The White Ship Henry I. Of England.—25th November 1120
By none but me can the tale be told,
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.
(Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.)
'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
(The sea hath no King but God alone.)
King Henry held it as life's whole gain
That after his death his son should reign.
`Twas so in my youth I heard men say,
And my old age calls it back to-day.
King Henry of England's realm was he,
And Henry Duke of Normandy.
The times had changed when on either coast
“Clerkly Harry” was all his boast.
Of ruthless strokes full many an one
He had struck to crown himself and his son;
And his elder brother's eyes were gone.
And when to the chase his court would crowd,
The poor flung ploughshares on his road,
And shrieked: “Our cry is from King to God!”
But all the chiefs of the English land
Had knelt and kissed the Prince's hand.
And next with his son he sailed to France
To claim the Norman allegiance:
And every baron in Normandy
Had taken the oath of fealty.
'Twas sworn and sealed, and the day had come
When the King and the Prince might journey home:
For Christmas cheer is to home hearts dear,
And Christmas now was drawing near.
Stout Fitz-Stephen came to the King,—
A pilot famous in seafaring;
And he held to the King, in all men's sight,
A mark of gold for his tribute's right.
“Liege Lord! my father guided the ship
From whose boat your father's foot did slip
When he caught the English soil in his grip,
“And cried: ‘By this clasp I claim command
O'er every rood of English land!’
“He was borne to the realm you rule o'er now
In that ship with the archer carved at her prow:
“And thither I'll bear, an it be my due,
Your father's son and his grandson too.
“The famed White Ship is mine in the bay;
From Harfleur's harbour she sails to-day,
“With masts fair-pennoned as Norman spears
And with fifty well-tried mariners.”
Quoth the King: “My ships are chosen each one,
But I'll not say nay to Stephen's son.
“My son and daughter and fellowship
Shall cross the water in the White Ship.”
The King set sail with the eve's south wind,
And soon he left that coast behind.
The Prince and all his, a princely show,
Remained in the good White Ship to go.
With noble knights and with ladies fair,
With courtiers and sailors gathered there,
Three hundred living souls we were:
And I Berold was the meanest hind
In all that train to the Prince assign'd.
The Prince was a lawless shameless youth;
From his father's loins he sprang without ruth:
Eighteen years till then he had seen,
And the devil's dues in him were eighteen.
And now he cried: “Bring wine from below;
Let the sailors revel ere yet they row:
“Our speed shall o'ertake my father's flight
Though we sail from the harbour at midnight.”
The rowers made good cheer without check;
The lords and ladies obeyed his beck;
The night was light, and they danced on the deck.
But at midnight's stroke they cleared the bay,
And the White Ship furrowed the water-way.
The sails were set, and the oars kept tune
To the double flight of the ship and the moon:
Swifter and swifter the White Ship sped
Till she flew as the spirit flies from the dead:
As white as a lily glimmered she
Like a ship's fair ghost upon the sea.
And the Prince cried, “Friends, 'tis the hour to sing!
Is a songbird's course so swift on the wing?”
And under the winter stars' still throng,
From brown throats, white throats, merry and strong,
The knights and the ladies raised a song.
A song,—nay, a shriek that rent the sky,
That leaped o'er the deep!—the grievous cry
Of three hundred living that now must die.
An instant shriek that sprang to the shock
As the ship's keel felt the sunken rock.
'Tis said that afar—a shrill strange sigh—
The King's ships heard it and knew not why.
Pale Fitz-Stephen stood by the helm
'Mid all those folk that the waves must whelm.
A great King's heir for the waves to whelm,
And the helpless pilot pale at the helm!
The ship was eager and sucked athirst,
By the stealthy stab of the sharp reef pierc'd:
And like the moil round a sinking cup
The waters against her crowded up.
A moment the pilot's senses spin,—
The next he snatched the Prince 'mid the din,
Cut the boat loose, and the youth leaped in.
A few friends leaped with him, standing near.
“Row! the sea's smooth and the night is clear!”
“What! none to be saved but these and I?”
“Row, row as you'd live! All here must die!”
Out of the churn of the choking ship,
Which the gulf grapples and the waves strip,
They struck with the strained oars' flash and dip.
'Twas then o'er the splitting bulwarks' brim
The Prince's sister screamed to him.
He gazed aloft, still rowing apace,
And through the whirled surf he knew her face.
To the toppling decks clave one and all
As a fly cleaves to a chamber-wall.
I Berold was clinging anear;
I prayed for myself and quaked with fear,
But I saw his eyes as he looked at her.
He knew her face and he heard her cry,
And he said, “Put back! she must not die!”
And back with the current's force they reel
Like a leaf that's drawn to a water-wheel.
'Neath the ship's travail they scarce might float,
But he rose and stood in the rocking boat.
Low the poor ship leaned on the tide:
O'er the naked keel as she best might slide,
The sister toiled to the brother's side.
He reached an oar to her from below,
And stiffened his arms to clutch her so.
But now from the ship some spied the boat,
And “Saved!” was the cry from many a throat.
And down to the boat they leaped and fell:
It turned as a bucket turns in a well,
And nothing was there but the surge and swell.
The Prince that was and the King to come,
There in an instant gone to his doom,
Despite of all England's bended knee
And maugre the Norman fealty!
He was a Prince of lust and pride;
He showed no grace till the hour he died.
When he should be King, he oft would vow,
He'd yoke the peasant to his own plough.
O'er him the ships score their furrows now.
God only knows where his soul did wake,
But I saw him die for his sister's sake.
By none but me can the tale be told,
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.
(Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.)
'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
(The sea hath no King but God alone.)
And now the end came o'er the waters' womb
Like the last great Day that's yet to come.
With prayers in vain and curses in vain,
The White Ship sundered on the mid-main:
And what were men and what was a ship
Were toys and splinters in the sea's grip.
I Berold was down in the sea;
And passing strange though the thing may be,
Of dreams then known I remember me.
Blithe is the shout on Harfleur's strand
When morning lights the sails to land:
And blithe is Honfleur's echoing gloam
When mothers call the children home:
And high do the bells of Rouen beat
When the Body of Christ goes down the street.
These things and the like were heard and shown
In a moment's trance 'neath the sea alone;
And when I rose, 'twas the sea did seem,
And not these things, to be all a dream.
The ship was gone and the crowd was gone,
And the deep shuddered and the moon shone,
And in a strait grasp my arms did span
The mainyard rent from the mast where it ran;
And on it with me was another man.
Where lands were none 'neath the dim sea-sky,
We told our names, that man and I.
“O I am Godefroy de l'Aigle hight,
And son I am to a belted knight.”
“And I am Berold the butcher's son
Who slays the beasts in Rouen town.”
Then cried we upon God's name, as we
Did drift on the bitter winter sea.
But lo! a third man rose o'er the wave,
And we said, “Thank God! us three may He save!”
He clutched to the yard with panting stare,
And we looked and knew Fitz-Stephen there.
He clung, and “What of the Prince?” quoth he.
“Lost, lost!” we cried. He cried, “Woe on me!”
And loosed his hold and sank through the sea.
And soul with soul again in that space
We two were together face to face:
And each knew each, as the moments sped,
Less for one living than for one dead:
And every still star overhead
Seemed an eye that knew we were but dead.
And the hours passed; till the noble's son
Sighed, “God be thy help! my strength's foredone!
“O farewell, friend, for I can no more!”
“Christ take thee!” I moaned; and his life was o'er.
Three hundred souls were all lost but one,
And I drifted over the sea alone.
At last the morning rose on the sea
Like an angel's wing that beat tow'rds me.
Sore numbed I was in my sheepskin coat;
Half dead I hung, and might nothing note,
Till I woke sun-warmed in a fisher-boat.
The sun was high o'er the eastern brim
As I praised God and gave thanks to Him.
That day I told my tale to a priest,
Who charged me, till the shrift were releas'd,
That I should keep it in mine own breast.
And with the priest I thence did fare
To King Henry's court at Winchester.
We spoke with the King's high chamberlain,
And he wept and mourned again and again,
As if his own son had been slain:
And round us ever there crowded fast
Great men with faces all aghast:
And who so bold that might tell the thing
Which now they knew to their lord the King?
Much woe I learnt in their communing.
The King had watched with a heart sore stirred
For two whole days, and this was the third:
And still to all his court would he say,
“What keeps my son so long away?”
And they said: “The ports lie far and wide
That skirt the swell of the English tide;
“And England's cliffs are not more white
Than her women are, and scarce so light
Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright;
“And in some port that he reached from France
The Prince has lingered for his pleasaùnce.”
But once the King asked: “What distant cry
Was that we heard 'twixt the sea and sky?”
And one said: “With suchlike shouts, pardie!
Do the fishers fling their nets at sea.”
And one: “Who knows not the shrieking quest
When the sea-mew misses its young from the nest?”
'Twas thus till now they had soothed his dread,
Albeit they knew not what they said:
But who should speak to-day of the thing
That all knew there except the King?
Then pondering much they found a way,
And met round the King's high seat that day:
And the King sat with a heart sore stirred,
And seldom he spoke and seldom heard.
'Twas then through the hall the King was 'ware
Of a little boy with golden hair,
As bright as the golden poppy is
That the beach breeds for the surf to kiss:
Yet pale his cheek as the thorn in Spring,
And his garb black like the raven's wing.
Nothing heard but his foot through the hall,
For now the lords were silent all.
And the King wondered, and said, “Alack!
Who sends me a fair boy dressed in black?
“Why, sweet heart, do you pace through the hall
As though my court were a funeral?”
Then lowly knelt the child at the dais,
And looked up weeping in the King's face.
“O wherefore black, O King, ye may say,
For white is the hue of death to-day.
“Your son and all his fellowship
Lie low in the sea with the White Ship.”
King Henry fell as a man struck dead;
And speechless still he stared from his bed
When to him next day my rede I read.
There's many an hour must needs beguile
A King's high heart that he should smile,—
Full many a lordly hour, full fain
Of his realm's rule and pride of his reign:—
But this King never smiled again.
By none but me can the tale be told,
The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold.
(Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.)
'Twas a royal train put forth to sea,
Yet the tale can be told by none but me.
(The sea hath no King but God alone.)
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The King Of Denmark's Sons
In Denmark gone is many a year,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,
Two sons of Gorm the King there were,
So grey is the sea when day is done.
Both these were gotten in lawful bed
Of Thyrre Denmark’s Surety-head.
Fair was Knut of face and limb
As the breast of the Queen that suckled him.
But Harald was hot of hand and heart
As lips of lovers ere they part.
Knut sat at home in all men’s love,
But over the seas must Harald rove.
And for every deed by Harald won,
Gorm laid more love on Knut alone.
On a high-tide spake the King in hall,
“Old I grow as the leaves that fall.
“Knut shall reign when I am dead,
So shall the land have peace and aid.
“But many a ship shall Harald have,
For I deem the sea well wrought for his grave.”
Then none spake save the King again,
“If Knut die all my days be vain.
“And whoso the tale of his death shall tell,
Hath spoken a word to gain him hell.
“Lo here a doom I will not break,”
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun.
“For life or death or any man’s sake,”
So grey is the sea when the day is done.
O merry days in the summer-tide!
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun.
When the ships sail fair and the young men ride.
So grey is the sea when day is done.
Now Harald has got him east away,
And each morrow of fight was a gainful day.
But Knut is to his fosterer gone
To deal in deeds of peace alone.
So wear the days, and well it is
Such lovely lords should dwell in bliss.
O merry in the winter-tide
When men to Yule-feast wend them wide.
And here lieth Knut in the Lima-firth
When the lift is low o’er the Danish earth.
“Tell me now, Shipmaster mine,
What are yon torches there that shine?”
“Lord, no torches may these be
But golden prows across the sea.
“For over there the sun shines now
And the gold worms gape from every prow.”
The sun and the wind came down o’er the sea,
“Tell them over how many they be!”
“Ten I tell with shield-hung sides.
Nought but a fool his death abides.”
“Ten thou tellest, and we be three,
Good need that we do manfully.
“Good fellows, grip the shield and spear,
For Harald my brother draweth near.
“Well breakfast we when night is done,
And Valhall’s cock crows up the sun.”
Up spoke Harald in wrathful case:
“I would have word with this waxen face!
“What wilt thou pay, thou hucksterer,
That I let thee live another year?
“For oath that thou wilt never reign
Will I let thee live a year or twain.”
“Kisses and love shalt thou have of me
If yet my liegeman thou wilt be.
“But stroke of sword, and dint of axe,
Or ere thou makest my face as wax.”
As thick the arrows fell around
As fall sere leaves on autumn ground.
In many a cheek the red did wane
No maid might ever kiss again.
“Lay me aboard,” Lord Harald said,
“The winter day will soon be dead!
“Lay me aboard the bastard’s ship,
And see to it lest your grapnels slip!”
Then some they knelt and some they drowned,
And some lay dead Lord Knut around.
“Look here at the wax-white corpse of him,
As fair as the Queen in face and limb!
“Make now for the shore, for the moon is bright,
And I would be home ere the end of night.
“Two sons last night had Thyrre the Queen,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun.
And both she may lack ere the woods wax green,”
So grey is the sea when day is done.
A little before the morning tide,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,
Queen Thyrre looked out of her window-side,
So grey is the sea when day is done.
“O men-at-arms, what men be ye?”
“Harald thy son come over the sea.”
“Why is thy face so pale, my son?”
“It may be red or day is done.”
“O evil words of an evil hour!
Come, sweet son, to thy mother’s bower!”
None from the Queen’s bower went that day
Till dark night over the meadows lay.
None thenceforth heard wail or cry
Till the King’s feast was waxen high.
Then into the hall Lord Harald came
When the great wax lights were all aflame.
“What tidings, son, dost thou bear to me?
Speak out before I drink with thee.”
“Tidings small for a seafarer.
Two falcons in the sea-cliff’s were;
“And one was white and one was grey
And they fell to battle on a day;
“They fought in the sun, they fought in the wind,
No boot the white fowl’s wounds to bind.
“They fought in the wind, they fought in the sun,
And the white fowl died when the play was done.”
“Small tidings these to bear o’er the sea!
Good hap that nothing worser they be!
“Small tidings for a travelled man!
Drink with me, son, whiles yet ye can!
“Drink with me ere thy day and mine,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,
Be nought but a tale told over the wine.”
So grey is the sea when day is done.
Now fareth the King with his men to sleep,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun,
And dim the maids from the Queen’s bower creep,
So grey is the sea when day is done.
And in the hall is little light,
And there standeth the Queen with cheeks full white.
And soft the feet of women fall
From end to end of the King’s great hall.
These bear the gold-wrought cloths away,
And in other wise the hall array;
Till all is black that hath been gold
So heavy a tale there must be told.
The morrow men looked on King Gorm and said
“Hath he dreamed a dream or beheld the dead?
“Why is he sad who should be gay?
Why are the old man’s lips so grey?”
Slow paced the King adown the hall,
Nor looked aside to either wall,
Till in high-seat there he sat him down,
And deadly old men deemed him grown.
“O Queen, what thrall’s hands durst do this,
To strip my hall of mirth and bliss?”
“No thrall’s hands in the hangings were,
No thrall’s hands made the tenters bare.
“King’s daughters’ hands have done the deed,
The hands of Denmark’s Surety-head.”
“Nought betters the deed thy word unsaid.
Tell me that Knut my son is dead!”
She said: “The doom on thee, O King!
For thine own lips have said the thing.”
Men looked to see the King arise,
The death of men within his eyes.
Men looked to see his bitter sword
That once cleared ships from board to board.
But in the hall no sword gleamed wide,
His hand fell down along his side.
No red there came into his cheek,
He fell aback as one made weak.
His wan cheek brushed the high-seat’s side,
And in the noon of day he died.
So lieth King Gorm beneath the grass,
But from mouth to mouth this tale did pass.
And Harald reigned and went his way,
So fair upriseth the rim of the sun.
And still is the story told to-day,
So grey is the sea when day is done.
poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Fairytale
Once upon a time, there was a prince
Groomed, grand, and great than the younger prince
Like a fairy tale, a lovely maid!
A pariah! On mats with rats she laid
Like a fairy tale the prince and maid met
Surely, their hearts thundered aloud; I bet
But the young envied the elder so much
He snitched to the king the prince with no match
Wretched was the young, the king abstained him!
So, the younger raised his wit with grim
To an apple! The young thawed a bane,
For through it, the maiden he will gain!
The prince took the fruit and was ill and died!
King, queen, and maid mourned the prince side by side
Nearby, the younger was laughing so loud1
Flaunting his lunacy behind the crowd
Like a fairy tale, burial day's come
The day was dusk, bewailing, and calm
The grave blocked with florets, men, and bells
Day died, men mourned and death sings with bells
Like a fairy tale, the maid kissed the prince
But behold! He moved! Alive is the prince!
The day is glowing, rejoicing, and tense!
Truth spilled! King arrested the younger prince!
Truly wild is the manor! All rejoiced! From serf to the crown!
Like a fairy tale, there was a wedding! Happy night was clown!
Sweet kiss! Love filled the air with madrigal of a nightingale
And they live happily ever after-like a fairy tale!
poem by Mark Joseph Canoy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New World Order
Broken down, feeling naked
Leaving me unfulfilled
Promising compromise
Championing mediocrity
Time and time again
What you said ain't what you mean
Even if all my bones are broken
I will drag myself back from the edge to
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King, God save the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
I reveal a deceiver
In the highest seat in the land
His idle hands the Devil's workshop
Generate more smoke than heat
Time and time again
What you said ain't what you mean
Even if all my bones are broken
I will drag myself back from the edge to
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King, God save the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
A new precedent in pain, a new precedent in pain
Mankind is blown to dust, mankind is blown to dust
An explosion of the Brain, an explosion of the
Brain
Spontaneously combust, spontaneously combust
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The King of Erin's Daughter
THE King of Erin's Daughter had wind-blown hair and bright,
The King of Erin's Daughter, her eyes were like the sea;
(O Rose of all the roses, have you forgotten quite
The story of the days of old that once you told to me?)
The King of Erin's Daughter went up the mountain side
And who but she was singing as she went upon her way,
'O somewhere waits a King's Son and I shall be his bride,
And tall he is and fair he is and none shall say him nay.'
The King of Erin's Daughter–O fair was she and sweet–
Went laughing up the mountain without a look behind
Till on the lofty summit that lay beneath her feet
She found a King's Son waiting there, his brows with poppies twined.
O tall was he and fair was he. He looked into her face
And whispered in her ear a word un-named of mortal breath
And very still she rested, clasped close in his embrace,
The King of Erin's Daughter, for the bridegroom's name was Death.
poem by Norah M. Holland
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The Emperor of Germany is the king of kings, the King of Spain king of men, the King of France king of asses, the King of England king of devils.
King Rocker
Jailhouse rocker roots training down
In memphis
Liverpool johnny rocks out round pauls place
Seconds away as the rhythm comes down
King faces king in the ring for the crown
King rocker king rocker - rock rock rock
King kong
King kong
Elvis from the body shakes from the hipbone
Quarry st. kids in leather take hamburg
Creole was sharp but his guitar was acoustic
Go johnny go use your electric
-crazy man crazy
King rocker king rocker - rock rock rock
King kong
King kong
King rocker king rocker - rock rock rock
King kong
Round three - ali buzzin like a bee,
Elvis in the corner and you wont catch me
Round four - johnny lookin poor,
Gotta find a hit gotta even up the score
Round five - some jive, elvis took a dive
Waitin for the towel more dead than alive
Round six, seven, eight, nine, -
Ref stops the fight with the men on forty two
For a rematch in heaven
If they ever come through
[gotta] see this fight right thru til the last round
Follow the man
Whose puttin out the boss sound
Of king rocker king rocker -rock rock rock
King kong
King kong
King kong
King kong
King rocker king rocker -rock rock rock
King kong
King kong
King kong
King kong
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The King of our Republic
He is coming! He is coming! without heralds, without cheers.
He is coming! He is coming! and he’s been with us for years:
And, if you should pause to wonder who’s the man of whom I sing—
’Tis the King of our Republic, and the man we shall call King.
No, he comes not to amuse us, and he comes not to explain,
With the bathos of the old things over all the land again.
The debatable and tangled, and the vain imagining
Shall be swept out of our pathway by the man that we’ll call King.
He is coming! He is coming! He has heard our spirit call;
He’ll be greatest man since Cromwell in the English nations all,
And he’ll take his place amongst us while the rest are wondering—
Shall the King of our Republic, and the man we will call King.
If you find him stern, unyielding, where his living task is set,
I have told you that a tyrant shall uplift the nation yet;
He will place his country’s welfare over all and everything,
Shall the King of our Republic, and the man that we’ll call King.
Yet his heart shall still be gentle with his brothers gone astray,
For the Great Man of Australia shall be simple in his day—
Modest, kindly, but unyielding, while the watching world shall ring
With the name of our Republic and the man that we call King.
poem by Henry Lawson
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King
KING
' Martin Luther King
and that he was
a man of great moral
a leader because he led by example
KING
what makes a man a king
his determination to lead his people
his commitment, his drive
KING
a father
a husband
a friend
a Leader
For whom left his mark as KING
Man of the century to many who knew his pain
his struggle
Name another man who put his life in the teeth if death for a cause more than King
and for that same reason,
That Farther, Husband, Friend and Leader
Remains most of all
KING'
By: Kottrell Johnson
poem by Kottrell Johnson
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf XIII. -- The Building Of The Long Serpent
Thorberg Skafting, master-builder,
In his ship-yard by the sea,
Whistling, said, 'It would bewilder
Any man but Thorberg Skafting,
Any man but me!'
Near him lay the Dragon stranded,
Built of old by Raud the Strong,
And King Olaf had commanded
He should build another Dragon,
Twice as large and long.
Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting,
As he sat with half-closed eyes,
And his head turned sideways, drafting
That new vessel for King Olaf
Twice the Dragon's size.
Round him busily hewed and hammered
Mallet huge and heavy axe;
Workmen laughed and sang and clamored;
Whirred the wheels, that into rigging
Spun the shining flax!
All this tumult heard the master,--
It was music to his ear;
Fancy whispered all the faster,
'Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting
For a hundred year!'
Workmen sweating at the forges
Fashioned iron bolt and bar,
Like a warlock's midnight orgies
Smoked and bubbled the black caldron
With the boiling tar.
Did the warlocks mingle in it,
Thorberg Skafting, any curse?
Could you not be gone a minute
But some mischief must be doing,
Turning bad to worse?
'T was an ill wind that came wafting,
From his homestead words of woe;
To his farm went Thorberg Skafting,
Oft repeating to his workmen,
Build ye thus and so.
After long delays returning
Came the master back by night;
To his ship-yard longing, yearning,
Hurried he, and did not leave it
Till the morning's light.
'Come and see my ship, my darling!?
On the morrow said the King;
'Finished now from keel to carling;
Never yet was seen in Norway
Such a wondrous thing!'
In the ship-yard, idly talking,
At the ship the workmen stared:
Some one, all their labor balking,
Down her sides had cut deep gashes,
Not a plank was spared!
'Death be to the evil-doer!'
With an oath King Olaf spoke;
'But rewards to his pursuer!?
And with wrath his face grew redder
Than his scarlet cloak.
Straight the master-builder, smiling,
Answered thus the angry King:
'Cease blaspheming and reviling,
Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting
Who has done this thing!'
Then he chipped and smoothed the planking,
Till the King, delighted, swore,
With much lauding and much thanking,
'Handsomer is now my Dragon
Than she was before!'
Seventy ells and four extended
On the grass the vessel's keel;
High above it, gilt and splendid,
Rose the figure-head ferocious
With its crest of steel.
Then they launched her from the tressels,
In the ship-yard by the sea;
She was the grandest of all vessels,
Never ship was built in Norway
Half so fine as she!
The Long Serpent was she christened,
'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer!
They who to the Saga listened
Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting
For a hundred year!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Adventures of King Robert the Bruce
King Robert the Bruce's deadly enemy, John of Lorn,
Joined the English with eight hundred Highlanders one morn,
All strong, hardy, and active fearless mountaineers,
But Bruce's men attacked them with swords and spears.
And while they were engaged, a new enemy burst upon them,
Like a torrent of water rushing down a rocky glen:
It was John of Lorn and his Highlanders that came upon them,
So the tide of battle was too much for them to stem.
And with savage yells they made the valley ring,
Then made a long circuit, and stole in behind the King,
Whirling their broadswords and Lochaber axes left and right;
And the enemy being thrice their number, they relinquished the fight
Then to a certain house Bruce quickly hied,
And sitting by the door the housewife he spied;
And she asked him who he was, and he said, A wanderer,
Then she said, All wanderers are welcome here, kind sir.
Then the King said, Good dame, tell me the reason why,
How you respect all wanderers that chance to pass by,
And for whose sake you bear such favour to homeless men?
Then she said, King Robert the Bruce, if you want to ken,
The lawful King of this country, whom I hope to see;
Then the Bruce said, My good woman, your King stands before thee;
And she said, Ah! Sire, where are your men gone?
Then the King told her that he's come alone.
Then she said, Ah, my lawful King, this must not be,
For I have two stout sons, and they shall follow thee,
And fight to the death for your Majesty,
Aye, in faith, my good King, by land or sea.
Then she brought her sons before the King, and thus did say,
Now swear, my sons, to be true to your King without dismay;
Then they knelt and cried, Mother, we'll do as you desire,
We willingly will fight on behalf of our noble sire.
Who has been hunted like a felon by night and by day,
By foul plotters devising to take his life away;
But God will protect him in the midst of the strife,
And, mother dear, we'll fight for him during life.
Then the King said, Noble lads, it's you shall follow me,
And ye shall be near me by land or sea,
And for your loyalty towards me your mother I'll reward;
When all on a sudden the tramping of horses was heard.
Then the King heard voices he knew full well,
But what had fetched his friends there he couldn't tell;
'Twas Edward his brother and Lord Douglas, with one hundred and fifty men,
That had travelled far, to find their King, o'er mountain and glen.
And when they met they conversed on the events of the day,
Then the King unto them quickly did say,
If we knew where the enemy were, we would work them skaith;
Then Lord James said, I'll lead you where they are, by my faith.
Then they marched on the enemy just as the morning broke,
To a farm-house where they were lodged, and, with one bold stroke,
They, the Scots, rushed in and killed two-thirds of them dead;
And such was the life, alas! King Robert the Bruce led!
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Yvytot
Where wail the waters in their flaw
A spectre wanders to and fro,
And evermore that ghostly shore
Bemoans the heir of Yvytot.
Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall,
The mists upon the waters fall,
Across the main float shadows twain
That do not heed the spectre's call.
The king his son of Yvytot
Stood once and saw the waters go
Boiling around with hissing sound
The sullen phantom rocks below.
And suddenly he saw a face
Lift from that black and seething place--
Lift up and gaze in mute amaze
And tenderly a little space,
A mighty cry of love made he--
No answering word to him gave she,
But looked, and then sunk back again
Into the dark and depthless sea.
And ever afterward that face,
That he beheld such little space,
Like wraith would rise within his eyes
And in his heart find biding place.
So oft from castle hall he crept
Where mid the rocks grim shadows slept,
And where the mist reached down and kissed
The waters as they wailed and wept.
The king it was of Yvytot
That vaunted, many years ago,
There was no coast his valiant host
Had not subdued with spear and bow.
For once to him the sea-king cried:
"In safety all thy ships shall ride
An thou but swear thy princely heir
Shall take my daughter to his bride.
"And lo, these winds that rove the sea
Unto our pact shall witness be,
And of the oath which binds us both
Shall be the judge 'twixt me and thee!"
Then swore the king of Yvytot
Unto the sea-king years ago,
And with great cheer for many a year
His ships went harrying to and fro.
Unto this mighty king his throne
Was born a prince, and one alone--
Fairer than he in form and blee
And knightly grace was never known.
But once he saw a maiden face
Lift from a haunted ocean place--
Lift up and gaze in mute amaze
And tenderly a little space.
Wroth was the king of Yvytot,
For that his son would never go
Sailing the sea, but liefer be
Where wailed the waters in their flow,
Where winds in clamorous anger swept,
Where to and fro grim shadows crept,
And where the mist reached down and kissed
The waters as they wailed and wept.
So sped the years, till came a day
The haughty king was old and gray,
And in his hold were spoils untold
That he had wrenched from Norroway.
Then once again the sea-king cried:
"Thy ships have harried far and wide;
My part is done--now let thy son
Require my daughter to his bride!"
Loud laughed the king of Yvytot,
And by his soul he bade him no--
"I heed no more what oath I swore,
For I was mad to bargain so!"
Then spake the sea-king in his wrath:
"Thy ships lie broken in my path!
Go now and wring thy hands, false king!
Nor ship nor heir thy kingdom hath!
"And thou shalt wander evermore
All up and down this ghostly shore,
And call in vain upon the twain
That keep what oath a dastard swore!"
The king his son of Yvytot
Stood even then where to and fro
The breakers swelled--and there beheld
A maiden face lift from below.
"Be thou or truth or dream," he cried,
"Or spirit of the restless tide,
It booteth not to me, God wot!
But I would have thee to my bride."
Then spake the maiden: "Come with me
Unto a palace in the sea,
For there my sire in kingly ire
Requires thy king his oath of thee!"
Gayly he fared him down the sands
And took the maiden's outstretched hands;
And so went they upon their way
To do the sea-king his commands.
The winds went riding to and fro
And scourged the waves that crouched below,
And bade them sing to a childless king
The bridal song of Yvytot.
So fell the curse upon that shore,
And hopeless wailing evermore
Was the righteous dole of the craven soul
That heeded not what oath he swore.
An hundred ships went down that day
All off the coast of Norroway,
And the ruthless sea made mighty glee
Over the spoil that drifting lay.
The winds went calling far and wide
To the dead that tossed in the mocking tide:
"Come forth, ye slaves! from your fleeting graves
And drink a health to your prince his bride!"
Where wail the waters in their flow
A spectre wanders to and fro,
But nevermore that ghostly shore
Shall claim the heir of Yvytot.
Sometimes, when, like a fleecy pall,
The mists upon the waters fall,
Across the main flit shadows twain
That do not heed the spectre's call.
poem by Eugene Field
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King Of Somewhere Hot
King of somewhere hot
By: jimmy buffett, ralph macdonald, william salter, robert greenidge
1988
Robert greenidge and ralph macdonald finally got me to trinidad and when I heard the desperados playing my song up on laventhill I felt like a king and it was hot.
Ive travelled all around the world
And there are places that still stand out to me
None can really quite compare
To my island in the sea
My personal utopia
A place to run to where I can hide away
Where I can truly reign supreme
Somewhere fresh and clean where a man can dream
Chorus:
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Im king, (king) like every man should be
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Where the music in my soul(music in my soul)
Makes me start to lose control (start to lose control)
And Ill melt right on the spot
Im the king of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
Now you just rent yourself a tile and dance the night away
Just like the locals do
A million miles from robin leach, life is just a beach
So far out of reach
Chorus:
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Im king, (king) like every man should be
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Where the music in my soul(music in my soul)
Makes me start to lose control (start to lose control)
And Ill melt right on the spot
Im the king of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
So hot!
(pan solo)
Some day I hope to find my queen I know shell come my way
Ill give her all my love
Its not a complicated thing someplace I can swing
Where a man can be a king
Chorus:
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Im king, (king) like every man should be
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
I dont care how hard you look (dont care how hard you look)
Ooh you wont find me in the book (wont find me in the book)
cause Im here right on the spot
Oh! Im the king of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (to trot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
Hot to trot
King of somewhere hot (to trot)
(king of somewhere hot)
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Claudius
My mind now moves to distant places.
I'm walking the streets of Elsinore,
through its squares, and I recall
the very sad story-
that unfortunate king
killed by his nephew
because of some fanciful suspicions.
In all the homes of the poor
he was mourned secretly
(they were afraid of Fortinbras).
A quiet, gentle man,
a man who loved peace
(his country had suffered much
from the wars of his predecessor),
he behaved graciously toward everyone,
humble and great alike.
Never high-handed, he always sought advice
in the kingdom's affairs
from serious, experienced people.
Just why his nephew killed him
was never actually explained.
The prince suspected him of murder,
and the basis of his suspicion was this:
walking one night along an ancient battlement
he thought he saw a ghost
and he had a conversation with this ghost;
what he supposedly heard from the ghost
were certain accusations against the king.
It must have been a fit of fancy,
an optical illusion
(the prince was nervous in the extreme;
while he was studying at Wittenberg,
many of his fellow students thought him a maniac).
A few days later he went
to his mother's room to discuss
certain family affairs. And suddenly,
while he was talking, he lost his self-control,
started shouting, screaming
that the ghost was there in front of him.
But his mother saw nothing at all.
And that same day, for no apparent reason,
he killed an old gentleman of the court.
Since the prince was due to sail for England
in a day or two,
the king hustled him off post-haste
in order to save him.
But the people were so outraged
by the monstrous murder
that rebels rose up
and tried to storm the palace gates,
led by the dead man's son,
the noble lord Laertes
(a brave young man, also ambitious;
in the confusion, some of his friends called out:
'Long live King Laertes!').
Later, once the kingdom had calmed down
and the king was lying in his grave-
he was killed by his nephew, the prince,
who never went to England
but escaped from the ship on his way there-
a certain Horatio came forward
and tried to exonerate the prince
by telling some stories of his own.
He said that the voyage to England
had been a secret plot, and orders
had been given to kill the prince there
(but this was never clearly ascertained).
He also spoke of poisoned wine-
wine poisoned by the king.
It's true that Laertes spoke of this too.
But couldn't he have been lying?
Couldn't he have been mistaken?
And when did he say all this?
While dying of his wounds, his mind reeling,
his talk seemingly delirious.
As for the poisoned weapons,
it was shown later that the poisoning
hadn't been done by the king at all:
Laertes himself had done it.
But Horatio, whenever pressed,
would produce even the ghost as a witness:
the ghost said this and that,
the ghost did this and that!
Because of all this, though letting Horatio talk,
most people in their hearts
pitied the poor king,
who, with all these ghosts and fairy tales,
was unjustly killed and disposed of.
Yet Fortinbras, who profited
by winning the throne so easily,
gave full attention and weight
to every word Horatio said.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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If I Were King
I often wish I were a King,
And then I could do anything.
If only I were King of Spain,
I'd take my hat off in the rain.
If only I were King of France,
I wouldn't brush my hair for aunts.
I think, if I were King of Greece,
I'd push things off the mantelpiece.
If I were King of Norroway,
I'd ask an elephant to stay.
If I were King of Babylon,
I'd leave my button gloves undone.
If I were King of Timbuctoo,
I'd think of lovely things to do.
If I were King of anything,
I'd tell the soldiers, "I'm the King!"
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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The whole world is in revolt. Soon there will be only five Kings left--the King of England, the King of Spades, The King of Clubs, the King of Hearts, and the King of Diamonds.
quote by King Farouk of Egypt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The whole world is in revolt. Soon there will be only five Kings left--the King of England, the King of Spades, The King of Clubs, the King of Hearts, and the King of Diamonds.
quote by King Farouk of Egypt (1948)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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