Quotes about guard, page 3
Marmion: Canto V. - The Court
I.
The train has left the hills of Braid;
The barrier guard have open made
(So Lindesay bade) the palisade,
That closed the tented ground;
Their men the warders backward drew,
And carried pikes as they rode through
Into its ample bound.
Fast ran the Scottish warriors there,
Upon the Southern band to stare.
And envy with their wonder rose,
To see such well-appointed foes;
Such length of shaft, such mighty bows,
So huge, that many simply thought,
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought;
And little deemed their force to feel,
Through links of mail, and plates of steel,
When rattling upon Flodden vale,
The clothyard arrows flew like hail.
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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Iliad: Book 24
The assembly now broke up and the people went their ways each to his
own ship. There they made ready their supper, and then bethought
them of the blessed boon of sleep; but Achilles still wept for
thinking of his dear comrade, and sleep, before whom all things bow,
could take no hold upon him. This way and that did he turn as he
yearned after the might and manfulness of Patroclus; he thought of all
they had done together, and all they had gone through both on the
field of battle and on the waves of the weary sea. As he dwelt on
these things he wept bitterly and lay now on his side, now on his
back, and now face downwards, till at last he rose and went out as one
distraught to wander upon the seashore. Then, when he saw dawn
breaking over beach and sea, he yoked his horses to his chariot, and
bound the body of Hector behind it that he might drag it about. Thrice
did he drag it round the tomb of the son of Menoetius, and then went
back into his tent, leaving the body on the ground full length and
with its face downwards. But Apollo would not suffer it to be
disfigured, for he pitied the man, dead though he now was; therefore
he shielded him with his golden aegis continually, that he might
take no hurt while Achilles was dragging him.
Thus shamefully did Achilles in his fury dishonour Hector; but the
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poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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The Ballad of the White Horse
DEDICATION
Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?
Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?
In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.
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poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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I had a heartbreaking experience when I was 9. I always wanted to be a guard. The most wonderful girl in the world was a guard. When I got polio and then went back to school, they made me a guard. A teacher took away my guard button.
quote by Francis Ford Coppola
Added by Lucian Velea
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Changing Of The Guard
It’s hard
For a young upstart to compete with the old guard
For the old guard guards the old ways of doing business
With old business partners who also make it hard
For the young upstart
For they guard the old ways of guarding the business
From the brash and rash and flash of upstarts
But the old guard was also young at some age
Back when they fought the old guards of their days
And they too were young upstarts looking for change
Things for them seemed just as hard
And they placed each bet on each losing card
But before they knew it they were playing the old games
With the young upstarts who were looking for change
poem by P.R. Prosper
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It Was A Living Guard (Parody)
It was a living guard
I think, when reality
started. That walked off his piece of lawn
feeling affectionate,
laying down his head and wordless
against the tree,
became friends with it.
A first tree
from which he as a guard
paced off his way,
while it screamed next to him,
he pulled
and the stem was stripped off to the top,
until he saw:
the awakening of a young branch
that after the first pruning
carefree
started flowering.
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Back 2 Back
Two meerkats stared, one left, one right,
On guard, my friends, on guard!
With whiskers twitching, what a sight!
Eyes scanning yard by yard...
Thus back to back, coats intertwined,
Two heroes braved their foes
And while they posed there so inclined,
They knew they mustn't doze...
But it was warm and things were calm
And heads were heavy, too,
Yet they must stand and raise alarm
So nothing could get through...
But eyelids weren't as fast to raise
As at the start of day,
Then staring eyeballs start to glaze
And wobbly legs give way!
Two meerkats almost dozing till
One heard the other snore!
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poem by Denis Martindale
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Norway, norway
Norway, Norway,
Rising in blue from the sea's gray and green,
Islands around like fledglings tender,
Fjord-tongues with slender,
Tapering tips in the silence seen.
Rivers, valleys,
Mate among mountains, wood-ridge and slope
Wandering follow. Where the wastes lighten,
Lake and plain brighten
Hallow a temple of peace and hope.
Norway, Norway,
Houses and huts, not castles grand,
Gentle or hard,
Thee we guard, thee we guard,
Thee, our future's fair land.
Norway, Norway,
Glistening heights where skis swiftly go,
Harbors with fishermen, salts, and craftsmen,
Rivers and raftsmen,
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poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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McGonagall's Ode to the King
Oh! God, I thank Thee for restoring King Edward the Seventh's health again,
And let all his subjects throughout the Empire say Amen;
May God guard him by night and day,
At home and abroad, when he's far away.
May angels guard his bed at night when he lies down,
And may his subjects revere him, and on him do not frown;
May he be honoured by them at home and abroad,
And may he always be protected by the Eternal God.
My blessing on his noble form, and on his lofty head,
May all good angels guard him while living and when dead;
And when the final hour shall come to summons him away,
May his soul be wafted to the realms of bliss I do pray.
Long may he reign, happy and serene,
Also his Queen most beautiful to be seen;
And may God guard his family by night and day,
That they may tread in the paths of virtue and not go astray.
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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Escape of Billy the Kid
In an upper room they have me shackled.
Handcuffed, abused and under guard.
Pat Garrett’s off collecting taxes
This might be my chance, dear Lord.
Bob Olinger would love to kill me
He’s waved his shotgun in my face.
James Bell, the other guard, is softer,
He’s here to keep Bob in his place.
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poem by John F. McCullagh
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