Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. Interlude IV.
And then the blue-eyed Norseman told
A Saga of the days of old.
'There is,' said he, 'a wondrous book
Of Legends in the old Norse tongue,
Of the dead kings of Norroway,--
Legends that once were told or sung
In many a smoky fireside nook
Of Iceland, in the ancient day,
By wandering Saga-man or Scald;
Heimskringla is the volume called;
And he who looks may find therein
The story that I now begin.'
And in each pause the story made
Upon his violin he played,
As an appropriate interlude,
Fragments of old Norwegian tunes
That bound in one the separate runes,
And held the mind in perfect mood,
Entwining and encircling all
The strange and antiquated rhymes
with melodies of olden times;
As over some half-ruined wall,
Disjointed and about to fall,
Fresh woodbines climb and interlace,
And keep the loosened stones in place.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part. 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf VI. -- The Wraith Of Odin
The guests were loud, the ale was strong,
King Olaf feasted late and long;
The hoary Scalds together sang;
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The door swung wide, with creak and din;
A blast of cold night-air came in,
And on the threshold shivering stood
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The King exclaimed, 'O graybeard pale!
Come warm thee with this cup of ale.'
The foaming draught the old man quaffed,
The noisy guests looked on and laughed.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Then spake the King: 'Be not afraid;
Sit here by me.' The guest obeyed,
And, seated at the table, told
Tales of the sea, and Sagas old.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
And ever, when the tale was o'er,
The King demanded yet one more;
Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said,
''T is late, O King, and time for bed.'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The King retired; the stranger guest
Followed and entered with the rest;
The lights were out, the pages gone,
But still the garrulous guest spake on.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
As one who from a volume reads,
He spake of heroes and their deeds,
Of lands and cities he had seen,
And stormy gulfs that tossed between.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Then from his lips in music rolled
The Havamal of Odin old,
With sounds mysterious as the roar
Of billows on a distant shore.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
'Do we not learn from runes and rhymes
Made by the gods in elder times,
And do not still the great Scalds teach
That silence better is than speech?'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
Smiling at this, the King replied,
'Thy lore is by thy tongue belied;
For never was I so enthralled
Either by Saga-man or Scald,'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
The Bishop said, 'Late hours we keep!
Night wanes, O King! 't is time for sleep!'
Then slept the King, and when he woke
The guest was gone, the morning broke.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
They found the doors securely barred,
They found the watch-dog in the yard,
There was no footprint in the grass,
And none had seen the stranger pass.
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
King Olaf crossed himself and said:
'I know that Odin the Great is dead;
Sure is the triumph of our Faith,
The one-eyed stranger was his wraith.'
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Maps & Legends
Hes not to be reached, hes to be reached.
Hes not to be reached, hes to be reached.
Called the fool and the company,
On his own where hed rather be.
Where he ought to be, he sees what you cant see,
Cant you see that?
Maybe hes caught in the legend,
Maybe hes caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
Have been misunderstood.
Down the way the roads divided,
Paint me the places you have seen.
Those who know what I dont know
Refer to the yellow, red and green
Maybe hes caught in the legend,
Maybe hes caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
Have been misunderstood.
Hes not to be reached, hes to be reached. (4 times)
The map that you painted didnt seem real.
He just sings whatever hes seen
Point to the legend, point to the east,
Point to the yellow, red and green
Maybe hes caught in the legend,
Maybe hes caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
Have been misunderstood, been misunderstood.
(maps and legends)
(maps and legends) is he to be reached?
Hes not to be reached.
(maps and legends) is he to be reached?
Hes not to be reached.
(maps and legends) is he to be reached?
Hes not to be reached anymore.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maps And Legends
He's not to be reached he's to be reached.
He's not to be reached he's to be reached.
Called the fool and the company
On his own where he'd rather be.
Where he ought to be he sees what you can't see can't you see that?
Maybe he's caught in the legend
maybe he's caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
have been misunderstood.
Down the way the road's divided
Paint me the places you have seen.
Those who know what I don't know
refer to the yellow, red and green
Maybe he's caught in the legend,
maybe he's caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
have been misunderstood.
He's not to be reached, he's to be reached. (4 times)
The map that you painted didn't seem real.
He just sings whatever he's seen
Point to the legend, point to the east,
Point to the yellow, red and green
Maybe he's caught in the legend,
maybe he's caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
have been misunderstood, been misunderstood. (Maps and legends)
(Maps and legends) Is he to be reached? He's not to be reached.
(Maps and legends) Is he to be reached? He's not to be reached.
(Maps and legends) Is he to be reached? He's not to be reached anymore
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roisin Dubh (Black Rose) / A Rock Legend
Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realm of the Black Rose
Play me the melodies I want to know
So I can teach my children, oh
Pray tell me the story of young Cuchulainn
How his eyes were dark his expression sullen
And how he'd fight and always won
And how they cried when he was fallen
Oh tell me the story of the Queen of this land
And how her sons died at her own hand
And how fools obey commands
Oh tell me the legends of long ago
Where the mountains of Mourne come down to the sea
Will she no come back to me
Will she no come back to me
Oh Shenandoah I hear you calling
Far away you rolling river
Roll down the mountain side
On down on down go lassie go
Oh Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realms of the Black Rose
Play me the melodies so I might know
So I can tell my children, oh
My Roisin Dubh is my one and only true love
It was a joy that Joyce brought to me
While William Butler waits
And Oscar, he's going Wilde
Ah sure, Brendan where have you Behan?
Looking for a girl with green eyes
My dark Rosaleen is my only colleen
That Georgie knows Best
But Van is the man
Starvation once again
Drinking whiskey in the jar-o
Synge's Playboy of the Western World
As Shaw, Sean I was born and reared there
Where the Mountains of Mourne come down to the sea
Is such a long, long way from Tipperary
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Rose
Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realm of the black rose
Play me the melodies i want to know
So i can teach my children, oh
Pray tell me the story of young c chulainn
How his eyes were dark his expression sullen
And how he'd fight and always won
And how they cried when he was fallen
Oh tell me the story of the queen of this land
And how her sons died at her own hand
And how fools obey commands
Oh tell me the legends of long ago
Where the mountains of mourne come down to the sea
Will she no come back to me
Will she no come back to me
Oh shenandoah i hear you calling
Far away you rolling river
Roll down the mountain side
On down on down go lassie go
Oh tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realms of the black rose
Play me the melodies so i might know
So i can tell my children, oh
My roisin dubh is my one and only true love
It was a joy that joyce brought to me
While william butler waits
And oscar, he's going wilde
Ah sure, brendan where have you behan?
Looking for a girl with green eyes
My dark rosaleen is my only colleen
That georgie knows best
But van is the man
Starvation once again
Drinking whiskey in the jar-o
Synge's playboy of the western world
As shaw, sean i was born and reared there
Where the mountains of mourne come down to the sea
Is such a long, long way from tipperary
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Over To You
Born in the window
Cold blooded spoof
Raised in the prison
You called the school
Taught young in legends
Told what to do
I handed my childhood
Over to you
Travelling endlessly, Im searching for mind
Im almost afraid of what I will find
Wandering aimlessly, oh what can I do?
I handed my future over to you, to you
Over to you
Future looks blue
What can I do?
Watching for freedom
Fighting our wars
Feeding our children
Keeping your laws
Someday youll suffer
And what Ill do
Ill hand all your promises
Over to you
Standing inside myself, Im losing control
You made me believe in the stories you told
Waiting impatiently, what else can I do?
I handed my future over to you, to you
Over to you
Future looks blue
What can I do?
Tears filled of sadness
Stealing myself
Which burning secrets?
What to they tell?
Mad politicians
Can tell it true
I handed my children
Over to you
All over, over to you
All over, over to you
All over, over to you...
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thats The Way I Remember It
Ts only natural with time
Details can somehow slip your mind
Something so sweet, though incomplete
You fill the spaces in-between
It never will be that way again
Maybe it wasnt way back when
But to my heart and soul
This is the way the story has to be told
Thats the way (thats the way) I remember it
I remember it that way
From the day I was living there
I remember it that way
Some of our stories fade as we grow older
Some get sweeter every time theyre told
Thats the way (thats the way) I remember you that way
Guess now if the truth were known
Among diamonds they were stones
To say would be fair, girl, nothing compares
To when I called you all my own
So darling dont ever you think twice
Those were the best days of my life
When I held you there
And Ill tell this story this way, time and again
Thats the way (thats the way) I remember it
I remember it that way
From the day I was living there
I remember it that way
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Norrona-Race
Norrona-race's longing,
It was the sea's free wave,
And fight of heroes thronging,
And honor that it gave;
Their thoughts and deeds upspringing
From roots in Surtr's fire,
With branches topward swinging
To Yggdrasil aspire.
His course alone each guided,
Oft brother-harm was done;
Our vict'ries were divided,
The honor gained was one.
Each heard his call time-fated,
First Norway, Denmark, came,
The Swede the longest waited,
But greatest grew his fame.
In eastern, western regions
The Danish dragons shone,
To Norway's roving legions
Jerusalem was known.
From sparks the Swedish spirit
Struck forth in Poland's night,
Through Lützen must inherit
Full half the world its light.
First Norseman, Dane, agreeing
In trying times were found,
But Saga's will far-seeing
By little men was bound;
Then Norseman, Swede, agreeing,
Time in its fullness found,
And Saga's will far-seeing
Shall nevermore be bound.
There is prophetic power
In longing hearts of men,
Foretells our union's hour '
For great deeds once again.
Each festival so glorious
To solemn vows us draws:
Forever be victorious
Our blood's, our race's cause!
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story
Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Story
I love story.
Truly I do.
And always will.
Of the best of them
I shall not ever
Get my fill.
They are never read, told, shared or sung
In vain,
They create, live and give
An allegorical ardor to life and being
That in no other form
Can anyone find or explain.
Yet,
the fact remains,
for each persons story
'tis the same:
Wherever great fictional stories
Are shown or told,
New or old,
There is a moment of climax, fantasy,
Where the main character overcomes confrontation.
And from that moment on everything is good, o.k.,
Pure and perfect transformation.......
Real life is story too,
One big Story
Filled with every human's sub-story,
All just as real, and true.
With the full ability to be every bit as great,
Word for word,
As any fiction
Ever told and heard.
With one powerful and true exception:
In the story of our human reality
The conflict may lesson,
But never, here and now, does it ever cease.
In this life, no matter what else,
There just will not be
Perfect, never-ending beauty and peace.
It's a fantastic fable
That from a moment forward
Life can be happily ever after;
No such thing has God here promised.
Only upon Christ's return
Shall tears and pain completely give way
To joy, dancing, and laughter.
Death to evil's horrid beast,
Finally and fully finished
At the great and glorious wedding feast!
But, tis not yet so;
Tis futile to think
For anyone life is unfragile,
We are all so soon wind-swept,
Our time, place and position on earth
Is never ours to be savored and kept...
So the story goes on and on
To it's final chapter,
Where the great author alone
Writes in the wonderous finish:
'The Eternal Happily Ever After'.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Dead Cow Farm
An ancient saga tells us how
In the beginning the First Cow
(For nothing living yet had birth
But Elemental Cow on earth)
Began to lick cold stones and mud:
Under her warm tongue flesh and blood
Blossomed, a miracle to believe:
And so was Adam born, and Eve.
Here now is chaos once again,
Primeval mud, cold stones and rain.
Here flesh decays and blood drips red,
And the Cow’s dead, the old Cow’s dead.
poem by Robert Graves
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How The West Was Won And Where It Got Us
Blood from a stone, water from wine.
Born under earplay design.
A stroke of bad luck, wrong place, wrong time.
Let's fly up out of the lime.
The story is a sad one, told many times.
The story of my life in trying times.
Just add water, stir in lime.
How the west was won and where it got us.
Canary got trapped, the uranium mine.
A stroke of bad luck, now the bird has died.
A marker to mark where my tears run dry.
I cross it, bless it, alkali.
The story is a sad one, told many times.
The story of my life in trying times.
Just add water, stir in lime.
How the west was won and where it got us.
I didn't wear glasses cause I thought it might rain.
Now I can't see anything.
I made a mistake, chalked it up to design.
I cracked through time, space, Godless and dry.
I point my nose to the northern star,
Watch her decline from a hazy distance.
The story is a sad one, told many times.
The story of my life in trying times.
Just add water, stir in lime.
How the west was won and where it got us
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How The West Was Won & Where It Got Us
Blood from a stone
Water from wine.
Born under earplay design.
A stroke of bad luck,
Wrong place, wrong time.
Lets fly up out of the lime.
The story is a sad one, told many times.
The story of my life in trying times.
Just add water, stir in lime.
How the west was won and where it got us.
Canary got trapped, the uranium mine.
A stroke of bad luck, now the bird has died.
A marker to mark where my tears run dry.
I cross it, bless it, alkali.
The story is a sad one, told many times.
The story of my life in trying times.
Just add water, stir in lime.
How the west was won and where it got us.
I didnt wear glasses cause I thought it might rain.
Now I cant see anything.
I made a mistake, chalked it up to design.
I cracked through time, space, godless and dry.
I point my nose to the northern star,
Watch the decline from a hazy distance.
The story is a sad one, told many times.
The story of my life in trying times.
Just add water, stir in lime.
How the west was won and where it got us.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wedded Bliss
Your world will get far worse if you are going to use that knife,
have you seriously thought of what you are about to do?
I mean this is stupid, is it the best way to begin a new life?
Your so called friend has filled your head with poisonous lies,
and I've told you many times about their lethal tongue,
but you never listened to me no matter how hard I tried.
It makes no sense to do this just because of what someone says,
you should judge me as you find me,
not on some persons words on another of their fantasy days.
Please put down the knife, do you really want to kill me?
You're obviously upset by what you have been told,
and you've already made up your mind that I'm guilty.
If there is any doubt in your mind that you have been told a lie
put down the knife right now and walk out the door,
that would be the perfect new beginning and just say goodbye.
Well, if you are leaving you'd better take your bags and things,
and if like you say you're never coming back,
you may as well take with you my wedding ring.
At least the hot tempered insults that you have thrown in the past,
along with your countless jealous accusations of betrayal,
and the dodging of missiles will finally come to pass.
Before you go, would you really have used that carving knife,
or was it just a blind to hide your latest affair,
so you could move out again for yet another new life?
poem by Tex T Sarnie
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New Charm
Long ago, almost forgotten in the winds of time
a wonderful story fired my mind: a kind, lovable
old soul preached how legends and myths told
of strange portents
A hero, sensitive and strong, was cast as Lodi,
the Spirit King who came down a mountain and
was met and helped by a young Prince to
establish a new reign of peace on earth
Ever since I have been searching for more such
imaginative themes to add to the lovely tapestry
these colourful strands weave in my mind, the
latest sparkles of silver and gold
Were added by an Internet author mentioning
the mythical Giorgio de Santillana & Hertha von
Dechend theory that characters of ancient myth
are to be identified with the planets
That gods are really stars - the characters and
adventures of mythology explain the balance
of power among stars and planets - this
enables me to read the wildly immoral
And totally improbable Cuneiform clay tablet
stories and myths of the ancients with new
enjoyment – without this focal point, these
myths and legends seemed
Just a waste, the impossible psychological
and physical prowess ascribed to the actors
made it seem like the ravings of madmen
without any redeeming features
But as allegories and symbols of heavenly orbs
all fall into place, enacting the tale of precession
and the cataclysms unleashed when these bodies
are struck by meteorites; undergoing
Inevitable polarity changes – suddenly these
stories acquired a new charm that delights…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Joe & Rosalita
(phil vassar, charlie black)
Joe and rosalita, lookem up in the year book
Even then they had that wild-in-love crazy look
Joes car on friday night, after the ball game
Steam so thick on the windows
They could write their names
Theyd fight like cats and dogs outside of homeroom
Seeem hangin all over each other that same afternoon
Joe and rosalita
Ball-cap, good-ole boy and brown-eyed senorita
Rocked this town like no ones ever done
round here theyre known as the legends of love
Old mr.rosenbaum kickedem out of the senior prom
Busted for dirty dancin
Sent him home and he called her mom
Pulled the old pillow trick, and they both snuck out
Showed up two days later still in a tux and a prom gown
Got married on the steps outside the courthouse
Called it the great escape, people still talk about it now
Joe and rosalita
Ball-cap, good-ole boy and brown-eyed senorita
Rocked this town like no ones ever done
round here theyre known as the legends of love
Rosalita is still a rose
Now its been 10 years for rose and joe
Now sometimes you seeem cruisin down main street
Still got his arm around her, two kids in the backseat
They book a babysitter to go out on friday
Sometimes they never even make it out of the driveway
Joe and rosalita
Ball-cap, good-ole boy and brown-eyed senorita
Rocked this town like no ones ever done
round here theyre known as the legends of love
song performed by by Phil Vassar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Calico Cat
I walk down the road
And what do I see?
A Calico cat is
looking at me.
I smile at the cat
So refreshingly free.
I sit down and wait
And he deigns to come see.
I ask why his name
Is the Calico Cat.
He rubs on my knee
And he says 'it's just that'
For the Calico Cat
Is not commonly seen.
Don't you know why we're so called?
Just where have you been?
I had to admit I never had heard
Why the Calico Cat was so named.
He flicked up his tail,
Said 'don't be ashamed,
I'll tell you the story'.
The word on the street
Is uttered in whispers
These cats are elite.
The legends do tell
Of the history true
That the Calico Cat
Carries blood only blue.
For he once did a favour
For the King and the Queen.
When his task was complete
Such reverence was seen.
Honoured in the circles
Of royalty was he
And frequently sat
On the pretty queen's knee.
But the secret of trust
He will carry to grave
For the Calico Cat
In whose honour was gave.
In awe and in wonder
Regarded was he,
And to this day the Calico
Still sits on 'the knee'
So hush little darlings
As the tale will be told
And we'll all keep the secret
To have and to hold.
So his story he told me,
Then he went on his way
And I never was wiser
To the end of my day.
The tale of the Calico cat
Is oft relayed,
But the secret of such
In the closing is laid.
poem by Rosi Caswell
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The Rune-Master
ARCH-SCHOLAR they'll call you,
Kuno Mayer,
Who know the word
Behind the word
The men of learning . . .
But who will tell them
Of the blackbird
That your heart held?
On an old thorn-tree
By an ancient rath
You heard him sing,
And with runes you charmed him
Till he stayed with you,
Giving clear song.
He sang o'er all
That Maravaun
Told King Guire;
And he told you how
Bran heard the singing
Of a lovely woman
And sailed for Faerie;
And of how slain princes
Kept tryst with women
Loved beyond
The pain of death,
In days when still
The boat of Mananaun
Bore towards Eirinn!
Arch-scholar they'll call you
Nay, Rune-master!
You read in texts
Not words only,
But runes of old time;
And when you spoke them
A curlew cried
Over grass-waste Tara,
And a cuckoo called
From the height of Cashel,
And an eagle flew
From Emain Macha!
Ochone, ochone!
That we'll see no more
In the Eastern or
The Western World
Your great head over
The lectern bending,
Nor hear your lore
By a pleasant fireside.
But the runes you've read
Have given us more
Than the sword might win us:
May kind saints of Eirinn
Be beside you
Where birds on the Living
Tree sing the Hours!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Now It Can Be Told
All the worlds great lovers have been glorified
History placed them in a romantic set
In between book covers they are side by side
But the real thing hasnt been written yet
Now it can be told
Told in all its glory
Now that we have met
The world may know the sentimental story
The greatest romance they ever knew
Is waiting to
Unfold
Now it can be told
As an inspiration
Every other tale
Of boy meets girl is just an imitation
The great love story
Has never been told before
But now
Now it can be told
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now It Can Be Told
All the worlds great lovers have been glorified
History placed them in a romantic set
In between book covers they are side by side
But the real thing hasnt been written yet
Now it can be told
Told in all its glory
Now that we have met
The world may know the sentimental story
The greatest romance they ever knew
Is waiting to
Unfold
Now it can be told
As an inspiration
Every other tale
Of boy meets girl is just an imitation
The great love story
Has never been told before
But now
Now it can be told
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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