En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. Interlude I.

The Landlord ended thus his tale,
Then rising took down from its nail
The sword that hung there, dim with dust
And cleaving to its sheath with rust,
And said, 'This sword was in the fight.'
The Poet seized it, and exclaimed,
'It is the sword of a good knight,
Though homespun was his coat-of-mail;
What matter if it be not named
Joyeuse, Colada, Durindale,
Excalibar, or Aroundight,
Or other name the books record?
Your ancestor, who bore this sword
As Colonel of the Volunteers,
Mounted upon his old gray mare,
Seen here and there and everywhere,
To me a grander shape appears
Than old Sir William, or what not,
Clinking about in foreign lands
With iron gauntlets on his hands,
And on his head an iron pot!'

All laughed; the Landlord's face grew red
As his escutcheon on the wall;
He could not comprehend at all
The drift of what the Poet said;
For those who had been longest dead
Were always greatest in his eyes;
And be was speechless with surprise
To see Sir William's pluméd head
Brought to a level with the rest,
And made the subject of a jest.
And this perceiving, to appease
The Landlord's wrath, the others' fears,
The Student said, with careless ease,
'The ladies and the cavaliers,
The arms, the loves, the courtesies,
The deeds of high emprise, I sing!
Thus Ariosto says, in words
That have the stately stride and ring
Of arméd knights and clashing swords.
Now listen to the tale I bring;
Listen! though not to me belong
The flowing draperies of his song,
The words that rouse, the voice that charms.
The Landlord's tale was one of arms,
Only a tale of love is mine,
Blending the human and divine,
A tale of the Decameron, told
In Palmieri's garden old,
By Fiametta, laurel-crowned,
While her companions lay around,
And heard the intermingled sound
Of airs that on their errands sped,
And wild birds gossiping overhead,
And lisp of leaves, and fountain's fall,
And her own voice more sweet than all,
Telling the tale, which, wanting these,
Perchance may lose its power to please.'

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude VI.

'Now that is after my own heart,'
The Poet cried; 'one understands
Your swarthy hero Scanderbeg,
Gauntlet on hand and boot on leg,
And skilled in every warlike art,
Riding through his Albanian lands,
And following the auspicious star
That shone for him o'er Ak-Hissar.'

The Theologian added here
His word of praise not less sincere,
Although he ended with a jibe;
'The hero of romance and song
Was born,' he said, 'to right the wrong;
And I approve; but all the same
That bit of treason with the Scribe
Adds nothing to your hero's fame.'

The Student praised the good old times,
And liked the canter of the rhymes,
That had a hoofbeat in their sound;
But longed some further word to hear
Of the old chronicler Ben Meir,
And where his volume might he found.

The tall Musician walked the room
With folded arms and gleaming eyes,
As if he saw the Vikings rise,
Gigantic shadows in the gloom;
And much he talked of their emprise
And meteors seen in Northern skies,
And Heimdal's horn, and day of doom.
But the Sicilian laughed again;
'This is the time to laugh,' he said,
For the whole story he well knew
Was an invention of the Jew,
Spun from the cobwebs in his brain,
And of the same bright scarlet thread
As was the Tale of Kambalu.

Only the Landlord spake no word;
'T was doubtful whether he had heard
The tale at all, so full of care
Was he of his impending fate,
That, like the sword of Damocles,
Above his head hung blank and bare,
Suspended by a single hair,
So that he could not sit at ease,
But sighed and looked disconsolate,
And shifted restless in his chair,
Revolving how he might evade
The blow of the descending blade.

The Student came to his relief
By saying in his easy way
To the Musician: 'Calm your grief,
My fair Apollo of the North,
Balder the Beautiful and so forth;
Although your magic lyre or lute
With broken strings is lying mute,
Still you can tell some doleful tale
Of shipwreck in a midnight gale,
Or something of the kind to suit
The mood that we are in to-night
For what is marvellous and strange;
So give your nimble fancy range,
And we will follow in its flight.'

But the Musician shook his head;
'No tale I tell to-night,' he said,
'While my poor instrument lies there,
Even as a child with vacant stare
Lies in its little coffin dead.'

Yet, being urged, he said at last:
'There comes to me out of the Past
A voice, whose tones are sweet and wild,
Singing a song almost divine,
And with a tear in every line;
An ancient ballad, that my nurse
Sang to me when I was a child,
In accents tender as the verse;
And sometimes wept, and sometimes smiled
While singing it, to see arise
The look of wonder in my eyes,
And feel my heart with terror beat.
This simple ballad I retain
Clearly imprinted on my brain,
And as a tale will now repeat.'

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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FootPrints In The Sand

footprints in the sand
heading that way as it
leads away it leaves a
tale.

a tale of pain a tale of sorrow
a tale of hurt a tale to be told
whispir in my ear a tale of a
new generation
a generation of determination
where love is an everyday thing
and not as rare as a blue moon

so foot prints in the sand
your tale was heard as it hit
the nation pure like solid gold
so though your mist wash away
your tale live on till today

poem by Robert Roberts
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Fairy Tale High

On a fairy tale high
Don't you believe that your dreams all come true
The fairy tale world inside can bring it to you
You just have to wish, and you'll take off and fly
On a fairy tale high, fairy tale high
Fairy tale high, fairy tale high
On a fairy tale high
Just look around you, the dark clouds are far
Stand on your tiptoes, and reach for a star
As stardust comes sprinkling, it will brighten your eyes
On a fairy tale high, fairy tale high
Fairy tale high, fairy tale high
Fairy tale high, fairy tale high, fairy tale high
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher
On a fairy tale high, feeling higher and higher

song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. Interlude II.

'I thought before your tale began,'
The Student murmured, 'we should have
Some legend written by Judah Rav
In his Gemara of Babylon;
Or something from the Gulistan,--
The tale of the Cazy of Hamadan,
Or of that King of Khorasan
Who saw in dreams the eyes of one
That had a hundred years been dead
Still moving restless in his head,
Undimmed, and gleaming with the lust
Of power, though all the rest was dust.

'But lo! your glittering caravan
On the road that leadeth to Ispahan
Hath led us farther to the East
Into the regions of Cathay.
Spite of your Kalif and his gold,
Pleasant has been the tale you told,
And full of color; that at least
No one will question or gainsay.
And yet on such a dismal day
We need a merrier tale to clear
The dark and heavy atmosphere.
So listen, Lordlings, while I tell,
Without a preface, what befell
A simple cobbler, in the year ?
No matter; it was long ago;
And that is all we need to know.'

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude VII.

Touched by the pathos of these rhymes,
The Theologian said: 'All praise
Be to the ballads of old times
And to the bards of simple ways,
Who walked with Nature hand in hand,
Whose country was their Holy Land,
Whose singing robes were homespun brown
From looms of their own native town,
Which they were not ashamed to wear,
And not of silk or sendal gay,
Nor decked with fanciful array
Of cockle-shells from Outre-Mer.'

To whom the Student answered: 'Yes;
All praise and honor! I confess
That bread and ale, home-baked, home-brewed,
Are wholesome and nutritious food,
But not enough for all our needs;
Poets--the best of them--are birds
Of passage; where their instinct leads
They range abroad for thoughts and words,
And from all climes bring home the seeds
That germinate in flowers or weeds.
They are not fowls in barnyards born
To cackle o'er a grain of corn;
And, if you shut the horizon down
To the small limits of their town,
What do you but degrade your bard
Till he at last becomes as one
Who thinks the all-encircling sun
Rises and sets in his back yard?'

The Theologian said again:
'It may be so; yet I maintain
That what is native still is best,
And little care I for the rest.
'T is a long story; time would fail
To tell it, and the hour is late;
We will not waste it in debate,
But listen to our Landlord's tale.'

And thus the sword of Damocles
Descending not by slow degrees,
But suddenly, on the Landlord fell,
Who blushing, and with much demur
And many vain apologies,
Plucking up heart, began to tell
The Rhyme of one Sir Christopher.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Living A Boys Adventure Tale

(pal waaktaar/morten harket)
Ive fixed my dwelling for the night
Lights in pairs come passing by
Where I hide
I need some time now on my own
Leave my loneliness alone
To lick my wounds
Night has found me just in time
To help me close my eyes
One more time
Living a boys adventure tale
In so many ways
Living a boys adventure tale
For so many days
Im living a boys adventure tale
Cant escape, if I wanted to
Living a boys adventure tale
I may be dreaming but I feel awake
Ive been lost in so many places
Seeked love in so many faces
A change of weather,
The rain pours down
My head in hands,
Pressed to the ground
And where am I supposed to go now
Living a boys adventure tale
In so many ways
Living a boys adventure tale (aah)
Living a boys adventure tale
A voice I hear
Living a boys adventure tale
Singing a lullaby for me
Living a boys adventure tale
Because of you
Living a boys adventure
Oh you know its true
Living a boys adventure tale
In so many ways (aah)
For so many days
I love you. I love you
So many ways

song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Headstrong

[ music: natalie merchant/words: natalie merchant ]
To your common sense firm arguments
I wont listen to your voice of reason trying to change my mind.
I mind my feelings and not your words.
Didnt you notice Im so headstrong even when I know Im wrong?
Take this to your heart and into your head now:
Before you waste your time, call a truce and call a draw.
Whats the use in mapping your views out in orderly form
When it does nothing but confuse and anger me more?
I mind my feelings and not your words.
Didnt you notice Im so headstrong.
Youre talking to a deaf stone wall.
Take this to your heart and into your head now:
The old wives tale is true, Ill repeat it.
All is fair in love and war, thats how the famous saying goes.
Open up your eyes, see me for what I am:
Cast in iron, I wont break and I wont bend.
Take this to your heart and into your head now:
The old wives tale is true, Ill repeat it.
All is fair in love and war, thats how the famous saying goes.
If I told you we were out to sea in a bottomless boat,
Youd try anything to save us, youd try anything to keep us afloat.
And if we were living in a house afire,
I dont believe that you could rush out and escape it and not rescue me.
Take this to your heart and into your head now:
The old wives tale is true, Ill repeat it.
All is fair in love and war, thats how the famous saying goes.
Listen, I think they were talking to you.

song performed by by 10000 Maniacs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lipstick On Your Collar

When you left me all alone at the record hop
Told me you were goin out for a soda pop
You were gone for quite a while -- half-an-hour more
You came back and man, oh, man, this is what I saw:
Lipstick on your collar told a tale on you
Lipstick on your collar said you were untrue
Bet your bottom dollar you and I are through
cause lipstick on your collar told a tale on you! yeah!
You said it belonged to me, made me stop and think
And then I noticed yours was red; mine was baby pink
Who walked in but mary jane, lipstick all a mess?
Were you smoochin my best friend? guess the answers yes
Lipstick on your collar told a tale on you
Lipstick on your collar said you were untrue
Bet your bottom dollar you and I are through
cause lipstick on your collar told a tale on you! boy!
Told a tale on you! man!
Told a tale on you! yeah! (fade)

song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude V.

'Signor Luigi,' said the Jew,
When the Sicilian's tale was told,
'The were-wolf is a legend old,
But the were-ass is something new,
And yet for one I think it true.
The days of wonder have not ceased;
If there are beasts in forms of men,
As sure it happens now and then,
Why may not man become a beast,
In way of punishment at least?
'But this I will not now discuss,
I leave the theme, that we may thus
Remain within the realm of song.
The story that I told before,
Though not acceptable to all,
At least you did not find too long.
I beg you, let me try again,
With something in a different vein,
Before you bid the curtain fall.
Meanwhile keep watch upon the door,
Nor let the Landlord leave his chair,
Lest he should vanish into air,
And so elude our search once more.
Thus saying, from his lips he blew
A little cloud of perfumed breath,
And then, as if it were a clew
To lead his footsteps safely through,
Began his tale as followeth.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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A tale i was told

Right as i was told their handwriting were'nt bold
so; our forefathers were sold
that their conscience they had sold
but to me; a fairy tale better not told

i was young
and the music seem dingdong
to me at dawn,
the story seem sown
not till i was told
it was a fairy tale better not told.

Unaware in the market; they haggle
to them, the reward a cry
and they saw no battle
but on this path, i dare not ply
To me; a fairy tale better not told.

What seem a tale
to me a dog without tail
on our fall i was
when the tale went on without a pause
to me a fairy better not told.

poem by Atimiwoaye Adetunji dayo
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The Ballad Of The Landlord

Landlord, landlord,
My roof has sprung a leak.
Don't you 'member I told you about it
Way last week?

Landlord, landlord,
These steps is broken down.
When you come up yourself
It's a wonder you don't fall down.

Ten Bucks you say I owe you?
Ten Bucks you say is due?
Well, that's Ten Bucks more'n I'l pay you
Till you fix this house up new.

What? You gonna get eviction orders?
You gonna cut off my heat?
You gonna take my furniture and
Throw it in the street?

Um-huh! You talking high and mighty.
Talk on-till you get through.
You ain't gonna be able to say a word
If I land my fist on you.

Police! Police!
Come and get this man!
He's trying to ruin the government
And overturn the land!

Copper's whistle!
Patrol bell!
Arrest.
Precinct Station.
Iron cell.
Headlines in press:
Man Threatens landlord
Tenant Held Bail
Judge GIives Negro 90 Days In County Jail!

poem by Langston Hughes
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Let's Lynch The Landlord

The landlord's here to visit
They're blasting disco down below
Sez, "I'm doubling the rent
Cuz the buildings condemned
You're gonna help me buy City Hall"
But we can, you know we can
We can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord man
I tell them turn on the water
I tell them turn on the heat
Tells me "All you ever do is complain"
Then they search the place when I'm not here
But we can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord
Let's lynch the landlord
Let's lynch the landlord man
There's rats chewin' up the kitchen
Roaches up to my knees
Turn the oven on, it smells like Dachau
Til' the rain pours through the ceiling
But we can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord man

song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Vault--After Sedgmoor

You need not call at the Inn;
I have ordered my bed:
Fair linen sheets therein
And a tester of lead.
No musty fusty scents
Such as inn chambers keep,
But tapestried with content
And hung with sleep.

My Inn door bears no bar
Set up against fear.
The guests have journeyed far,
They are glad to be here.
Where the damp arch curves up grey,
Long, long shall we lie;
Good King's men all are they,
A King's man I.

Old Giles, in his stone asleep,
Fought at Poictiers.
Piers Ralph and Roger keep
The spoil of their fighting years.
I shall lie with my folk at last
In a quiet bed;
I shall dream of the sword held fast
In a round-capped head.

Good tale of men all told
My Inn affords;
And their hands peace shall hold
That once held swords.
And we who rode and ran
On many a loyal quest
Shall find the goal of man -
A bed, and rest.

We shall not stand to the toast
Of Love or King;
We be all too tired to boast
About anything.
We be dumb that did jest and sing;
We rest who laboured and warred . . .
Shout once, shout once for the King.
Shout once for the sword!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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I want – I wish to believe

I want – I wish to believe
The old tale’s – the ballad’s words,
How the sunny knight cuts
The monsters nine heads off…
Just at one stroke of his sword!

poem by Tsira Gogeshvili
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Interlude IV.

'A pleasant and a winsome tale,'
The Student said, 'though somewhat pale
And quiet in its coloring,
As if it caught its tone and air
From the gray suits that Quakers wear;
Yet worthy of some German bard,
Hebel, or Voss, or Eberhard,
Who love of humble themes to sing,
In humble verse; but no more true
Than was the tale I told to you.'
The Theologian made reply,
And with some warmth, 'That I deny;
'T is no invention of my own,
But something well and widely known
To readers of a riper age,
Writ by the skilful hand that wrote
The Indian tale of Hobomok,
And Philothea's classic page.
I found it like a waif afloat
Or dulse uprooted from its rock,
On the swift tides that ebb and flow
In daily papers, and at flood
Bear freighted vessels to and fro,
But later, when the ebb is low,
Leave a long waste of sand and mud.'
'It matters little,' quoth the Jew;
'The cloak of truth is lined with lies,
Sayeth some proverb old and wise;
And Love is master of all arts,
And puts it into human hearts
The strangest things to say and do.'
And here the controversy closed
Abruptly, ere 't was well begun;
For the Sicilian interposed
With, 'Lordlings, listen, every one
That listen may, unto a tale
That 's merrier than the nightingale;
A tale that cannot boast, forsooth,
A single rag or shred of truth;
That does not leave the mind in doubt
As to the with it or without;
A naked falsehood and absurd
As mortal ever told or heard.
Therefore I tell it; or, maybe,
Simply because it pleases me.'

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Burning Embers

Fly through the glass of a window pane
fall through the sky feeling the rain
Walk on broken glass your tell-tale heart
Look through the bars of a dirty jail cell
soar to heaven dive to hell
Listen to your tell-tale heart
Setting fires in the ghost twilight
we see you dress we bolt with fright
You see an apparition disappear
Jump to the table, jump up the stairs
stand on the rooftop, looking out through the air
Walk on broken glass your tell-tale heart
Lenore, am I dreaming
How can death keep us apart, mmmm..
Lenore, I see you burning
And I'd walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Heart
heart
Heart
heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Third Gentleman: Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse,
Though credit be asleep and not an ear open.

line from The Winter's Tale, Act V, Scene 2, script by William Shakespeare (1610)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Beauty & The Beast

Tale as old as time
True as it can be
Barely even friends
Than somebody bends
Unexpectedly
Just a little change
Small, to say the least
Both a little scared
Neither one prepared
Beauty and the beast
Ever just the same
Ever a surprise
Ever as before
Ever just as sure
As the sun will arise
Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song
Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Certain as the sun
Rising in the east
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the beast.

song performed by by Celine Dion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Valhalla & Valkyries

Snow covers the battle scene,
seeing death amongst the evergreens.
A shield and sword in my grip,
in the snow we all stumble and slip.
Have I chosen a cold dead end road,
a grave and dew-licked grass as my abode.
Flat on my back I see a clear sky,
and a Valkyrie in my view as I lie.

Did I close my eyes, is this tale true,
did these maidens choose me and you?
Did I close my eyes, is this tale true,
does Valhalla exist for me and you?

Ice covers a river-side dream,
it breaks pulling me under the stream.
Sunlight drowns and daylight disappears,
an eclipse shrouding the mighty sphere.
Then a female voice spoke, softly saying things,
a myriad of watery swirls transform into a horse with wings.
A body appeared to which the voice did belong,
to Asgard she whispered, like a heroine in a song.

Am I asleep, is this dream as real as it appears,
am I really a hero, my vision of Valhalla so clear?
Am I asleep, is this dream as real as it appears,
as Odin steps forward I say goodbye to my fears.

We cross a rainbow bridge to the other side,
amongst the clouds where heroes of battle reside.
Stood at the doors of silver, my wonder unsurpassed,
chosen by King Odin to live a life of ever last.
In the hall of heroes, its walls lamented with shields,
I am paralysed by the splendour that it yields.
You must understand my friend that this tale is true,
for Valhalla and Valkyries exist for me and you.

poem by Dale Mullock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All In The Golden Afternoon

All in the golden afternoon full leisurely we glide
For both our oars, with little skill, by little arms are plied
While little hands make vain pretence our wanderings to guide
Ah, cruel three! in such an hour beneath such dreamy wheather
To beg a tale of breath too weak to stir the tiniest feather
And what can one poor voice avail against three tongues together
Anon, to sudden silence won, in fancy they persue
The dream child moving through a land of wonders wild and new
In friendly chat with bird or beast- and half believe it true
And ever as the story drained the wells of fancy dry
And faintly strove that weary one to put the subject by
The next time. it is next time the happy voices cry
Thus grew the tale of wonderland, thus slowly, one by one
Its quaint events were hammered out
And now the tale is done and home we steer
A merry crew
Beneath the setting sun
Lewis carrol

song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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