Szell
Pislogsz hogy mi van most hatakkor
Tekerjnk nzzk meg bellrl
Csinaljunk blst a banatbl
Vagy inkabb vegyk at mg egyszer elrl
Ht pisztoly ht goly ht halal
A llek a husban mar alva jar
Latom, hogy odabenn all a bal
De milyen jl all neked ez is jl all
Indul az agy a sziv s a td
J veled mikor csuszik az id
Remeg a hus a csontban a vel
szrevtlenl szalad az id
Megynk de mgsem kzelednk
Tombol a trelem
Odakinn kutyak csaholnak vau
De minket elrejt a szerelem
A sztlan vagyak hegedjt
pengetve terelem
Az almos embert oda ahol
Semmi sem idegen
song performed by Quimby
Added by Lucian Velea
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[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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Oscar Of Alva: A Tale
How sweetly shines through azure skies,
The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore;
Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,
And hear the din of arms no more!
But often has yon rolling moon
On Alva's casques of silver play'd;
And view'd at midnight's silent noon,
Her chief's in gleaming mail array'd:
And on the crimson'd rocks beneath,
Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow,
Pale in the scatter'd runks of death,
She saw the gasping warrior low;
While many an eye which ne'er again
Could mark the rising orb of day,
T'urn'd feebly from the gory plain,
Beheld in death her fading ray.
Once to those eyes the lamp of Love,
They blest her dear propitious light;
But now she glimmer'd from above,
A sad, funereal torch of night.
Faded is Alva's noble race,
And gray her towers are seen afar;
No more her heroes urge the chase,
Or roll the crimson tide of war.
But who was last of Alva's clan?
Why grows the moss on Alva's stone?
Her towers resound no steps of man,
They echo to the gale alone.
And when that gale is fierce and high,
A sound is heard in yonder hall;
It rises hoarsely through the sky,
And vibrates o'er the mould'ring wall.
Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs,
It shakes the shield of Oscar brave;
But there no more his banners rise,
No more his plumes of sable wave.
Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth,
When Angus hail'd his eldest born
The vassals round their chieftain's hearth
Crowd to applaud the happy morn.
[...] Read more
Afrikaans: Sterregordels, Stilsonjare, Tydsbroekspypdinge, Haarsliert
Sterregordels
Cosmology in Afrikaans is an ode to joy, the
terms form sing-song strings with delightful
sounds “ewigbewegende elektron”
continuously spinning electron
“elektron in die hart van die atoomkorrel”
electron in the centre of the atom particle
- what a song!
“Triljoene Melkwegstelsels waaromheen ons
Melkweg elke tweehonderdmiljoenjaar
wentel – ‘n mallemeule van sterregordels…”
“Dobberende patrone, mesone en elektrone,
'n konfigurasie van konvekse novae”…
- these terms are singing to me!
A merry-go-round of star systems
Quotes from Adriaan Snyman “Die Messias Kode” (The Messiah Code) pp.9,10
Bombardement Van Frekwensies (English Explanation)
Waarmee sal ek hierdie leë oomblikke,
ankerloos, betekenisloos; aan die ewigheid
vasmaak - die gevoelsruimte in my hart
Is leeg, alle gevoel en denke het gesamentlik
in die donker duisternis van my brein ingeval
‘n laserbrein wat die hologramwêreld
Self moet konsituteer uit ‘n bombardement
van betekenislose frekwensies – maar
vandag is die ligstraalfokus uit
My pendulumgedagtes swaai ongefokus rond
die opgerolde, ingevoude ses-en-twintig of
meer dimensies van die virtuele werklikheid
Wil nie vir my oopgaan nie…
All thought and feeling fell into the black hole in my brain and the twenty-six or more rolled-up frequencies of reality does not want to open for me today…
Geloof In Liefde - Faith In Love
[...] Read more
poem by Margaret Alice
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Swami (Plus Strings)
Tovbb nem tudok vrni
Mostmr megteszi brmi
Az lesz a veszted
Hogy rvnylik a tested
Az alkalom itt van
Ht hdolj be halkan
Szzezer ve
Mindig ez a vge
Mindegy a sznhely
Nem kell, hogy sznlelj
Szeress vagy vess meg
n birtokba veszlek
Olvadni kezd most a Hold
Az arcod a prnn
Csak egy furcsa-furcsa folt
cska kis kzhely
Gynyr trvny
Hogy a szerelem rvny
Tovbb nem tudok vrni
Mostmr megteszi brmi
Az lesz a veszted
Hogy rvnylik a tested
Ltod, nlam a fegyver
de reszketned nem kell
Mert ez csak gynyrt fakaszt
Ht hzd meg a ravaszt
Ugye rzed a tavaszt?
Olvadni kezd most a Hold
Az arcod a prnn
Csak egy furcsa-furcsa folt
cska kis kzhely
Gynyr trvny
Hogy a szerelem rvny
song performed by Monkees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ort Jan van Hunks
Many years back an old pirate
Ort Jan van Hunks lived in Cape Town
and he had gathered enough loot
to live an honest life.
Just above the company gardens
he bought some land
and he thought that trustful slaves
would do the work for him
while he would watch his vineyards grow
and it would be possible
to give attention to his weaknesses.
The loneliness caught up with van Hunks
and he got himself a wife
but in Cape Town
at that time the choices was slim
and he was married to a huge woman
that was so broad
that she could not enter a door
without turning sideways
but he thought that in the cold winter evenings
she would keep him warm.
The trouble with his wife
was that she was a strict person
who drove their slave girls
to polish everything,
she had driven him away
from his own fireplace
with a hard hitting elbow,
as she was scared
that the ash from his pipe
would fall on the beautiful yellow-wood floor.
At the trees high up against the saddle
where Devil's peak joins Table Mountain,
van Hunks found a big rock
that was flat like a settee
and there nobody would bother him
as the Citizens thought
that only a lunatic
would climb the peaks of Table Mountain.
With a barrel of rum and a heap of tobacco
that he had carried along secretary
van Hunks was dreaming
with his pipe in his mouth
while he saw the shadow
of the mountain
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Brus Book III
The lord of Lorn attacks the king's men]
The lord off Lorne wonnyt thar-by
That wes capitale ennymy
To the king for his emys sak
Jhon Comyn, and thocht for to tak
5 Vengeance apon cruell maner.
Quhen he the king wyst wes sa ner
He assemblyt his men in hy,
And had intill his cumpany
The barounys off Argyle alsua.
10 Thai war a thousand weill or ma
And come for to suppris the king
That weill wes war of thar cummyng.
Bot all to few with him he had
The-quhethir he bauldly thaim abaid,
15 And weill ost at thar fryst metyng
War layd at erd but recoveryng.
The kingis folk full weill thaim bar
And slew and fellyt and woundyt sar,
Bot the folk off the tother party
20 Faucht with axys sa fellyly,
For thai on fute war everilkane,
That thai feile off thar hors has slayne,
And till sum gaiff thai woundis wid.
James off Douglas wes hurt that tyd
25 And als Schyr Gilbert de le Hay.
The king his men saw in affray
And his ensenye can he cry
And amang thaim rycht hardyly
He rad that he thaim ruschyt all
30 And fele off thaim thar gert he fall.
Bot quhen he saw thai war sa feill
And saw thaim swa gret dyntis deill
He dred to tyne his folk, forthi
His men till him he gan rely
35 And said, 'Lordyngis, foly it war
Tyll us for till assembill mar,
For thai fele off our hors has slayn,
And giff yhe fecht with thaim agayn
We sall tyne off our small mengye
40 And our selff sall in perill be.
Tharfor me thynk maist avenand
To withdraw us us defendand
Till we cum out off thar daunger,
For our strenth at our hand is ner.'
45 Then thai withdrew thaim halely
Bot that wes nocht full cowartly
For samyn intill a sop held thai
[...] Read more
poem by John Barbour
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The Brus Book IX
[The king goes to Inverurie and falls ill]
Now leve we intill the Forest
Douglas that sall bot litill rest
Till the countre deliveryt be
Off Inglis folk and thar powste,
5 And turne we till the noble king
That with the folk off his leding
Towart the Month has tane his wai
Rycht stoutly and intill gud array,
Quhar Alysander Frayser him met
10 And als his broder Symonet
With all the folk thai with thaim had.
The king gud contenance thaim made
That wes rycht blyth off thar cummyne.
Thai tauld the king off the convyne
15 Off Jhone Cumyn erle of Bouchane
That till help him had with him tane
Schyr Jhon Mowbray and other ma,
Schyr David off Brechyn alsua,
With all the folk off thar leding,
20 'And yarnys mar na ony thing
Vengeance off you, schyr king, to tak
For Schyr Jhone the Cumyn his sak
That quhylum in Drumfres wes slayn.'
The king said, 'Sa our Lord me sayn,
25 Ik had gret caus him for to sla,
And sen that thai on hand will ta
Becaus off him to werray me
I sall thole a quhile and se
On quhat wys that thai pruve thar mycht,
30 And giff it fall that thai will fycht
Giff thai assaile we sall defend,
Syne fall eftre quhat God will send.'
Eftre this spek the king in hy
Held straucht his way till Enrowry,
35 And thar him tuk sik a seknes
That put him to full hard distress.
He forbar bath drynk and mete,
His men na medicyne couth get
That ever mycht to the king availe,
40 His force gan him halyly faile
That he mycht nother rid na ga.
Then wyt ye that his men war wa,
For nane wes in that cumpany
That wald haiff bene halff sa sary
45 For till haiff sene his broder ded
Lyand befor him in that steid
As thai war for his seknes,
For all thar confort in him wes.
[...] Read more
poem by John Barbour
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Fresh Off The Boat
I rock these bare feet like no one else can
My hands are dirty I like 'em that way
Shows Who I am
I'm fresh off the boat
Fresh off the boat
Fresh off the boat
Fresh off the boat
The wine tastes good on my sweet lips like sunshine
The plastic on the furniture suits me just fine
I'm fresh off the boat, fresh off the boat, fresh off the boat, fresh off the boat
Querida menina beira do mar
Querida menina beira do mar
Apanha um barco branco e vai vai vai
Apanha um barco branco e sai sai sai
Aquela menina beira do mar
Aquela menina beira do mar
Aquela menina beira do mar
Querida menina , vai vai vai
Querida menina beira do mar
Querida menina beira do mar
Querida menina beira do mar
Querida menina beira do mar
Aquela menina beira do mar
Querida menina beira do mar
Querida menina beira do mar
Beira do mar mar yeah!
song performed by Nelly Furtado
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Brus Book 19
[The conspiracy against King Robert; its discovery]
Than wes the land a quhile in pes,
Bot covatys, that can nocht ces
To set men apon felony
To ger thaim cum to senyoury,
5 Gert lordis off full gret renoune
Mak a fell conjuracioun
Agayn Robert the douchty king,
Thai thocht till bring him till ending
And to bruk eftre his dede
10 The kynrik and to ryng in hys steid.
The lord the Soullis, Schyr Wilyam,
Off that purches had mast defame,
For principale tharoff was he
Off assent of that cruelte.
15 He had gottyn with him sindry,
Gilbert Maleherbe, Jhone of Logy
Thir war knychtis that I tell her
And Richard Broun als a squyer,
And gud Schyr Davy off Breichyn
20 Wes off this deid arettyt syne
As I sall tell you forthermar.
Bot thai ilkane discoveryt war
Throu a lady as I hard say
Or till thar purpos cum mycht thai,
25 For scho tauld all to the king
Thar purpose and thar ordanyng,
And how that he suld haf bene ded
And Soullis ryng intill his steid,
And tauld him werray taknyng
30 This purches wes suthfast thing.
And quhen the king wist it wes sua
Sa sutell purches gan he ma
That he gert tak thaim everilkan,
And quhar the lord Soullis was tane
35 Thre hunder and sexty had he
Off squyeris cled in his lyvere
At that tyme in his cumpany
Outane knychtis that war joly.
Into Berwik takyn wes he
40 That mycht all his mengne se
Sary and wa, bot suth to say
The king lete thaim all pas thar way
And held thaim at he takyn had.
[The trial in parliament; the fate of the conspirators]
The lord Soullis sone eftre maid
45 Plane granting of all that purchas.
[...] Read more
poem by John Barbour
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Ya Mar
Remember all the days in the pond
Catchin' wild trout till the break of dawn
Now that you've become a man, looking very mean
Got a nice shiny sports car, keep it very clean
Don't ask him what it was, tell him what it is (2x)
Sing the song now:
Ya mar, ya mar, ya mar, ya mar,
ya mar, ya mar, ya mar,
I got an oh kee pah
She used to be a vampire child, walkin' in the yard
Now that she's become a woman, lookin' very proud
You used to wear a piece of cloth tied around your head
Now she looks so good, wanna love you dead
Don't ask her what it was, tell her what it is (2x)
Sing the song now:
Ya mar, ya mar, ya mar,
ya mar, ya mar, ya mar,
ya mar, you no good pah
song performed by Phish
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Brus Book II
[Bruce escapes to Lochmaben]
The Bruys went till his innys swyth,
Bot wyt ye weile he wes full blyth
That he had gottyn that respyt.
He callit his marschall till him tyt
5 And bad him luk on all maner
That he ma till his men gud cher,
For he wald in his chambre be
A weile gret quhile in prevate,
With him a clerk foroutyn ma.
10 The marschell till the hall gan ga
And did hys lordys commanding.
The lord the Bruce but mar letting
Gert prevely bryng stedys twa,
He and the clerk foroutyn ma
15 Lap on foroutyn persavyng,
And day and nycht but sojournyng
Thai raid quhill on the fyften day
Cummyn till Louchmaben ar thai.
Hys broder Edward thar thai fand
20 That thocht ferly Ic tak on hand
That thai come hame sa prevely.
He tauld hys brodyr halyly
How that he thar soucht was
And how that he chapyt wes throu cas.
[The killing of Comyn and his uncle]
25 Sa fell it in the samyn tid
That at Dumfres rycht thar besid
Schir Jhone the Cumyn sojornyng maid.
The Brus lap on and thidder raid
And thocht foroutyn mar letting
30 For to quyt hym his discovering.
Thidder he raid but langer let
And with Schyr Jhone the Cumyn met
In the Freris at the hye awter,
And schawyt him with lauchand cher
35 The endentur, syne with a knyff
Rycht in that sted hym reft the lyff.
Schyr Edmund Cumyn als wes slayn
And othir mony off mekill mayn.
Nocht-for-thi yeit sum men sayis
40 At that debat fell other-wayis,
Bot quhat-sa-evyr maid the debate
Thar-throuch he deyt weill I wat.
He mysdyd thar gretly but wer
That gave na gyrth to the awter,
[...] Read more
poem by John Barbour
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A Ballad Maker
ONCE I loved a maiden fair,
Over the hills and jar away,
Lands she had and lovers to spare,
Over the hills and far away.
And I was stooped and troubled sore,
And my face was pale, and the coat I wore
Was thin as my supper the night before
Over the hills and far away.
Once I passed in the Autumn late,
Over the hills and jar away,
Her bawn and barn and painted gate,
Over the hills and jar away.
She was leaning there in the twilight space,
Sweet sorrow was on her fair young face,
And her wistful eyes were away from the place,
Over the hills and jar away.
Maybe she thought as she watched me come,
Over the hills and jar away,
With my awkward stride and my face so glum,
Over the hills and jar away.
Spite of his stoop, he still is young,
They say he goes the Shee among,
Ballads he makes; I've heard them sung
Over the hills and jar away.
She gave me good-night in gentle wise,
Over the hills and jar away,
Shyly lifting to mine, dark eyes,
Over the hills and jar away.
What could I do but stop and speak,
And she no longer proud, but meek?
She plucked me a rose like her wild-rose cheek-
Over the hills and jar away.
To-morrow Mavourneen a sleeveen weds,
Over the hills and jar away,
With corn in haggard and cattle in sheds,
Over the hills and jar away.
And I who have lost her, the dear, the rare-
Well, I got me this ballad to sing at the fair,
Twill bring enough money to drown my care,
Over the hills and jar away.
poem by Padraic Colum
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The Witches' Glen - An Auld Tale
Gather aroon the ingle nuek
For ae eerie tale I'll tell -
'Boot a glen whar a witchy spook
Cast folk in her terrible spell.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
Warlocks an witches dance at night
When the full-moon turns its ken!
Thunder rides on a bolt of light
The deil's in the witches' glen!
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
Auld trees hang o'er the twisted wynd
An' blot oot the licht o' day;
An there, there's staring eyes tae find
A stranger wha's lost their way.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
Frae Grennan wood she hailed an flew
A flash thru the black night wind
Come witchin hour everyin knew
She'd get a' the folks wha sinned.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
They burned her on Kirkmaiden hill
An' they bound her on a stake:
She chanted spells that made 'em ill
An' they pray'd for Jesus' sake.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
When ere ye walk the witches' glen,
Whar branches stretch oot like hands
Tak' Bible, cross an' say, Amen!
An' heed the guid Lord's commands.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she's still there tae be seen.
poem by Patrick Scott Hogg
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A Paupers Parable
Gordon O'Gord and Michael De Ville
Lived next door to an old landfill,
Gordon was nine and a half, they say,
And Michael nine on the following day.
The boys were poor, they played about,
Their parents left them to holler and shout,
They played in the rubbish at Eden's Spill
And gathered their toys from the old landfill.
Gordon's mother was Mary O'Gord,
A lush in every sense of the word,
While Michael's mother, wherever she be,
Has gone to hell in a handbag... See!
One day, while foraging near and far
The boys uncovered an old bell jar,
A great big stopper was still in place,
The surface shone, you could see your face!
'Now this is gear! ' said Gordon: 'Hah!
'We'll keep our treasures in this old jar,
Let's hide it well, so no-one can steal
The things we take from the old landfill.'
They took the jar, and carried it home,
To stand on a shelf where the bright sun shone,
Then filled it slowly with care, each mite
Like a piece of ore from a meteorite.
A lump of chalk, a carbon rod,
They each agreed with a wink, a nod,
Some Peacock ore from a copper mine
And sulphur pills were a special find.
An old watch face with luminous hands,
Some iron ore with rusty strands,
A fertilizer they found undone
That said: 'For replenishing nitrogen.'
It rained one day, poured down the sill
Into the jar that was partly filled,
The water level with rocks and ore
Trickled like streams from a waterfall;
Ran right over the toothpaste squeeze,
Dissolved the hint of an Alpine breeze,
The water took it on over the sill
Along with the essence of chlorophyll.
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Me
Hat hogy is kezdjem, oh, hogy mondjam el?
Hisz aki megrthetn, az nem felel
Elragadta t a dlyfs jkiraly
Ki ezer ve mar a szerelemre var
Elragadta, megszerezte
Szerelemlanccal megktzte
De a szive csak az enym
Fnyes urak, ha nem tudnatok
Kt ember kell a boldogsaghoz
s mar csak az enym
A felkel nap fnye eltakar
A fltkenysg ugy a szivembe mar
Hisz oly hatalmas, fnyes a vlegny
Hat hogyan szallhatnk harcba vle n?
Elragadta, megszerezte
Szerelemlanccal megktzte
De a szive csak az enym
Fnyes urak, ha nem tudnatok
Kt ember kell a boldogsaghoz
s mar csak az enym
De azrt n nem adom fel
Trtnjen ugy, ahogyan kell...
Mert az n mesmben a hsk gyznek
A kt szerelmes egymas lesz
Ezrt n nem adom fel...
Mert az n mesmben a hsk gyznek
A kt szerelmes egymas lesz
Ezrt n nem adom fel...
Elragadta, megszerezte
Szerelemlanccal megktzte
De a szive csak az enym
Fnyes urak, ha nem tudnatok
Kt ember kell a boldogsaghoz
s mar csak az enym
Elragadta, megszerezte
Szerelemlanccal megktzte
De a szive csak az enym
Fnyes urak, ha nem tudnatok
Kt ember kell a boldogsaghoz
s mar csak az enym
song performed by Dido
Added by Lucian Velea
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Et Memoria [2]
Kom stap vanoggend deur my lewe
terwyl ons, ons gisters onthou,
‘n nuwe dag voor ons oopvou
en laat ‘n afdruk van jou
geskilder teen die seildoek van my gedagtes
want elke nuwe môre
word uit ons gisters gebore
en jy bly deel van my, al is
alles tussen ons nou verby,
sien ek jou in die glans van die son,
die dou wat blinkend op blare sit
en ek besef nou, dat liefde
in elke oomblik van onthou
weer van voor af begin
en hoe langsaam rek ek nog
oomblikke wat reeds verby is uit
asof dit altyd deel van my menswees is
maar ek is reeds daarvan bewus
dat dinge vêr by verby tussen ons is,
dat jy vanaand
hitte by iemand anders sal kry
asof ek, net nog
deel van ‘n dooie vlam is.
[Verwysing: Et Memoria deur Japie S. Strydom:
“Kom stap vanaand
deur my môre,
en blaai saam deur my drome,
teken jou liggaam hier
in my sagtebandboek aan,
want ons vandag is in gisters en more gebore:
jy is die ligflits van die son,
die môre-dag se dou;
‘n laat middag in my somer-drome,
‘n vroeë lente more –
Ek weet vanaand,
dat die dae van ons lewe (liefde?) ,
weer,
in elke nuwe onthou begin:
hoe langsaam het ek jou
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poem by Gert Strydom
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The Brus Book XVIII
Only Berwick remains in English hands; a burgess offers to betray it]
The lordis off the land war fayne
Quhen thai wist he wes cummyn agan
And till him went in full gret hy,
And he ressavit thaim hamlyly
5 And maid thaim fest and glaidsum cher,
And thai sa wonderly blyth wer
Off his come that na man mycht say,
Gret fest and fayr till him maid thai.
Quharever he raid all the countre
10 Gaderyt in daynte him to se,
Gret glaidschip than wes in the land.
All than wes wonnyn till his hand,
Fra the Red Swyre to Orknay
Wes nocht off Scotland fra his fay
15 Outakyn Berwik it allane.
That tym tharin wonnyt ane
That capitane wes of the toun,
All Scottismen in suspicioun
He had and tretyt thaim tycht ill.
20 He had ay to thaim hevy will
And held thaim fast at undre ay,
Quhill that it fell apon a day
That a burges Syme of Spalding
Thocht that it wes rycht angry thing
25 Suagate ay to rebutyt be.
Tharfor intill his hart thocht he
That he wald slely mak covyne
With the marchall, quhays cosyne
He had weddyt till him wiff,
30 And as he thocht he did belyff.
Lettrys till him he send in hy
With a traist man all prively,
And set him tym to cum a nycht
With leddrys and with gud men wicht
35 Till the kow yet all prively,
And bad him hald his trist trewly
And he suld mete thaim at the wall,
For his walk thar that nycht suld fall.
[The marischal shows the letter to the king,
who seeks to avoid jealousy between Douglas and Moray]
Quhen the marchell the lettre saw
40 He umbethocht him than a thraw,
For he wist be himselvyn he
Mycht nocht off mycht no power be
For till escheyff sa gret a thing,
And giff he tuk till his helping
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poem by John Barbour
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Tom Van Arden
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Our warm fellowship is one
Far too old to comprehend
Where its bond was first begun:
Mirage-like before my gaze
Gleams a land of other days,
Where two truant boys, astray,
Dream their lazy lives away.
There's a vision, in the guise
Of Midsummer, where the Past
Like a weary beggar lies
In the shadow Time has cast;
And as blends the bloom of trees
With the drowsy hum of bees,
Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
All the pleasures we have known
Thrill me now as I extend
This old hand and grasp your own--
Feeling, in the rude caress,
All affection's tenderness;
Feeling, though the touch be rough,
Our old souls are soft enough.
So we'll make a mellow hour:
Fill your pipe, and taste the wine--
Warp your face, if it be sour,
I can spare a smile from mine;
If it sharpen up your wit,
Let me feel the edge of it--
I have eager ears to lend,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Are we 'lucky dogs,' indeed?
Are we all that we pretend
In the jolly life we lead?--
Bachelors, we must confess,
Boast of 'single blessedness'
To the world, but not alone--
Man's best sorrow is his own!
And the saddest truth is this,--
Life to us has never proved
What we tasted in the kiss
Of the women we have loved:
Vainly we congratulate
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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FM 66.6
Lattam az rdgt enni krt
Hat adtak neki hordtak a vrt
A kezekben labak a fejekben tarak
Aranyat mrtek emberrt
Rohan tzek harcra sarcok
Fnytelen szemek beesett arcok
A jllakott mg krt - ez ra vall
A gonosz meg rhgtt teli pofaval
Nztem az embert egy virust lattam
A fld szivben dgvssz valtan
A jsaggal szurt az reg mohsag
Ders mosollyal a jvt kaszaltam
Mint Nostradamus ezt mindenki vagta
De csukott szemmel csak a remnyt hagta
A jllakott mg krt - ez ra vall
A gonosz meg rhgtt teli pofaval
Nzlek tged s magamat latom
Holdfny trmet a szivedbe martom
Majd magamba dfm a ltet ellkm
Aztan bamba fejjel megint a sorsot varom
Mieltt adnal, te ktszer is veszel
A pokol tzben is gyztes leszel
Ha eleged van mg krsz ez rad vall
A gonosz meg rhghet teli pofaval
Hall, itt a Horror radi Parahirek riad!
Baltaes bilincs pofon
A Satan maga hatezer lovon
Lassan az egsz langra lobban
Ostoba szived lustan dobban... Jaaj
song performed by Quimby
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Brus Book VI
[Sir Ingram Umfraville praises the king;
the men of Galloway pursue him with a tracker dog]
The king is went till his logyng
And off this deid sone come tithing
Till Schyr Ingrame the Umfravill
That thocht his sutelte and gyle
5 Haid al failyeit in that place.
Tharfor anoyit sua he was
That he agayne to Lothyane
Till Schyr Amer his gate has tane
And till him tauld all hale the cas,
10 That tharoff all forwonderyt was
How ony man sa sodanly
Mycht do so gret chevalry
As did the king that him allane
Vengeance off thre traytouris has tane,
15 And said, 'Certis, I may weill se
That it is all certante
That ure helpys hardy men
As be this deid we may ken.
War he nocht outrageous hardy
20 He had nocht unabasytly
Sa smertly sene his avantage.
I drede that his gret vassalag
And his travaill may bring till end
That at men quhile full litill wend.'
25 Sik speking maid he off the king
That ay foroutyn sojournyng
Travaillit in Carrik her and thar.
His men fra him sa scalit war
To purches thar necessite
30 And als the countre for to se
That thai left nocht with him sexty.
And quhen the Gallowais wyst suthli
That he wes with sa few mengye
Thai maid a preve assemble
35 Off wele twa hunder men and ma,
And slewth-hundis with thaim gan ta,
For thai thocht him for to suppris
And giff he fled on ony wys
To folow him with the hundis sua
40 That he suld nocht eschaip thaim fra.
Thai schup thaim in ane evynnyng
To suppris sodanly the king
And tillhim held thai straucht thar way,
Bot he, that had his wachis ay
45 On ilk sid, off thar cummyng
Lang or thai come had wyttering
And how fele that thai mycht be,
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poem by John Barbour
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