The Race Of Banquo
Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly!
Leave thy guilty sire to die.
O'er the heath the stripling fled,
The wild storm howling round his head.
Fear mightier thro' the shades of night
Urged his feet, and wing'd his flight;
And still he heard his father cry
Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly.
Fly, son of Banquo! Fleance, fly
Leave thy guilty sire to die.
On every blast was heard the moan
The anguish'd shriek, the death-fraught groan;
Loathly night-hags join the yell
And see--the midnight rites of Hell.
Forms of magic! spare my life!
Shield me from the murderer's knife!
Before me dim in lurid light
Float the phantoms of the night--
Behind I hear my Father cry,
Fly, son of Banquo--Fleance, fly!
Parent of the sceptred race,
Fearless tread the circled space:
Fearless Fleance venture near--
Sire of monarchs--spurn at fear.
Sisters with prophetic breath
Pour we now the dirge of Death!
poem by Robert Southey
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Related quotes
On The Dark Height of Jura
I.
Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast,
When o’er the dark aether the tempest is swelling,
And on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal passed?
II.
For oft have I stood on the dark height of Jura
Which frowns on the valley that opens beneath;
Oft have I braved the chill night-tempest's fury,
Whilst around me, I thought, echoed murmurs of death.
III.
And now, whilst the winds of the mountain are howling,
O father! thy voice seems to strike on mine ear;
In air whilst the tide of the night-storm is rolling,
It breaks on the pause of the elements' jar.
IV.
On the wing of the whirlwind which roars o'er the mountain
Perhaps rides the ghost of my sire who is dead:
On the mist of the tempest which hangs o'er the fountain,
Whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Spectral Horseman
What was the shriek that struck Fancy's ear
As it sate on the ruins of time that is past?
Hark! it floats on the fitful blast of the wind,
And breathes to the pale moon a funeral sigh.
It is the Benshie's moan on the storm,
Or a shivering fiend that thirsting for sin,
Seeks murder and guilt when virtue sleeps,
Winged with the power of some ruthless king,
And sweeps o'er the breast of the prostrate plain.
It was not a fiend from the regions of Hell
That poured its low moan on the stillness of night:
It was not a ghost of the guilty dead,
Nor a yelling vampire reeking with gore;
But aye at the close of seven years' end,
That voice is mixed with the swell of the storm,
And aye at the close of seven years' end,
A shapeless shadow that sleeps on the hill
Awakens and floats on the mist of the heath.
It is not the shade of a murdered man,
Who has rushed uncalled to the throne of his God,
And howls in the pause of the eddying storm.
This voice is low, cold, hollow, and chill,
'Tis not heard by the ear, but is felt in the soul.
'Tis more frightful far than the death-daemon's scream,
Or the laughter of fiends when they howl o’er the corpse
Of a man who has sold his soul to Hell.
It tells the approach of a mystic form,
A white courser bears the shadowy sprite;
More thin they are than the mists of the mountain,
When the clear moonlight sleeps on the waveless lake.
More pale HIS cheek than the snows of Nithona,
When winter rides on the northern blast,
And howls in the midst of the leafless wood.
Yet when the fierce swell of the tempest is raving,
And the whirlwinds howl in the caves of Inisfallen,
Still secure mid the wildest war of the sky,
The phantom courser scours the waste,
And his rider howls in the thunder's roar.
O'er him the fierce bolts of avenging Heaven
Pause, as in fear, to strike his head.
The meteors of midnight recoil from his figure,
Yet the 'wildered peasant, that oft passes by,
With wonder beholds the blue flash through his form:
And his voice, though faint as the sighs of the dead,
The startled passenger shudders to hear,
More distinct than the thunder's wildest roar.
Then does the dragon, who, chained in the caverns
To eternity, curses the champion of Erin,
Moan and yell loud at the lone hour of midnight,
And twine his vast wreaths round the forms of the daemons;
Then in agony roll his death-swimming eyeballs,
Though 'wildered by death, yet never to die!
Then he shakes from his skeleton folds the nightmares,
Who, shrieking in agony, seek the couch
Of some fevered wretch who courts sleep in vain;
Then the tombless ghosts of the guilty dead
In horror pause on the fitful gale.
They float on the swell of the eddying tempest,
And scared seek the caves of gigantic...
Where their thin forms pour unearthly sounds
On the blast that sweets the breast of the lake,
And mingles its swell with the moonlight air.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Uninvited Guest
(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth & john helmer)
You may not recall the moment that you asked me
But your invitation was clear
Youll pretend youve never met me
But its far to late
Now Im here
Cause Im the one who knows what scares you
Im the one who loves you best
Im the thirteenth at the table
Im the uninvited guest
Im the banquo at your banquet
Im the cuckoo in your nest
Im your fifteen stone first-footer
Im the uninvited guest
I was there when you said insincere I love yous
To a woman that wasnt your wife
And I fronted you the money
That you ran away and blew
On the biggest regret of your live
Cause Im the one who knows what scares you
Im the who loves you best
Im the thirteenth at the table
Im the uninvited guest
Im the banquo at your banquet
Im the cuckoo in your nest
Im your new years resolution
Im the uninvited guest
Im the face you hoped youd never see
But always knew you would
Im the one thing you knew you shouldnt do
But did because you could
Im the evil in your bloodstream
Im the rash upon your skin
And you made a big mistake alright
The day you let me in
And you can fly to the other side of the world
You know youll only find
Ive reserved the seat behind you
We can talk about old times
Cause Im the one who knows what scares you
Im the who loves you best
Im the thirteenth at the table
Im the uninvited guest
Im the banquo at your banquet
Im the cuckoo in your nest
Im your fifteen stone first-footer
Im the uninvited guest
Im you new years resolution
Im the uninvited guest
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Guilty
Just tried to have fun raised hell and then some
I'm a dirt-talkin', beer drinkin', woman chasin' minister's son
Slap on the make-up and blast out the music
Wake up the neighbors with a roar like a teenage heavy metal elephant gun
If you call that guilty then that's what I am
I'm guilty
I'm guilty
I like driving too fast
Love going too far
It seems the law's on my ass every time I stick it out of the door
If you call that guilty then that's what I am
I'm guilty
I'm guilty
Bad boy on a summer night
When the heat makes me mean and I wanna fight
With my pedal to the metal
And I do what I want to do
Bad girls make me feel all right
When it's hot and they start screaming in the night
Golly gee, it's wrong to be so guilty
I'm guilty
Guilty
I'm guilty
My conscience is on vacation in acute degeneration
Willpower has sunk to all-time low
If you call that guilty well I guess I am
I'm guilty
I'm guilty
If you call that guilty then that's what I am
I'm guilty, I'm guilty, I'm guilty, I'm guilty
I'm guilty, I'm guilty, I'm guilty, I'm guilty
Well I'm guilty
Yeah I'm guilty
I don't care
I'm guilty
I think I've been framed anyway
They said I'm guilty
I'm guilty
They're guilty and everyone is guilty
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Indian Mother To Her Son
Thy foot is on thy father's grave,
Thine eye is on thy father's foes,
Here sleeps what once was free and brave!
There, last his war-whoop yell arose!
And where thy sire's last deed was done,
There first thine arm shall wake, my son.
Thou see'st this flower—thy father's heart
Hath nourish'd up its early bloom;
And thou, to me, hast been a part
Of life, and hope, through years of gloom.—
The flowret's stem is rent—and thou
Must tear thee from thy mother now.
Ay, hie thee forth—the red man's yell,
To-night, shall break our foemen's sleep;
And shrieks, and flames, and blood, shall tell,
How Indian hearts their vengeance keep!
How Indian sons in memory nurse
Their dying sires’ revengeful curse.
Yon evening wreath of fleecy smoke
Curls gently up against the sky,—
But once through darker volumes broke
The midnight flame, the mother's cry!
And there again the day-beam's smile,
Shall view a black deserted pile.
The morning of thy life was there
Where white man's foot now blights the soil;
And there return'd from chase or war,
Thy sire was wont to share his spoil—
Revenge his death! I charge thee, boy—
And win the warrior's noble joy.
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Coeur De Lion At The Bier Of His Father
Torches were blazing clear,
Hymns pealing deep and slow,
Where a king lay stately on his bier,
In the church of Fontevraud.
Banners of battle o'er him hung,
And warriors slept beneath,
And light, as Noon's broad light, was flung
On the settled face of death.
On the settled face of death
A strong and ruddy glare,
Through dimm'd at times by the censer's breath,
Yet it fell still brightest there:
As if each deeply-furrow'd trace
Of earthly years to show,-
-Alas! that sceptred mortal's race
Had surely clos'd in woe!
The marble floor was swept
By many a long dark stole,
As the kneeling priests round him that slept,
Sang mass for the parted soul;
And solemn were the strains they pour'd
Through the stillness of the night,
With the cross above, and the crown and sword,
And the silent king in sight.
There was heard a heavy clang,
As of steel-girt men the tread,
And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang
With a sounding thrill of dread;
And the holy chant was hush'd awhile,
As by the torch's flame,
A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle,
With a mail-clad leader came.
He came with haughty look,
An eagle-glance and clear,
But his proud heart through its breast-plate shook,
When he stood beside the bier!
He stood there still with a drooping brow,
And clasp'd hands o'er it rais'd;-
For his father lay before him low,
It was Coeur-de-Lion gazed!
And silently he strove
With the workings of his breast,
-But there's more in late repentant love
Than steel may keep suppress'd!
And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain-
-Men held their breath in awe,
For his face was seen by his warrior-train,
And he reck'd not that they saw.
He look'd upon the dead,
And sorrow seem'd to lie,
A weight of sorrow, ev'n like lead,
Pale on the fast-shut eye.
He stoop'd-and kiss'd the frozen cheek,
And the heavy hand of clay,
Till bursting words-yet all too weak-
Gave his soul's passion way.
'Oh, father! is it vain,
This late remorse and deep?
Speak to me, father! once again,
I weep-behold, I weep!
Alas! my guilty pride and ire!
Were but this work undone,
I would give England's crown, my sire!
To hear thee bless thy son.
'Speak to me! mighty grief
Ere now the dust hath stirr'd!
Hear me, but hear me!-father, chief,
My king! I must be heard!
-Hush'd, hush'd-how is it that I call,
And that thou answerest not?
When was it thus?-woe, woe for all
The love my soul forgot!
'Thy silver hairs I see,
So still, so sadly bright!
And father, father! but for me,
They had not been so white!
I bore thee down, high heart! at last,
No longer couldst thou strive;-
Oh! for one moment of the past,
To kneel and say-'forgive!'
'Thou wert the noblest king,
On royal throne e'er seen;
And thou didst wear, in knightly ring,
Of all, the stateliest mien;
And thou didst prove, where spears are prov'd
In war, the bravest heart-
-Oh! ever the renown'd and lov'd
Thou wert-and there thou art!
'Thou that my boyhood's guide
Didst take fond joy to be!-
The times I've sported at thy side,
And climb'd thy parent-knee!
And there before the blessed shrine,
My sire! I see thee lie,-
-How will that sad still face of thine
Look on me till I die!'
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Not Guilty
Not guilty
For getting in your way
While youre trying to steal the day
Not guilty
And Im not here for the rest
Im not trying to steal your vest.
I am not trying to be smart
I only want what I can get
Im really sorry for your ageing head
But like you heard me said
Not guilty.
Not guilty
For being on your street
Getting underneath your feet
Not guilty
No use handing me a writ
While Im trying to do my bit.
I dont expect to take your heart . . .
I only want what I can get
Im really sorry that youre underfed . . .
But like you heard me said . . .
Not guilty.
Not guilty
For looking like a freak
Making friends with every sikh
Not guilty
For leading you astray
On the road to mandalay.
I wont upset the apple cart
I only want what I can get
Im really sorry that youve been misled . . .
But like you heard me said . . .
Not guilty.
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fear
Fear of seeing a police car pull into the drive.
Fear of falling asleep at night.
Fear of not falling asleep.
Fear of the past rising up.
Fear of the present taking flight.
Fear of the telephone that rings in the dead of night.
Fear of electrical storms.
Fear of the cleaning woman who has a spot on her cheek!
Fear of dogs I've been told won't bite.
Fear of anxiety!
Fear of having to identify the body of a dead friend.
Fear of running out of money.
Fear of having too much, though people will not believe this.
Fear of psychological profiles.
Fear of being late and fear of arriving before anyone else.
Fear of my children's handwriting on envelopes.
Fear they'll die before I do, and I'll feel guilty.
Fear of having to live with my mother in her old age, and mine.
Fear of confusion.
Fear this day will end on an unhappy note.
Fear of waking up to find you gone.
Fear of not loving and fear of not loving enough.
Fear that what I love will prove lethal to those I love.
Fear of death.
Fear of living too long.
Fear of death.
I've said that.
poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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Ode to Winter
When first the fiery-mantled sun
His heavenly race begun to run;
Round the earth and ocean blue,
His children four the Seasons flew.
First, in green apparel dancing,
The young Spring smiled with angel grace;
Rosy summer next advancing,
Rushed into her sire's embrace:-
Her blue-haired sire, who bade her keep
For ever nearest to his smile,
On Calpe's olive-shaded steep,
On India's citron-covered isles:
More remote and buxom-brown,
The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne,
A rich pomegranate gemmed her gown,
A ripe sheaf bound her zone.
But howling Winter fled afar,
To hills that prop the polar star,
And lives on deer-borne car to ride
With barren darkness at his side,
Round the shore where loud Lofoden
Whirls to death the roaring whale,
Round the hall where runic Odin
Howls his war-song to the gale;
Save when adown the ravaged globe
He travels on his native storm,
Deflowering Nature's grassy robe,
And trampling on her faded form:-
Till light's returning lord assume
The shaft the drives him to his polar field,
Of power to pierce his raven plume
And crystal-covered shield.
Oh, sire of storms! whose savage ear
The Lapland drum delights to hear,
When frenzy with her blood-shot eye
Implores thy dreadful deity,
Archangel! power of desolation!
Fast descending as thou art,
Say, hath mortal invocation
Spells to touch thy stony heart?
Then, sullen Winter, hear my prayer,
And gently rule the ruined year;
Nor chill the wanders bosom bare,
Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear;-
To shuddering Want's unmantled bed
Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lead,
And gently on the orphan head
Of innocence descend.-
But chiefly spare, O king of clouds!
The sailor on his airy shrouds;
When wrecks and beacons strew the steep,
And specters walk along the deep.
Milder yet thy snowy breezes
Pour on yonder tented shores,
Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes,
Or the Dark-brown Danube roars.
Oh, winds of winter! List ye there
To many a deep and dying groan;
Or start, ye demons of the midnight air,
At shrieks and thunders louder than your own.
Alas! Even unhallowed breath
May spare the victim fallen low;
But man will ask no truce of death,-
No bounds to human woe.
poem by Thomas Campbell
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Not Guilty
Not guilty
For getting in your way
While you're trying to steal the day.
Not guilty
And i'm not here for the rest,
I'm not trying to steal your vest.
I am not trying to be smart,
I only want what i can get.
I'm really sorry for your ageing head.
But like you heard me said:
Not guilty.
No use handing me a writ
While i'm trying to do my bit.
I don't expect to take your heart.
I only want what i can get.
I'm really sorry that you're underfed.
But like you heard me said:
Not guilty.
Not guilty
For looking like a freak,
Making friends with every sikh.
Not guilty
For leading you astray
On the road to mandalay.
I won't upset the apple cart.
I only want what i can get.
I'm really sorry that you've been misled.
But like you heard me said:
Not guilty.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To me, 'Fearless' is not the absense of fear. It's not being completely unafraid. To me, 'Fearless' is having fears. 'Fearless' is having doubts. Lots of them. To me, 'Fearless' is living in spite of those things that scare you to death.
quote by Taylor Swift
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Guilty
Guilty, guilty
Guilty, I'm paralyzed with guilt
It runs through me like a rain through silk
Guilty, my mind won't leave me alone
My teeth are rotted
my lips start to foam
Cause I'm so guilty
Guilty, guilty
Ooohhh guilty
What did I say
What did I say
What did I do
Did I ever do it to you
Don't turn your back, ah
I can't look you in the eye, ah
Eye eye eye eye
I guess I'm guilty as charged
I guess I'm guilty as charged
Guilty, huh, guilty ah, guilty ah, guilty
Guilty guilty guilty guilty guilty
Don't do that
Don't do that
Don't do what
Oh you're such a child
real fool child
Guilty
What can I do
I do it to you
but I do it to me too
Cut off my head
Cut off my head
Cut off my head, ah
Hang me from the yardarm
Guilty, I'm paralyzed with guilt
I've got bad thoughts
I've got an evil clit
Guilty
Guilty, my mind won't leave me alone
I've got a bad mind
I've got a bad bone
Guilty guilty guilty as charged
Guilty
Don't do that
Don't do what
Don't do that
Oh you're such a reckless child
You remember when you were a baby
Do you remember when you were a baby
Do you have a jury, yeah
Do you have a verdict
Guilty as charged
Guilty guilty guilty as charged
Do you have a verdict
Do you have a verdict
I'm guilty
You're guilty
Oh you're such a reckless child
I should beat you
I should hit you
I'll put you in therapy, ah
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Magic Night
Magic Night
Magic, it's there in the night
Please bring magic, to the night
Hear my plea, oh hear my cry
Guide me through, the darkened sky
What distant planets, do they clasp
Who holds them, in a deadly grasp
And hold them, there beyond the sky
Far away from, our wailing sighs
Magic, Magic, in the night
Can your magic, make it right
Please hear my plea, oh hear my cry
Or at least, please tell us why
Magic, magic, in the night
Why would you leave us, with no light
Oh don't leave us, such a dreadful sight
Extend to us, your powerful might
Their light shines down, no need to fuss
The brightness, has returned for us
The stars are out, they seem so bright
Magic's here, thank you, for a beautiful night
Jim 1996
poem by James Casey
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Did It Prevent Your Sun Kissed Dreams?
Father that sundial, is it death…
Is it Father - the hand of death?
Is it the sword that cuts short a bird's flight?
'Child, we're all adjacent, the window of life.
The window of light…'
O' Father is it a guillotine!
Does it covert our breath…
O' Father how, much, time
Do we have? Left…
'Child, we're all adjacent, the window of life.
Until the bird in your soul, takes flight'.
'Child, a question - answer your father this.
Did it prevent your sun kissed dreams? Last night.'
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Stillness Of The Night
Midnight on the hill I heard the thunder fill
The stillness of the night
It hit me like a slap, youre never comin back
From the stillness of the night
It was never black or white, neither wrong or right
Like the shadow of a full moons light
I knew wed lost the track, when I heard the lightning crack
The stillness of the night
Chorus
In the stillness of the night
Thats when well make it right
We can stop the thunder till the light
In the stillness of the night
I know you think you hear, those voices in your ear
In the stillness of the night
But Ive tried to make it clear theres nothing left to fear
Just the stillness of the night
And if you listen hard you might find the reason for your fright
Just the wind is high tonight
And the danger we must face is the anger of this race
In the stillness of the night
Chorus
song performed by by Reo Speedwagon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Phantoms Of Death
There are phantoms here on earth who take away our lives
They kill your kids and they rape your wives
They rip your flesh tear your heart take you down to hell
They dont give a damn on any kind of life
Phantoms bring evil, destruction and death
Night after night the same old game
They all look so harmless but deep in their hearts
Satan is lurking, and he will break out
Always someone at your back only waiting to attack
Chorus phantoms of death, phantoms of death
The empire of deceivers is built upon your fear
Youll have to lose it cause the end is near
Warheads, armies stand to strike I know it isnt right
I wanna get out of here I dont wanna die
Infernal destruction of fire youll burn
Then youll be helpless but its not too late
Stand up right now and youll be the winner
Or satan will get you, take you forever
Genocide everywhere, wheres the saviour of this world
Chorus phantoms of death, phantoms of death
Where is he the promised saviour the one wholl save the earth
Perhaps hell come to bury us but then itll be too late
Who are they who are the phantoms who will end our lives
Its you and me, you and me open up your eyes
Phantoms bring evil, destruction and death
Night after night the same old game
They all look so harmless but deep in their hearts
Satan is lurking, and he will break out
We are all parasites of this world we shall die
Chorus phantoms of death, phantoms of death
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Father, Can you see me?
Can You See Me Father?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me through this night?
Father, are you with me?
I look up at the sky, and wonder why, I feel so alone now...
Father, will you help me?
Im afraid to close my eyes.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, if I sleep now, will you be watching over me this night?
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, the world I see is so much larger, than I remember when you were here with me.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, can you help me stand own my own two feet once more?
Father, Im on my knees, looking at the sky, looking for your eyes.
Father, I've lost my way, Lord, I pray for your guidance once more.
Father, what was your will, Lord, it was not mine.
Father, can you hear me?
Father, can you see me?
Father, as I pray for your will, please come and show me the way, dear Lord I pray.
Amen
poem by Rose Rosado
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Only The Guilty
Only the guilty will know the words
that sometimes my pen writes.
The anguish and abandonment
I feel into the dark of night
when I joined the parade of tortured souls
who hide away from the dawning light.
Only the guilty will know
the persistence of my pens might.
May they lay awake in anguish
tortured by the souls of many
whom they have stabbed
without an eyelash flinched.
Only the guilty will know of whom I speak
as their sleepless nights prevail.
Haunted by the phantoms
and their ghostly wail,
seeing their tethered victims lay with muted screams
yelling from mouth-less faces.
16 January 2011
poem by David Harris
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The Father’s Curse
[LE ROI S'AMUSE, Act I.]
M. ST. VALLIER (_an aged nobleman, from whom King Francis I.
decoyed his daughter, the famous beauty, Diana of
Poitiers_).
A king should listen when his subjects speak:
'Tis true your mandate led me to the block,
Where pardon came upon me, like a dream;
I blessed you then, unconscious as I was
That a king's mercy, sharper far than death,
To save a father doomed his child to shame;
Yes, without pity for the noble race
Of Poitiers, spotless for a thousand years,
You, Francis of Valois, without one spark
Of love or pity, honor or remorse,
Did on that night (thy couch her virtue's tom,
With cold embraces, foully bring to scorn
My helpless daughter, Dian of Poitiers.
To save her father's life a knight she sought,
Like Bayard, fearless and without reproach.
She found a heartless king, who sold the boon,
Making cold bargain for his child's dishonor.
Oh! monstrous traffic! foully hast thou done!
My blood was thine, and justly, tho' it springs
Amongst the best and noblest names of France;
But to pretend to spare these poor gray locks,
And yet to trample on a weeping woman,
Was basely done; the father was thine own,
But not the daughter!--thou hast overpassed
The right of monarchs!--yet 'tis mercy deemed.
And I perchance am called ungrateful still.
Oh, hadst thou come within my dungeon walls,
I would have sued upon my knees for death,
But mercy for my child, my name, my race,
Which, once polluted, is my race no more.
Rather than insult, death to them and me.
I come not now to ask her back from thee;
Nay, let her love thee with insensate love;
I take back naught that bears the brand of shame.
Keep her! Yet, still, amidst thy festivals,
Until some father's, brother's, husband's hand
('Twill come to pass!) shall rid us of thy yoke,
My pallid face shall ever haunt thee there,
To tell thee, Francis, it was foully done!...
TRIBOULET _(the Court Jester), sneering._ The poor man
raves.
ST. VILLIER. Accursed be ye both!
Oh Sire! 'tis wrong upon the dying lion
To loose thy dog! _(Turns to Triboulet)_
And thou, whoe'er thou art,
That with a fiendish sneer and viper's tongue
Makest my tears a pastime and a sport,
My curse upon thee!--Sire, thy brow doth bear
The gems of France!--on mine, old age doth sit;
Thine decked with jewels, mine with these gray hairs;
We both are Kings, yet bear a different crown;
And should some impious hand upon thy head
Heap wrongs and insult, with thine own strong arm
Thou canst avenge them! _God avenges mine!_
::::
Freedom And The World
Weak is the People--but will grow beyond all other--
Within thy holy arms, thou fruitful victor-mother!
O Liberty, whose conquering flag is never furled--
Thou bearest Him in whom is centred all the World.
poem by Victor Hugo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fair Elanor
The bell struck one, and shook the silent tower;
The graves give up their dead: fair Elenor
Walk'd by the castle gate, and lookèd in.
A hollow groan ran thro' the dreary vaults.
She shriek'd aloud, and sunk upon the steps,
On the cold stone her pale cheeks. Sickly smells
Of death issue as from a sepulchre,
And all is silent but the sighing vaults.
Chill Death withdraws his hand, and she revives;
Amaz'd, she finds herself upon her feet,
And, like a ghost, thro' narrow passages
Walking, feeling the cold walls with her hands.
Fancy returns, and now she thinks of bones
And grinning skulls, and corruptible death
Wrapp'd in his shroud; and now fancies she hears
Deep sighs, and sees pale sickly ghosts gliding.
At length, no fancy but reality
Distracts her. A rushing sound, and the feet
Of one that fled, approaches--Ellen stood
Like a dumb statue, froze to stone with fear.
The wretch approaches, crying: `The deed is done;
Take this, and send it by whom thou wilt send;
It is my life--send it to Elenor:--
He's dead, and howling after me for blood!
`Take this,' he cried; and thrust into her arms
A wet napkin, wrapp'd about; then rush'd
Past, howling: she receiv'd into her arms
Pale death, and follow'd on the wings of fear.
They pass'd swift thro' the outer gate; the wretch,
Howling, leap'd o'er the wall into the moat,
Stifling in mud. Fair Ellen pass'd the bridge,
And heard a gloomy voice cry `Is it done?'
As the deer wounded, Ellen flew over
The pathless plain; as the arrows that fly
By night, destruction flies, and strikes in darkness.
She fled from fear, till at her house arriv'd.
Her maids await her; on her bed she falls,
That bed of joy, where erst her lord hath press'd:
`Ah, woman's fear!' she cried; `ah, cursèd duke!
Ah, my dear lord! ah, wretched Elenor!
`My lord was like a flower upon the brows
Of lusty May! Ah, life as frail as flower!
O ghastly death! withdraw thy cruel hand,
Seek'st thou that flow'r to deck thy horrid temples?
`My lord was like a star in highest heav'n
Drawn down to earth by spells and wickedness;
My lord was like the opening eyes of day
When western winds creep softly o'er the flowers;
`But he is darken'd; like the summer's noon
Clouded; fall'n like the stately tree, cut down;
The breath of heaven dwelt among his leaves.
O Elenor, weak woman, fill'd with woe!'
Thus having spoke, she raisèd up her head,
And saw the bloody napkin by her side,
Which in her arms she brought; and now, tenfold
More terrifièd, saw it unfold itself.
Her eyes were fix'd; the bloody cloth unfolds,
Disclosing to her sight the murder'd head
Of her dear lord, all ghastly pale, clotted
With gory blood; it groan'd, and thus it spake:
`O Elenor, I am thy husband's head,
Who, sleeping on the stones of yonder tower,
Was 'reft of life by the accursèd duke!
A hirèd villain turn'd my sleep to death!
`O Elenor, beware the cursèd duke;
O give not him thy hand, now I am dead;
He seeks thy love; who, coward, in the night,
Hirèd a villain to bereave my life.'
She sat with dead cold limbs, stiffen'd to stone;
She took the gory head up in her arms;
She kiss'd the pale lips; she had no tears to shed;
She hugg'd it to her breast, and groan'd her last.
poem by William Blake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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