister Silvia cherish’d with her care
The little wanton, and did wreaths prepare
To hang his budding horns, with ribbons tied
His tender neck, and comb’d his silken hide, 680
And bath’d his body. Patient of command
In time he grew, and, growing us’d to hand,
He waited at his master’s board for food;
Then sought his salvage kindred in the wood,
Where grazing all the day, at night he came 685
To his known lodgings, and his country dame.
This household beast, that us’d the woodland grounds,
Was view’d at first by the young hero’s hounds,
As down the stream he swam, to seek retreat
In the cool waters, and to quench his heat. 690
Ascanius young, and eager of his game,
Soon bent his bow, uncertain in his aim;
But the dire fiend the fatal arrow guides,
Which pierc’d his bowels thro’ his panting sides.
The bleeding creature issues from the floods, 695
Possess’d with fear, and seeks his known abodes,
His old familiar hearth and household gods.
He falls; he fills the house with heavy groans,
Implores their pity, and his pain bemoans.
Young Silvia beats her breast, and cries aloud 700
For succor from the clownish neighborhood:
The churls assemble; for the fiend, who lay
In the close woody covert, urg’d their way.
One with a brand yet burning from the flame,
Arm’d with a knotty club another came: 705
Whate’er they catch or find, without their care,
Their fury makes an instrument of war.
Tyrrheus, the foster father of the beast,
Then clench’d a hatchet in his horny fist,
But held his hand from the descending stroke, 710
And left his wedge within the cloven oak,
To whet their courage and their rage provoke.
And now the goddess, exercis’d in ill,
Who watch’d an hour to work her impious will,
Ascends the roof, and to her crooked horn, 715
Such as was then by Latian shepherds borne,
Adds all her breath: the rocks and woods around,
And mountains, tremble at th’ infernal sound.
The sacred lake of Trivia from afar,
The Veline fountains, and sulphureous Nar, 720
Shake at the baleful blast, the signal of the war.
Young mothers wildly stare, with fear possess’d,
And strain their helpless infants to their breast.
The clowns, a boist’rous, rude, ungovern’d crew,
With furious haste to the loud summons flew. 725
The pow’rs of Troy, then issuing on the plain,
With fresh recruits their youthful chief sustain:
Not theirs a raw and unexperienc’d train,
But a firm body of embattled men.
At first, while fortune favor’d neither side, 730
The fight with clubs and burning brands was tried;
But now, both parties reinforc’d, the fields
Are bright with flaming swords and brazen shields.
A shining harvest either host displays,
And shoots against the sun with equal rays. 735
Thus, when a black-brow’d gust begins to rise,
White foam at first on the curl’d ocean fries;
Then roars the main, the billows mount the skies;
Till, by the fury of the storm full blown,
The muddy bottom o’er the clouds is thrown. 740
First Almon falls, old Tyrrheus’ eldest care,
Pierc’d with an arrow from the distant war:
Fix’d in his throat the flying weapon stood,
And stopp’d his breath, and drank his vital blood
Huge heaps of slain around the body rise: 745
Among the rest, the rich Galesus lies;
A good old man, while peace he preach’d in vain,
Amidst the madness of th’ unruly train:
Five herds, five bleating flocks, his pastures fill’d;
His lands a hundred yoke of oxen till’d. 750
Thus, while in equal scales their fortune stood
The Fury bath’d them in each other’s blood;
Then, having fix’d the fight, exulting flies,
And bears fulfill’d her promise to the skies.
To Juno thus she speaks: “Behold! ’t is done, 755
The blood already drawn, the war begun;
The discord is complete; nor can they cease
The dire debate, nor you command the peace.
Now, since the Latian and the Trojan brood
Have tasted vengeance and the sweets of blood; 760
Speak, and my pow’r shall add this office more:
The neighb’ring nations of th’ Ausonian shore
Shall hear the dreadful rumor, from afar,
Of arm’d invasion, and embrace the war.”
Then Juno thus: “The grateful work is done, 765
The seeds of discord sow’d, the war begun;
Frauds, fears, and fury have possess’d the state,
And fix’d the causes of a lasting hate.
A bloody Hymen shall th’ alliance join
Betwixt the Trojan and Ausonian line: 770
But thou with speed to night and hell repair;
For not the gods, nor angry Jove, will bear
Thy lawless wand’ring walks in upper air.
Leave what remains to me.” Saturnia said:
The sullen fiend her sounding wings display’d, 775
Unwilling left the light, and sought the nether shade.
In midst of Italy, well known to fame,
There lies a lake (Amsanctus is the name)
Below the lofty mounts: on either side
Thick forests the forbidden entrance hide. 780
Full in the center of the sacred wood
An arm arises of the Stygian flood,
Which, breaking from beneath with bellowing sound,
Whirls the black waves and rattling stones around.
Here Pluto pants for breath from out his cell, 785
And opens wide the grinning jaws of hell.
To this infernal lake the Fury flies;
Here hides her hated head, and frees the lab’ring skies.
Saturnian Juno now, with double care,
Attends the fatal process of the war. 790
The clowns, return’d, from battle bear the slain,
Implore the gods, and to their king complain.
The corps of Almon and the rest are shown;
Shrieks, clamors, murmurs, fill the frighted town.
Ambitious Turnus in the press appears, 795
And, aggravating crimes, augments their fears;
Proclaims his private injuries aloud,
A solemn promise made, and disavow’d;
A foreign son is sought, and a mix’d mungril brood.
Then they, whose mothers, frantic with their fear, 800
In woods and wilds the flags of Bacchus bear,
And lead his dances with dishevel’d hair,
Increase the clamor, and the war demand,
(Such was Amata’s interest in the land,)
Against the public sanctions of the peace, 805
Against all omens of their ill success.
With fates averse, the rout in arms resort,
To force their monarch, and insult the court.
But, like a rock unmov’d, a rock that braves
The raging tempest and the rising waves— 810
Propp’d on himself he stands; his solid sides
Wash off the seaweeds, and the sounding tides—
So stood the pious prince, unmov’d, and long
Sustain’d the madness of the noisy throng.
But, when he found that Juno’s pow’r prevail’d, 815
And all the methods of cool counsel fail’d,
He calls the gods to witness their offense,
Disclaims the war, asserts his innocence.
“Hurried by fate,” he cries, “and borne before
A furious wind, we leave the faithful shore. 820
O more than madmen! you yourselves shall bear
The guilt of blood and sacrilegious war:
Thou, Turnus, shalt atone it by thy fate,
And pray to Heav’n for peace, but pray too late.
For me, my stormy voyage at an end, 825
I to the port of death securely tend.
The fun’ral pomp which to your kings you pay,
Is all I want, and all you take away.”
He said no more, but, in his walls confin’d,
Shut out the woes which he too well divin’d; 830
Nor with the rising storm would vainly strive,
But left the helm, and let the vessel drive.
A solemn custom was observ’d of old,
Which Latium held, and now the Romans hold,
Their standard when in fighting fields they rear 835
Against the fierce Hyrcanians, or declare
The Scythian, Indian, or Arabian war;
Or from the boasting Parthians would regain
Their eagles, lost in Carrhæ’s bloody plain.
Two gates of steel (the name of Mars they bear, 840
And still are worship’d with religious fear)
Before his temple stand: the dire abode,
And the fear’d issues of the furious god,
Are fenc’d with brazen bolts; without the gates,
The wary guardian Janus doubly waits. 845
Then, when the sacred senate votes the wars,
The Roman consul their decree declares,
And in his robes the sounding gates unbars.
The youth in military shouts arise,
And the loud trumpets break the yielding skies. 850
These rites, of old by sov’reign princes us’d,
Were the king’s office; but the king refus’d,
Deaf to their cries, nor would the gates unbar
Of sacred peace, or loose th’ imprison’d war;
But hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms, 855
Abhorr’d the wicked ministry of arms.
Then heav’n’s imperious queen shot down from high:
At her approach the brazen hinges fly;
The gates are forc’d, and ev’ry falling bar;
And, like a tempest, issues out the war. 860
The peaceful cities of th’ Ausonian shore,
Lull’d in their ease, and undisturb’d before,
Are all on fire; and some, with studious care,
Their restiff steeds in sandy plains prepare;
Some their soft limbs in painful marches try, 865
And war is all their wish, and arms the gen’ral cry.
Part scour the rusty shields with seam; and part
New grind the blunted ax, and point the dart:
With joy they view the waving ensigns fly,
And hear the trumpet’s clangor pierce the sky. 870
Five cities forge their arms: th’ Atinian pow’rs,
Antemnæ, Tibur with her lofty tow’rs,
Ardea the proud, the Crustumerian town:
All these of old were places of renown.
Some hammer helmets for the fighting field; 875
Some twine young sallows to support the shield;
The croslet some, and some the cuishes mold,
With silver plated, and with ductile gold.
The rustic honors of the scythe and share
Give place to swords and plumes, the pride of war. 880
Old fauchions are new temper’d in the fires;
The sounding trumpet ev’ry soul inspires.
The word is giv’n; with eager speed they lace
The shining headpiece, and the shield embrace.
The neighing steeds are to the chariot tied; 885
The trusty weapon sits on ev’ry side.
And now the mighty labor is begun—
Ye Muses, open all your Helicon.
Sing you the chiefs that sway’d th’ Ausonian land,
Their arms, and armies under their command; 890
What warriors in our ancient clime were bred;
What soldiers follow’d, and what heroes led.
For well you know, and can record alone,
What fame to future times conveys but darkly down.
Mezentius first appear’d upon the plain: 895
Scorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain,
Defying earth and heav’n. Etruria lost,
He brings to Turnus’ aid his baffled host.
The charming Lausus, full of youthful fire,
Rode in the rank, and next his sullen sire; 900
To Turnus only second in the grace
Of manly mien, and features of the face.
A skilful horseman, and a huntsman bred,
With fates averse a thousand men he led:
His sire unworthy of so brave a son; 905
Himself well worthy of a happier throne.
Next Aventinus drives his chariot round
The Latian plains, with palms and laurels crown’d.
Proud of his steeds, he smokes along the field;
His father’s hydra fills his ample shield: 910
A hundred serpents hiss about the brims;
The son of Hercules he justly seems
By his broad shoulders and gigantic limbs;
Of heav’nly part, and part of earthly blood,
A mortal woman mixing with a god. 915
For strong Alcides, after he had slain
The triple Geryon, drove from conquer’d Spain
His captive herds; and, thence in triumph led,
On Tuscan Tiber’s flow’ry banks they fed.
Then on Mount Aventine the son of Jove 920
The priestess Rhea found, and forc’d to love.
For arms, his men long piles and jav’lins bore;
And poles with pointed steel their foes in battle gore.
Like Hercules himself his son appears,
In salvage pomp; a lion’s hide he wears; 925
About his shoulders hangs the shaggy skin;
The teeth and gaping jaws severely grin.
Thus, like the god his father, homely dress’d,
He strides into the hall, a horrid guest.
Then two twin brothers from fair Tibur came, 930
(Which from their brother Tiburs took the name,)
Fierce Coras and Catillus, void of fear:
Arm’d Argive horse they led, and in the front appear.
Like cloud-born Centaurs, from the mountain’s height
With rapid course descending to the fight; 935
They rush along; the rattling woods give way;
The branches bend before their sweepy sway.
Nor was Præneste’s founder wanting there,
Whom fame reports the son of Mulciber:
Found in the fire, and foster’d in the plains, 940
A shepherd and a king at once he reigns,
And leads to Turnus’ aid his country swains.
His own Præneste sends a chosen band,
With those who plow Saturnia’s Gabine land;
Besides the succor which cold Anien yields, 945
The rocks of Hernicus, and dewy fields,
Anagnia fat, and Father Amasene—
A num’rous rout, but all of naked men:
Nor arms they wear, nor swords and bucklers wield,
Nor drive the chariot thro’ the dusty field, 950
But whirl from leathern slings huge balls of lead,
And spoils of yellow wolves adorn their head;
The left foot naked, when they march to fight,
But in a bull’s raw hide they sheathe the right.
Messapus next, (great Neptune was his sire,) 955
Secure of steel, and fated from the fire,
In pomp appears, and with his ardor warms
A heartless train, unexercis’d in arms:
The just Faliscans he to battle brings,
And those who live where Lake Ciminia springs; 960
And where Feronia’s grove and temple stands,
Who till Fescennian or Flavinian lands.
All these in order march, and marching sing
The warlike actions of their sea-born king;
Like a long team of snowy swans on high, 965
Which clap their wings, and cleave the liquid sky,
When, homeward from their wat’ry pastures borne,
They sing, and Asia’s lakes their notes return.
Not one who heard their music from afar,
Would think these troops an army train’d to war, 970
But flocks of fowl, that, when the tempests roar,
With their hoarse gabbling seek the silent shore.
Then Clausus came, who led a num’rous band
Of troops embodied from the Sabine land,
And, in himself alone, an army brought. 975
’T was he, the noble Claudian race begot,
The Claudian race, ordain’d, in times to come,
To share the greatness of imperial Rome.
He led the Cures forth, of old renown,
Mutuscans from their olive-bearing town, 980
And all th’ Eretian pow’rs; besides a band
That follow’d from Velinum’s dewy land,
And Amiternian troops, of mighty fame,
And mountaineers, that from Severus came,
And from the craggy cliffs of Tetrica, 985
And those where yellow Tiber takes his way,
And where Himella’s wanton waters play.
Casperia sends her arms, with those that lie
By Fabaris, and fruitful Foruli:
The warlike aids of Horta next appear, 990
And the cold Nursians come to close the rear,
Mix’d with the natives born of Latine blood,
Whom Allia washes with her fatal flood.
Not thicker billows beat the Libyan main,
When pale Orion sets in wintry rain; 995
Nor thicker harvests on rich Hermus rise,
Or Lycian fields, when Phœbus burns the skies,
Than stand these troops: their bucklers ring around;
Their trampling turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground.
High in his chariot then Halesus came, 1000
A foe by birth to Troy’s unhappy name:
From Agamemnon born—to Turnus’ aid
A thousand men the youthful hero led,
Who till the Massic soil, for wine renown’d,
And fierce Auruncans from their hilly ground, 1005
And those who live by Sidicinian shores,
And where with shoaly fords Vulturnus roars,
Cales’ and Osca’s old inhabitants,
And rough Saticulans, inur’d to wants:
Light demi-lances from afar they throw, 1010
Fasten’d with leathern thongs, to gall the foe.
Short crooked swords in closer fight they wear;
And on their warding arm light bucklers bear.
Nor OEbalus, shalt thou be left unsung,
From nymph Semethis and old Telon sprung, 1015
Who then in Teleboan Capri reign’d;
But that short isle th’ ambitious youth disdain’d,
And o’er Campania stretch’d his ample sway,
Where swelling Sarnus seeks the Tyrrhene sea;
O’er Batulum, and where Abella sees, 1020
From her high tow’rs, the harvest of her trees.
And these (as was the Teuton use of old)
Wield brazen swords, and brazen bucklers hold;
Sling weighty stones, when from afar they fight;
Their casques are cork, a covering thick and light. 1025
Next these in rank, the warlike Ufens went,
And led the mountain troops that Nursia sent.
The rude Equicolæ his rule obey’d;
Hunting their sport, and plund’ring was their trade.
In arms they plow’d, to battle still prepar’d: 1030
Their soil was barren, and their hearts were hard.
Umbro the priest the proud Marrubians led,
By King Archippus sent to Turnus’ aid,
And peaceful olives crown’d his hoary head.
His wand and holy words, the viper’s rage, 1035
And venom’d wounds of serpents could assuage.
He, when he pleas’d with powerful juice to steep
Their temples, shut their eyes in pleasing sleep.
But vain were Marsian herbs, and magic art,
To cure the wound giv’n by the Dardan dart: 1040
Yet his untimely fate th’ Angitian woods
In sighs remurmur’d to the Fucine floods.
The son of fam’d Hippolytus was there,
Fam’d as his sire, and, as his mother, fair;
Whom in Egerian groves Aricia bore, 1045
And nurs’d his youth along the marshy shore,
Where great Diana’s peaceful altars flame,
In fruitful fields; and Virbius was his name.
Hippolytus, as old records have said,
Was by his stepdam sought to share her bed; 1050
But, when no female arts his mind could move,
She turn’d to furious hate her impious love.
Torn by wild horses on the sandy shore,
Another’s crimes th’ unhappy hunter bore,
Glutting his father’s eyes with guiltless gore. 1055
But chaste Diana, who his death deplor’d,
With Æsculapian herbs his life restor’d.
Then Jove, who saw from high, with just disdain,
The dead inspir’d with vital breath again,
Struck to the center, with his flaming dart, 1060
Th’ unhappy founder of the godlike art.
But Trivia kept in secret shades alone
Her care, Hippolytus, to fate unknown;
And call’d him Virbius in th’ Egerian grove,
Where then he liv’d obscure, but safe from Jove. 1065
For this, from Trivia’s temple and her wood
Are coursers driv’n, who shed their master’s blood,
Affrighted by the monsters of the flood.
His son, the second Virbius, yet retain’d
His father’s art, and warrior steeds he rein’d. 1070
Amid the troops, and like the leading god,
High o’er the rest in arms the graceful Turnus rode:
A triple pile of plumes his crest adorn’d,
On which with belching flames Chimæra burn’d:
The more the kindled combat rises high’r, 1075
The more with fury burns the blazing fire.
Fair Io grac’d his shield; but Io now
With horns exalted stands, and seems to low—
A noble charge! Her keeper by her side,
To watch her walks, his hundred eyes applied; 1080
And on the brims her sire, the wat’ry god,
Roll’d from a silver urn his crystal flood.
A cloud of foot succeeds, and fills the fields
With swords, and pointed spears, and clatt’ring shields;
Of Argives, and of old Sicanian bands, 1085
And those who plow the rich Rutulian lands;
Auruncan youth, and those Sacrana yields,
And the proud Labicans, with painted shields,
And those who near Numician streams reside.
And those whom Tiber’s holy forests hide, 1090
Or Circe’s hills from the main land divide;
Where Ufens glides along the lowly lands,
Or the black water of Pomptina stands.
Last, from the Volscians fair Camilla came,
And led her warlike troops, a warrior dame; 1095
Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskill’d,
She chose the nobler Pallas of the field.
Mix’d with the first, the fierce virago fought,
Sustain’d the toils of arms, the danger sought,
Outstripp’d the winds in speed upon the plain, 1100
Flew o’er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain:
She swept the seas, and, as she skimm’d along,
Her flying feet unbath’d on billows hung.
Men, boys, and women, stupid with surprise,
Where’er she passes, fix their wond’ring eyes: 1105
Longing they look, and, gaping at the sight,
Devour her o’er and o’er with vast delight;
Her purple habit sits with such a grace
On her smooth shoulders, and so suits her face;
Her head with ringlets of her hair is crown’d, 1110
And in a golden caul the curls are bound.
She shakes her myrtle jav’lin; and, behind,
Her Lycian quiver dances in the wind.

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Endure Until The End

To be afflicted,
To be hated,
To be offended,
And to betray one another!
But the world hates the truth.

Satan's influences and,
The misery in this world;
But whosoever endures until the end will be saved!
So, don't turn back on your positive tracks in this world.

Life is like the nursing of babies,
With the wealth and the pleasures of life around us;
But as numerous as the stars in the sky are the human kind,
And like the keys of love still missing in our own hands.

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Blood Thirsty Until the End

For you, sweetheart,
I’d become a hit man
Employed at your discretion
If you merely ask,
That’s the depth of my obsession!

I can handle
Any extreme ravages,
I can stare death
Unblinkingly in the face,
I’m unconcerned
With where you travel,
I can live in any place.

I’ve seen your arms
Wrapped around many men,
I’m not jealous, sweetheart,
I’ll patiently wait my turn.

This is going to be
A wildly intoxicating romance,
We’re going to be
Criminally cool
And blood thirsty until the end!

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Until the end of it

One day I will have
my death of her
and let her fade away
out of my heart
and we will part.

Even if she still
is part of me
I’ll bury every feeling
letting it slip into iniquity
and maiming myself
until what’s left
is only me.

Even if it be her
that makes me breathe,
that gives colour
to every leave,

even if it guts me
near to death
I’ll get rid of her
and my solitude
will be bliss

and there will be no one
to break my heart,
no one to tear me apart,
no one to love
and life will just
be the here and now
until the end of it.

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On The End Of The World (Cavatina Sequence)

(after Archibald MacLeish)

Behind the scenes they act, while on the stage
life is a dance
and we fall for the show and laugh and play
in romance,
as in quick-time we are very smitten,
are in a trance
as some Bee-bee Bob the clown laughs and cries;
men go off to war to kill and some dies

and then still lurking are unseen beings,
in sheer darkness;
they poise, do mislead and cover their tracks,
with great aloofness
they turn all beliefs in nothing at all,
bring lawlessness,
try to drag most of humanity down
to wait on great disaster as their own.

[Reference: 'The End of the World' by Archibald MacLeish.]

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Untill The End

Perhaps I hide it well, or maybe to my heart you're blind, but if you look very close, you're sure to find... that I love you with heart and soul and body and mind. I spend my time thinking about you; sometimes I'm elated and hopeful, and sometimes I'm down and blue, waiting for these sweet dreams of us to come true. There's a picture in my mind, the way I wish it could be, and I believe happiness is possible for you and me. You don't have to look very hard- it's not so difficult to see, that we're as perfect together as shore and sea. The ribbons around my heart, are the ties that bind; I'm a slave to the oldest type of bondage known to mankind. And I'll always be right here waiting for you, my heart ever hopeful that these dreams will come true, but whether or not they do until the end of time,

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Until The End Of Time

Chorus
Until the end of time
I'm longing for you
And if you feel the same
Then show me your love
I'll give you everything that money can't buy
And I promise I'll be right by your side
'Til the end of time

I imagined being wrapped up in your arms
And feeling your heart beat
And i find myself longing to holf you close
'Cause I've been through a lot these years
And I have lost the count of my tears

Chorus

If only you could tell me what's on your mind
And show how you feel
And I wonder where you are heading this time
And where you belong
'Cause I know that if you would be here
I'll do anything 'cause my love is real
Even moments are sad
I look into your eyes and
I know this will last

Chorus x2

Things that money can't buy
Things that money can't buy
Things that money can't buy

song performed by Westlife from Swear It Again EPReport problemRelated quotes
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In The End Of Life

No will to live
Without lights
Coming to the end of life
Arriving in the end of life
Ones decide to sacrifice
No will to live
Without lights
Coming to the end of life
Lost in darkness realms to go
The fearless ones now are down
The final one is burnt off life
Killing Time
Arising from the dark
A peeling soul to pay
Crawling in the light
piercing through your brain
Reaching out for help
The help in which you pray
Searching for the answers
To questions which they say
Just Killing Time
Killing time is the final bout
Life slowly decays
>From the depths of down below
Powerful rotting ways
Corpses lay out on the ground
Form a perfect line
Killing Time
Rotten is the deadly birth
Strength turns to fear
What awaits the end result
Life's death draws near
A freefall victim to decay
Infection sets the pace
Rising from your loneliness
and the human race

song performed by ObituaryReport problemRelated quotes
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Before The End

dark days r ahead the light has left my soul in my eyes i see everything reality bouncing around me dimensions being swallowed whole fallin towards the deepest darkest black hole whole stars being consumed into the very bleakness of nothing ness everthing that was once is now reduced to a former memory of it self my memories of u will always be held tight to me the flames of hell and the heavens
themselves being consumed by everything that was nothing forever lonliness after all is over nothing left but the great darkness that takes over everything and anything nothing and no one is left but the emptiness i know ill always treasure ur memory ur smile b4 i fade away the end i could only ask for myself and no one esle with that id go and pay for everyone esle for i wouldnt want anyone esle to suffer this horrible fate least of all you for u mean everything to me until my last moments i call ur name i close my eyes and picture ur beautiful face and then im gone for good but least i faded with sweet sweet thoughts of the one ill always treasure until the end itself.

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Until The End Of Time

When I was young and the world belonged to me
I thought that love meant pain and jealousy
It was a cross on my shoulder
Oh lord, now I feel so much older, oooh, oooh
Time had a way of making me see
My lonely life has taken its toll on me
Now I feel the emptiness
And I dont want to live like this
Now Ive heard stories, Ive heard songs
Telling me believe my heart dont wait too long
But words they dont ring true
Until there was you
Never will I lose this hearts desire
Ever will I feed our loves fire
Only when I know that youll be mine
Until the end of time
How do I trust what Im beginning to feel?
How deep my soul, how much can I reveal?
Im lost in loves mystery
Caught between time and eternity
Now theres a door that opens wide
Slowly I will find my way and reach inside
But I couldnt make it through
Until there was you
Never will I lose this hearts desire
Ever will I feed our loves fire
Only when I know that youll be mine
And only when I see the light of love shine
Until the end of time
Never will I lose this hearts desire
Ever will I feed our loves fire
Only when I know that youll be mine
And only when I see the light of love shine
Never will I lose this hearts desire
Ever will I feed our loves fire
And when I see the light of love shine
In your eyes when they meet mine
Only then Ill know its you and i
Until the end of time

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The City at the End of Things

Beside the pounding cataracts
Of midnight streams unknown to us
'Tis builded in the leafless tracts
And valleys huge of Tartarus.
Lurid and lofty and vast it seems;
It hath no rounded name that rings,
But I have heard it called in dreams
The City of the End of Things.
Its roofs and iron towers have grown
None knoweth how high within the night,
But in its murky streets far down
A flaming terrible and bright
Shakes all the stalking shadows there,
Across the walls, across the floors,
And shifts upon the upper air
From out a thousand furnace doors;
And all the while an awful sound
Keeps roaring on continually,
And crashes in the ceaseless round
Of a gigantic harmony.
Through its grim depths re-echoing
And all its weary height of walls,
With measured roar and iron ring,
The inhuman music lifts and falls.
Where no thing rests and no man is,
And only fire and night hold sway;
The beat, the thunder and the hiss
Cease not, and change not, night nor day.
And moving at unheard commands,
The abysses and vast fires between,
Flit figures that with clanking hands
Obey a hideous routine;
They are not flesh, they are not bone,
They see not with the human eye,
And from their iron lips is blown
A dreadful and monotonous cry;
And whoso of our mortal race
Should find that city unaware,
Lean Death would smite him face to face,
And blanch him with its venomed air:
Or caught by the terrific spell,
Each thread of memory snapt and cut,
His soul would shrivel and its shell
Go rattling like an empty nut.

It was not always so, but once,
In days that no man thinks upon,
Fair voices echoed from its stones,
The light above it leaped and shone:
Once there were multitudes of men,
That built that city in their pride,
Until its might was made, and then
They withered age by age and died.
But now of that prodigious race,
Three only in an iron tower,
Set like carved idols face to face,
Remain the masters of its power;
And at the city gate a fourth,
Gigantic and with dreadful eyes,
Sits looking toward the lightless north,
Beyond the reach of memories;
Fast rooted to the lurid floor,
A bulk that never moves a jot,
In his pale body dwells no more,
Or mind or soul,—an idiot!
But sometime in the end those three
Shall perish and their hands be still,
And with the master's touch shall flee
Their incommunicable skill.
A stillness absolute as death
Along the slacking wheels shall lie,
And, flagging at a single breath,
The fires shall moulder out and die.
The roar shall vanish at its height,
And over that tremendous town
The silence of eternal night
Shall gather close and settle down.
All its grim grandeur, tower and hall,
Shall be abandoned utterly,
And into rust and dust shall fall
From century to century;
Nor ever living thing shall grow,
Nor trunk of tree, nor blade of grass;
No drop shall fall, no wind shall blow,
Nor sound of any foot shall pass:
Alone of its accursèd state,
One thing the hand of Time shall spare,
For the grim Idiot at the gate
Is deathless and eternal there.

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Patrick White

Letting The Stars From Last Night

Letting the stars from last night
settle in this morning's puddles
so I can see more clearly once
this turmoil of starmud precipitates out
as mental sediment in a mirror
skybound to a vast blue abyss
and, as they say in Zen, the eternal sky
does not inhibit the flight of the white clouds.

I want to be a bird that dissipates
in the mauve distance like water in the air.
I want to be a fire whose flames
never stop aspiring to the stars,
though every time they're almost within grasp
they disappear like petals on the wind,
the pages fall out of the book I'm burning
like a sacrificial rose of galactic hydrogen,
and I'm left with a handful of ash
I can stuff my pillow with like the down
of a phoenix in the urn of his worst nightmare.

And being strong seldom helps.
Or feathering your dragons
to convince yourself they're bluebirds.
Strong means condemned to solitude.
Hanging on to the mountain with one arm
to keep it from falling to its death
in the valley it dug like its own grave
in the valley below. Biting the bullet
like a crystal skull until your back molars break
and you're swallowing little flakes of glass
like the beginning of a snow squall
even as you're smiling like a grimace
on a death mask trying to hold its tears back
like a glacier trying to discipline the mindstream.

Strong means you don't use the fossils of other birds
as crutches for your lapwings. Your calender of scars
begins to smile more affectionately at you
as you get older like waxing crescent moons
and this avalanche of meteoric life
looks more like a windfall of ore and apples
with seeds like snake-eyed dice inside
or the seven come eleven of a coal mine
that finally clarified its darkness like diamonds.
When bad news comes you fall on it
like a hand grenade in a daycare center
as you strain to keep yourself together.
Strong means being taken for granted
like the solid cornerstone that can take the weight
of the world that towers above it like quicksand.

Strong means you don't hesitate to eliminate
your distinctions when someone's drowning,
whether they're a fly in a toilet bowl,
Icarus falling out of the sky because his wings
were insincere, Narcissus plunging into his face,
or a siren caught up in the undertow of her song,
you show up like a lifeboat with a lighthouse
full of fireflies for a lantern, words for a rudder
and a star to set sail by and pull everyone in
to your emptiness, happy you've finally found a use for it.

A holy book says that no one's asked to bear
more than they can carry, and it's probably true
from one direction of prayer, but I swear, lately,
one camel isn't enough to shoulder what
it's going to take a caravan on the moon to walk
this cargo of heavy metals to a nuclear dump site
to the dark side where it's always midnight at noon.

One moment there are funeral bells dissolved in the rain
like sugar-cubes of acid in a wishing well
and the next, a spear of insight penetrates my heart
and I can' t tell if it's a pin meant for a butterfly
or a voodoo doll, or as a dance floor for the angels
to learn how to waltz without bumping into each other
like Canada geese taking off from a trashed corn field
as if they needed an air traffic controller and a runway
to bear the souls of the dead west and south
as I begin to wonder if death really is too pricey a ticket
to unload all these camels of their burdens
like sacs of genetically modified bee pollen
I've gathered radioactively from the starfields
so it doesn't derange the hive or taint its honey and flowers,
and travelling lighter than life, go with them.

Yet I know I won't because my heart's
mortared into my Mongol blood like a brick
in the Temple of Life at Samarkand
and I would think of it as genocide
to kill even so much as a single human
who's ever stood nightwatch in a crow's nest
for a fleet sailing into a divine wind.
Sooner or later I'll be washed up
on the event horizon of another black hole
at the center of a galactic starfish
all my lucidities will stick to like myriad universes
nacreously gathering their pearls
like planets and new moons out of the nebulosity
of these lunar sandstorms whipping my eyes
with the radiance of a hundred billion burning stars
that get thrown in my wounds to cauterize
the scream of my fountainmouth hemorrhaging
in the dead silence I keep like a vow to myself
not to shriek out in pain at the arrows
that strike the hearts of the clear-eyed hawks in autumn.

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