classes :::
children :::
branches ::: computer daemon, Daemon

bookmarks: Instances - Definitions - Quotes - Chapters - Wordnet - Webgen


object:Daemon
object:daimon


Homer's use of the words theo ( "gods") and damones () suggests that, while distinct, they are similar in kind.[10] Later writers developed the distinction between the two.[11] Plato in Cratylus[12] speculates that the word daimn ( "deity") is synonymous to damn ( "knowing or wise"),[13] however, it is more probably dai ( "to divide, to distri bute destinies, to allot").[14]

see also ::: Unix daemon, Genius

see also ::: Genius, Unix_daemon

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now begins generated list of local instances, definitions, quotes, instances in chapters, wordnet info if available and instances among weblinks


OBJECT INSTANCES [0] - TOPICS - AUTHORS - BOOKS - CHAPTERS - CLASSES - SEE ALSO - SIMILAR TITLES

TOPICS
SEE ALSO

Genius
Unix_daemon

AUTH

BOOKS
Epigrams_from_Savitri
Modern_Man_in_Search_of_a_Soul
Plotinus_-_Complete_Works_Vol_01
The_Republic

IN CHAPTERS TITLE
1.pbs_-_The_Daemon_Of_The_World

IN CHAPTERS CLASSNAME

IN CHAPTERS TEXT
01.04_-_The_Secret_Knowledge
01.05_-_The_Yoga_of_the_King_-_The_Yoga_of_the_Spirits_Freedom_and_Greatness
02.10_-_The_Kingdoms_and_Godheads_of_the_Little_Mind
03.02_-_The_Adoration_of_the_Divine_Mother
04.03_-_The_Eternal_East_and_West
05.12_-_The_Soul_and_its_Journey
07.02_-_The_Parable_of_the_Search_for_the_Soul
1.01_-_Archetypes_of_the_Collective_Unconscious
1.01_-_Soul_and_God
1.02_-_Priestly_Kings
1.03_-_THE_ORPHAN,_THE_WIDOW,_AND_THE_MOON
1.04_-_The_Self
1.05_-_BOOK_THE_FIFTH
1.05_-_Christ,_A_Symbol_of_the_Self
1.06_-_Psychic_Education
1.06_-_The_Ascent_of_the_Sacrifice_2_The_Works_of_Love_-_The_Works_of_Life
1.08_-_The_Gods_of_the_Veda_-_The_Secret_of_the_Veda
1.08_-_The_Historical_Significance_of_the_Fish
1.1.1_-_Text
1.1.2_-_Commentary
1.14_-_Bibliography
1.14_-_The_Structure_and_Dynamics_of_the_Self
1.15_-_Index
1.22_-_The_Necessity_of_the_Spiritual_Transformation
1.23_-_The_Double_Soul_in_Man
1.25_-_Critical_Objections_brought_against_Poetry,_and_the_principles_on_which_they_are_to_be_answered.
1.36_-_Quo_Stet_Olympus_-_Where_the_Gods,_Angels,_etc._Live
1.43_-_Dionysus
1956-09-05_-_Material_life,_seeing_in_the_right_way_-_Effect_of_the_Supermind_on_the_earth_-_Emergence_of_the_Supermind_-_Falling_back_into_the_same_mistaken_ways
1.ac_-_The_Garden_of_Janus
1f.lovecraft_-_At_the_Mountains_of_Madness
1f.lovecraft_-_Beyond_the_Wall_of_Sleep
1f.lovecraft_-_Cool_Air
1f.lovecraft_-_Ex_Oblivione
1f.lovecraft_-_Facts_concerning_the_Late
1f.lovecraft_-_From_Beyond
1f.lovecraft_-_He
1f.lovecraft_-_Herbert_West-Reanimator
1f.lovecraft_-_Hypnos
1f.lovecraft_-_Medusas_Coil
1f.lovecraft_-_Memory
1f.lovecraft_-_Nyarlathotep
1f.lovecraft_-_Out_of_the_Aeons
1f.lovecraft_-_Pickmans_Model
1f.lovecraft_-_Polaris
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Alchemist
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Call_of_Cthulhu
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Case_of_Charles_Dexter_Ward
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Challenge_from_Beyond
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Colour_out_of_Space
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Crawling_Chaos
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Curse_of_Yig
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Diary_of_Alonzo_Typer
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Dream-Quest_of_Unknown_Kadath
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Dreams_in_the_Witch_House
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Dunwich_Horror
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Festival
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Green_Meadow
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Haunter_of_the_Dark
1f.lovecraft_-_The_History_of_the_Necronomicon
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Horror_at_Red_Hook
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Horror_in_the_Burying-Ground
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Horror_in_the_Museum
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Hound
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Last_Test
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Lurking_Fear
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Moon-Bog
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Mound
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Music_of_Erich_Zann
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Nameless_City
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Rats_in_the_Walls
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Shadow_out_of_Time
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Shadow_over_Innsmouth
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Shunned_House
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Temple
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Thing_on_the_Doorstep
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Tomb
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Unnamable
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Whisperer_in_Darkness
1f.lovecraft_-_The_White_Ship
1f.lovecraft_-_Under_the_Pyramids
1f.lovecraft_-_Winged_Death
1.fua_-_The_Nightingale
1.lovecraft_-_Astrophobos
1.lovecraft_-_Ex_Oblivione
1.lovecraft_-_Fungi_From_Yuggoth
1.lovecraft_-_Nathicana
1.lovecraft_-_Nemesis
1.lovecraft_-_On_Reading_Lord_Dunsanys_Book_Of_Wonder
1.lovecraft_-_Psychopompos-_A_Tale_in_Rhyme
1.pbs_-_Alastor_-_or,_the_Spirit_of_Solitude
1.pbs_-_Fragment_-_Satan_Broken_Loose
1.pbs_-_Hellas_-_A_Lyrical_Drama
1.pbs_-_Lines_Written_in_the_Bay_of_Lerici
1.pbs_-_Mont_Blanc_-_Lines_Written_In_The_Vale_of_Chamouni
1.pbs_-_The_Daemon_Of_The_World
1.pbs_-_The_Spectral_Horseman
1.pbs_-_The_Wandering_Jews_Soliloquy
1.pbs_-_To_The_Lord_Chancellor
1.wby_-_Meditations_In_Time_Of_Civil_War
2.03_-_THE_ENIGMA_OF_BOLOGNA
2.1.03_-_Man_and_Superman
2.18_-_January_1939
2.23_-_Man_and_the_Evolution
2.27_-_The_Gnostic_Being
3.00.2_-_Introduction
3.02_-_SOL
3.02_-_The_Psychology_of_Rebirth
3.04_-_LUNA
3.05_-_SAL
3.09_-_The_Return_of_the_Soul
3.10_-_The_New_Birth
31.10_-_East_and_West
4.01_-_Introduction
4.04_-_Conclusion
5.04_-_THE_POLARITY_OF_ADAM
5.1.01.1_-_The_Book_of_the_Herald
5.1.01.4_-_The_Book_of_Partings
5.1.01.6_-_The_Book_of_the_Chieftains
5_-_The_Phenomenology_of_the_Spirit_in_Fairytales
6.0_-_Conscious,_Unconscious,_and_Individuation
6.10_-_THE_SELF_AND_THE_BOUNDS_OF_KNOWLEDGE
Aeneid
BOOK_II._--_PART_I._ANTHROPOGENESIS.
BOOK_II._--_PART_II._THE_ARCHAIC_SYMBOLISM_OF_THE_WORLD-RELIGIONS
BOOK_I._--_PART_III._SCIENCE_AND_THE_SECRET_DOCTRINE_CONTRASTED
BOOK_I._--_PART_II._THE_EVOLUTION_OF_SYMBOLISM_IN_ITS_APPROXIMATE_ORDER
COSA_-_BOOK_VIII
Cratylus
ENNEAD_06.05_-_The_One_and_Identical_Being_is_Everywhere_Present_In_Its_Entirety.345
Ex_Oblivione
LUX.05_-_AUGOEIDES
Meno
Symposium_translated_by_B_Jowett
Talks_With_Sri_Aurobindo_1
Theaetetus
The_Shadow_Out_Of_Time

PRIMARY CLASS

SIMILAR TITLES
computer daemon
Daemon

DEFINITIONS


TERMS STARTING WITH

Daemon (demon)—one of 2 sets of watchers

Daemon Est Deus Inversus (Latin) Daemon is divinity inverted; more commonly, the Devil is God inverted. An ancient Hermetic, and later Qabbalistic, aphorism referring to that polar power which is required by the equilibrium and harmony in nature. The One, when manifested, becomes Two, and from the Two are unfolded or evolved all the sequence of manifest existence. Spirit and matter, good and evil, as distinct conceptions exist only by their mutual contrast. There is no evil per se, but the human notion of essential evil arises from our inability to take in the whole at a single glance.

Daemon is applicable in general to all formative power, from the highest to the lowest; in this aphorism it denotes the formative rays in their manifestation in and on the lower planes of prakriti, called by contrast the nether pole. Western monotheism, having anthropomorphized the higher creative powers into a personal God, personified the lower powers into a Devil and demons. But Satan or the Adversary is only God’s messenger, because what is below reflects what is above. This aphorism, then, states that all the manifested universe is the representation or material inversion or reflection of the divine essence and its emanations which in their aggregate compose the spiritual background and causal forces of the universe. Furthermore, a reflected image reverses.

Daemon or Demon [from Greek daimon, Latin daemon] A god, angel, or celestial power or spirit, of varying degrees of ethereality, and ranging from the supreme deity of the hierarchy, through the greater gods, down to mere genii and lemures. Originally the term applied to deity in general, but later it usually was referred to beings intermediate between the gods and mankind, representing the powers and functions of gods. The Greeks and Romans sometimes used the term for the human divine egos. Philsophers such as Plato divided the daemons into three classes, “the first two are invisible; their bodies are pure ether and fire (Planetary Spirits); the Daimons of the third class are clothed with vapoury bodies; they are usually invisible, but sometimes, making themselves concrete, become visible for a few seconds. These are the earthly spirits, or our astral souls” (BCW 6:187).

daemon ::: 1. A guardian spirit. 2. *Mythology: A mythological being that is part-god and part-human. *3. A demigod.

daemon ::: a. --> Alt. of Daemonic

daemon">Daemon See Demon below.

daemonic ::: a. --> See Demon, Demonic.

daemonic ::: one"s indwelling spirit, or genius.

daemon ::: (operating system) /day'mn/ or /dee'mn/ (From the mythological meaning, later rationalised as the acronym Disk And Execution MONitor) A program that a daemon is lurking (though often a program will commit an action only because it knows that it will implicitly invoke a daemon).For example, under ITS writing a file on the LPT spooler's directory would invoke the spooling daemon, which would then print the file. The advantage is spawned automatically by the system, and may either live forever or be regenerated at intervals.Unix systems run many daemons, chiefly to handle requests for services from other hosts on a network. Most of these are now started as required by a single timed command execution), rshd (remote command execution), rlogind and telnetd (remote login), ftpd, nfsd (file transfer), lpd (printing).Daemon and demon are often used interchangeably, but seem to have distinct connotations (see demon). The term daemon was introduced to computing by CTSS people (who pronounced it /dee'mon/) and used it to refer to what ITS called a dragon.[Jargon File] (1995-05-11)

daemon "operating system" /day'mn/ or /dee'mn/ (From the mythological meaning, later rationalised as the acronym "Disk And Execution MONitor") A program that is not invoked explicitly, but lies dormant waiting for some condition(s) to occur. The idea is that the perpetrator of the condition need not be aware that a daemon is lurking (though often a program will commit an action only because it knows that it will implicitly invoke a daemon). For example, under {ITS} writing a file on the {LPT} spooler's directory would invoke the spooling daemon, which would then print the file. The advantage is that programs wanting files printed need neither compete for access to, nor understand any idiosyncrasies of, the {LPT}. They simply enter their implicit requests and let the daemon decide what to do with them. Daemons are usually spawned automatically by the system, and may either live forever or be regenerated at intervals. {Unix} systems run many daemons, chiefly to handle requests for services from other {hosts} on a {network}. Most of these are now started as required by a single real daemon, {inetd}, rather than running continuously. Examples are {cron} (local timed command execution), {rshd} (remote command execution), {rlogind} and {telnetd} (remote login), {ftpd}, {nfsd} (file transfer), {lpd} (printing). Daemon and {demon} are often used interchangeably, but seem to have distinct connotations (see {demon}). The term "daemon" was introduced to computing by {CTSS} people (who pronounced it /dee'mon/) and used it to refer to what {ITS} called a {dragon}. [{Jargon File}] (1995-05-11)


TERMS ANYWHERE

Agathodaemon, Agathodaimon (Greek) The good genius (represented as a youth holding a horn of plenty and a bowl, or a poppy and ears of corn) to whom at Athens a cup of pure wine was drunk at dinner; in one of his many forms, the kosmic Christos, the serpent of eternity — which in the human mind becomes the serpent of Genesis — which after the fall of Mediterranean civilizations became Satan. Brahma, in order to create hierarchies, becomes fourfold and emanates successively daemons, angels, pitris, and men. Agathodaimon refers to the first of these emanations, sons of kosmic darkness, signifying incomprehensible light which is prior to manifested light. Christian theology has recognized this in making Satan’s host the first sons of God, but has unconsciously perverted their descent in order to enlighten man into a rebellion against Almighty Power. Thus in later times Agathodaimon became the enemy of divine goodness. The same has happened in the case of the asuras in India, and of the kosmic serpent. In Gnostic gems it appears under the name Chnouphis or Chnoubis.

Agathodaemon—in gnosticism, “the seven-

As with so many cosmic powers and their symbols, these other gods have been relegated in Judaism and Christianity to the position of evil powers hostile to mankind, to be fled from instead of revered, or ruled as obedient helpers when inferior to the human status. The whole idea of the Adversary or Devil is enshrined in the word daemones. But fallen angels, represented as rebels against God, were merely performing their natural duty in evolution by forming the lower worlds. As personification of evil, the word can only be truthfully applied to those beings that man himself, by his evil thoughts and passions, has generated to hover in the lowest strata of the astral light or haunt kama-loka. However, the ancient Greeks and Romans themselves drew a sharp distinction between the daemones of more ethereal type, truly spiritual beings, and the lower earth-haunting daemones who were distinctly denizens of the lower astral and physical realms, and which the ancients dreaded — with reason — far more than modern Christians have ever done. See also AGATHODAEMON

Daemon (demon)—one of 2 sets of watchers

Daemon Est Deus Inversus (Latin) Daemon is divinity inverted; more commonly, the Devil is God inverted. An ancient Hermetic, and later Qabbalistic, aphorism referring to that polar power which is required by the equilibrium and harmony in nature. The One, when manifested, becomes Two, and from the Two are unfolded or evolved all the sequence of manifest existence. Spirit and matter, good and evil, as distinct conceptions exist only by their mutual contrast. There is no evil per se, but the human notion of essential evil arises from our inability to take in the whole at a single glance.

Daemon is applicable in general to all formative power, from the highest to the lowest; in this aphorism it denotes the formative rays in their manifestation in and on the lower planes of prakriti, called by contrast the nether pole. Western monotheism, having anthropomorphized the higher creative powers into a personal God, personified the lower powers into a Devil and demons. But Satan or the Adversary is only God’s messenger, because what is below reflects what is above. This aphorism, then, states that all the manifested universe is the representation or material inversion or reflection of the divine essence and its emanations which in their aggregate compose the spiritual background and causal forces of the universe. Furthermore, a reflected image reverses.

Daemon or Demon [from Greek daimon, Latin daemon] A god, angel, or celestial power or spirit, of varying degrees of ethereality, and ranging from the supreme deity of the hierarchy, through the greater gods, down to mere genii and lemures. Originally the term applied to deity in general, but later it usually was referred to beings intermediate between the gods and mankind, representing the powers and functions of gods. The Greeks and Romans sometimes used the term for the human divine egos. Philsophers such as Plato divided the daemons into three classes, “the first two are invisible; their bodies are pure ether and fire (Planetary Spirits); the Daimons of the third class are clothed with vapoury bodies; they are usually invisible, but sometimes, making themselves concrete, become visible for a few seconds. These are the earthly spirits, or our astral souls” (BCW 6:187).

Berkeley Network (B-NET) Top level {Unix} {Ethernet} software developed at the {University of California at Berkeley}. There are no formal specifications but UCB's {4.2BSD} {Unix} implementation on the {VAX} is the de facto standard. Distributed by {Unisoft}. Includes net.o driver routines for specific hardware, {pseudo ttys}, {daemons}, hostname command to set/get name, /etc/hosts database of names and {Internet address}es of other hosts, /etc/hosts.equiv host-wide database to control remote access, .rhosts per user version of hosts.equiv. UCB's implementation of the {Internet Protocol} includes trailers to improve performance on paged memory management systems such as {VAXen}. These trailers are an exception to the Internet Protocol specification.

cron "operating system" The Unix clock {daemon} that executes commands at specified dates and times according to instructions in a "crontab" file. {Unix manual page}: cron(8). (1997-04-10)

cron ::: (operating system) The Unix clock daemon that executes commands at specified dates and times according to instructions in a crontab file.Unix manual page: cron(8). (1997-04-10)

Curetes (Greek) Kouretes. The priests in the Mysteries of Rhea Cybele in Crete, and in Classical mythology daemons or demigods to whom Cybele entrusted the infant Zeus. Identified with the kabiri, who belong to the septenary creative groups of dhyan-chohans which incarnated in the elect of the third and fourth root-races — Zeus is said to be the god of the fourth race (SD 2:360, 766, 776).

daemon ::: 1. A guardian spirit. 2. *Mythology: A mythological being that is part-god and part-human. *3. A demigod.

daemon ::: a. --> Alt. of Daemonic

daemon">Daemon See Demon below.

daemonic ::: a. --> See Demon, Demonic.

daemonic ::: one"s indwelling spirit, or genius.

daemon ::: (operating system) /day'mn/ or /dee'mn/ (From the mythological meaning, later rationalised as the acronym Disk And Execution MONitor) A program that a daemon is lurking (though often a program will commit an action only because it knows that it will implicitly invoke a daemon).For example, under ITS writing a file on the LPT spooler's directory would invoke the spooling daemon, which would then print the file. The advantage is spawned automatically by the system, and may either live forever or be regenerated at intervals.Unix systems run many daemons, chiefly to handle requests for services from other hosts on a network. Most of these are now started as required by a single timed command execution), rshd (remote command execution), rlogind and telnetd (remote login), ftpd, nfsd (file transfer), lpd (printing).Daemon and demon are often used interchangeably, but seem to have distinct connotations (see demon). The term daemon was introduced to computing by CTSS people (who pronounced it /dee'mon/) and used it to refer to what ITS called a dragon.[Jargon File] (1995-05-11)

daemon "operating system" /day'mn/ or /dee'mn/ (From the mythological meaning, later rationalised as the acronym "Disk And Execution MONitor") A program that is not invoked explicitly, but lies dormant waiting for some condition(s) to occur. The idea is that the perpetrator of the condition need not be aware that a daemon is lurking (though often a program will commit an action only because it knows that it will implicitly invoke a daemon). For example, under {ITS} writing a file on the {LPT} spooler's directory would invoke the spooling daemon, which would then print the file. The advantage is that programs wanting files printed need neither compete for access to, nor understand any idiosyncrasies of, the {LPT}. They simply enter their implicit requests and let the daemon decide what to do with them. Daemons are usually spawned automatically by the system, and may either live forever or be regenerated at intervals. {Unix} systems run many daemons, chiefly to handle requests for services from other {hosts} on a {network}. Most of these are now started as required by a single real daemon, {inetd}, rather than running continuously. Examples are {cron} (local timed command execution), {rshd} (remote command execution), {rlogind} and {telnetd} (remote login), {ftpd}, {nfsd} (file transfer), {lpd} (printing). Daemon and {demon} are often used interchangeably, but seem to have distinct connotations (see {demon}). The term "daemon" was introduced to computing by {CTSS} people (who pronounced it /dee'mon/) and used it to refer to what {ITS} called a {dragon}. [{Jargon File}] (1995-05-11)

Daimon ::: Also "Daemon" and "Demon". From the Ancient Greek for "god" or "power". On this site a daimon is an entity that influences reality either on behalf of the aspirant's will or in spite of it. Generally they can be conjured and worked with to effect magic. See also Demon.

Daimon [Daemon]

Daimon(es), Daimonia. See DAEMON

deamon "spelling" It's spelled "{daemon}". (1996-12-13)

deamon ::: (spelling) It's spelled daemon. (1996-12-13)

demon ::: 1. (operating system) (Often used equivalently to daemon, especially in the Unix world, where the latter spelling and pronunciation is considered mildly archaic). A program or part of a program which is not invoked explicitly, but that lies dormant waiting for some condition(s) to occur.At MIT they use demon for part of a program and daemon for an operating system process.Demons (parts of programs) are particularly common in AI programs. For example, a knowledge-manipulation program might implement inference rules as demons. could continue with whatever its primary task was. This is similar to the triggers used in relational databases.The use of this term may derive from Maxwell's Demons - minute beings which can reverse the normal flow of heat from a hot body to a cold body by only and it is only in the absence of such a supply that heat must necessarily flow from hot to cold.Walt Bunch believes the term comes from the demons in Oliver Selfridge's paper Pandemonium, MIT 1958, which was named after the capital of Hell in Milton's Paradise Lost. Selfridge likened neural cells firing in response to input patterns to the chaos of millions of demons shrieking in Pandemonium.2. (company) Demon Internet Ltd.3. A program generator for differential equation problems.[N.W. Bennett, Australian AEC Research Establishment, AAEC/E142, Aug 1965].[Jargon File] (1998-09-04)

demon 1. "operating system" (Often used equivalently to {daemon}, especially in the {Unix} world, where the latter spelling and pronunciation is considered mildly archaic). A program or part of a program which is not invoked explicitly, but that lies dormant waiting for some condition(s) to occur. At {MIT} they use "demon" for part of a program and "daemon" for an {operating system} process. Demons (parts of programs) are particularly common in {AI} programs. For example, a {knowledge}-manipulation program might implement {inference rules} as demons. Whenever a new piece of knowledge was added, various demons would activate (which demons depends on the particular piece of data) and would create additional pieces of knowledge by applying their respective inference rules to the original piece. These new pieces could in turn activate more demons as the inferences filtered down through chains of logic. Meanwhile, the main program could continue with whatever its primary task was. This is similar to the {triggers} used in {relational databases}. The use of this term may derive from "Maxwell's Demons" - minute beings which can reverse the normal flow of heat from a hot body to a cold body by only allowing fast moving molecules to go from the cold body to the hot one and slow molecules from hot to cold. The solution to this apparent thermodynamic paradox is that the demons would require an external supply of energy to do their work and it is only in the absence of such a supply that heat must necessarily flow from hot to cold. Walt Bunch believes the term comes from the demons in Oliver Selfridge's paper "Pandemonium", MIT 1958, which was named after the capital of Hell in Milton's "Paradise Lost". Selfridge likened neural cells firing in response to input patterns to the chaos of millions of demons shrieking in Pandemonium. 2. "company" {Demon Internet} Ltd. 3. A {program generator} for {differential equation} problems. [N.W. Bennett, Australian AEC Research Establishment, AAEC/E142, Aug 1965]. [{Jargon File}] (1998-09-04)

demon">Demon In its original Latin form daemon means 'spirit', genie, or 'genius' who provided intuition, insight, and inspiration and allowed humans to converse with gods. In relation to the Greek form daimon, Socrates 'daimon' was his higher consciousness or some divinity connected with him. A demon was never considered to be an evil entity.

Demon Est Deus Inversus. See DAEMON EST DEUS INVERSUS

Demonologia Neo-Grecism for demonologies, treatises on so-called demons (Greek daimones, Latin daemons).

Demon(s) [from Greek daimones, Latin daemons] In many of the later religions, such as Christianity, either the gods of rival religions, nature spirits of paganism, or the exuviae or shells of the dead. Actually demons are a relatively modern misapprehension of a large class of nature sprites which in ancient thought comprised a vast range of spiritual, semi-spiritual, and astral beings, existing in different degrees of evolutionary unfoldment, and therefore classified into groups from the fully self-conscious down to the only partly conscious elementals of the astral realms. The teaching regarding daimones was extremely recondite; the later medieval Christian Demonologies, however, dealt almost exclusively with beings of low grade and of an astral character lacking moral sense and self-consciousness, which for ages have been called in European countries by names such as fairies, sprites, goblins, hobgoblins, pixies, nixies, and brownies. See also DAEMON

-. De Praestigiis daemonum. Basle: Officina Opori-

Deus Est Demon Inversus. See DAEMON EST DEUS INVERSUS

Devil Book "publication" "The Design and Implementation of the {4.3BSD} Unix Operating System", by Samuel J. Leffler, Marshall Kirk McKusick, Michael J. Karels, and John S. Quarterman (Addison-Wesley Publishers, 1989, ISBN 0-201-06196-1). The standard reference book on the internals of {BSD} {Unix}. So called because the cover has a picture depicting a little devil (a visual play on {daemon}) in sneakers, holding a pitchfork (referring to one of the characteristic features of Unix, the "{fork}(2)" {system call}). [{Jargon File}] (1996-12-03)

Devil Book ::: (publication) The Design and Implementation of the 4.3BSD Unix Operating System, by Samuel J. Leffler, Marshall Kirk McKusick, Michael J. Karels, and John S. Quarterman (Addison-Wesley Publishers, 1989, ISBN 0-201-06196-1).The standard reference book on the internals of BSD Unix. So called because the cover has a picture depicting a little devil (a visual play on daemon) in sneakers, holding a pitchfork (referring to one of the characteristic features of Unix, the fork(2) system call).[Jargon File] (1996-12-03)

dragon ::: [MIT] A program similar to a daemon, except that it is not invoked at all, but is instead used by the system to perform various secondary tasks. A typical best-known Unix example of a dragon is cron. At SAIL, they called this sort of thing a phantom.[Jargon File]

dragon [MIT] A program similar to a {daemon}, except that it is not invoked at all, but is instead used by the system to perform various secondary tasks. A typical example would be an accounting program, which keeps track of who is logged in, accumulates load-average statistics, etc. Under ITS, many terminals displayed a list of people logged in, where they were, what they were running, etc., along with some random picture (such as a unicorn, Snoopy or the Enterprise), which was generated by the "name dragon". Use is rare outside {MIT}, under {Unix} and most other {operating systems} this would be called a "background {demon}" or {daemon}. The best-known Unix example of a dragon is {cron}. At {SAIL}, they called this sort of thing a "phantom". [{Jargon File}]

EMBLA Pro "messaging, tool" An {IMAP}-compliant {electronic mail} {client} from {WinSoft Products Ltd}. EMBLA Pro allows you to use an IMAP mail server in a true client/server network manner, once you've connected to the IMAP server, you can organise messages into folders on the server and you can view messages and any attached files at the server before deciding whether or not to download them to your local system. IMAP allows the user to select individual message attachments to be viewed and/or downloaded. You can delete files and messages from the server, move or copy them to the local computer or leave them for future retrieval. EMBLA Pro also supports the standard {POP3} protocol. Both POP3 and IMAP2 run over {E-SMTP}. The IMAP {Unix} {daemons} can support specific environments, for example, Sun MailTool attachments. All flavours of Unix are catered for with a suite of binary mail daemons, eg: {SunSoft} {Solaris}, {HP}, {IBM} and {SCO}. EMBLA conforms to the SMTP, E-SMTP, {MIME} and IMAP {Internet} standards - RFC1590 (RFC1521), RFC1522, RFC1426, RFC1425, RFC1176, RFC0822, RFC0821 and the draft update of RFC1176. {(http://ftech.co.uk/~winsoft/embla.htm)}. (1996-03-11)

EMBLA Pro ::: (messaging, tool) An IMAP-compliant electronic mail client from WinSoft Products Ltd. EMBLA Pro allows you to use an IMAP mail server in a true retrieval. EMBLA Pro also supports the standard POP3 protocol. Both POP3 and IMAP2 run over E-SMTP.The IMAP Unix daemons can support specific environments, for example, Sun MailTool attachments. All flavours of Unix are catered for with a suite of binary mail daemons, eg: SunSoft Solaris, HP, IBM and SCO.EMBLA conforms to the SMTP, E-SMTP, MIME and IMAP Internet standards - RFC1590 (RFC1521), RFC1522, RFC1426, RFC1425, RFC1176, RFC0822, RFC0821 and the draft update of RFC1176. . (1996-03-11)

energiaseu operatione Daemonum). Paris: G. Chaudiere.

Eudaemon —a good spirit, a daemon. One of

Eudaemonia: (Gr. eudaimonia) Happiness, or well-being, acclaimed by Aristotle as the universally recognized chief good, and described by him as consisting in the activ exrcise (energeia) of the soul's powers in accordance with reason. See Aristotelianism. -- G.R.M.

eudaemonics ::: n. --> That part of moral philosophy which treats of happiness; the science of happiness; -- contrasted with aretaics.

eudaemonised ::: made happy. In ethics, the view that the ultimate justification of virtuous activity is happiness. Virtuous activity may be conceived as a means to happiness, or well-being, or as partly constitutive of it.

eudaemonised ::: Madhav: “To eudaemonise is to bestow happiness or felicity through an informal internal action on the spirit of a thing.” The Book of the Divine Mother

Eudaemonism: (Gr. eu, well + daimon, spirit) Theory that the aim of right action is personal well-being or happiness, often contrasted with hedonism's aim at pleasure. -- A.J.B.

eudaemonism ::: n. --> That system of ethics which defines and enforces moral obligation by its relation to happiness or personal well-being.

eudaemonistical ::: a. --> Eudemonistic.

eudaemonistic ::: a. --> Of or pertaining to eudemonism.

eudaemonist ::: n. --> One who believes in eudemonism.

eudaemon ::: n. --> A good angel.

eudemonics ::: n. --> Alt. of Eudaemonics

eudemonism ::: n. --> Alt. of Eudaemonism

eudemonistic ::: a. --> Alt. of Eudaemonistic

eudemonistical ::: a. --> Alt. of Eudaemonistical

eudemonist ::: n. --> Alt. of Eudaemonist

eudemon ::: n. --> Alt. of Eudaemon

Evocation [from Latin evocare to call forth] The calling forth of simulacra of the departed by magical processes; or the calling forth of the daemons or nature spirits of various classes by will directed by knowledge. The spiritual aspects of human beings cannot, however, be called forth, except in rare instances immediately after death, which in this case means black magic; and even so, these disimbodied spirits do not actually come, but cause their simulacrum to be formed, or send a messenger. The attempt thus to evoke the departed is a wrongful interference with the courses of nature and detrimental to the welfare of the departing egos. It is much easier and more common to evoke spooks from kama-loka, or denizens of the lower astral light; and the appearances thus created are often of a composite nature, to which the medium and sitters, whether knowingly or not, contribute. This must necessarily be the case where there is actual materialization. Such practices come under the general heading of necromancy.

flame ::: “The true soul secret in us,—subliminal, we have said, but the word is misleading, for this presence is not situated below the threshold of waking mind, but rather burns in the temple of the inmost heart behind the thick screen of an ignorant mind, life and body, not subliminal but behind the veil,—this veiled psychic entity is the flame of the Godhead always alight within us, inextinguishable even by that dense unconsciousness of any spiritual self within which obscures our outward nature. It is a flame born out of the Divine and, luminous inhabitant of the Ignorance, grows in it till it is able to turn it towards the Knowledge. It is the concealed Witness and Control, the hidden Guide, the Daemon of Socrates, the inner light or inner voice of the mystic. It is that which endures and is imperishable in us from birth to birth, untouched by death, decay or corruption, an indestructible spark of the Divine.” The Life Divine

flash ::: 1. (chat) A program which allows one to flood another Unix user's terminal with garbage, through exploiting a common security hole in the victim's host's talk daemon. Users with messages off (mesg n) and users on systems running fixed talk daemons, or not running talk daemons at all, are immune. (1996-09-08)2. See Flash Erasable Programmable Read-Only Memory. (1997-02-02)

flash 1. "file format" {Adobe} {Flash}. 2. "storage" {flash memory}. 2. "chat" A program to flood a {Unix} user's {terminal} with {garbage} by exploiting a {security hole} in the {talk} {daemon}. (1996-09-08)

gated ::: /gayt-dee/ Gate daemon.A program which supports multiple routing protocols and protocol families. It may be used for routing, and makes an effective platform for routing protocol research. .See also Exterior Gateway Protocol, Open Shortest Path First, Routing Information Protocol, routed. (1994-12-07)

gated "networking" /gayt-dee/ Gate daemon. A program which supports multiple {routing} {protocols} and protocol families. It may be used for routing, and makes an effective {platform} for routing {protocol} research. {(ftp://gated.cornell.edu)}. See also {Exterior Gateway Protocol}, {Open Shortest Path First}, {Routing Information Protocol}, {routed}. (1994-12-07)

GNU Problem Report Management System ::: (programming) (GNATS) GNU's bug tracking system. Users who experience problems use electronic mail, web-based or other clients communicating with the GNATS network daemon running at the support site, or direct database submissions to communicate these problems to maintainers at that Support Site. .(2002-06-12)

GNU Problem Report Management System "programming" (GNATS) {GNU}'s {bug tracking system}. Users who experience problems use electronic mail, web-based or other clients communicating with the GNATS network daemon running at the support site, or direct database submissions to communicate these problems to maintainers at that Support Site. {(http://gnu.org/software/gnats)}. (2002-06-12)

golden age.” In Greek lore, daemons were

his daemon, an attending spirit. In Mead, Thrice-

HTTPd "web" (Hypertext transfer protocol daemon). An {HTTP/1.0}-compatible {server}, written by Rob McCool "robm@ncsa.uiuc.edu" of {NCSA}, for making {hypertext} and other documents available to {web browsers}. HTTPd is designed to be small and fast and to work with most HTTP/0.9 and HTTP/1.0 {browsers}. You can customise your server to execute searches and handle {HTML} {forms}. It also supports {server side include} files, allowing you to include the output of commands or other files in {HTML} documents. The current (1994-08-08) version is 1.3. {(http://hoohoo.ncsa.uiuc.edu/docs/Overview.html)}. E-mail: "httpd@ncsa.uiuc.edu". (1995-01-16)

HTTPd ::: (World-Wide Web) (Hypertext transfer protocol daemon).An HTTP/1.0-compatible server, written by Rob McCool of NCSA, for making hypertext and other documents available to World-Wide Web browsers.HTTPd is designed to be small and fast and to work with most HTTP/0.9 and HTTP/1.0 browsers. You can customise your server to execute searches and handle HTML forms. It also supports server side include files, allowing you to include the output of commands or other files in HTML documents.The current (1994-08-08) version is 1.3. .E-mail: . (1995-01-16)

Hurd "operating system" The {GNU} project's replacement for the {Unix} {kernel}. The Hurd is a collection of {servers} that run on the {Mach} {microkernel} to implement {file systems}, {network protocols}, file access control, and other features that are implemented by the Unix kernel or similar kernels such as {Linux}. The GNU {C Library} provides the {Unix} {system call} interface, and calls the Hurd for services it can't provide itself. The Hurd aims to establish a framework for shared development and maintenance, allowing a broad range of users to share projects without knowing much about the internal workings of the system - projects that might never have been attempted without freely available source, a well-designed interface, and a multi-server-based design. Currently there are free ports of the {Mach} {kernel} to the {Intel 80386} {IBM PC}, the {DEC} {PMAX} {workstation}, the {Luna} {88k}, with more in progress, including the {Amiga} and {DEC} {Alpha}-3000 machines. According to Thomas Bushnell, BSG, the primary architect of the Hurd: 'Hurd' stands for 'Hird of Unix-Replacing Daemons' and 'Hird' stands for 'Hurd of Interfaces Representing Depth'. Possibly the first software to be named by a pair of {mutually recursive} acronyms. {The Hurd Home (http://gnu.org/software/hurd/hurd.html)}. [June 1994 GNU's Bulletin]. (2004-02-24)

Hurd ::: (operating system) The GNU project's replacement for the Unix kernel. The Hurd is a collection of servers that run on the Mach microkernel to implement Library provides the Unix system call interface, and calls the Hurd for services it can't provide itself.The Hurd aims to establish a framework for shared development and maintenance, allowing a broad range of users to share projects without knowing much about the without freely available source, a well-designed interface, and a multi-server-based design.Currently there are free ports of the Mach kernel to the Intel 80386 IBM PC, the DEC PMAX workstation, the Luna 88k, with more in progress, including the Amiga and DEC Alpha-3000 machines.According to Thomas Bushnell, BSG, the primary architect of the Hurd: 'Hurd' stands for 'Hird of Unix-Replacing Daemons' and 'Hird' stands for 'Hurd of Interfaces Representing Depth'. Possibly the first software to be named by a pair of mutually recursive acronyms. .[June 1994 GNU's Bulletin].(2004-02-24)

If the twelve sons of Jacob in the Hebrew scheme are made equivalent to the twelve signs of the zodiac, Dan is assigned to Scorpio; Dan is described as a serpent by the way, who bites the horse’s heels and causes the rider to fall backward — and one must here remember the role always ascribed in archaic occultism to the serpent: the Agathodaemon or the Kakodaemon, the serpent of wisdom and the serpent of evil.

inetd "networking, tool" Berkeley daemon program that listens for connection requests or messages for certain ports and starts server programs to perform the services associated with those ports. Sometimes known as netd. {Unix manual page}: inetd(8). (1995-03-20)

inetd ::: (networking, tool) Berkeley daemon program that listens for connection requests or messages for certain ports and starts server programs to perform the services associated with those ports. Sometimes known as netd.Unix manual page: inetd(8). (1995-03-20)

lacedaemonian ::: a. --> Of or pertaining to Lacedaemon or Sparta, the chief city of Laconia in the Peloponnesus. ::: n. --> A Spartan.

lpr ::: Line printer. The Unix print command. This does not actually print files but rather copies (or links) them to a spool area from where a daemon copies them to the printer.

lpr Line printer. The {Unix} print command. This does not actually print files but rather copies (or links) them to a {spool} area from where a {daemon} copies them to the printer.

maintainer script ::: (Debian) One of the scripts (preinst, prerm, postinst, postrm) that may be included in a Debian binary package. These scripts may create and/or remove by dpkg. Maintainer scripts frequently create or update the symlinks in the /etc/rc?.d directories and start, stop, or restart daemons.(2000-05-31)

maintainer script "Debian" One of the scripts (preinst, prerm, postinst, postrm) that may be included in a {Debian} {binary package}. These scripts may create and/or remove {symlinks}, files or directories that, for some reason, could not be done directly by {dpkg}. Maintainer scripts frequently create or update the symlinks in the /etc/rc?.d directories and start, stop, or restart {daemons}. (2000-05-31)

mount "file system" To make a {file system} available for access. {Unix} does this by associating the file system with a {directory} (the "mount point") within a currently mounted file system. The "root" file system is mounted on the {root directory}, "/" early in the {boot} sequence. "mount" is also the {Unix} command to do this, "unmount" breaks the association. E.g., "mount attaches a named file system to the file system hierarchy at the pathname location directory [...]" -- {Unix manual page} mount(8). File systems are usually mounted either at {boot time} under control of {/etc/rc} (or one of its subfiles) or on demand by an {automounter} {daemon}. Other {operating systems} such as {VMS} and {DOS} mount file systems as separate directory hierarchies without any common ancestor or root directory. Apparently derived from the physical sense of "mount" meaning "attach", as in "head-mounted display", or "set up", as in "always mount a {scratch monkey}, etc." {Unix manual page}: mount(8). (1997-04-14)

mount ::: (file system) To make a file system available for access.Unix does this by associating the file system with a directory (the mount point) within a currently mounted file system. The root file system is mounted on the root directory, / early in the boot sequence. mount is also the Unix command to do this, unmount breaks the association.E.g., mount attaches a named file system to the file system hierarchy at the pathname location directory [...] -- Unix manual page mount(8).File systems are usually mounted either at boot time under control of /etc/rc (or one of its subfiles) or on demand by an automounter daemon.Other operating systems such as VMS and DOS mount file systems as separate directory hierarchies without any common ancestor or root directory.Apparently derived from the physical sense of mount meaning attach, as in head-mounted display, or set up, as in always mount a scratch monkey, etc.Unix manual page: mount(8). (1997-04-14)

named "networking" Name Daemon. "networking" A {Unix} {background} process that converts {hostnames} to {Internet addresses} for the {TCP/IP} {protocol}. {Unix manual page}: named(8). See also {DNS}. (1995-03-28)

named ::: (networking) Name Daemon.(networking) A Unix background process that converts hostnames to Internet addresses for the TCP/IP protocol.Unix manual page: named(8).See also DNS. (1995-03-28)

nastygram "networking" /nas'tee-gram/ 1. A {network} {packet} or {e-mail} message (the latter is also called a {letterbomb}) that takes advantage of misfeatures or security holes on the target system to do untoward things. 2. Disapproving e-mail, especially from a {net.god}, pursuant to a violation of {netiquette} or a complaint about failure to correct some mail- or news-transmission problem. Compare {shitogram}, {mailbomb}. 3. A status report from an unhappy, and probably picky, customer. "What did Corporate say in today's nastygram?" 4. [deprecated] An error reply by mail from a {daemon}; in particular, a {bounce message}. [{Jargon File}] (2004-02-17)

nastygram ::: (networking) /nas'tee-gram/ 1. A network packet or e-mail message (the latter is also called a letterbomb) that takes advantage of misfeatures or security holes on the target system to do untoward things.2. Disapproving e-mail, especially from a net.god, pursuant to a violation of netiquette or a complaint about failure to correct some mail- or news-transmission problem. Compare shitogram, mailbomb.3. A status report from an unhappy, and probably picky, customer. What did Corporate say in today's nastygram?4. [deprecated] An error reply by mail from a daemon; in particular, a bounce message.[Jargon File](2004-02-17)

presence ::: 1. The state or fact of being present; current existence or occurrence. 2. A divine, spiritual, or supernatural spirit or influence felt or conceived as present. 3. The immediate proximity of someone or something.

Sri Aurobindo: "It is intended by the word Presence to indicate the sense and perception of the Divine as a Being, felt as present in one"s existence and consciousness or in relation with it, without the necessity of any further qualification or description. Thus, of the ‘ineffable Presence" it can only be said that it is there and nothing more can or need be said about it, although at the same time one knows that all is there, personality and impersonality, Power and Light and Ananda and everything else, and that all these flow from that indescribable Presence. The word may be used sometimes in a less absolute sense, but that is always the fundamental significance, — the essential perception of the essential Presence supporting everything else.” *Letters on Yoga

"Beyond mind on spiritual and supramental levels dwells the Presence, the Truth, the Power, the Bliss that can alone deliver us from these illusions, display the Light of which our ideals are tarnished disguises and impose the harmony that shall at once transfigure and reconcile all the parts of our nature.” Essays Divine and Human

"But if we learn to live within, we infallibly awaken to this presence within us which is our more real self, a presence profound, calm, joyous and puissant of which the world is not the master — a presence which, if it is not the Lord Himself, is the radiation of the Lord within.” *The Life Divine

"The true soul secret in us, — subliminal, we have said, but the word is misleading, for this presence is not situated below the threshold of waking mind, but rather burns in the temple of the inmost heart behind the thick screen of an ignorant mind, life and body, not subliminal but behind the veil, — this veiled psychic entity is the flame of the Godhead always alight within us, inextinguishable even by that dense unconsciousness of any spiritual self within which obscures our outward nature. It is a flame born out of the Divine and, luminous inhabitant of the Ignorance, grows in it till it is able to turn it towards the Knowledge. It is the concealed Witness and Control, the hidden Guide, the Daemon of Socrates, the inner light or inner voice of the mystic. It is that which endures and is imperishable in us from birth to birth, untouched by death, decay or corruption, an indestructible spark of the Divine.” *The Life Divine

"If we need any personal and inner witness to this indivisible All-Consciousness behind the ignorance, — all Nature is its external proof, — we can get it with any completeness only in our deeper inner being or larger and higher spiritual state when we draw back behind the veil of our own surface ignorance and come into contact with the divine Idea and Will behind it. Then we see clearly enough that what we have done by ourselves in our ignorance was yet overseen and guided in its result by the invisible Omniscience; we discover a greater working behind our ignorant working and begin to glimpse its purpose in us: then only can we see and know what now we worship in faith, recognise wholly the pure and universal Presence, meet the Lord of all being and all Nature.” *The Life Divine

"The presence of the Spirit is there in every living being, on every level, in all things, and because it is there, the experience of Sachchidananda, of the pure spiritual existence and consciousness, of the delight of a divine presence, closeness, contact can be acquired through the mind or the heart or the life-sense or even through the physical consciousness; if the inner doors are flung sufficiently open, the light from the sanctuary can suffuse the nearest and the farthest chambers of the outer being.” *The Life Divine

"There is a secret divine Will, eternal and infinite, omniscient and omnipotent, that expresses itself in the universality and in each particular of all these apparently temporal and finite inconscient or half-conscient things. This is the Power or Presence meant by the Gita when it speaks of the Lord within the heart of all existences who turns all creatures as if mounted on a machine by the illusion of Nature.” *The Synthesis of Yoga

"For what Yoga searches after is not truth of thought alone or truth of mind alone, but the dynamic truth of a living and revealing spiritual experience. There must awake in us a constant indwelling and enveloping nearness, a vivid perception, a close feeling and communion, a concrete sense and contact of a true and infinite Presence always and everywhere. That Presence must remain with us as the living, pervading Reality in which we and all things exist and move and act, and we must feel it always and everywhere, concrete, visible, inhabiting all things; it must be patent to us as their true Self, tangible as their imperishable Essence, met by us closely as their inmost Spirit. To see, to feel, to sense, to contact in every way and not merely to conceive this Self and Spirit here in all existences and to feel with the same vividness all existences in this Self and Spirit, is the fundamental experience which must englobe all other knowledge.” *The Synthesis of Yoga

"One must have faith in the Master of our life and works, even if for a long time He conceals Himself, and then in His own right time He will reveal His Presence.” *Letters on Yoga

"They [the psychic being and the Divine Presence in the heart] are quite different things. The psychic being is one"s own individual soul-being. It is not the Divine, though it has come from the Divine and develops towards the Divine.” *Letters on Yoga

"For it is quietness and inwardness that enable one to feel the Presence.” *Letters on Yoga

"Beyond mind on spiritual and supramental levels dwells the Presence, the Truth, the Power, the Bliss that can alone deliver us from these illusions, display the Light of which our ideals are tarnished disguises and impose the harmony that shall at once transfigure and reconcile all the parts of our nature.” *Essays Divine and Human

The Mother: "For, in human beings, here is a presence, the most marvellous Presence on earth, and except in a few very rare cases which I need not mention here, this presence lies asleep in the heart — not in the physical heart but the psychic centre — of all beings. And when this Splendour is manifested with enough purity, it will awaken in all beings the echo of his Presence.” Words of the Mother, MCW, Vol. 15.


prowler ({Unix}) A {daemon} that is run periodically (typically once a week) to seek out and erase {core} files, truncate administrative logfiles, nuke "lost+found" directories, and otherwise clean up the {cruft} that tends to pile up in the corners of a file system. See also {GFR}, {reaper}, {skulker}. (1995-02-14)

prowler ::: (Unix) A daemon that is run periodically (typically once a week) to seek out and erase core files, truncate administrative logfiles, nuke lost+found directories, and otherwise clean up the cruft that tends to pile up in the corners of a file system.See also GFR, reaper, skulker. (1995-02-14)

pseudo-tty ::: Berkeley Unix networking device which appears to an application program as an ordinary terminal but which is in fact connected via the network to a process and a control half. The slave tty (/dev/ttyp*) is the device that user programs use and the control tty (/dev/ptyp*) is used by daemons to talk to the net. (1994-11-08)

pseudo-tty "operating system" {Berkeley} {Unix} networking device which appears to an {application program} as an ordinary terminal but which is in fact connected via the network to a process running on a different {host} or a windowing system. Pseudo-ttys have a slave half and a control half. The slave tty (/dev/ttyp*) is the device that user programs use and the control tty (/dev/ptyp*) is used by {daemons} to talk to the net. (1994-11-08)

race condition Anomalous behavior due to unexpected critical dependence on the relative timing of events. For example, if one process writes to a file while another is reading from the same location then the data read may be the old contents, the new contents or some mixture of the two depending on the relative timing of the read and write operations. A common remedy in this kind of race condition is {file locking}; a more cumbersome remedy is to reorganize the system such that a certain processes (running a {daemon} or the like) is the only process that has access to the file, and all other processes that need to access the data in that file do so only via interprocess communication with that one process. As an example of a more subtle kind of race condition, consider a {distributed} {chat} {network} like {IRC}, where a {user} is granted channel-operator {privileges} in any channel he starts. If two users on different {servers}, on different ends of the same network, try to start the same-named channel at the same time, each user's respective server will grant channel-operator privileges to each user, since neither will yet have received the other's signal that that channel has been started. In this case of a race condition, the "shared resource" is the conception of the {state} of the network (what channels exist, as well as what users started them and therefore have what privileges), which each server is free to change as long as it signals the other servers on the network about the changes so that they can update their conception of the state of the network. However, the {latency} across the network makes possible the kind of race condition described. In this case, heading off race conditions by imposing a form of control over access to the shared resource -- say, appointing one server to be in charge of who holds what privileges -- would mean turning the distributed network into a centralized one (at least for that one part of the network operation). Where this is not acceptable, the more pragmatic solution is to have the system recognize when a race condition has occurred and to repair the ill effects. Race conditions also affect electronic circuits where the value output by a {logic gate} depends on the exact timing of two or more input signals. For example, consider a two input AND gate fed with a logic signal X on input A and its negation, NOT X, on input B. In theory, the output (X AND NOT X) should never be high. However, if changes in the value of X take longer to propagate to input B than to input A then when X changes from false to true, there will be a brief period during which both inputs are true, and so the gate's output will also be true. If this output is fed to an edge-sensitive component such as a counter or flip-flop then the temporary effect ("{glitch}") will become permanent. (2002-08-03)

[Rf. Wierus, Pseudo-Monarchia Daemonium.]

rlogin "networking, tool" (Remote login) The {4.2BSD} {Unix} utility to allow a user to log in on another {host} via a network. Rlogin communicates with a {daemon} on the remote host. {Unix manual page}: rlogin(1). See also {telnet}. (1997-01-12)

rlogin ::: (networking, tool) (Remote login) The 4.2BSD Unix utility to allow a user to log in on another host via a network. Rlogin communicates with a daemon on the remote host.Unix manual page: rlogin(1).See also telnet. (1997-01-12)

routed "networking" /root dee/ Route Daemon. A program which runs under {4.2BSD} {Unix} systems and derivatives to propagate routes among machines on a {local area network}, using the {Routing Information Protocol}. See also {gated}. (2002-07-31)

routed ::: (networking) /root dee/ Route Daemon. A program which runs under 4.2BSD Unix systems and derivatives to propagate routes among machines on a local area network, using the Routing Information Protocol. See also gated.(2002-07-31)

rsh ::: Remote shell.A Berkeley Unix networking command to execute a given command on a remote host, passing it input and receiving its output. Rsh communicates with a daemon on the remote host. It is sometimes called remsh to avoid confusion with the restricted shell, also called rsh.Unix manual page: rsh(1). (1994-12-08)

rsh Remote shell. A {Berkeley Unix} networking command to execute a given command on a remote {host}, passing it input and receiving its output. Rsh communicates with a {daemon} on the remote host. It is sometimes called remsh to avoid confusion with the {restricted shell}, also called "rsh". {Unix manual page}: rsh(1). (1994-12-08)

Samekh as the name of the holy book containing the ritual of congressus cum daemone, which he composed on the basis of a Sumerian Ritual of extreme antiquity. See particularly, Chapter I.

Sarama (Sanskrit) Saramā [from the verbal root sṛ to run] The fleet one, the runner; the dog belonging to Indra and the gods, the divine watcher “over the golden flock of stars and solar rays.” She is the mother of the two dogs called Sarameyas. Some European etymologists connect the names of the Greek Hermes and Helena with Sarama or Sarameya. Sarama has certain elements of mystical similarity to Agathodaemon in Greek Gnosticism, and to the Egyptian Hermes-Anubis, one of the dogs (vigilance) which watch over the celestial flock (occult wisdom and its students) (cf SD 2:28).

Savior Applied to manasaputras, buddhas, bodhisattvas, avataras, messiahs, the Agathodaemon, etc. See also SALVATION

sendmail "messaging" The {BSD} Unix {Message Transfer Agent} supporting mail transport via {TCP/IP} using {SMTP}. Sendmail is normally invoked in the {background} via a {Mail User Agent} such as the {mail} command. Sendmail was written by {Eric Allman} at the {University of California at Berkeley} during the late 1970s. He now has his own company, {Sendmail Inc.} Sendmail was one of the first programs to route messages between {networks} and today is still the dominant e-mail transfer software. It thrived despite the awkward {ARPAnet} transition between {NCP} to TCP protocols in the early 1980s and the adoption of the new SMTP Simple Mail Transport Protocol, all of which made the business of mail routing a complex challenge of backward and forward compatibility for several years. There are now over one million copies of Sendmail installed, representing over 75% of all Internet mail servers. Simultaneously with the announcement of the company in November 1997, Sendmail 8.9 was launched, featuring new tools designed to limit {junk e-mail}. SendMail 8.9 is still distributed as {source code} with the rights to modify and distribute. The command sendmail -bv ADDRESS can be used to learn what the local mail system thinks of ADDRESS. You can also talk to the Sendmail {daemon} on a remote host FOO with the command telnet FOO 25 (1998-08-25)

sendmail ::: (messaging) The BSD Unix Message Transfer Agent supporting mail transport via TCP/IP using SMTP. Sendmail is normally invoked in the background via a Mail User Agent such as the mail command.Sendmail was written by Eric Allman at the University of California at Berkeley during the late 1970s. He now has his own company, Sendmail Inc.Sendmail was one of the first programs to route messages between networks and today is still the dominant e-mail transfer software. It thrived despite the compatibility for several years. There are now over one million copies of Sendmail installed, representing over 75% of all Internet mail servers.Simultaneously with the announcement of the company in November 1997, Sendmail 8.9 was launched, featuring new tools designed to limit junk e-mail. SendMail 8.9 is still distributed as source code with the rights to modify and distribute.Latest version: 8.9.1, as of 1998-08-25.The command sendmail -bv ADDRESS also talk to the Sendmail daemon on a remote host FOO with the command telnet FOO 25 (1998-08-25)

server ::: 1. A program which provides some service to other (client) programs. The connection between client and server is normally by means of message passing, for requests to arrive or it may be invoked by some higher level daemon which controls a number of specific servers (inetd on Unix).There are many servers associated with the Internet, such as those for HTTP, Network File System, Network Information Service (NIS), Domain Name System (DNS), FTP, news, finger, Network Time Protocol. On Unix, a long list can be found in /etc/services or in the NIS database services. See client-server.2. A computer which provides some service for other computers connected to it via a network. The most common example is a file server which has a local disk often using Sun's Network File System (NFS) protocol or Novell Netware on PCs. Another common example is a web server.[Jargon File](2003-12-29)

server 1. A program which provides some service to other ({client}) programs. The connection between client and server is normally by means of {message passing}, often over a {network}, and uses some {protocol} to encode the client's requests and the server's responses. The server may run continuously (as a {daemon}), waiting for requests to arrive or it may be invoked by some higher level daemon which controls a number of specific servers ({inetd} on {Unix}). There are many servers associated with the {Internet}, such as those for {HTTP}, {Network File System}, {Network Information Service} (NIS), {Domain Name System} (DNS), {FTP}, {news}, {finger}, {Network Time Protocol}. On Unix, a long list can be found in /etc/services or in the {NIS} database "services". See {client-server}. 2. A computer which provides some service for other computers connected to it via a network. The most common example is a {file server} which has a local disk and services requests from remote clients to read and write files on that disk, often using {Sun}'s {Network File System} (NFS) {protocol} or {Novell Netware} on {PCs}. Another common example is a {web server}. [{Jargon File}] (2003-12-29)

soul ::: Sri Aurobindo: "The word ‘soul", as also the word ‘psychic", is used very vaguely and in many different senses in the English language. More often than not, in ordinary parlance, no clear distinction is made between mind and soul and often there is an even more serious confusion, for the vital being of desire — the false soul or desire-soul — is intended by the words ‘soul" and ‘psychic" and not the true soul, the psychic being.” *Letters on Yoga

  "The word soul is very vaguely used in English — as it often refers to the whole non-physical consciousness including even the vital with all its desires and passions. That was why the word psychic being has to be used so as to distinguish this divine portion from the instrumental parts of the nature.” *Letters on Yoga

  "The word soul has various meanings according to the context; it may mean the Purusha supporting the formation of Prakriti, which we call a being, though the proper word would be rather a becoming; it may mean, on the other hand, specifically the psychic being in an evolutionary creature like man; it may mean the spark of the Divine which has been put into Matter by the descent of the Divine into the material world and which upholds all evolving formations here.” *Letters on Yoga

  "A distinction has to be made between the soul in its essence and the psychic being. Behind each and all there is the soul which is the spark of the Divine — none could exist without that. But it is quite possible to have a vital and physical being supported by such a soul essence but without a clearly evolved psychic being behind it.” *Letters on Yoga

  "The soul and the psychic being are practically the same, except that even in things which have not developed a psychic being, there is still a spark of the Divine which can be called the soul. The psychic being is called in Sanskrit the Purusha in the heart or the Chaitya Purusha. (The psychic being is the soul developing in the evolution.)” *Letters on Yoga

  "The soul or spark is there before the development of an organised vital and mind. The soul is something of the Divine that descends into the evolution as a divine Principle within it to support the evolution of the individual out of the Ignorance into the Light. It develops in the course of the evolution a psychic individual or soul individuality which grows from life to life, using the evolving mind, vital and body as its instruments. It is the soul that is immortal while the rest disintegrates; it passes from life to life carrying its experience in essence and the continuity of the evolution of the individual.” *Letters on Yoga

  ". . . for the soul is seated within and impervious to the shocks of external events. . . .” *Essays on the Gita

  ". . . the soul is at first but a spark and then a little flame of godhead burning in the midst of a great darkness; for the most part it is veiled in its inner sanctum and to reveal itself it has to call on the mind, the life-force and the physical consciousness and persuade them, as best they can, to express it; ordinarily, it succeeds at most in suffusing their outwardness with its inner light and modifying with its purifying fineness their dark obscurities or their coarser mixture. Even when there is a formed psychic being able to express itself with some directness in life, it is still in all but a few a smaller portion of the being — ‘no bigger in the mass of the body than the thumb of a man" was the image used by the ancient seers — and it is not always able to prevail against the obscurity or ignorant smallness of the physical consciousness, the mistaken surenesses of the mind or the arrogance and vehemence of the vital nature.” *The Synthesis of Yoga

". . . the soul is an eternal portion of the Supreme and not a fraction of Nature.” The Life Divine

"The true soul secret in us, — subliminal, we have said, but the word is misleading, for this presence is not situated below the threshold of waking mind, but rather burns in the temple of the inmost heart behind the thick screen of an ignorant mind, life and body, not subliminal but behind the veil, — this veiled psychic entity is the flame of the Godhead always alight within us, inextinguishable even by that dense unconsciousness of any spiritual self within which obscures our outward nature. It is a flame born out of the Divine and, luminous inhabitant of the Ignorance, grows in it till it is able to turn it towards the Knowledge. It is the concealed Witness and Control, the hidden Guide, the Daemon of Socrates, the inner light or inner voice of the mystic. It is that which endures and is imperishable in us from birth to birth, untouched by death, decay or corruption, an indestructible spark of the Divine.” The Life Divine

*Soul, soul"s, Soul"s, souls, soulless, soul-bridals, soul-change, soul-force, Soul-Forces, soul-ground, soul-joy, soul-nature, soul-range, soul-ray, soul-scapes, soul-scene, soul-sense, soul-severance, soul-sight, soul-slaying, soul-space,, soul-spaces, soul-strength, soul-stuff, soul-truth, soul-vision, soul-wings, world-soul, World-Soul.



spirit. Agathodaemon has also been designated a

spray "networking" A {Unix} command that sends {packets} to a {host} and reports performance statistics. The number of packets, delay between packets and packet length can all be specified. The spray command uses the {Remote Procedure Call} (RPC) {protocol} to send a one-way stream of packets to the sprayd {daemon} on the given host. With the "-i" option, spray uses the {Internet Control Message Protocol} (ICMP) instead of RPC. Normally these will be echoed automatically, creating a return stream. {Unix manual page}: spray(1M). (2007-03-12)

Sri Aurobindo: "The true soul secret in us, — subliminal, we have said, but the word is misleading, for this presence is not situated below the threshold of waking mind, but rather burns in the temple of the inmost heart behind the thick screen of an ignorant mind, life and body, not subliminal but behind the veil, — this veiled psychic entity is the flame of the Godhead always alight within us, inextinguishable even by that dense unconsciousness of any spiritual self within which obscures our outward nature. It is a flame born out of the Divine and, luminous inhabitant of the Ignorance, grows in it till it is able to turn it towards the Knowledge. It is the concealed Witness and Control, the hidden Guide, the Daemon of Socrates, the inner light or inner voice of the mystic. It is that which endures and is imperishable in us from birth to birth, untouched by death, decay or corruption, an indestructible spark of the Divine.” *The Life Divine

terrestrial daemon with a beastlike form (!) and is

The daemon of Socrates stood for his higher and spiritual self, and parallels in this sense the Christian idea of the Guardian Angel. Hesiod designated them as spirits of the golden age appointed to watch over and guard mankind. We often find two daemones accompanying the individual, one prompting to good, the other to evil; while again it may be the same genius, whose influence is defined as at one time good, at another evil.

The early Christians believed that the pagan gods were impersonated by evil demons or were actually merely daemonia. It is hard to believe that Jehovah, Jupiter, the Christian God, Brahma, and the like are nothing more than merely abstract ideas, for they actually are human ways of expressing some of the active and distinctly concrete powers or potencies in the solar system.

The serpent is characteristically a dual symbol. In the beginnings of creation two poles were emanated, spirit and matter; and forthwith began interaction between the downward forces of the one and the upward forces of the other. Hermes, Mercury, intelligence, may represent a sage or a thief; the serpentine wisdom may work in every plane of materiality. The perverse will of man may turn natural forces to evil purposes, and thus we speak of the good serpent and the bad, of Agathodaemon and Kakodaemon, of Ophis and Ophiomorphos. A serpent can be a sage or a sorcerer.

“The true soul secret in us,—subliminal, we have said, but the word is misleading, for this presence is not situated below the threshold of waking mind, but rather burns in the temple of the inmost heart behind the thick screen of an ignorant mind, life and body, not subliminal but behind the veil,—this veiled psychic entity is the flame of the Godhead always alight within us, inextinguishable even by that dense unconsciousness of any spiritual self within which obscures our outward nature. It is a flame born out of the Divine and, luminous inhabitant of the Ignorance, grows in it till it is able to turn it towards the Knowledge. It is the concealed Witness and Control, the hidden Guide, the Daemon of Socrates, the inner light or inner voice of the mystic. It is that which endures and is imperishable in us from birth to birth, untouched by death, decay or corruption, an indestructible spark of the Divine.” The Life Divine

Tyndareus A king in Lacedaemon, expelled and received by King Thestios of Aetolia, by whose daughter Leda he becomes father of the Dioscuri or Tyndaridae, Castor and Pollux. In some accounts both these children are the offspring of Zeus, in others Pollux only, and in still others both are sons of Tyndareus. Most commonly Leda is considered the bride of both Zeus and Tyndareus, and the result of this double union was the birth of Polydeuces (or Pollux) and Helena, later Helen of Troy, who were the children of Zeus, and of Castor and Clytemnestra, the children of Tyndareus. See also DIOSCURI

usr User. The "/usr" directory hierarchy on {Unix} systems. Once upon a time, in the early days of Unix, this area actually held users' home directories and files. Since these tend to expand much faster than system files, /usr would be mounted on the biggest disk on the system. The root directory, "/" in contrast, contains only what is needed to {boot} the {kernel}, after which /usr and other disks could be mounted as part of the multi-user start-up process. /usr has been used as the "everything else" area, with many "system" files such as compiler libraries (/usr/include, /usr/lib), utilty programs (/usr/bin, /usr/ucb), games (/usr/games), local additions (/usr/local), manuals (/usr/man), temporary files and queues for various {daemons} (/usr/spool). These optional extras have grown in size as Unix has evolved and disks have dropped in price. Under later versions of {SunOS}, the user files have fled /usr altogether for a new "/home" {partition} and temporary files have moved to "/var". This allows /usr to be mounted read-only with some gain in security and performance since access times are not updated for files on read-only file systems.

While the term Personalism is modern it stands for an old way of thinking which grows out of the attempt to interpret the self as a part of phenomenological experience. Personalistic elements found expression in Heraclitus' (536-470 B.C.) statement "Man's own character is his daemon" (Fr. 119), and in his assertion of the Logos as an enduring principle of permanence in a world of change. These elements are traceable likewise in the cosmogony of Anaxagoras (500-430 B.C.), who gave philosophy an anthropocentric trend by affirming that mind "regulated all things, what they were to be, what they were and what they are", the force which arranges and guides (Fr. 12) Protagoras (cir. 480-410 B.C.) emphasized the personalistic character of knowledge in the famous dictum "Man is the measure of all things."

yaksa (Yaksha) ::: one of the keepers of wealth; [in the Kena Upanisad]: the Daemon, the Spirit, the Unknown Power.

YTalk Version: V3.0 Patch Level 1. "networking, tool" A multi-user chat program by Britt Yenne "yenne@austin.eds.com". YTalk works almost exactly like the standard {Unix} {talk} program and even communicates with the same talk {daemon}(s), but YTalk supports multiple connections. Multiple user names may be given as command-line arguments, in the form "name

YTalk ::: Version: V3.0 Patch Level 1.(networking, tool) A multi-user chat program by Britt Yenne . YTalk works almost exactly like the standard Unix talk program and even communicates with the same talk daemon(s), but YTalk supports multiple connections.Multiple user names may be given as command-line arguments, in the form name



QUOTES [11 / 11 - 345 / 345]


KEYS (10k)

   5 Sri Aurobindo
   2 Wikipedia
   2 Carl Jung
   1 Peter J Carroll
   1 Heraclitus

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

  209 Jennifer L Armentrout
   21 Anne Bishop
   12 H P Lovecraft
   6 Plutarch
   6 Anonymous
   5 Sri Aurobindo
   4 Philip Pullman
   3 Thucydides
   3 Ralph Waldo Emerson
   3 Carl Jung
   3 Camille Paglia
   3 Aristotle
   2 Wikipedia
   2 Steven Pressfield
   2 Richard Dawkins
   2 Pythagoras
   2 Peter Ackroyd
   2 Neal Stephenson
   2 John Gardner
   2 Hermann Hesse

1:The mighty daemon lies unshaped within,
To evoke, to give it form is Nature's task. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Kingdoms and Godheads of the Little Mind,
2:A foreseeing Knowledge might be ours,
If we could take our spirit's stand within,
If we could hear the muffled daemon voice. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Secret Knowledge,
3:The magicians most important invocation is that of his Genius, Daemon, True Will, or Augoeides. This operation is traditionally known as attaining the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel. It is sometimes known as the Magnum Opus or Great Work.
   ~ Peter J Carroll, Liber Null,
4:Augoeides is an obscure term meaning luminous body and thought to refer to the planets. Aleister Crowley considered the term to refer to the Holy Guardian Angel of Abramelin; the Atman of Hinduism the Daemon of the ancient Greeks. Robert Lomas associates the term with the Higher Self or soul of the individual
   ~ Wikipedia,
5:But Indra does not turn back from the quest like Agni and Vayu; he pursues his way through the highest ether of the pure mentality and there he approaches the Woman, the manyshining, Uma Haimavati; from her he learns that this Daemon is the Brahman by whom alone the gods of mind and life and body conquer and affirm themselves, and in whom alone they are great. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Kena And Other Upanishads, 83,
6:The primordial image, or archetype, is a figure--be it a daemon, a human being, or a process--that constantly recurs in the course of history and appears wherever creative fantasy is freely expressed. Essentially, therefore, it is a mythological figure. In each of these images there is a little piece of human psychology and human fate, a remnant of the joys and sorrows that have been repeated countless times in our ancestral history. ~ Carl Jung,
7:In Plato's Symposium, the priestess Diotima teaches Socrates that love is not a deity, but rather a 'great daemon' (202d). She goes on to explain that 'everything daemonic is between divine and mortal' (202d-e), and she describes daemons as 'interpreting and transporting human things to the gods and divine things to men; entreaties and sacrifices from below, and ordinances and requitals from above...' (202e). In Plato's Apology of Socrates, Socrates claimed to have a daimonion (literally, a 'divine something')[16] that frequently warned him-in the form of a 'voice'-against mistakes but never told him what to do.
   ~ Wikipedia, Daemon,
8:Medieval alchemy prepared the way for the greatest intervention in the divine world that man has ever attempted: alchemy was the dawn of the scientific age, when the daemon of the scientific spirit compelled the forces of nature to serve man to an extent that had never been known before. It was from the spirit of alchemy that Goethe wrought the figure of the "superman" Faust, and this superman led Nietzsche's Zarathustra to declare that God was dead and to proclaim the will to give birth to the superman, to "create a god for yourself out of your seven devils." Here we find the true roots, the preparatory processes deep in the psyche, which unleashed the forces at work in the world today. Science and technology have indeed conquered the world, but whether the psyche has gained anything is another matter. ~ Carl Jung, "Paracelsus as a Spiritual Phenomenon" (1942), CW 13, § 163.,
9:The true soul secret in us, - subliminal, we have said, but the word is misleading, for this presence is not situated below the threshold of waking mind, but rather burns in the temple of the inmost heart behind the thick screen of an ignorant mind, life and body, not subliminal but behind the veil, - this veiled psychic entity is the flame of the Godhead always alight within us, inextinguishable even by that dense unconsciousness of any spiritual self within which obscures our outward nature. It is a flame born out of the Divine and, luminous inhabitant of the Ignorance, grows in it till it is able to turn it towards the Knowledge. It is the concealed Witness and Control, the hidden Guide, the Daemon of Socrates, the inner light or inner voice of the mystic. It is that which endures and is imperishable in us from birth to birth, untouched by death, decay or corruption, an indestructible spark of the Divine. ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Life Divine
10:Daemons
A daemon is a process that runs in the background, not connecting to any controlling terminal. Daemons are normally started at boot time, are run as root or some
other special user (such as apache or postfix), and handle system-level tasks. As a
convention, the name of a daemon often ends in d (as in crond and sshd), but this is
not required, or even universal.
The name derives from Maxwell's demon, an 1867 thought experiment by the physicist James Maxwell. Daemons are also supernatural beings in Greek mythology,
existing somewhere between humans and the gods and gifted with powers and divine
knowledge. Unlike the demons of Judeo-Christian lore, the Greek daemon need not
be evil. Indeed, the daemons of mythology tended to be aides to the gods, performing
tasks that the denizens of Mount Olympus found themselves unwilling to do-much
as Unix daemons perform tasks that foreground users would rather avoid.
A daemon has two general requirements: it must run as a child of init, and it must
not be connected to a terminal.
In general, a program performs the following steps to become a daemon:
1. Call fork( ). This creates a new process, which will become the daemon.
2. In the parent, call exit( ). This ensures that the original parent (the daemon's
grandparent) is satisfied that its child terminated, that the daemon's parent is no
longer running, and that the daemon is not a process group leader. This last
point is a requirement for the successful completion of the next step.
3. Call setsid( ), giving the daemon a new process group and session, both of
which have it as leader. This also ensures that the process has no associated controlling terminal (as the process just created a new session, and will not assign
one).
4. Change the working directory to the root directory via chdir( ). This is done
because the inherited working directory can be anywhere on the filesystem. Daemons tend to run for the duration of the system's uptime, and you don't want to
keep some random directory open, and thus prevent an administrator from
unmounting the filesystem containing that directory.
5. Close all file descriptors. You do not want to inherit open file descriptors, and,
unaware, hold them open.
6. Open file descriptors 0, 1, and 2 (standard in, standard out, and standard error)
and redirect them to /dev/null.
Following these rules, here is a program that daemonizes itself:
~ OReilly Linux System Programming,
11:AUGOEIDES:
   The magicians most important invocation is that of his Genius, Daemon, True Will, or Augoeides. This operation is traditionally known as attaining the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel. It is sometimes known as the Magnum Opus or Great Work.
   The Augoeides may be defined as the most perfect vehicle of Kia on the plane of duality. As the avatar of Kia on earth, the Augoeides represents the true will, the raison detre of the magician, his purpose in existing. The discovery of ones true will or real nature may be difficult and fraught with danger, since a false identification leads to obsession and madness. The operation of obtaining the knowledge and conversation is usually a lengthy one. The magician is attempting a progressive metamorphosis, a complete overhaul of his entire existence. Yet he has to seek the blueprint for his reborn self as he goes along. Life is less the meaningless accident it seems. Kia has incarnated in these particular conditions of duality for some purpose. The inertia of previous existences propels Kia into new forms of manifestation. Each incarnation represents a task, or a puzzle to be solved, on the way to some greater form of completion.
   The key to this puzzle is in the phenomena of the plane of duality in which we find ourselves. We are, as it were, trapped in a labyrinth or maze. The only thing to do is move about and keep a close watch on the way the walls turn. In a completely chaotic universe such as this one, there are no accidents. Everything is signifcant. Move a single grain of sand on a distant shore and the entire future history of the world will eventually be changed. A person doing his true will is assisted by the momentum of the universe and seems possessed of amazing good luck. In beginning the great work of obtaining the knowledge and conversation, the magician vows to interpret every manifestation of existence as a direct message from the infinite Chaos to himself personally.
   To do this is to enter the magical world view in its totality. He takes complete responsibility for his present incarnation and must consider every experience, thing, or piece of information which assails him from any source, as a reflection of the way he is conducting his existence. The idea that things happen to one that may or may not be related to the way one acts is an illusion created by our shallow awareness.
   Keeping a close eye on the walls of the labyrinth, the conditions of his existence, the magician may then begin his invocation. The genius is not something added to oneself. Rather it is a stripping away of excess to reveal the god within.
   Directly on awakening, preferably at dawn, the initiate goes to the place of invocation. Figuring to himself as he goes that being born anew each day brings with it the chance of greater rebirth, first he banishes the temple of his mind by ritual or by some magical trance. Then he unveils some token or symbol or sigil which represents to him the Holy Guardian Angel. This symbol he will likely have to change during the great work as the inspiration begins to move him. Next he invokes an image of the Angel into his minds eye. It may be considered as a luminous duplicate of ones own form standing in front of or behind one, or simply as a ball of brilliant light above ones head. Then he formulates his aspirations in what manner he will, humbling himself in prayer or exalting himself in loud proclamation as his need be. The best form of this invocation is spoken spontaneously from the heart, and if halting at first, will prove itself in time. He is aiming to establish a set of ideas and images which correspond to the nature of his genius, and at the same time receive inspiration from that source. As the magician begins to manifest more of his true will, the Augoeides will reveal images, names, and spiritual principles by which it can be drawn into greater manifestation. Having communicated with the invoked form, the magician should draw it into himself and go forth to live in the way he hath willed.
   The ritual may be concluded with an aspiration to the wisdom of silence by a brief concentration on the sigil of the Augoeides, but never by banishing. Periodically more elaborate forms of ritual, using more powerful forms of gnosis, may be employed. At the end of the day, there should be an accounting and fresh resolution made. Though every day be a catalog of failure, there should be no sense of sin or guilt. Magic is the raising of the whole individual in perfect balance to the power of Infinity, and such feelings are symptomatic of imbalance. If any unnecessary or imbalanced scraps of ego become identified with the genius by mistake, then disaster awaits. The life force flows directly into these complexes and bloats them into grotesque monsters variously known as the demon Choronzon. Some magicians attempting to go too fast with this invocation have failed to banish this demon, and have gone spectacularly insane as a result.
   ~ Peter J Carroll, Liber Null,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

1:The daemon in the after-death state is a deeper level of my individuality, which transcends and includes Tim, who is now seen as one of many life personas the daemon has dreamed itself to be. ~ tim-freke, @wisdomtrove
2:I have many levels to my individuality. In a dream, I appear to be my dream persona. In the waking state, I appear to be my life persona. It seems to me that there is a yet more conscious level of my individuality, and this is my daemon. ~ tim-freke, @wisdomtrove
3:My daemon is dreaming itself to be &

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:Daemon kissed me. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
2:God, I loved Daemon. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
3:daemon and mother, destiny and beloved. ~ Hermann Hesse,
4:My heart cracked. Daemon never begged. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
5:I'm game for anything with you, Daemon Black. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
6:I’m game for anything with you, Daemon Black. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
7:I think I might have blushed. Damn me.
-Daemon ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
8:I'll burn the world down to save her." -Daemon Black. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
9:I love you Kat, always have and always will" - Daemon ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
10:-A la mierda Los Vengadores -replicó Daemon- Necesitamos a Loki ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
11:Daemon was the pissy pink elephant in the room with a bad attitude. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
12:Daemon was the pissy pink elephant in the room with the bad attitude. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
13:Some men die for lack of love…some die because of it. Think about it." - Daemon ~ Anne Bishop,
14:The daemon wind died down, and the bloated, fungoid moon sank reddeningly in the west. ~ H P Lovecraft,
15:Like any librarian in Reality, this daemon can move around without audible footfalls. ~ Neal Stephenson,
16:When your Daemon is in charge, do not try to think consciously. Drift, wait, and obey. ~ Rudyard Kipling,
17:To Daemon, my arrival was the beginning of the end. The apocalypse. Kat-mageddon. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
18:You read too much.” Daemon exhaled slowly. [...]
"There’s no such thing as that. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
19:Daemon arched a brow. 'Are you feeling me up, Kat? I'm liking where this is heading. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
20:Daemon arched a brow. “Are you feeling me up, Kat? I’m liking where this is heading. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
21:And then what?" said her daemon sleepily. "Build what?" "The Republic of Heaven," said Lyra. ~ Philip Pullman,
22:We need a metaphor that can contain the daemon of the future that we have conjured into being. ~ Terence McKenna,
23:¿De venir aquí, golpear hasta el cansancio a Simon y reclamar a mi chica???

Daemon♥ ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
24:The kind of handsome a girl might raise an army for, slay a god or a daemon for. This girl, at least. ~ Jay Kristoff,
25:Daemon was suddenly in front of me, clasping my cheeks in his warm hands " I never hated you. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
26:There was no doubt in my mind that Daemon believed revenge was a dish best served in my face. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
27:As every man is hunted by his own daemon, vexed by his own disease, this checks all his activity. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
28:Daemon stiffened. “Oh, dear God and baby Jesus in the manger, my eyes!” Dee shrieked. “My eyes! ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
29:Guy: Ash is going to kick your ass, Daemon.
Daemon: Nah, she likes my ass too much for that. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
30:We really could use the Avengers right about now.” “Screw that. We need Loki,” Daemon retorted. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
31:Por favor. No puedo perderte. Por favor abre tus ojos. Por favor no me dejes...♥

Daemon♥ ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
32:Deadly and sweet—that was what Daemon was; two very different kinds of souls rested in him, fused together. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
33:Daemon was a total babe, but he was stab-worthy, which at times zeroed out the babe part. Not always, though. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
34:Daemon kissed like he was staking a claim, but he already had me—all of me. My heart. My soul. My whole being. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
35:Daemon was a total babe, but he was stab-worthy, which, at times, zeroed out the babe part. Not always, though. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
36:I thinks Its cute that you call my house Home. By the way, it Is my house. My name is on the deed. - Daemon Black ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
37:So Lyra and her daemon turned away from the world they were born in, and looked toward the sun, and walked into the sky. ~ Philip Pullman,
38:Daemon: I have something really corny to say. Get ready for it.
Katy: I'm ready.
Daemon: I'm mental for you. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
39:Ash is going to kick your ass, Daemon."
Daemon's grin went up a notch. "Nah, she likes my ass too much for that. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
40:A very different kind of place, was Blake's answer. He slammed his door shut, and Daemon about snapped his head off. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
41:Well, aren't you just a special snowflake," Daemon murmured.
"That I am." Archer's lips quirked into a half grin. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
42:A flash of lightning illuminated the object ... it was the wretch, the filthy daemon, to whom I had given life." Frankenstein ~ DK Publishing,
43:¿Qué estoy haciendo? Si ellos se dan cuanta de lo que he hecho...Pero no puedo. No puedo perderla....♥

Daemon♥ ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
44:Aquella figura era Daemon, y gruñía enfadado mientras se ponía de pie como un ángel vengador bañado en una luz celestial ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
45:Giddy, I hit record and shrieked, “I have a MacBook Air!”
Daemon laughed as he buried his head in my hair. “You dork. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
46:I want you to change me. I want to become what she is" -Will
"I can't just twitch my nose and make it happen." -Daemon ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
47:Sitting on the arm of the couch Blake waved his hand. "Sure. Whatever. She's all yours."
Daemon grinned. "That she is. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
48:Daemon's gaze slipped from his brother to me then back to his brother. "Are we having a slumber party? And I'm not invited? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
49:How long have you been standing there?"
"Just long enough to see you give Daemon the middle finger."
"He deserved it. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
50:Rising up, I kissed Daemon's cheek. "No one trusts him, but you can't threaten him every five seconds."

"Yes, I can. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
51:Daemon parked as far away as he could, obviously more afraid of getting dings in Dolly's side then us being eaten by Bigfoot. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
52:I swore to God if Daemon said anything ignorant, I was going to lay him out in class. My splint was heavy enough to do damage. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
53: Jesus H. Mary mother of Christ in crutches, came Daemon's voice.
I'm not sure that's how it goes, I told him. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
54:I thought the whole thing with Blake would ruin this afternoon, but I had underestimated the magnetism of Daemon and his kisses. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
55:I grinned at Daemon and held up a bulb that was so green it almost matched his eyes. I decided it was going to be his bulb. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
56:I trembled, and my heart failed within me; when, on looking up, I saw, by the light of the moon, the daemon at the casement. ~ Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley,
57:If he made one more comment about the length of my skirt, I was going to hurt him.
And if Blake did, Daemon was going to maim him. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
58:The mighty daemon lies unshaped within,
To evoke, to give it form is Nature’s task. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Kingdoms and Godheads of the Little Mind,
59:Other Luxen have healed in this amount of time, but to where the cut is completely sealed."
Like Daemon needed help feeling special. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
60:Arum: But where will your arrogance be when we absorb your powers?
Daemon: In the same place as my foot. You know, as in up your ass. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
61:He couldn’t regret Daemon’s and Lucivar’s existence, but he’d tortured himself for centuries with reports of what had been done to them." - Saetan ~ Anne Bishop,
62:I didn't want to spoil the mood. This was probably the longest Daemon and I had ever spoken without some statement earning him the finger. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
63:Dr. Roth: "I've been waiting a long time to run tests on someone like you."
Daemon: "Another fanboy. I have them everywhere." ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
64:Daemon had spoken to Blake earlier in the day; the entire conversation had gone down between the two without fists being thrown and I missed it. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
65:I've always found that the most beautiful people, truly beautiful inside and out, are the ones whoa re quietly unaware of their effect."--Daemon ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
66:In your dreams, Kitten." He smirked. "Oh wait, I'm already starring in those, aren't I?"
I rolled my eyes.
"Nightmares, Daemon. Nightmares. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
67:Over everything stands its daemon or soul, and, as the form of the thing is reflected by the eye, so the soul of the thing is reflected by a melody. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
68:Daemon: Ever hear the saying you catch more lions with honey than vinegar?
Katy: I think it's 'catch more bees' and not lions.
Daemon: Whatever. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
69:Daemon stomped past them, bumping into his brother's shoulder. "You make my head hurt", he said, scowling. "And you make me all warm and fuzzy inside". ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
70:But next time, we need to kind of...oh, I don't know, talk first and then throw people through windows later." Daemon crossed his arms. "Can we try that? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
71:Daemon pressed his forehead against mine. "Oh, I still want to strangle you. But I'm insane. You're crazy. Maybe that's why. We just make crazy together. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
72:"The fact that a man who goes his own way ends in ruin means nothing. He must obey his own law, as if it were a daemon whispering to him of new and wonderful paths." ~ Carl Jung,
73:A foreseeing Knowledge might be ours,
If we could take our spirit’s stand within,
If we could hear the muffled daemon voice. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Secret Knowledge,
74:Daemon: "Ever hear the saying you catch more lions with honey than vinegar?"
Katy: "I think it's 'catch more bees and not lions.'"
Daemon: "Whatever. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
75:They’re not coming back the same, are they?”
“What?”
“Them,” she said. “Dawson and Daemon and Dee. They’re not going to come back the same, are they? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
76:En lugar de contestar, se lo demostré. Como diría Daemon, era cosa de la amante de los libros que había en mi. Demostrar algo era mucho mejor que explicarlo. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
77:insides the moment Lotho stated his condition. Daemon kissed like he was staking a claim, but he already had me—all of me. My heart. My soul. My whole being. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
78:Daemon Black could be as prickly as a hedgehog having a really bad day, but underneath all that spindly armor, he was sweet, protective, and incredibly selfless. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
79:—Daemon Black —respondió por mí—. Soy el chico que le quita el sueño por las noches y con el que fantasea. Soy el chico con el que está completamente obsesionada. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
80:...the true God is to be venerated in obscure and fearful Places, with Horror in their Approaches, and thus did our Ancestors worship the Daemon in the form of great Stones. ~ Peter Ackroyd,
81:So the dickhead had a name. Daemon—seemed fitting. And of course his sister would be as attractive as him. Why not? Welcome to West
Virginia, the land of lost models. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
82:I'm harder to kill."
"Actually..." Luc drawled the word out. "I'm probably the hardest thing to kill."
"Special snowflake syndrome strikes again," Daemon muttered. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
83:It took me about a half an hour to weasel Daemon away from my mom.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about her and Will. Maybe I needed to worry about her and Daemon. Cougar. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
84:Daemon was standing in the doorway of my bedroom. Hair messy from sleep, flannel pajama bottoms rumpled. No shirt. Three feet plus of snow outside, and he was still half naked. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
85:Be careful with what you say next." Daemon's voice was low but carried. "Because what you don't know and what you cant possibly understand will get a bolt of light in your face. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
86:Daemon stilled above me. 'I won't hurt you, Kat.' His tone was softer, but still laced with fury as he tried to control me without doing any real damage. 'I could never hurt you. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
87:Daemon!" Dee called from the kitchen. "I need your help!"
"We should go see what she's doing before she destroys your kitchen." He rubbed his hands down his face. "It's possible. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
88:-¿Kitten?
-¿Si?
Sus ojos eran hermosos cuando se encontraron con los míos, luminosos y claros,y un largo momento se extendió entre nosotros. -Te amo." Daemon Black, Opposition. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
89:Oh! What thing? A thing with Daemon, and if you say yes, please tell me that thing starts with an s and ends with an x.” I opened my eyes and frowned. “Geez, you’re worse than a dude. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
90:Your mail could've waited." Daemon followed me into the kitchen. "What is it? Just books?"
Grabbing the OJ from the fridge, I sighed. People who didn't heart books didn't understand. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
91:You haven’t locked yourself in any rooms or rocked in any corners, right?”
I rolled my eyes and began walking again. “No Daemon, but thanks for making sure I’m mentally sound and all. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
92:If he were cast in my Zombie version of Vampire Diaries, he so would have been Stefan, the very brother I wanted to watch die of something grotesque and gruesome. Team Daemon every single day. ~ Rachel Higginson,
93:A slow, wry smile teased Daemon’s lips. "Simmer down, Kitten, before I have to get you a ball of yarn to play with."

Annoyance flared deep inside me. "Don’t start with me, jerk-face. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
94:Demek yavşağın bir ismi vardı. Daemon. Tam ona göre bir isimdi ve tabii kız kardeşi de onun kadar çekici olacaktı. Neden olmasındı? Kayıp modellerin memleketi Batı Virginia'ya hoş geldiniz. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
95:We could really use the Avengers right about now."
"Screw that. We need Loki," Daemon retorted.
General Eaton arched a brow. "Well, unfortunately, the Marvel Universe isn't real, so... ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
96:He hasn't even eaten at Olive Garden, so I doubt he's a connoisseur of hotels." - Kat
"No Olive Garden? Man, we've got to get that boy some endless breadsticks and salad. Travesty." - Daemon ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
97:But the only time she’d mentioned Daemon, his name had sounded like a promise, like a caress.

Blinking back tears and leashing his guilt, Lucivar finished the whiskey and turned to go back inside. ~ Anne Bishop,
98:Daemon had not stayed.
My smile slipped from my face.
He was standing by the window, his back to me. “I got bored.”
“I wasn’t even gone five minutes.”
“I have a short attention span. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
99:I was a total fail next to Ash, but Daemon said something about me wearing his clothes that sent blood rushing to every part of my body and I didn't care if I looked like a hunchback next to her. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
100:Thank you." I pulled the soft material close. "I think the general public would be shocked to know how deep your sweetness runs."
Daemon stretched out, resting on his side."They can never know. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
101:I keep smiling, giving Ash a little wink before turning around. Daemon stood there with two cups, one eyebrow arched.
"Bad little Kitten," he murmured.
Grinning, I stretch up and kissed him. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
102:It's easy in a novel to be completely unambiguous about the relationship between animal and daemon simply by stating it outright; whereas you get very few opportunities to do this in an elegant way in a film. ~ Chris Weitz,
103:Dawson!” Ash yelled from below. “What are you doing? Stop! Do something, Adam!”

Adam’s laugh followed. “Someone needed to put Andrew in his place. I always figured it would be Daemon. Who knew. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
104:Ash twisted toward Daemon, her cheeks flushed. “I can’t believe you’re allowing him to do this. Next thing we know, you’ll be dating a human.”
Daemon busted out laughing. “Yeah, not going to happen. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
105:If she didn’t heal emotionally, if she could never endure a man’s touch… He wasn’t the key that could unlock that final door. There was much he could do, but not that.

He wasn’t the key. Daemon Sadi was. ~ Anne Bishop,
106:I’m going to get changed,” I said.
“Need help?”
“Wow. You’re so chivalrous, Daemon.”
His smile widened, flashing deep dimples. “Well, the experience
would be mutually beneficial. I promise. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
107:I sighed. “Mom, it’s not like we’re going to have sex with you home.”
“Well, honey, it’s good to know that you only have sex when I’m not home.”
Daemon coughed as he fought a smile. “We can stay— ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
108:In a low voice, I asked, "How are you doing?"
Luc shrugged. "You know, I'm doing my thing like a chicken wing."
My brow arched.
Daemon sounded like he choked. "Did you seriously just say that? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
109:Me tomó alrededor de una hora y media escabullirme para alejar a Daemon de mi mama.
Tal vez no debería preocuparme sobre ella y Will. A lo mejor necesitaba preocuparme sobre ella y Daemon.
Una puma. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
110:... maybe I could get used to this new gift-giving Daemon..'Thank you.'
He smiled in response.
'Where's ours?' Lesa quipped.
Daemon laughed. 'I'm only at the service of one person in particular. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
111:Stalking me again, I see. Do I need to get a restraining order?” “In your dreams, Kitten.” He smirked. “Oh wait, I’m already starring in those, aren’t I?” I rolled my eyes. “Nightmares, Daemon. Nightmares. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
112:In a couple of weeks I'd be starting a new school, and I knew Dee would be surrounded by friends -friends that Daemon probably approved of, which wasn't me, because he obviously thought I was a crack dealer. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
113:Daemon clung to Surreal as she flew along the Winds, too weak to argue, too spent to care. His heart, however... His heart held on fiercely to Jaenelle's soft, sighing caress of his name.

Everything has a price. ~ Anne Bishop,
114:Dawson se movió, dejando caer su cabeza entre sus manos.
—¿Alguna vez paras de hablar?
—Cuando estoy durmiendo —replicó Blake. —Y cuando estés muerto —agregó Daemon—. Tú pararás de hablar cuando estés muerto. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
115:I review books.
Do you get paid for them?
I laughed out loud at that. No, not at all.
Daemon seemed confused by that. So you review books and you don't get paid if someone buys a book based on your review? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
116:Necesitaba recuperar la compostura. O conseguir una cámara e inmortalizar ese momento: seguro que me pagarían un buen dinero por un vídeo de él. Seguro que me haría rica… Siempre que Daemon no abriera la boca, claro. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
117:They both took a couple of unsteady breaths before Daemon said, “The sooner we make our reports, the sooner we can go home.” For him, home wasn’t a place, it was a person—and right then, he needed to know that Jaenelle was safe. ~ Anne Bishop,
118:Jaenelle leaned over the narrow window seat, gulping in the winter air. “It hurts so much to live here, Daemon,” she whimpered as he cradled her in his arms. “Sometimes it hurts so much.”

“Shh.” He stroked her hair. “Shh. ~ Anne Bishop,
119:Told you he’s a cuddly one.” The other Arum leaned his arms on the roof of the car and a brow rose over the dark sunglasses he also wore. “Cuddly as a damn porcupine.” Daemon raised a middle finger. This was going well. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
120:I review books."
"Do you get paid for them?"
I laughed out loud at that. "No, not at all."
Daemon seemed confused by that. "So you review books and you don't get paid if someone buys a book based on your review? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
121:Humping my leg like a dog in heat every time I'm around you doesn't prove you like me, Daemon.' Daemon clamped his mouth shut, and I could tell he was fighting back laughter. 'Actually, that's how I show people I like them. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
122:Maybe on day I can be just as lazy as you and turn off lights without moving.”
“That’s something to aspire to.”
… “God, you’re so modest.”
“Modesty is for saints and losers. I’m neither.”
“Wow, Daemon, just wow. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
123:I’m worried. I’m worried for a thousand different reasons and I hate this – I hate feeling like I can’t do anything about it. That history is on repeat and even though I can see it as clear as day, I can’t stop it.” - Daemon ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
124:— ¡Fuera de mi cabeza!
—No puedo evitarlo. Estás transmitiendo tus pensamientos tan condenadamente fuerte, que siento que debo ir a sentarme en un rincón y comenzar a mecerme, susurrando el nombre de Daemon una y otra vez. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
125:Dee:I can't believe you ate all the ice cream, Daemon!
Daemon:I didn't eat all of it.
Dee:Oh, so it ate itself? Did the spoon eat it? Oh wait, I know. The carton ate it.
Daemon:Actually, I think the freezer ate it. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
126:Dee loves it here. Before you came, she spent most of her days here."
To Daemon, my arrival was the beginning of the end. The apocalypse. Kat-mageddon. "You know, I'm not going to get your sister in trouble."
"We'll see. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
127:I love you, Katy. Always have. Always will," he said, voice thick and hoarse with panic. "I will come back for you. I will-" The emergency doors sealed shut with a soft thud. "I love you," I said, but Daemon...Daemon was gone. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
128:A few seconds after he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him, there was a fleshly smack and then Andrew yelling, “Ouch. What in the hell was that for?” “Your timing sucks on an epic level,” Daemon shot back. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
129:Because this absolutely insane - the craziest thing I'd ever done. Worse than giving a one-star review, scarier than asking for an interview with an author I'd give my firstborn to eat lunch with, more stupid than kissing Daemon. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
130:This is good.”
“Why is it good?” I asked.
He pulled out a stethoscope. “It’s a good indication that the mutation is on a perfect, cellular level.”
“Or an indication that I’m pretty damn awesome,” Daemon suggested coolly. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
131:Daemon: I checked out your blog.
Katy: Stalking me again, I see. Do I need to get a restraining order?
Daemon: In your dreams, Kitten. Oh wait, I'm already starring in those, aren't I?
Katy: Nightmares, Daemon. Nightmares. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
132:Daemon scratched his chest, his expression doubtful. “And how are we
going to get her to exert energy.” Andrew grinned from across the room. “We could take her out to a field
and chase her around in our cars. That sounds fun. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
133:It can’t be that bad. I have to try it.”
I bit back a mad grin. I was so not going to stop her.
“Uh, Ash, I really wouldn’t suggest doing that,” Daemon began.
Party pooper, I thought, but Ash was a determined little alien. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
134:I’m Dee Black. I’m the sister of the douchebag known as Daemon.” She smiled brightly. “But you probably already know that.”
“That’s he’s a douchebag or that he’s your brother?” Archer asked innocently. “The answer is yes to both. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
135:And no one will kill Bill.”

I laughed softly as I unbuckled the seat belt. “Blake. His name is Blake.”

Daemon pulled the keys out and leaned back, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “He’s whatever I decide to call him. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
136:I forced myself to stop thinking about Daemon, about anything I didn’t want to share with Archer, which was pretty much everything right now. So I thought about belly dancing foxes wearing grass skirts. Archer snorted. “You’re weird. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
137:Aliens—if they exist—are little green men with big eyes and spindly arms or…or giant insects or something like a lumpy
little creature.” Daemon let out a loud laugh. “ET?”
“Yes! Like ET, asshole. I’m so glad you find this funny. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
138:His hand rested above my hip, having a totally different impact on me. My skin tingled underneath the chiffon. Daemon cleared his throat as he glanced away. 'You...you look beautiful, by the way. Really too good to be with that idiot. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
139:He has been known to devour men.”

“He’s a cannibal?” Cadmus asked in horror.

“Well, not really,” Daemon replied. “He is a Cyclops. He does not eat his own kind — just men and only those who challenge him … he does not hunt them. ~ Sulari Gentill,
140:Let the artist have just enough to eat, and the tools of this trade: ask nothing of him. Materially make the life of the artist sufficiently miserable to be unattractive, and no-one will take to art save those in whom the divine daemon is absolute. ~ Clive Bell,
141:Do you... feel anything around me?"
"Other than what I felt this morning when I saw how good you looked in those jeans?"
"Daemon." I sighed, trying to disregard the girl in my that screamed, HE NOTICED ME! "I'm being serious. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
142:You have your arrogance now, like all Luxen. But where will your arrogance be when we absorb your powers?” “In the same place as my foot,” Daemon replied, hands balling into fists. The leader looked confused. “You know, as in up your ass. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
143:Daemon spoke in his language. The lyrical quality of his words made no sense to me.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“There’s really no translation for it,” he said, “but the closest human words would be, you are beautiful to me. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
144:Archer passed me a quick glance, and I forced myself to stop think about Daemon, about anything I didn't want to share with Archer, which was pretty much everything right now.

So I thought about belly dancing foxes wearing grass skirts. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
145:Get out of my head.” “I can’t help it,” Archer replied from where he sat on the couch. “You’re broadcasting your thoughts so damn loudly I feel like I need to go sit in the corner and start rocking, whispering Daemon’s name over and over again. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
146:Surprise widened his eyes as he stepped back. "Caving in so easily?"
"Caving in?" I laughed without feeling. "I just want you out of my face."
Daemon chuckled deeply. "Keep telling yourself that, Kitten."
"Keep using your ego steroids. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
147:Daemon's green eyes held a glassy sheen. His arm reached out, fingers splayed. They never reached the laser or the door. “I love you, Katy. Always have. Always will,” he said, voice thick and hoarse with panic. “I will come back for you. I will- ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
148:Daemon snatched the yellow packages from my hands. “Oh! Books! You have books!” I laughed as several people waiting in line looked over their shoulders. “Hand them over.” He clutched them to his chest, making moony eyes. “My life is now complete. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
149:I've been waiting a long time to run tests on someone like you, " he said to Daemon, voice high-pitched.
Daemon arched a brow. "Another fanboy. I have them everywhere."
I muttered, "Only you would see that as a good thing."
He shot me a grin. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
150:Dawson shifted, dropping his head into his hand. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"When I'm sleeping," Blake replied.

"And when you're dead," Daemon threw back. "You'll stop talking when you're dead."

Blake's lips thinned. "Point taken. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
151:Hey!” Dawson yelled from the front door. “I think Dee caught the microwave on fire. Again. And I tried popping some popcorn with my hands and it kind of went wrong. Like really, really wrong.”
Daemon pressed his forehead against mine and growled. “Dammit. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
152:Nothing is more wretched than a man who traverses everything in a round, and pries into things beneath the earth, as the poet says, and seeks by conjecture what is in the minds of his neighbours, without perceiving that it is sufficient to attend to the daemon within him, ~ Various,
153:Listen to me, Daemon. This isn’t your fault. I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Okay? Yes, things have sucked, but I’d go through it all again if I had to. There are things I would want to change, but not you – never you. I love you. That’s never going to change. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
154:— Ya estás acosándome otra vez, ¿no? ¿Tengo que llamar a la poli para que te ponga una orden de alejamiento?
—Ni en sueños, gatita. —Sonrió—. Ah, espera, que ya salgo en ellos, ¿verdad?
Puse los ojos en blanco.
—Más bien apareces en mis pesadillas, Daemon. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
155:Daemon arched a brow. “You don’t wanna play, Barf, because we can do that nifty freeze thing and play, right here and now.” Oh, for the love of backwoods babies everywhere, this wasn’t necessary. I wrapped my fingers around Daemon’s tense arm. “Come on,” I whispered. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
156:Daemon had written: "What do you do when she asks a question no man would give a child an answer to?"

Saetan had replied: "Hope you're obliging enough to answer it for me. However, if you're backed into a corner, refer her to me. I've become accustomed to being shocked. ~ Anne Bishop,
157:I have the feeling we just made a deal with the devil, and he's going to come back and want our first-born child or something."

Daemon waggled his brows. "You want kids? Because you know, practice makes--"

"Shut up." I shook my head and started walking. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
158:You're brother is all excitable this morning," Daemon said. "For school. There's something inherently wrong with that."
Dawson smirked. "There's something inherently wrong with the fact that Dee and I have to stand here and talk to you while you're in your boxers. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
159:seriosly, how good a kisser is daemon? because i imagine he jsut makes you-"
"lesa!"
"what? a girls gotta know these kind of things."
i bit my lip, flushing.
"come on, its sharing and caring time."
"he...he kisses like he's dying of thirst, and im water. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
160:Seriously, though, the bouncer won't be a problem. I think he liked me." - Daemon
"W-w-What?" - Katy
"I think he liked me, like, really liked me." - Daemon
"Your ego knows no limit, you know that?." - Katy
"You'll see. I know these kinds of things." - Daemon ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
161:The magicians most important invocation is that of his Genius, Daemon, True Will, or Augoeides. This operation is traditionally known as attaining the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel. It is sometimes known as the Magnum Opus or Great Work.
   ~ Peter J Carroll, Liber Null,
162:I tried to push down my anger. One thing I hated more than Daemon's douche-nozzle side was him telling me what to do. "You don't own me, Daemon."
"It's not about ownership, you little nut."
"Nut?" I glared at him. "I wouldn't call me names when I have a knife in my hand. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
163:Daemon,” a voice whispered from the shadows of my front porch. “What in the world are you doing out here?” Debating on whether or not burning down a house next time they head to the store is a reasonable response to getting new neighbors? Yeah, I was gonna keep that one to myself. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
164:It’s not like I’m going to run up and hug him.”
His expression turned bland. “I’d sure hope not. I might get jealous.”
“You’d get jealous if she hugged a tree,” Archer tossed out.
“Maybe.” Daemon coasted to a stop in a parking space behind the car. “I’m needy like that. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
165:Daemon: We can go live in a damn cave. Look, I'm a selfish person. You know that. And I don't want you to go through that, so I'm willing to say screw it and we cut our losses.
Katy: Really? What kind of life would that give us?
Daemon: Don't bring logic into this conversation. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
166:Daemon followed me home after school. Literally. He tailed me in his new Infiniti SUV. My old Camry, with its leaky exhaust and loud muffler, was no match for the speed he wanted to go. I’d brake-checked him several times. He’d blown his horn. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
167:Mr. Garrison glanced at Daemon, frowning. "It's the fact that the energy was so strong it disrupted a satellite's signal and they weren't able to snap any pictures of the event. Nothing like that has ever happened before."
Daemon kept his expression blank. "I guess I'm just that awesome. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
168:I turned and reached over,wrapping my arms around his all too stiff body. I hugged him, squeezing him as tightly as I could. And then I let him go before he overreacted and threw me off the rock.

Daemon still didn’t move. He stared at me, eyes wide, like he’d never been hugged before. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
169:Look at the time." I tipped my chin toward the clock. "It's past midnight. It's January second. You lost."
For several moments he stared at the clock like it was an Arum he was about to blast into the next county and then his eyes found mine. Daemon smiled. "No. I didn't lose. I still won. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
170:{Lotho: "Help?"}
Daemon: "Yes. Help. It's a pretty easy word. I could give you the definition if you like."
Whelp, there went sarcasm-free Daemon.
The glass shattered in Lotho's hand.
Daemon frowned as shards of glass tinkled to the floor. "And that is why we can't have nice things. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
171:My mouth opened as did the door behind us. Stomach dropping, I turned to see Mom standing there in all her fuzzy-bunny pajama glory. Oh for the love of God. Her eyes went from me to Daemon, completely misinterpreting everything. The glee in her eyes made me want to vomit on Daemon's head. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
172:The thing is, every Luxen feared Daemon's notorious temper. His brother was like a lit fuse, ready to explode at any minute, but what they didn't know was that it was another thing Dawson shared with Daemon. When push came to shove, and it involved someone he cared about, he could be just as mean. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
173:Augoeides is an obscure term meaning luminous body and thought to refer to the planets. Aleister Crowley considered the term to refer to the Holy Guardian Angel of Abramelin; the Atman of Hinduism the Daemon of the ancient Greeks. Robert Lomas associates the term with the Higher Self or soul of the individual
   ~ Wikipedia,
174:Atticus raised his eyebrows in warning. He watched his daughter’s daemon rise and dominate her: her eyebrows, like his, were lifted, the heavy-lidded eyes beneath them grew round, and one corner of her mouth was raised dangerously. When she looked thus, only God and Robert Browning knew what she was likely to say. ~ Harper Lee,
175:I think reading is sexy.” Daemon smiled at himself.
My brows inched up my forehead. ”Do you now?”
“Oh, yes, and you know what else I think is sexy?” he leaned forward so his entire face filled the picture and nodded his head toward me. “Bloggers like this. Hot.” Rolling my eyes, I smacked his arm. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
176:You're not going to answer, are you?" Jaenelle asked after a minute of teeth-grinding silence.

"No."

"Don't you know the answer?"

"Whether I know the answer or not is beside the point. It's not something a man discusses with a young girl."

"But you know the answer."

Daemon growled. ~ Anne Bishop,
177:Kitten..." "Don't Kitten me." I scowled, on a roll now. "You left around five or so and didn't get back till when? Past two in the morning? What were you guys doing? And get that stupid smile off your face. This isn't funny." Daemon tried to get rid of the smile but failed. "I love when your claws come out. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
178:He was
a jerk. Moody. But there had been brief moments that I’d spent with him—like a nanosecond—when I thought I might have seen the real Daemon. At
least a better Daemon. And that part made me curious. And the other side, the jerky one, yeah, that part didn’t make me curious.
It sort of excited me. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
179:There was a pause, then his lips stretched into a smile. "You're right."
Hell froze over. Pigs were flying. "Come again?"
"You're right. I should have checked in at some point. I'm sorry."
The world was flat. I didn't know what to say. According to Daemon, he was right about 99 percent of the time. Wow. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
180:Daemon gergin bir şekilde güldü. "Ne düşündüğünü görebiliyorum. Aklını okuyabildiğimden falan değil, yüzünden okunuyor. Tehlikeli olduğumu düşünüyorsun."
Bir de öküz ve seksi olduğunu düşünüyordum ama bunu kabul etmiyordum. Uzaylı bir yaşam formu mu? Başımı iki yana salladım. "Delilik bu ama senden korkmuyorum. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
181:Daemon’s gaze dipped again, and I shivered under his intense
scrutiny. Why, oh why, did Blake need to bail early, leaving me behind
with Daemon? “Where did you get this dress?” he asked.
“Your sister,” I told him blandly.
He frowned, looking half disgusted. “I don’t even know what to say
about that. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
182:„Did you just…clean a dish?” Dee backed away slowly, blinking. She glanced at Daemon. “The world is going to end. And I’m still a vir—” “No!” both the brothers yelled in unison. Daemon looked like he was actually going to vomit. “Jesus, don’t ever finish that statement. Actually, don’t ever change that. Thank you. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
183:Sure. Whatever. She’s all yours.”
Daemon grinned. “That she is.”
My hand was twitching to connect with his face. “I am not yours.” A small part of me wanted his to deny my words, though.
“Shush it,” he said, walking up to me.
“How about I shush it right up you—“
“Kitten, your language is so unladylike. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
184:I didn't tell you this because I'm sure you would've changed your mind about the dress."
"What?" I frowned. "Does it make my butt look big?"
She laughed. "No. You looked stunning in it."
"Then what's the deal?"
Her smile turned downright mischievous. "Oh, you know, just that the color red is Daemon's favorite. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
185:2 SECONDS

He was on her in an instant to brace her against the wall. She kicked and clawed at her unseen attacker, skin and irises ablaze in caustic gold.

She fired anew, and the point-blank shot broke through his defenses, grazing his hip. He ignored the harsh sting to bring his Daemon up between them.

1 SECOND ~ G S Jennsen,
186:Dee’s hand fluttered around her as she spoke. “I was outside, and it looked as if a light show was going on in your bedroom. Daemon said you were probably mas—”
And Dee also knew no boundaries.
“Ah, no, please don’t finish that sentence.” He lowered his hands, eyes narrowing at his sister. “Don’t ever finish that sentence. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
187:Marisa! Marisa!” The cry was torn from Lord Asriel, and with the snow leopard beside her, with a roaring in her ears, Lyra’s mother stood and found her footing and leapt with all her heart, to hurl herself against the angel and her daemon and her dying lover, and seize those beating wings, and bear them all down together into the abyss. ~ Philip Pullman,
188:Daemon came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He leaned into me, resting his chin atop my head. “Don’t run off like that.”
“I didn’t run off. I just walked out of the garage,” I said, placing my hands on his strong forearms.
His head slid down, and the stubble on his cheek tickled me. “Too far for me right now. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
189:Frustration fills his golden eyes. "What Queen? Who is coming?"

"The living myth," I whisper. "Dreams made flesh."

His shock is replaced instantly by a fierce hunger. "You're sure?"

The room is a swirling mist. He's the only thing still in sharp focus. He's the only thing I need. "I saw her in the tangled web, Daemon. I saw her. ~ Anne Bishop,
190:My lower lip trembled as I climbed into the passenger seat and buckled myself in with shaky hands. Archer passed me a quick glance, and I forced myself to stop thinking about Daemon, about anything I didn’t want to share with Archer, which was pretty much everything right now.
So I thought about belly dancing foxes wearing grass skirts. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
191:This energy was so powerful that it made him swing from one mood or idea to the opposite—from spirituality to sensuality, from naïveté to craftiness. This daemon, he decided, was a spirit implanted in him at birth and it encompassed his whole being. How he managed this daemon would determine the length of his life and the success of his endeavors. ~ Robert Greene,
192:When Archer spoke in an awed whisper, he confirmed my suspicion. “That’s crazy insane, like completely senseless, but it might work.” Daemon sent him a killer look. “Gee, why don’t you go ahead and tell them what I’m thinking.” “Oh, no.” Archer waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t want to steal your thunder.” “I think you already did, so— ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
193:All the pent up, helpless rage formed a wrecking ball inside of me. Maintaining human form was near impossible. I wanted to hit something—destroy something. I needed to.

Daemon, no one—”

“Shut up,” I said, turning to where Matthew sat in the corner of the room. Right this moment I wanted to destroy him. “Just shut the hell up. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
194:How did you know I was different?”

“You mean besides the obvious obsidian, the alien entourage, and the branch?” He laughed. “You’re full of electricity. See?” He reached between the seats and placed his hand over mine. Static crackled, jolting us both.

Daemon grabbed Blake’s hand and threw it back at him. “I do not like you. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
195:I…I was just excited.”
“Yeah, I’d say you were,” Dee said, grinning like an idiot.
Daemon was staring at me like he’s just won the lottery. “I kind of like this level of excitement. Makes me think of—“
Daemon!” both of us shouted.
“What?” He grinned, tousling Dee’s hair. “I was only suggesting—“
“We know what you were suggesting. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
196:Aquel chico no iba a traerme nada bueno… pero no podía respirar. Nuestros labios estaban tan cerca que quería aproximarme para que se encontrasen a medio camino. Quería saber si eran tan suaves como parecían…
—¡Hola, chicos! —exclamó Dee.
Daemon se echó hacia atrás rápidamente, dejando un buen trecho entre nosotros, para que pasara el aire. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
197:I’m pretty sure I locked that door,” Daemon growled.
Luc set the box of doughnuts down, and I eyed them like they held the answer to life. “And I’m pretty sure I let myself in. Hey, Katy!”
I jumped at my name. “Hey, Luc..”
“Look at what I got.” He dug into his bag and pulled out an extraterrestrial highway shirt. “We can be soul twins now. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
198:A soldier pulled a gun, and I lifted mine, squeezing off a round. The kickback startled me. The bullet hit the guy in the leg.

Daemon lost his hold on Nancy’s form, slipping into his own. His eyes were wide as he stared at me.

“What?” I asked. “You didn’t think I’d do it?”

... “Didn’t realize you shooting a gun would be so sexy. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
199:Half a dozen brats turned with expressions of derision, and Lyra threw her cigarette down, recognizing the cue for a fight. Everyone's daemon instantly became warlike: each child was accompanied by fangs, or claws, or bristling fur, and Pantalaimon, contemptuous of the limited imaginations of these gyptian daemons, became a dragon the size of a deer hound. ~ Philip Pullman,
200:The lesson was not lost on Kartane. To be Ringed was the severest form of control. If Daemon couldn’t stand the pain, how could he? It became very important not to give Dorothea a reason to Ring him. That night, after Daemon had been allowed to rest a little, he was ordered to serve the witch he’d earlier refused. That night was the first time Daemon went cold. ~ Anne Bishop,
201:Daemon is just .. you know, a bit overprotective when it comes to you.”
His sister laughed. “A bit?”
“Okay. A lot. It’s not against Archer. He’s actually a really good guy. He helped me – helped us – while we were with Daedalus, but he’s older, he’s different, and he –“
“Has a penis?” Dee supplied. “Because I think that’s Daemon’s main problem. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
202:Of course,” Daemon said, smiling reassuringly. “We’ll be fine, Ash.” I pinched my thigh. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want her. That helped. “I trust you,” Ash said, eyes latched to his adoringly. Like Daemon was a saint or something. I pinched my thigh harder. I’m going to hit her. I’m going to hit her. I’m going to hit her. That didn’t help. ~ Anonymous,
203:Marcus Aurelius is persuaded that God gives every man a special daemon as his guide—a belief which reappears in the Christian guardian angel. He finds comfort in the thought of the universe as a closely-knit whole; it is, he says, one living being, having one substance and one soul. One of his maxims is: 'Frequently consider the connection of all things in the universe. ~ Anonymous,
204:Do you trust me?” [Daemon] snapped.

“Yes.” No hesitation, no doubts.

He finally stopped moving and faced her. “Do you know how desperately I love you?”

[Janelle's] voice shook when she answered, “As much as I love you?”

He held her, held on to her as his lifeline, his anchor. It would be all right. As long as he had her, it would be all right. ~ Anne Bishop,
205:That was a low blow”, I said to Andrew, because someone needed to. “He doesn’t even deserve your ass kicking, Daemon.”
“She’s right,” Adam said. Until then I hadn’t realized he’d moved, but he was on the other side of Daemon. “But if you want to put him out of commission for the next week after that comment, I’ll help.”
“Gee, thanks, brother.” Andrew scowled. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
206:collapsed, their heads cut off. Gasps erupted around the room, and Blaze and I took a couple of steps back. Jax tossed one of his spare lighters my way—I caught it, flicked it open, and assumed an attack position. Both the Lords and the daemon king were taken by surprise. Shaytan stood up, towering over everyone. “The jig is up,” I said, wearing a confident smirk. “How… How ~ Bella Forrest,
207:An hour or so ago, they were in a heated discussion over whether or not Shane would’ve been a better father than Rick on The Walking Dead. Somehow that had digressed into Daemon arguing that the governor, sociopathic tendencies aside, was a better father figure. The fact that Archer had never eaten at Olive Garden but knew about The Walking Dead absolutely befuddled me. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
208:Cookie?" he offered, holding a cookie full of chocolate chips.
Upset tummy or not, there was no way I could refuse that. "Sure."
His lips tipped up one side and he leaned toward me, his mouth inches from mine. "Come and get it."
Come and get...? Daemon placed half the cookie between those full, totally kissable lips.
Oh, holy alien babies everywhere... ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
209:Daemon always looks hot!!!
Stretching into the aisle, I went to drop the note back on Carissa’s desk. Before it could leave my fingertips, it was snatched from my hand. Son of a donkey butt! My mouth dropped open and my cheeks burned. Twisting around in my seat, I glared at Daemon.
He held the note close to his chest and grinned. “Passing notes is bad,” he murmured. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
210:He slid into bed, turned off the light…and groaned as an image of a wise, skinny old crone filled his mind. No, he begged the still night. Sweet Darkness, heed the prayer of one of your sons. Now that she’s so close, let her be young enough to want me. Let her be young enough to need me. The night gave him no answer, and the sky was a predawn gray before he finally slept." - Daemon ~ Anne Bishop,
211:Pulling out my cell phone, I sent Daemon a quick text. "What R U doing?"
He responded a few moments later. "With Andrew & Matthew, getting dinner. Want smthing?"
I glanced at the bag, recalling how flirty the dress was. Feeling naughty, I texted him: "You."
The response was lightning quick, and I laughed. "Really?"
And then, "Of course, I alrdy knew that. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
212:Hey,” I murmured.
One side of his full lips tipped up. “Hey there, sleeping beauty…”
Over his shoulder, the sky had deepened to a denim blue.
“Did you kiss me awake?”
“I did.”
Daemon was propped on his side, using his arm to support his head. He placed his hand on my stomach and my chest fluttered in response.
“Told you, my lips have mystical powers. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
213:Her smile faded. “Do you know the worst thing about it? I forgot him. Daemon was a friend, and I forgot him. That Winsol, before I was…he gave me a silver bracelet. I don’t know what happened to it. I had a picture of him. I don’t know what happened to that either. And then he gave everything he had to help me, and when it was done, everyone walked away from him as if he didn’t matter. ~ Anne Bishop,
214:But that thread isn’t Andulvar. It should be, since he’s the Master of the Guard, but it’s someone else. Someone who isn’t here yet, someone who can guide me to the answers I need to walk that other path.”

*The thread not tell you its name?*

“It says the mirror is coming. What kind of answer is—” Tensing, Jaenelle scrambled to her knees. “Daemon,” she whispered. “Daemon. ~ Anne Bishop,
215:Daemon laughed "I'm only at the service of one person in particular"
My cheeks flamed as I scooted my chair over. "You are not servicing me in any way."
He leaned in, closing my newly gained distance. "Not yet."
"Oh, come on, Daemon I'm right here." Dee frowned. "You're about to make me lose my appetite."
"Like that will ever happen." Lisa retorted with an eye roll. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
216:But Indra does not turn back from the quest like Agni and Vayu; he pursues his way through the highest ether of the pure mentality and there he approaches the Woman, the manyshining, Uma Haimavati; from her he learns that this Daemon is the Brahman by whom alone the gods of mind and life and body conquer and affirm themselves, and in whom alone they are great. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Kena And Other Upanishads, 83,
217:I can't believe you ate all the ice cream, Daemon!"I cringed and stopped inside the dining room. There was no way I was going into that kitchen."I didn't eat all of it.""Oh, so it ate itself?" Dee shrieked so loudly I thought I heard the rafters in the ceiling shake."Did the spoon eat it? Oh wait, I know. The carton ate it.""Actually, I think the freezer ate it," Daemon responded dryly. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
218:Daemon practically knocked me over to get in one last comment. “Don't forget. There are cooler things out there than fallen angels and dead guys. Just saying.” He winked.
I pictured an entire legion of females swooning. Pushing him aside, I winced and clicked the off button on the webcam page. “You like seeing yourself being recorded.”
He shrugged. “That was fun. When do you do another? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
219:He stood, pulled on his pajama bottoms, and headed for the door. Stopping short, he looked over his shoulder, his intense gaze melting my boned. “Dammit.”

A few seconds after he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him, there was a fleshly smack and then Andrew yelling. “Ouch. What in the hell was that for?!

“Your timing sucks on an epic level,” Daemon shot back. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
220:So Daemon can do that too? Morphing into a kangaroo if he wanted to?"
Dee laughed. "Daemon can do about anything. He's one of the most powerful of us. Most of us can do one or two things easily - the rest is a struggle. Everything is easy for him."
"He's just so awesome," I muttered.
"Once he actually moved the house a little bit," Dee said, nose wrinkled. "He totally broke the foundation. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
221:For once, I agree with Blake." Daemon met my shocked stare. "We can't, Kitten. Not now."

I wasn't okay with this, but I couldn't run down the hall, letting people free. We didn't plan for that and we only had a set amount of time. It sucked-sucked worse than people who pirated books, sucked more than a year for the next book in a beloved series, and sucked more than a brutal cliffhanger ending. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
222:I didn’t want Ash or Andrew to start giving you a bunch of crap because of me like they did with Dawson and Beth. So if you think I’m embarrassed of you or not ready to make my intentions very public, then you better get that idea out of your head. Because if that’s what it takes, then it’s on.” ……..
Daemon…”
His smile was really starting to concern me. “I told you, Kitten. I like a challenge. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
223:Among the short-lived races, pleasure slaves became emotionally unstable after a few years. It took decades among the long-lived races, but eventually the combination of aphrodisiacs and constant arousal without being allowed any release twisted something inside the males. After that, with careful handling, they still had their uses, but not as pleasure slaves. Daemon had been a pleasure slave for most of his life. ~ Anne Bishop,
224:— Lo encontraste? —le pregunté adormilada.
Su mano se deslizó sobre su pecho. —¿Encontrar qué, Kitten?
—¿Lo que buscabas?
Los ojos de Daemon se abrieron y me sostuvo la mirada. La hinchazón regresó en mi pecho, extendiéndose a través de mi cuerpo. Hubo un aumento de algo ¿entusiasmo? en mi bajo vientre mientras el silencio se prolongó durante lo que pareció una eternidad. —Sí, a veces, creo que lo hice. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
225:Because I know.” Daemon appeared in front of me, eyes narrowed. He thumped his hand off his chest, directly above his heart. "Because I know what I feel in here. And I'm not the type of person to run from anything, no matter how hard it is. I'd rather face-plant against a brick wall than live for the rest of my life wondering what could’ve been. And you know what? I don’t think you were the type to run either. Maybe I was wrong ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
226:The primordial image, or archetype, is a figure--be it a daemon, a human being, or a process--that constantly recurs in the course of history and appears wherever creative fantasy is freely expressed. Essentially, therefore, it is a mythological figure. . . . In each of these images there is a little piece of human psychology and human fate, a remnant of the joys and sorrows that have been repeated countless times in our ancestral history. . . . ~ Carl Jung,
227:Daemon cursed again and I moved, blocking him. “Who does that?” Daemon demanded.Heat rolled off his body. “Actually, Kiefer Sutherland did. In the original Buffy movie,” he explained. When I continued to gape at him, he grimaced. “It was on TV a few nights ago. He threw one at Buffy and she caught it.”“That was Donald Sutherland—the dad,” Daemon corrected, much to my surprise.Blake shrugged“Same difference.”
“I’m not Buffy!” I yelled. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
228:I was terrified the whole time they had you and I didn’t know where you were. I was scared out of my mind that I would never see you again or get to hold you. And when I did see you? I was afraid I’d never hear you laugh again or see your beautiful smile. So, yeah, I lied. I was terrified. I’m still lying.”
Daemon..”
“I’m scared shitless that I’ll never be able to make this up to you. That I’ll never be able to give you back your life – ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
229:—Oh, por el amor de los bebés humanos en todas partes, eres un idiota, —Daemon salió disparado a través de la sala, poniéndose cara a cara con él—. Así que, 'llegas a conocerla' y te enamoras. —Escupió la última palabra como si se hubiera tragado las uñas—. ¿Entonces qué? ¿Vas a intentar quedarte con ella? ¿Casarse? ¿Tener una casita con una valla blanca y a demás dos-punto-cinco niños?

Dios, él no había pensado tan lejos. —Tal vez. Tal vez no. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
230:Oh.” I flushed. Stretching over, I placed it on the table. Then I addressed Archer. “We owe you a thank-you for…for everything.” I waited for Daemon to chime in. When he didn’t, I kicked his leg. “Thank you,” Daemon muttered. Archer’s mouth curved in amusement, and I think it was the first time I saw him really smile. I was blown away by how young it made him look. “You have no idea how gleeful that makes me feel to hear you say that, Daemon.” “I can imagine. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
231:There're eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds in a day, right? The're one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day. There're one hundred and sixty-eight hours in a week. Around eighty-seven hundred and then some hours in a year and you know what? I want to spend every second, every minute, every hour with you. I want a year's worth of seconds and minutes with you. I want a decade's worth of hours, so many that I can't add them up" - Daemon Black ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
232:[Daemon] bent down and kissed her softly, persuasively. When he felt her yield, he murmured against her lips, “We’ll have a quiet dinner. Then we’ll play a couple of hands of ‘cradle.’ I’ll even let you win.” Her huff of laughter provoked another hunger. His kiss deepened as his hand caressed her breast. “I think I am hungry,” Jaenelle said breathlessly when he finally gave her a chance to speak. After they had thoroughly satisfied one hunger, they finally sat down to dinner. ~ Anne Bishop,
233:Daemon snatched the yellow packages from my hands. “Oh! Books! You have books!”
I laughed as several people waiting in line looked over their shoulders. “Hand them over.”
He clutched them to his chest, making moony eyes. “My life is now complete.”
“My life would be complete if I could actually post a review on something other than the school library computers.”
I did that about twice a week since my latest laptop went to the big computer heaven in the sky. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
234:She's a stupid-'

'Be careful what you say next.' Daemon's voice was low but carried. 'Because what you don't know and what you can't possibly understand will get a bolt of light in your face.'

My eyes widened, as did pretty much everyone's in the room. Ash swallowed thickly and turned her cheek, letting her blonde hair cover her face.

'Daemon,' Mr Garrison said, stepping forward. 'Threatening one of your own for her? I didn't expect this from you. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
235:forests of monsterous overnourished oaks with serpent roots twisting and sucking unnamable juices from an earth verminous with millions of cannible devils; mound like tentacles groping from underground nuclei of polypous perversion...insane lightning over malignant ivied walls and daemon arcades choked with fungous vegetation...Heaven be thanked for the instinct which led me unconscious to places where men dwell; to the peaceful village that slept under the calm stars of clearing skies. ~ H P Lovecraft,
236:Both of my hands were on his chest. They had a mind of their own. I claimed no responsibility for them.
Daemon kissed like he was a man starving for water, taking long, breathless drafts. When his hands slid...under my shirt, it was as though he reached deep inside me, warming every cell, filling evry dark space within me. Touching him, kissing him, was like having a fever all over again. I was on fire. My body burned. The world burned. Sparks flew. Against his mouth, I moaned. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
237:By the way, I’ve heard what Simon has been saying.”
Heat swept over my face. Another problem, but less important in the grand scheme of things. “Yeah, he’s being a douche. I think it’s his friends. He actually apologized to me, and then when his friends showed up, he told them I was trying to get with him.”
Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not okey.”
I sighed. “It’s no big deal.”
“Maybe not to you, but it is to me.” He paused, his shoulders squaring. “I’ll take care of it. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
238:She giggled, then popped a lollipop back in her mouth. “Okay, before you tell me no, I already cleared it with Ash.”
I frowned. “Cleared what?”
“Ash is throwing a little New Year’s Eve party at her house. It’s just going to be a few of us. Daemon is going.”
“Uh, I doubt Ash is okay with me going to her party.”
“No, she is.” Dee pinged around the living room like a captured butterfly. “She promised she’d be cool with it. I think you’re growing on her.”
“Like mold,” I muttered. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
239:Lesa’s eyes flicked up behind me and widened. “Wow. Now that’s even more unexpected.”
Something smelled sweet and familiar. Confused, I twisted around. A single rose in full bloom, a vibrant red, brushed against the tip of my nose. Tan fingers held the green stem. My eyes lifted.
Daemon stood there, his eyes glittering like green tinsel. He patted me on the nose with the rose again. “Good morning.”
Dumbfounded, I stared at him.
“This is for you,” he added when I didn’t say anything. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
240:Daemon was suddenly in front of me. I took an involuntary step back. "Do you think I didn't enjoy kissing you? That I haven't thought about it every second since then? And I know you have. Just admit it."
In the pit of my stomach, tight coils thrummed. "What is the point of this?"
"Have you?"
"Oh, for crap's sake, yes, I have. I do! Do you want me to write it down for you? Send you an e-mail or a text? Will that make you feel better?"
Daemon arched a brow. "You don't need to be sarcastic. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
241:You’re right. This is a lot.” I faced him. “I thought you were normal. And you’re not. You’re telling me that I have the DOD gunning for me. That if I ever decide to leave this place, I’m going to be a Snack Pack for an Arum. And better yet, I may lose complete control of whatever powers I have and wipe out a family of four, then be put down! All I wanted to do today was eat some goddamn fries and be normal!”

Daemon let out a low whistle and Blake winced. “You’re never going to be normal, Katy. Never again. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
242:Bag that box for me," he called out to Crane as he ran back to the main house with the key, pushing through the group of startled monks. He clambered back down the basement stairs, sneezing again on the way, then poised the key in front of the lock. He slid the key in, finessing it a little side to side, muttering a short prayer to anyone or anything that could turn this damn case around, whether the entity the monks dedicated their lives to, the washing machine daemon, or the minor Sumerian god who lived in Ron Safari's hair. ~ Nina Post,
243:Jaenelle woke up in a similar mood,” Lucivar said mildly. “Must have been an interesting night.” “Nothing happened,” Daemon growled as he swiped his hair back. “Nothing physical,” Lucivar said. “But I’ve danced with the Sadist enough times to recognize him when I see him.” Daemon just waited. Lucivar’s lips curled into that lazy, arrogant smile. “Welcome to Kaeleer, brother,” he said softly. “It’s good to have you back.” He paused at the bathroom door. “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. That and a hot shower ought to wake you up enough. ~ Anne Bishop,
244:Carefully bracing himself so that he wouldn't hurt her, he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.

He raised his head. Her haunted sapphire eyes stared at him.

"Daemon?" There was so much uncertainty in her voice.

"Hello, sweetheart," he said, his voice husky with the effort not to cry. "I've missed you."

Her hand moved slowly, with effort, until it rested against his face. Her lips curved into a smile. "Daemon."

This time, when she said his name, it sounded like a promise, like a lovely caress. ~ Anne Bishop,
245:I don’t think we got the chance to introduce ourselves the other night at the diner. My name is Blake Saunders.” He offered his free hand.
Daemon glanced at Blake’s hand before returning his gaze to me. “I know who you are.”
Oh, geez. I twisted toward Blake. “This is Daemon Black.”
His smile faltered. “Yeah, I know who he is, too.”
Laughing under his breath, Daemon straightened. At his full height, he was a good head taller than Blake. “It’s always nice to meet another fan.”
Yeah, Blake had no idea what to say to that. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
246:Kitten,” he growled roughly.
I kissed him softly, sliding my hands into his silky locks, letting the pieces slide through my fingers. I tasted in him my own rising desire, my own need and heartache. Thrilling. Frightening. I pulled back.
“Kitten,” he said again, voice strained. “You don’t get to do that and then stop. That’s not how it works.”
I stared at him, my breath stalling in my lungs.
“Not when you’re mine.” Daemon backed us up and slid down the wall, pulling me on his lap so I was straddling him. “And you’re mine. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
247:Suddenly Archer was beside me and Luc was near Beth. We were backing up, but I didn’t feel my feet moving of my muscles working. My eyes were trained on Daemon until the others of his kind swallowed his light.
Fear coated the inside of my mouth and turned the blood into slush in my veins. In that instant I couldn't help but think of what Dasher had said about what would happen when the Luxen came – and whether Daemon would stand with his own kind or with mine.
I wasn’t sure Daemon even had a choice.
I wasn’t sure I did, either. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
248:He immediately started charming my mom until she was nothing but a gooey puddle in the middle of the foyer.
He loved her new haircut.She got one?I guessed her hair did look different.Like she’d washed it or something.Daemon told her that the diamond earrings were beautiful.The rug below the steps was really nice.And that leftover scent of mystery dinner—because I still hadn’t figured out what she fed me—smelled divine.He admired nurses worldwide,and by that point,I couldn’t keep my eye rolls to a minimum.

Daemon was ridiculous. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
249:Ascoltami Daemon.
Questo non è colpa tua. Non cambierei assolutamente nulla.
D’accordo? Sì, le cose sono andate male, ma passerei tutto di nuovo se
dovessi farlo. Ci sono cose che, potendo, mi piacerebbe cambiare, ma
non te… mai. Ti amo. E questo non cambierà mai”.
Le sue labbra si socchiusero in un sospiro, “Dillo di nuovo,” mormorò.
Passai il polpastrello del mio dito sul suo labbro inferiore, “Ti amo.”
Mordicchiò il mio dito. “Anche le altre parole.”
Inclinandomi, gli baciai la punta del naso. “Ti amo. E questo non
cambierà mai”. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
250:My eyelids flickered open again and focused on Daemon. He had his eyes closed as he leaned his head against the wall but I knew he was listening to everything. Dee talked about taking me home if my mom couldn’t leave. I was struck again by the twins. Daemon and Dee didn’t belong here, but I did. I could blend easily with the whitewashed walls and pale green curtains. I was as plain as the linoleum, but these two seemed to light the room with their flawless beauty and demanding presence.
Ah, the medication was kicking in. I was poetic. And high. Bliss. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
251:Oh, dear God and baby Jesus in the manger, my eyes!” Dee shrieked. “My eyes!”
My own eyes snapped open. Daemon lifted his head, eyes luminous. Then I realized my hands were still up his shirt. I yanked them out.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, mortified.
Daemon said something that burned my ears. “Dee, you didn’t see anything.” And then he added much lower, “Because you have impeccable timing.”
“You were on…her and your mouths were doing this.” I could just imagine her hand signals at that point. She went on. “And that’s more than I want to see. Like, ever. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
252:Daemon was sprawled on his back, one arm stretched across the space beside him and the other rested across his bare stomach. Sheets were twisted around his narrow hips. His face was almost angelic in sleep, chiselled lines softened and lips relaxed. Thick lashes fanned the top of his cheeks. He looked so much younger at rest but, in a weird way, he was even more out of my league. His kind of masculine beauty was otherworldly and intimidating. Something that existed in between the pages of the books I read. Sometimes I had a hard time convincing myself he was real. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
253:You disappoint me, Cassandra. Your legends paint you differently," Daemon said softly, his voice thick with malevolence.

"I'm a Priestess serving at this Altar," she said, working to keep her voice steady. "You're mistaken, if you think--"

He laughed softly. She stepped back from the sound and found herself pressed against the counter.

"Do you think I can't tell the difference between a Priestess and a Queen? And the Jewels, my dear, name you for what you are."

She bent her head slightly in acknowledgment. "So I'm Cassandra. What do you want, Prince? ~ Anne Bishop,
254:No, Daemon,” Jaenelle said gently, looking up at him with her ancient, wistful, haunted eyes. “Everyone knows I’m different. It just doesn’t matter to some—and it matters a lot to others.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Why am I different?” Daemon looked away. Oh, child. How could he explain that she was dreams made flesh? That for some of them, she made the blood in their veins sing? That she was a kind of magic the Blood hadn’t seen in so very, very long? “What does the Priest say?” Jaenelle sniffed. “He says growing up is hard work.” Daemon smiled sympathetically. “It is that. ~ Anne Bishop,
255:Daemon glanced down at my hand. “You sure you’re okay with that?”

I forced a smile. “This is all I have until I get out of this stupid building.”

He nodded. “Just don’t shoot yourself… or me.”

“Or me,” added Archer.

I rolled my eyes. “What faith you guys have in me.”

Daemon lowered his head toward mine. “Oh, I have faith in you. There’s other---“

“Don’t even think about saying something dirty or trying to kiss me while you’re still in Nancy’s body.” I put a hand on his chest, holding him back.

Daemon chuckled. “You’re no fun. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
256:„Hmm.“ Daemon’s gaze flicked up, and a second later, Blake’s glass tipped over.
I gasped. Water sloshed over the table, spilling into Blake’s lap. He jumped up, letting out a curse. The movement shook the table again. His plate of spicy noodles slid – well, flew – onto the front of Blake’s sweater.
My jaw dropped. Holy mountain mama, Daemon had taken my date hostage.
“Jesus,” Blake muttered, hands at his sides.
Grabbing napkins, I turned do Daemon. My look promised a vengeful death as I handed Blake the napkins.
“That was really strange,” Daemon said, smirking. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
257:—¿Acabas de... lavar un plato? —Dee retrocedió lentamente, parpadeando. Miró a Daemon—. El mundo se va a terminar. Y sigo siendo vir...

—¡No! —gritaron los hermanos al unísono. Daemon parecía que en realidad iba a vomitar.

—Jesús, nunca termines esa oración. En realidad, nunca cambies eso. Gracias.
La boca de ella se abrió.

—Ustedes esperan de mí que nunca tenga...

—Ésta no es una conversación con la que quiera empezar mi día. — Dawson agarró su mochila de la mesa de la cocina—. Estoy yéndome a la escuela antes de que esto se vuelva todavía más detallado. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
258:We’re still going to be seeing each other,” he murmured. “And don’t even lie. I know that makes you happy, You told me you wanted me.”
Hold your horses. “When?”
“At the lake.” He slanted his headm and I should’ve pulled back. His lips curved knowingly against mine, and he let go of my wrist. “You said you wanted me.”
Both of my hand were on his chest. They had a mind of their own. I claimed no responsibility for them. “I had a fever. Lost my mind.”
“Whatever, Kitten.” Daemon gripped my hips, lifting me onto the edge of he desk with an ease that was disturbing. “I know better. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
259:What? I’m not suppose to date or hang out with anyone now?”
Daemon smiled. “Anyone human, yes.”
“Whatever.” I shook my head, standing. “This is a stupid conversation. I’m not dating anyone anyway, but if I were, I wouldn’t stop just because you said so.”
“You wouldn’t?” His hand shot out, tucking back a strand of hair behind my ear. “We’ll just have to see about that.”
I stepped sideways, keeping distance between us. “There’s nothing to see.”
Challenge filled his eyes. “If you say so, Kitten.”
Folding my arms, I sighed. “This isn’t a game.”
“I know, but if it were, I’d win. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
260:Hey there, sleeping beauty…”
Over his shoulder, the sky had deepened to a denim blue. “Did you kiss me awake?”
“I did.” Daemon was propped on his side, using his arm to support his head. He placed his hand on my stomach and my chest fluttered in response. “Told you, my lips have mystical powers.”
My shoulders moved in a silent laugh. “How long have you been here?”
“Not long.” His eyes searched mine. “I found Blake sulking around the woods. He didn’t want to leave while you were out here.”
I rolled my eyes.
“As much as it bothers me, I’m glad he didn’t.”
“Wow. Pigs are flying. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
261:That is what they say I said when they found me in the blackness after three hours; found me crouching in the blackness over the plump, half-eaten body of Capt. Norrys, with my own cat leaping and tearing at my throat....When I speak of poor Norrys they accuse me of a hideous thing, but they must know that I did not do it. They must know it was the rats; the slithering, scurrying rats whose scampering will never let me sleep; the daemon rats that race behind the padding in this room and beckon me down to greater horrors than I have ever known; the rats they can never hear; the rats, the rats in the walls. ~ H P Lovecraft,
262:So, what’s smart? Living life without regret. Now that you know what to call the fear that has held you back all these years, what are you going to choose to do about the resistance? Now that you understand that society rewards you for standing out, for giving gifts, for making connections and being remarkable, what are you going to choose to do with that information? You have a genius inside of you, a daemon with something to share with the world. Everyone does. Are you going to continue hiding it, holding it back, and settling for less than you deserve just because your lizard brain is afraid? There lies regret. Can ~ Seth Godin,
263:In Plato's Symposium, the priestess Diotima teaches Socrates that love is not a deity, but rather a 'great daemon' (202d). She goes on to explain that 'everything daemonic is between divine and mortal' (202d-e), and she describes daemons as 'interpreting and transporting human things to the gods and divine things to men; entreaties and sacrifices from below, and ordinances and requitals from above...' (202e). In Plato's Apology of Socrates, Socrates claimed to have a daimonion (literally, a 'divine something')[16] that frequently warned him-in the form of a 'voice'-against mistakes but never told him what to do.
   ~ Wikipedia, Daemon,
264:A wicked smile played over his lips. "Maybe we can try making out again. See what that will do to this trace. It seemed to work last time."
My body liked the idea. I, however, did not. "Yeah, that;s not going to happen again."
"It was just a suggestion."
"One that will never. Happen," I bit out each word deliberately. "Again."
"Don't act like you didn't have as much fun-"
I smacked him in the chest hard. He only laughed, and I started to push off, but...wait. I pressed my hand against his chest as I stared at him.
Daemon arched a brow."Are you feeling my up, Kat?I'm liking where this is heading. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
265:What then is that which is able to conduct a man? One thing and only one, philosophy. But this consists in keeping the daemon within a man free from violence and unharmed, superior to pains and pleasures, doing nothing without purpose, nor yet falsely and with hypocrisy, not feeling the need of another man’s doing or not doing anything; and besides, accepting all that happens, and all that is allotted, as coming from thence, wherever it is, from whence he himself came; and, finally, waiting for death with a cheerful mind, as being nothing else than a dissolution of the elements of which every living being is compounded. ~ Marcus Aurelius,
266:brafs. For, if the providence of the Gods has a fubje6lion according to-an ultimate divifion, being allotted a well-ordered progreffion fupernally from total and united caufes, this Vulcanian daemon alfo will rejoice in the fafcty of that which he is allotted, and will be hoflile to thofe caufes which are corruptive of its conftitution. War therefore in fuch like genera, a divifion of all-various powers, mutual familiarity and difcord, a divifible iympathy with the objedls of their government, verbal contentions, revenge through mockery, and other things of this kind,, are very properly conceived to take place about the terminations of the divine orders. ~ Anonymous,
267:– KATY ANN SWARTZ!!
A mély álom ringató öleléséből egy dühödt kiáltás rántott ki: rekedt férfinevetés követte. Felpattant a szemem. Nem is emlékeztem, anyu mikor használta utoljára a teljes nevemet. Megvan: évekkel ezelőtt, amikor meg akartam simogatni egy oposszumkölyköt, amelyik az erkélyünkre tévedt.
Anyu az ajtómban állt, még mindig a köpenyében, a szája eltátva, mögötte Will, az arcán fura, elégedett mosoly.
– Mi van? – motyogtam. Megmozdult a párnám. Lepillantottam, és az arcomat elfutotta a pír. Daemon még mindig az ágyamban feküdt. Én pedig félig őrajta. Az egyik keze az enyémre kulcsolódott, és a szívére szorította. Jajistememcsakeztne. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
268:When I did show up next door, at 6:34, it sounded like World War III had erupted in the house. I’d let myself in since no one answered the damn door.
“I can’t believe you ate all the ice cream, Daemon!”
I cringed and stopped inside the dining room. There was no way I was going into that kitchen.
“I didn’t eat all of it.”
“Oh, so it ate itself?” Dee shrieked so loudly I thought I heard the rafters in the ceiling shake. “Did the spoon eat it? Oh wait, I know. The carton ate it.”
“Actually, I think the freezer ate it,” Daemon responded dryly.
I grinned when I heard what sounded like the empty container hitting what suspiciously sounded like flesh. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
269:If you fall and break something, I’m going to be irritated.”
Daemon grabbed my arm as I started to slip.
“Sorry, not all of us can be as awesome---“ I squealed as he slid an arm around my back and lifted be into his arms. Daemon zipped us up the driveway, wind and snow blowing at my face. He put me down, and I stumbled to the side, dizzy. “Could you give me a warning next time?”
He grinned as he knocked on the door. “And miss that look on your face? Never.”
Sometimes I seriously wanted to just punch him in the face, but it made me warm in all the right place to see this side of him again, too.
“You’re insufferable.”
“You like my kind of suffering. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
270:Finish that sentence and I will stab you in the eye with the spork Bethany’s about to pull out of her bag for her apple sauce.” He smiled gamely. “And she’d be very upset if I got her spork all messed up. She’s rather fond of the thing.”
...
"A spork,” Dee said, grabbing her bag. “What is a spork?”
Bethany’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve never seen one?”
“Dee doesn’t get out much,” Dawson replied, grinning.
“Shut up.” Dee pulled out the fork and spoon in one and smiled. “I’ve never seen one of these! Ha. This is so handy.” She looked over at Daemon, eyes dancing. “We could get rid of over half of our silverware and get like ten of these and we’d be set for life. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
271:He’s my friend, my brother,” he whispered into her shoulder. “He’s dying.”

Daemon.” Jaenelle gently stroked his hair. “Daemon, we have to help him. I could—”

“No!” Don’t tempt me with hope. Don’t tempt me to take that kind of risk. “You can’t help him. Nothing can help him now.”

Jaenelle tried to push back to look at him, but he wouldn’t let her. “I know I promised him I wouldn’t wander around Terreille, but—” Daemon licked a tear.

“You met him? He saw you once?”

“Once.” She paused. “Daemon, I might be able to—”

“No,” Daemon moaned into her neck. “He wouldn’t want you there, and if something happened to you, he’d never forgive me. Never. ~ Anne Bishop,
272:Surreal realized Daemon’s madness was confined to emotions, to people, to that single tragedy he couldn’t face. It was as if Titian had never died, as if Surreal hadn’t spent three years whoring in back alleys before Daemon found her again and arranged for a proper education in a Red Moon house. He thought she was still a child, and he continued to fret about Titian’s absence. But when she mentioned a book she was reading, he made a dry observation about her eclectic taste and proceeded to tell her about other books that might be of interest. It was the same with music, with art. They posed no threat to him, had no time frame, weren’t part of the nightmare of Jaenelle bleeding on that Dark Altar. ~ Anne Bishop,
273:By the sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that wander near me, by the deep and eternal grief that I feel, I swear; and by thee, O Night, and the spirits that preside over thee, to pursue the daemon who caused this misery, until he or I shall perish in mortal conflict. For this purpose I will preserve my life; to execute this dear revenge will I again behold the sun and tread the green herbage of earth, which otherwise should vanish from my eyes forever. And I call on you, spirits of the dead, and on you, wandering ministers of vengeance, to aid and conduct me in my work. Let the cursed and hellish monster drink deep of agony; let him feel the despair that now torments me. ~ Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley,
274:The look that one directs at things, both outward and inward, as an artist, is not the same as that with which one would regard the same as a man, but at once colder and more passionate. As a man, you might be well-disposed, patient, loving, positive, and have a wholly uncritical inclination to look upon everything as all right, but as an artist your daemon constrains you to "observe", to take note, lightning fast and with hurtful malice, of every detail that in the literary sense would be characteristic, distinctive, significant, opening insights, typifying the race, the social or the psychological mode, recording all as mercilessly as though you had no human relationship to the observed object whatever. ~ Joseph Campbell,
275:Shrieking, slithering, torrential shadows of red viscous madness chasing one another through endless, ensanguined corridors of purple fulgurous sky . . . formless phantasms and kaleidoscopic mutations of a ghoulish, remembered scene; forests of monstrous overnourished oaks with serpent roots twisting and sucking unnamable juices from an earth verminous with millions of cannibal devils; mound-like tentacles groping from underground nuclei of polypous perversion . . . insane lightning over malignant ivied walls and daemon arcades choked with fungous vegetation. . . . Heaven be thanked for the instinct which led me unconscious to places where men dwell; to the peaceful village that slept under the calm stars of clearing skies. ~ H P Lovecraft,
276:Who do you have to find?”

“The boy. My son. Daemon.” Lucivar’s heart clogged his throat as he watched Jaenelle pale. “Daemon.” Jaenelle shuddered. “The gold key.”

“I have to find him.” Tersa’s voice rang with frustration and fear. “If the pain doesn’t end soon, it will destroy him.”

Jaenelle gave no sign of having heard or understood the words. “Daemon,” she whispered. “How could I have forgotten Daemon?”

“I must go back to Terreille. I must find him.”

“No,” Jaenelle said in her midnight voice. “I’ll find him.”

Tersa stopped her restless movements. “Yes,” she said slowly, as if trying hard to remember something. “He would trust you. He would follow you out of the Twisted Kingdom. ~ Anne Bishop,
277:Something was beyond wrong. Sebeck looked at the faces of the agents and police arrayed around him. There was abject hatred in their eyes. Burning anger. He knew that look. It was the look reserved for the vilest criminals. They were closing in from two directions—leaving a clear field of fire. Twenty or thirty heavily armed men. Sebeck glanced at Ross, who already had his hands on his head. “What the hell is going on, Jon?” “I don’t know. But the Daemon’s got something to do with it.” “This is your last warning! Put your hands on your head, or we will open fire!” Sebeck felt his blood rising. He put his hands on the back of his head but looked to Ross. “Why are they looking at me?” “I don’t know.” The Feds hit Sebeck like linebackers. They ~ Daniel Suarez,
278:There were, in such voyages, incalculable local dangers; as well as that shocking final peril which gibbers unmentionably outside the ordered universe, where no dreams reach; that last amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the centre of all infinity—the boundless daemon-sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud, and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin, monotonous whine of accursed flutes; to which detestable pounding and piping dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic ultimate gods, the blind, voiceless, tenebrous, mindless Other Gods whose soul and messenger is the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. ~ H P Lovecraft,
279:I walked down to the village with five Sceltie puppies. I came back to the Hall with four.”
“And the fifth ?”
“By now, I’m sure Sylvia has convinced the little bitch to let go of Mikal’s trousers. And Mrs Beale promised to send her recipe for puppy biscuits to Sylvia’s cook.”
“Mrs Beale agreed to share a recipe,” Saetan said slowly.
“Mrs Beale agreed that I could pay for... I’m not sure what it is except that it’s something she wanted for the kitchen but couldn’t justify as a normal household expense.”
“And you agreed to fund this in exchange for a recipe ?”
Daemon stared at his father for a long moment before he muttered, “She sharpened the meat cleaver before coming to talk to me.”
One beat of silence. Two. Then Saetan burst out laughing. ~ Anne Bishop,
280:I can do this,” [Daemon] crooned, slowly circling around her. “I can keep Dorothea and Hekatah off-balance enough to keep the others safe and also prevent those Ladies from giving the orders to send the Terreillean armies into Kaeleer. I can buy you seventy-two hours, Jaenelle. But it’s going to cost me because I’m going to do things I may never be forgiven for, so I want something in return.” He could taste her slight bafflement before she said, “All right.”

“I don’t want to wear the Consort’s ring anymore.” A slash of pain, quickly stifled.

“All right.”

“I want a wedding ring in its place.” A flash of joy, immediately followed by sorrow. She smiled at him at the same time her eyes filled with tears. “It would be wonderful.” She meant that. ~ Anne Bishop,
281:Dee kuncogott, és egy nyalókát dugott a szájába.
– Na jó, mielőtt nemet mondasz, Ashsel már megbeszéltem.
– Mit beszéltél meg? – néztem rá értetlenül.
– Holnap bulit rendeznek náluk. Csak mi megyünk, egypáran. Daemon is ott lesz.
– Izé, nem hiszem, hogy Ash szeretne engem ott látni.
– De, minden oké. – Dee úgy repdesett a nappaliban faltól falig, mint egy csapdába esett pillangó. – Megígérte, hogy nem lesz tuskó. Szerintem kezd megkedvelni téged.
– Mint a benőtt lábkörmöt – morogtam. Már attól elszédültem, ha Dee-re néztem. – Nem is tudom.
– Jaj, Katy, ne már. Ha akarod, még Blake-et is meghívhatod.
– Na, őt aztán nem – fintorogtam. Dee megtorpant, a kezében lekonyult a nyalóka.
– Gondjaitok vannak? – kérdezte reménykedve. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
282:Jaenelle opened her mouth, closed it, and finally said timidly, “Do you think, when I’m grown up, I could wear an outfit like that?” Daemon bit his cheek. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Buying time, he looked down at himself. “Well,” he said, giving it slow consideration, “the shirt would have to be altered somewhat to accommodate a female figure, but I don’t see why not.” Jaenelle beamed. “Daemon, it’s a wonderful hat.” It took him a moment to admit it to himself, but he was miffed. He stood in front of her, on display as it were, and the thing that fascinated her most was his hat. You do know how to bruise a man’s ego, don’t you, little one? he thought dryly as he said, “Would you like to try it on?” Jaenelle bounced to the mirror, brushing against him as she passed. ~ Anne Bishop,
283:What?" he demanded.
"Did you just...clean a dish?" Dee backed away slowly, blinking. She glanced at Daemon. "The world is going to end. And I’m still a vir—"

"No!" both the brothers yelled in unison.

Daemon looked like he was actually going to vomit. "Jesus, don’t ever finish that statement. Actually, don’t ever change that. Thank you."

Her mouth dropped open."You expect me to never have—"

"This isn’t a conversation I want to start my morning with." Dawson grabbed his book bag off the kitchen table. "I’m so leaving for school before this gets more detailed."

"And why aren’t you dressed yet?" Dee demanded, her full attention concentrated on Daemon. "You’re going to be late."

"I’m always late."
"Punctuality makes perfect. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
284:Jaenelle tried to smile. “They won’t find their way through the maze. Not this maze, anyway.” Then she looked sadly at Daemon’s gaunt, bruised body and gently brushed the long, dirty, tangled black hair off his forehead. “Ah, Daemon. I had gotten used to thinking of my body as a weapon that was used against me. I’d forgotten that it’s also a gift. If it’s not too late, I’ll do better. I promise.” Jaenelle placed her transparent hands on either side of Daemon’s head. She closed her eyes. The Black Jewel glowed. Listening to the Hayllian guards thrashing around somewhere in the maze, Surreal sank to the ground and settled down to wait. *Daemon.* The island slowly sank into the sea of blood. He curled up in the center of the pulpy ground while the word sharks circled, waiting for him. *Daemon. ~ Anne Bishop,
285:I closed my eyes, breathing in his warmth. “See, that’s possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

“For real? I say a lot of stupid things.”

“I know. So that’s saying something.” I took a breath. “I’m not trying to act like one of those obsessive girlfriends, but things…things are different with us.”

There was a pause, and then his lips stretched into a smile. “You’re right.”

Hell froze over. Pigs were flying. “Come again?”

“You’re right. I should’ve checked in at some point. I’m sorry.”

The world was flat. I didn’t know what to say. According to Daemon, he was right about 99 percent of the time. Wow.

“You’re speechless.” He chuckled. “I like that. And I also like you all feisty. Want to hit me again?”

I laughed. “You’re a— ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
286:The water shut off, and a second later Daemon came out with the sweats hanging low on his hips, and his skin was dewy, glistening. My eyes were fixated on his stomach and the drops of water running over the dips, disappearing under the band of the sweats. I was still only in a towel.
And I was holding a box of condoms in my hand.
My face was red as a ladybug.
One dark eyebrow went up.
My gaze fell to the box and then went back to him. “Confident, aren’t you?”
“I’d like to call it being prepared for any occasion.” “Although, I am disappointed they don’t have little alien faces on them like everything else.”
I choked on my next breath. “What kind of motel sells condoms?”
“My favorite kind of motel?” ... “You’ve spent this entire time looking at this instead of eating something, haven’t you? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
287:I think it's obvious if you're wanted here or not."
"Daemon," hissed Dee, her cheeks red. She turned to me, tears in her eyes. "He's not being serious."
"Are you being serious, Daemon?" Ash turned in his lap, head cocked to the side.
My heart was already pounding in my chest when his eyes met mine. His were sheltered. "Actually I was being serious." He leaned over the table, staring up at me through thick lashes. "You're not wanted here."
Dee spoke again, but I was beyond hearing. My face felt like it was on fire. People around us were starting to stare. One of the Thompson boys was smirking while the other looked as though he wanted to crawl underneath the table for me. The rest of the kids at the table were staring at their plates. One of them snickered.
I'd never been more humiliated in my life. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
288:He was lounging in a cubicle beside an outdated computer, hands shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans. A wavy lock of hair covered his forehead, brushing against thick lashes. His lips curled into a half smile. “I was wondering if you were ever going to find me.” He made no move to clear up any space in the tiny 6x6 hole.
I dropped my bag outside the walls and hopped up on the desk opposite him. “Embarrassed someone would see you and think you’re capable of reading?”
“I do have a reputation to maintain.”
“And what a lovely reputation that is.”
He stretched out his legs so that his feet were under mine. “So what did you want to talk about”—his voice lowered to a deep, sexy whisper—“in private?”
I shivered—and it had nothing to do with the temperature. “Not what you’re hoping.”
Daemon gave me a sexy smirk. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
289:De akármilyen gyorsan is szaladtam, az arum gyorsabb volt.
Mellettem, aztán előttem jelent meg a sötét, sáros árnyék. Havon és jégen csúszva az obszidiánomért nyúltam, készen rá, hogy a hegyét beledöfjem az arumba, mindegy, hogy hol.
Már várta a mozdulatot. Kart formált magának, és gyomron vágott vele. Az ütés ereje a levegőbe lökött, aztán az oldalamra zuhantam. Éles fájdalom vágott a csontjaimba. Hanyatt fordultam, kipislogtam a havat a szememből.
Már értettem, miért tiltakozott Daemon olyan hevesen az ellen, hogy én is arumokra vadásszak. Éppen most nyomtak le, és a harc még el sem kezdődött.
A vészjósló árnyék ismét megjelent mellettem. Már nem viselt emberi formát: amikor megszólalt a hangja gonosz mormolásként hatolt a gondolataim közé.
Te nem luxsszen vagy, de azért ssspeciálisss. Miféle erőkkel bírsssz? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
290:Tipping my head back, I looked into his bottle-green eyes. This…this was more than okay. And it took me several tries to speak, because my throat was burning with emotion. “I think I might love you.”
Daemon’s arm tightened around me as he kissed my flushed cheek. “Told you.”
Not what I expected as a response.
He chuckled, rolling onto his side—onto me, really. “My bet—I won. I told you that you’d tell me you loved me on New Year’s Day.”
Looping my arms around his neck, I shook my head. “No. You lost.”
Daemon frowned. “How do you figure?”
“Look at the time.” I tipped my chin toward the clock. “It’s past midnight. It’s January second. You lost.”
For several moments he stared at the clock like it was an Arum he was about to blast into the next county, and then his eyes found mine. Daemon smiled. “No. I didn’t lose. I still won. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
291:Mellettem, aztán előttem jelent meg a sötét, sáros árnyék. Havon és jégen csúszva az obszidiánomért nyúltam, készen rá, hogy a hegyét beledöfjem az arumba, mindegy, hogy hol.
Már várta a mozdulatot. Kart formált magának, és gyomron vágott vele. Felemelkedtem, aztán az oldalamra zuhantam. Éles fájdalom vágott a csontjaimba. Hanyatt fordultam, kipislogtam a havat a szememből.
Már értettem, miért tiltakozott Daemon olyan hevesen az ellen, hogy én is arumokra vadásszak. Éppen most nyomtak le, és a harc még el sem kezdődött.
A vészjósló árnyék ismét megjelent mellettem. Már nem viselt emberi formát: amikor megszólalt a hangja gonosz mormolásként hatolt a gondolataim közé.
Te nem luxsszen vagy, de azért ssspeciálisss. Miféle erőkkel bírsssz?
Erők? Amiket Daemon adott át, amikor megváltoztatott. Az arum most megöl, és elveszi ezeket. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
292:Medieval alchemy prepared the way for the greatest intervention in the divine world that man has ever attempted: alchemy was the dawn of the scientific age, when the daemon of the scientific spirit compelled the forces of nature to serve man to an extent that had never been known before. It was from the spirit of alchemy that Goethe wrought the figure of the "superman" Faust, and this superman led Nietzsche's Zarathustra to declare that God was dead and to proclaim the will to give birth to the superman, to "create a god for yourself out of your seven devils." Here we find the true roots, the preparatory processes deep in the psyche, which unleashed the forces at work in the world today. Science and technology have indeed conquered the world, but whether the psyche has gained anything is another matter. ~ Carl Jung, "Paracelsus as a Spiritual Phenomenon" (1942), CW 13, § 163.,
293:Taking pity on me, Carissa kept her voice low. “You were calling out for Daemon.”I dropped my face in my hands and moaned. “Oh, God.”
Lesa giggled. “It was kind of cute.”
A minute before the tardy bell rang, I felt an all-too-familiar warmth on my neck and glanced up. Daemon swaggered into class. Textbook-less as usual. He had a notebook, but I don’t think he ever wrote anything in it. I was beginning to suspect our math teacher was an alien, because how else would Daemon get away with not doing a damn thing in class? He passed by without so much as a look.
I twisted around in my chair. “I need to talk to you.”
He slid into his desk chair. “Okay.”
“In private,” I whispered.
His expression didn’t change as he leaned back in his chair. “Meet me in the library at lunch. No one really goes in there. You know, with all those books and stuff. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
294:Saetan paused. “Can you also appreciate that, in the thirteen years she’s lived here, Jaenelle has never been concerned enough about clothes to ask for my opinion about something she was wearing. And can you appreciate that she wasn’t asking for my opinion as her Steward or her father but as a man. And I admit that, considering the way that dress fit her, my opinion of it as a father would have differed considerably from my opinion as a man.” Daemon almost smiled. “She sees you as a man, Daemon. A man, not a male friend. For the first time in her life, she’s trying to deal with her own lust. So she’s running.”

“She’s not the only one trying to deal with it,” Daemon muttered, but the sleepy look had changed to sharp interest. “I am her Consort. She could just—”

Saetan shook his head. “Do you really think Jaenelle would demand that from you?”

“No. ~ Anne Bishop,
295:What then is that which is able to conduct a man? One thing and only one, philosophy. But this consists in keeping the daemon within a man free from violence and unharmed, superior to pains and pleasures, doing nothing without purpose, nor yet falsely and with hypocrisy, not feeling the need of another man’s doing or not doing anything; and besides, accepting all that happens, and all that is allotted, as coming from thence, wherever it is, from whence he himself came; and, finally, waiting for death with a cheerful mind, as being nothing else than a dissolution of the elements of which every living being is compounded. But if there is no harm to the elements themselves in each continually changing into another, why should a man have any apprehension about the change and dissolution of all the elements? For it is according to nature, and nothing is evil which is according to nature. ~ Marcus Aurelius,
296:What's your deal?" I asked in the hallway after class. "I know you did that."

He shrugged. "So?"
... "That was rude, Daemon. You embarrassed him." ... "And I thought using your ... stuff would draw them here?"
... "That was barley a blip on the map. That didn't even leave a trace on anyone."
He lowered his head until the edges of his dark curled brushed my cheek. I was caught between wanting to crawl into my locker or crawl into him. "Besides, I was doing you a favor."
I laughed. "And how was that doing me a favor?"
... "Studying math wasn't what he had in mind."
That was debatable, but I decided to play along ... "And what if that's the case?"
"You like Simon?" His chin jerked up, anger flashing in his emerald eyes. "You can't possibly like him."
... "Are you jealous? ... Your jealous of Simon?" I lowered my voice. "Of a human? For shame, Daemon. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
297:[Daemon's] arms tightened, drew her closer as his hand stroked up and down her back, just for the simple pleasure of it. She sighed. The tension in her muscles eased a bit, and she rested against him more fully.

He wasn’t thinking of seduction when his hands began to wander over her—or when her hands hesitantly stroked him.

He wasn’t thinking of seduction when his body delighted in how different the silky skin of her neck felt under his mouth compared to the robe beneath his hands.

He wasn’t thinking of sex when he opened his robe and then hers so that only that film of spidersilk separated skin from skin. Or when even the spidersilk no longer separated them.

He wasn’t thinking of sex when his mouth settled over hers and he sent them both sliding into dark, hot desire. And by the time he found himself in bed, listening to her purr with pleasure while he moved inside her, he wasn’t able to think at all. ~ Anne Bishop,
298:They went to the tree. Daemon dismounted and leaned against the tree, staring in the direction of the house. The stallion jiggled the bit, reminding him he wasn’t alone. “I wanted to say good-bye,” Daemon said quietly. For the first time, he truly saw the intelligence—and loneliness—in the horse’s eyes. After that, he couldn’t keep his voice from breaking as he tried to explain why Jaenelle was never going to come to the tree again, why there would be no more rides, no more caresses, no more talks. For a moment, something rippled in his mind. He had the odd sensation he was the one being talked to, explained to, and his words, echoing back, lacerated his heart. To be alone again. To never again see those arms held out in welcome. To never hear that voice say his name. To… Daemon gasped as Dark Dancer jerked the reins free and raced down the path toward the field. Tears of grief pricked Daemon’s eyes. The horse might have a simpler mind, but the heart was just as big. ~ Anne Bishop,
299:Yes,” she purred. “I really think you can do better. Lots better.” As she spoke, she trailed a red-painted finger down the center of his chest, over his abdomen, heading straight for the button on his jeans. And oh, hell to the no. “Get your hands off him.” Sadi’s head snapped in my direction. “Excuse me?” “I don’t think I stuttered.” I took a step forward. “But it looks like you need me to repeat it. Get your freaking hands off him.” One side of her plump red lips curled up. “You want to make me?” In the back of my head, I was aware that Sadi didn’t move or speak like the other Luxen. Her mannerisms were too human, but then that thought was quickly chased away when Daemon reached down and pulled her hand away. “Stop it,” he murmured, voice dropped low in that teasing way of his. I saw red. The pictures on the wall rattled and the papers on the desk started to lift up. Static charged over my skin. I was about to pull a Beth right here, seconds away from floating to the ceiling and ripping out every strand of red— ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
300:He stared back at me so blatantly I wanted to smack him. “I know. Like I said, that… was never my intention. It was an accident.” My mouth dropped open. “Did you slip and fall on my bed? Because I don’t understand how you’ve accidentally ended up there.” Red stained the tips of his cheeks. “I check the outside, and then I check the inside just to be sure. Hybrids can get into your house, Katy, as you already know. So could Daedalus if they wanted.” What would he have done if Daemon had been there? Then it struck me and I felt sick all over again. “How long do you watch at night?” He shrugged. “A couple of hours.” So he’d have known if Daemon had come over most of the time, and the rest was just sheer dumb luck. Part of me wished he’d tried it just once when Daemon was there. He wouldn’t be walking right for months. There was a good chance he may leave this stairwell with a limp. Blake seemed to sense where my mind went. “After I checked inside your house, I… I don’t know what happened. You have bad dreams.” I wondered why. I had perverts sleeping in the bed with me. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
301:Daemon poked me in the back with his pen.
Lesa’s brows arched, but she wisely said nothing as I twisted around. “Yes?”
His half grin was all too familiar. “Reindeer socks today?”
“No. Polka dots.”
“Sock mittens?”
“Regular”, I said, fighting a stupid grin.
“I’m not sure how I feel about that.” He tapped his pen on the edge of his desk. “Regular socks just seem so boring after seeing the reindeer socks.”
Lesa cleared her throar. “Reindeer socks?”
“She has these socks that have reindeers on them and are kind of like mitten for the toes.” He explained.
“Oh, I have a pair like that,” Carissa said, grinning. “But mine have stripes on them. Love them in the winter.”
I passed Daemon a smug look. My socks were cool.
“Am I the only person who is wondering how you saw her socks”? Lesa asked.
Carissa punched her on the arm.
“We live next door to each other,” he reminded her. “I see lots of things.”
I shook my head frantically. “No, he doesn’t. He hardly sees anything.”
“Blushing,” he said, pointing at my cheeks with the blue cap of his pen. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
302:Daemon pulled the bright, deep-red sweater over his head and adjusted the collar of the gold-and-white-checked shirt. Satisfied, he studied his reflection. His eyes were butter melted by humor and good spirits, his face subtly altered by the relaxed, boyish grin. The change in his appearance startled him, but after a moment he just shook his head and brushed his hair. The difference was Jaenelle and the incalculable ways she worried, intrigued, fascinated, incensed, and delighted him. More than that, now, when he was so long past it, she was giving him—the bored, jaded Sadist—a childhood. She colored the days with magic and wonder, and all the things he’d ceased to pay attention to he saw again new. He grinned at his reflection. He felt like a twelve-year-old. No, not twelve. He was at least a sophisticated fourteen. Still young enough to play with a girl as a friend, yet old enough to contemplate the day he might sneak his first kiss. Daemon shrugged into his coat, went into the kitchen, pinched a couple of apples from the basket, sent Cook a broad wink, and gave himself up to a morning with Jaenelle. ~ Anne Bishop,
303:Well, it was probably the fever. You were burning up.”
My eyes snapped back to his. “You touched me?”
“Yes, I touched you…and you weren’t wearing a lot of clothes.” The smug stretch of his lips spread. “And you were soaked …in a white T-shirt. Nice look. Very nice.”
Heat crept over my cheeks. “The lake…it wasn’t a dream?” Daemon shook his head.
“Oh my God, so I did go swimming in the lake?”
He pushed off the desk and took one step forward, which put him in the same breathing space as me… if he actually needed to breathe. “You did. Not something I expected to see on Monday night, but I'm not complaining. I saw a lot.”
“Shut up,” I hissed.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” He reached out, tugging on the sleeve of my cardigan. I smacked his hand away. “It’s not like I haven’t seen the upper part before, and I didn’t get a real good look down—“
I came off the desk swinging. My knuckles only brushed his face before he caught my hand. Wowzer, he was fast. Daemon pulled me up against his chest and lowered his head, eyes snapping with restrained anger. “Don’t hit, kitten. It’s not nice. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
304:He gave her one. “It is totally unfair,” he said in his most severe voice, “to engage in a snowball fight when only one combatant can make snowballs.” He waited, loving the way her eyes sparkled. “Well?” Even without reading the thoughts beneath it, he could tell her touch was filled with laughter. Daemon bent down, gathered some snow, and learned how to make a snowball from snow too fluffy to pack. This, too, was similar to a basic lesson in Craft—creating a ball of witchlight—yet it required a subtler, more intrinsic knowledge of Craft than he’d ever known anyone to have. “Did the Priest teach you how to do this?” he asked as he straightened up, delighted with the perfect snowball in his hand. Jaenelle stared at him, aghast. Then she laughed. “Noooo.” She quickly cocked her arm and hit him in the chest with her snowball. The next few minutes were all-out war, each of them pelting the other as fast as they could make snowballs. When it was over, Daemon was peppered with clumps of white. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees. “I leave the field to you, Lady,” he panted. “As well you should,” she replied tartly. Daemon looked up, one eyebrow rising. ~ Anne Bishop,
305:Cookie?” he offered, holding up a cookie full of chocolate chips.
Upset tummy or not, there was no way I could refuse that. “Sure.”
His lips tipped to one side and he leaned towards me, his mouth inches from mine. “Come and get it.”
Come and get…? Daemon placed half the cookie between those full, totally kissable lips.
Oh, holy alien babies everywhere…
My mouth dropped open. Several of the girls at the table made sounds that had me wondering if they were turning into puddles under the table, but I couldn’t bring myself to check out what they were doing.
That cookie – those lips – were right there.
Heat swept over my cheeks. I could feel the eyes of everyone else and Demon… dear God, Daemon arched his brows, daring me.
Dee gagged. “I think I’m going to hurl.”
Mortified, I wanted to crawl into a hole. What did he think I was going to do? Take that cookie out of his mouth like something straight out of an R-rated version of Lady and the Tramp? Heck, I kind of wanted to, and I wasn’t too sure what that said about me.
Daemon reached up and took the cookie. There was a gleam in his eyes, as if he’d just won some battle. “Time’s up, Kitten. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
306:But the Greeks and the Romans both believed in the idea of an external daemon of creativity—a sort of house elf, if you will, who lived within the walls of your home and who sometimes aided you in your labors. The Romans had a specific term for that helpful house elf. They called it your genius—your guardian deity, the conduit of your inspiration. Which is to say, the Romans didn’t believe that an exceptionally gifted person was a genius; they believed that an exceptionally gifted person had a genius. It’s a subtle but important distinction (being vs. having) and, I think, it’s a wise psychological construct. The idea of an external genius helps to keep the artist’s ego in check, distancing him somewhat from the burden of taking either full credit or full blame for the outcome of his work. If your work is successful, in other words, you are obliged to thank your external genius for the help, thus holding you back from total narcissism. And if your work fails, it’s not entirely your fault. You can say, “Hey, don’t look at me—my genius didn’t show up today!” Either way, the vulnerable human ego is protected. Protected from the corrupting influence of praise. Protected from the corrosive effects of shame. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,
307:For a moment, I pretended. Not that we weren't two different species, because I didn't see him that way, but that we actually liked each other.

And then he shifted and rolled. I was on my back, and he was still on the move. His face burrowed into the space between my neck and shoulder, nuzzling. Sweet baby Jesus...Warm breath danced over my skin, sending shivers down my body. His arm was heavy against my stomach, his leg between mine, pushing up and up. Scorched air fled my lungs.

Daemon murmured in a language I couldn't understand. Whatever it was, it sounded beautiful and soft. Magical. Unearthly.

I could've woken him up but for some reason I didn't. The thrill of him touching me was far stronger than anything else.

His hand was on the edge of the borrowed shirt, his long fingers on the strip of exposed flesh between the hem on the shirt and the band of the worn pajama bottoms. And his hand inched up under the shirt, across my stomach, where it dipped slightly. My pulse went into cardiac territory. The tips of his fingers brushed my ribs. His body moved, his knee pressed against me.

I gasped.

Daemon stilled. No one moved. The clock on the wall ticked.

And I cringed. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
308:This was it. And it was right. Perfect without the dinner, movies, and flowers, because how could you really plan something like this?
You couldn't
Daemon sat back-
A fist pounded on the door, and Andrew's voice intruded.
"Daemon, are you awake?"
We stared at each other in disbelief. "If I ignore him," he whispered, "do you think he'll go away?"
My hands dropped to my sides. "Maybe"
The pounding came again. "Daemon, I really need you downstairs. Dawson is ready to go back to Mount Weather. Nothing Dee or I are saying to him is making a bit of difference. He's like a suicidal Energizer bunny."
Daemon squeezed his eyes shut. "Son of a bitch..."
"It's okay." I started to sit up. "He needs you."
He let out a ragged sigh. "Stay here and get some rest. I'll talk-or beat some sense into him." He kissed me briefly and then gently pushed me back down. "I'll be back."
Settling in, I smiled. "Try not to kill him."
"No promises." He stood, pulled on his pajama bottoms, and headed for the door. Stopping short, he looked over his shoulder,his intense gaze melting my bones. "Dammit."
A few seconds after he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him, there was a fleshly smack and then Andrew yelling. "Ouch. What in the hell was that for?"
"Your timing sucks on an epic level," Daemon shot back. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
309:Es geht die alte Sage, dass König Midas lange Zeit nach dem weisen Silen, dem Begleiter des Dionysus, im Walde gejagt habe, ohne ihn zu fangen. Als er ihm endlich in die Hände gefallen ist, fragt der König, was für den Menschen das Allerbeste und Allervorzüglichste sei. Starr und unbeweglich schweigt der Dämon; bis er, durch den König gezwungen, endlich unter gellem Lachen in diese Worte ausbricht: `Elendes Eintagsgeschlecht, des Zufalls Kinder und der Mühsal, was zwingst du mich dir zu sagen, was nicht zu hören für dich das Erspriesslichste ist? Das Allerbeste ist für dich gänzlich unerreichbar: nicht geboren zu sein, nicht zu sein, nichts zu sein. Das Zweitbeste aber ist für dich - bald zu sterben.

According to the old story, King Midas had long hunted wise Silenus, Dionysus' companion, without catching him. When Silenus had finally fallen into his clutches, the king asked him what was the best and most desirable thing of all for mankind. The daemon stood still, stiff and motionless, until at last, forced by the king, he gave a shrill laugh and spoke these words: 'Miserable, ephemeral race, children of hazard and hardship, why do you force me to say what it would be much more fruitful for you not to hear? The best of all things is something entirely outside your grasp: not to be born, not to be, to be nothing. But the second-best thing for you — is to die soon. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
310:Ere long, however, the daemon was wrestling with him once more; he was seized by that “terrible spirit of unrest” which drove him “like the deluge, to the mountain peaks”. Shadows of gloom and discontent crept into his letters. He began to complain of his “dependent position”, and the forces at work within him soon became obvious. He could not endure regular occupation, could not bear to participate in the daily round of ordinary people. No existence other than that of a poet was acceptable. In this first crisis he probably failed to understand that the trouble sprang from the daemonism within him, from the jealous exclusiveness of the spirit that possessed him, making mundane relationships impossible. He still rationalised the immanent inflammability of his impulses by discovering objective causes for them. He spoke of his pupil’s stubbornness, of defects in the lad’s character which he, as tutor, was impotent to remedy. Hölderlin’s incapacity to meet the demands of everyday life was in this matter all too plain. The boy of nine had a stronger will than the man of twenty-five. The tutor resigned his post. Charlotte von Kalb, who was anything but obtuse, grasped the underlying truth. Wishing to console Johann Christian Friedrich’s mother, she wrote to the latter: “His spirit cannot stoop to these petty labours … or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he takes them too much to heart. ~ Stefan Zweig,
311:Daemon picked her up, took her into the bathroom, and filled the tub with hot water. She’d been unnaturally quiet all day, and he’d feared she was becoming ill. Now he feared she was in shock. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes, and she didn’t seem to know where she was. She struggled when he tried to lift the nightgown over her head. “No,” she said feebly as she attempted to hold the garment down. “I know what girls look like,” Daemon snapped as he pulled off the nightgown and lifted her into the tub.

“Sit there.” He pointed a finger at her. She stopped trying to get out of the tub. Daemon went into the bedroom and got the brandy and glass he kept tucked in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Returning to the bathroom, he sat on the edge of the tub, poured a healthy dose into the glass, and handed it to her.

“Drink this.” He watched her take a small taste and grimace before he put the bottle to his own lips and took a long swallow. “Drink it,” he said angrily when she tried to hand him the glass. “I don’t like it.” It was the first time he’d ever heard her sound so young and vulnerable. He wanted to scream. “What—” He knew. Suddenly, all too clearly, he knew. The mud, the dirge, her hands cut up from digging in the hard ground, the dirt beneath her fingernails. He knew. Daemon took another long swallow of brandy. “Who?”

“Rose,” Jaenelle replied in a hollow voice. “He killed my friend Rose. ~ Anne Bishop,
312:I scooted out of the laundry room and skipped down the hallway, arms flaying around my head like one of the hot pink puppets from the movie Labyrinth. “A scent and a sound, I’m lost and I’m found. And I’m hungry like the wolf. Something on a line, it’s discord and rhyme—whatever, whatever, la la la—Mouth is alive, all running inside, and I’m hungry like the—” Warmth spread down my neck.

“It’s actually, ‘I howl and I whine. I’m after you,’ and not blah or whatever.”


Startled by the deep voice, I shrieked and whipped around. My foot slipped on a section of well-cleaned wood and my butt smacked on the floor.

“Holy crap,” I gasped, clutching my chest. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“And I think you broke your butt.” Laughter filled Daemon’s voice.

I remained sprawled across the narrow hallway, trying to catch my breath. “What the hell? Do you just walk into people’s houses?”

“And listen to girls absolutely destroy a song in a matter of seconds? Well, yes, I make a habit out of it. Actually, I knocked several times, but I heard your…singing, and your door was unlocked.” He shrugged.

“So I just let myself in.”

“I can see that.” I stood, wincing. “Oh, man, maybe I did break my butt.”

“I hope not. I’m kind of partial to your butt.” He flashed a smile. “Your face is pretty red. You sure you didn’t smack that on the way down?”

I groaned. “I hate you. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
313:Is it the Eternal Triune, is it He
Who dares arrest the wheels of destiny
And plunge me in the lowest Hell of Hells?
Will not the lightning's blast destroy my frame?
Will not steel drink the blood-life where it swells?
Nolet me hie where dark Destruction dwells,
To rouse her from her deeply caverned lair,
And, taunting her cursed sluggishness to ire,
Light long Oblivion's death-torch at its flame
And calmly mount Annihilation's pyre.
Tyrant of Earth! pale Misery's jackal Thou!
Are there no stores of vengeful violent fate
Within the magazines of Thy fierce hate?
No poison in the clouds to bathe a brow
That lowers on Thee with desperate contempt?
Where is the noonday Pestilence that slew
The myriad sons of Israel's favoured nation?
Where the destroying Minister that flew
Pouring the fiery tide of desolation
Upon the leagued Assyrian's attempt?
Where the dark Earthquake-daemon who engorged
At the dread word Korah's unconscious crew?
Or the Angel's two-edged sword of fire that urged
Our primal parents from their bower of bliss
(Reared by Thine hand) for errors not their own
By Thine omniscient mind foredoomed, foreknown?
Yes! I would court a ruin such as this,
Almighty Tyrant! and give thanks to Thee--
Drink deeplydrain the cup of hate; remit this--I may die.
Published (from the Esdaile manuscript book) by Bertram Dobell, 1887.
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Wandering Jews Soliloquy
,
314:Cupping my cheeks, he exhaled a soft groan, and his lips scorched mine as he deepened the kiss until we both were breathless from its intensity. Daemon moved as close as he could with the chair between us. Gripping his arms, I held onto him, wanting him closer. The chair prevented all but our lips and hands from touching. Frustrating.
Move, I ordered restlessly.
It trembled under my foot, and then the heavy oak chair slid out from under me, dodging our leaning bodies. Unprepared for the sudden void, Daemon lurched forward, and I was unable to carry the unexpected weight. I collapsed backward, bringing Daemon along with me.
The full contact of his body, flush against mine, sent my senses into chaotic overdrive. His tongue swept over mine as his fingers splayed across my cheeks. His hand slid down my side, gripping my hip as he urged me closer. The kisses slowed and his chest rose as he drank me in.
With one last lingering exploration, he lifted his head and smiled down at me.
My heart skipped a beat as he hovered over me with an expression that tugged deep in my chest. He moved his finger back up, along my cheek, trailing an invisible path to my chin.
"I didn't move that chair, Kitten."
"I know."
"I'm assuming you didn't like where it was?"
"It was in your way," I said. My hands were still curled around his arms.
"I can see that." Daemon smoothed a fingertip over the curve of my bottom lip before taking my hand, pulling me up. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
315:You are a terrible liar. You do want this. Just as badly as I do.”
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
“You want this as badly as you want to go to ALA this winter.”
Now my jaw was on the floor. “You don’t even know what ALA is!”
“American Library Association midwinter event,” he said, grinning proudly. “Saw you obsessing over it on your blog before you got sick. I’m pretty sure you said you’d give up your firstborn child to go.”
Yeah, I kind of did say that.
Daemon eyes flashed. “Anyway, back to the whole you wanting me part.”
I shook my head, dumbfounded.
“You do want me.”
Taking a deep breath, I struggled with my temper… and my amusement. “You are way too confident.”
“I’m confident enough to wager a bet.”
“You can’t be serious.”
He grinned. “I bet that by New Year’s Day, you will have admitted that you’re madly, deeply, and irrevocably—”
“Wow. Want to throw another adverb out there?” My cheeks were burning.
“How about irresistibly?”
I rolled my eyes and muttered, “I’m surprised you know what an adverb is.”
“Stop distracting me, Kitten. Back to my bet—by New Year’s Day, you’ll have admitted that you’re madly, deeply, irrevocably, and irresistibly in love with me.”
Stunned, I choked on my laugh.
“And that you dream about me.” He released my arm and folded his, cocking an eyebrow. “I bet you’ll even admit that. Probably even show me your notebook with my name circled in hearts—”
“Oh, for the love of God…”
Daemon winked. “It’s on. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
316:/Farsi The nightingale raises his head, drugged with passion, Pouring the oil of earthly love in such a fashion That the other birds shaded with his song, grow mute. The leaping mysteries of his melodies are acute. 'I know the secrets of Love, I am their piper,' He sings, 'I seek a David with broken heart to decipher Their plaintive barbs, I inspire the yearning flute, The daemon of the plucked conversation of the lute. The roses are dissolved into fragrance by my song, Hearts are torn with its sobbing tone, broken along The fault lines of longing filled with desire's wrong. My music is like the sky's black ocean, I steal The listener's reason, the world becomes the seal Of dreams for chosen lovers, where only the rose Is certain. I cannot go further, I am lame, and expose My anchored soul to the divine Way. My love for the rose is sufficient, I shall stay In the vicinity of its petalled image, I need No more, it blooms for me the rose, my seed. The hoopoe replies: 'You love the rose without thought. Nightingale, your foolish song is caught By the rose's thorns, it is a passing thing. Velvet petal, perfume's repose bring You pleasure, yes, but sorrow too For the rose's beauty is shallow: few Escape winter's frost. To seek the Way Release yourself from this love that lasts a day. The bud nurtures its own demise as day nurtures night. Groom yourself, pluck the deadly rose from your sight. [1490.jpg] -- from The Conference of the Birds: The Selected Sufi Poetry of Farid ud-Din Attar, Translated by Raficq Abdulla

~ Farid ud-Din Attar, The Nightingale
,
317:So, you guyes are like us in other, uh, departments?”
Deamon sat up, arching a brow. “Come again?”
I felt my cheeks flush. “You know, like sex? I mean, you guys are all glowy and stuff. I don’t see how certain stuff would work.”
Deamon’s lips curled into a half smile, and that was the only warning he gave. Moving unbelievably fast, I was on my back and he was above me in a flash. “Are you asking if I’m attracted to human girls?” he asked. Dark, wet waves of hair fell forward. Tiny droplets of water fell off the ends, splashing against my cheek. “Or are you asking if I’m attracted to you?”
Using his hands, he lowered himself slowly. There wasn’t an inch of space between our bodies. Air fled my lungs at the contact of his body against mine. He was male and ripped in all the places I was soft. Being this close to him was startling, causing an array of sensations to zing through me. I shivered. Not from the cold, but from how warm and wonderful he felt. I could feel every breath he took, and when he shifted his hips, my eyes went wide and I gasped.
Oh yeah, certain stuff was definitely working.
Daemon rolled off me, onto his back beside me. “Next question?” he asked, voice deep and thick.
I didn’t move. I stared wide-eyed at the blue-skies. “You could’ve just told me, you know?” I looked at him. “You didn’t have to show me.”
“And what fund would there be in telling you?” He turned his head toward me. “Next question, Kitten?”
“Why do you call me that?”
“You remind me of a little fuzzy kitten, all claws and no bite. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
318:Seven hundred years ago, Tersa had told [Daemon] the living myth was coming. Seven hundred years of waiting, watching, searching, hoping. Seven hundred heartbreaking, exhausting years. He refused to give up, refused to wonder if she’d been mistaken, refused because his heart yearned too much for that strange, wonderful, terrifying creature called Witch.

In his soul, he knew her. In his dreams, he saw her. He never envisioned a face. It always blurred if he tried to focus on it. But he could see her dressed in a robe made of dark, transparent spidersilk, a robe that slid from her shoulders as she moved, a robe that opened and closed as she walked, revealing bare, night-cool skin. And there would be a scent in the room that was her, a scent he would wake to, burying his face in her pillow after she was up and attending her own concerns.

It wasn’t lust—the body’s fire paled in comparison to the embrace of mind to mind—although physical pleasure was part of it. He wanted to touch her, feel the texture of her skin, taste the warmth of her. He wanted to caress her until they both burned. He wanted to weave his life into hers until there was no telling where one began and the other ended. He wanted to put his arms around her, strong and protecting, and find himself protected; possess her and be possessed; dominate her and be dominated. He wanted that Other, that shadow across his life, who made him ache with every breath while he stumbled among these feeble women who meant nothing to him and never could.

Simply, he believed that he had been born to be her lover. ~ Anne Bishop,
319:She looked down at him, smiling with exasperated amusement. *Stubborn, snarly male.*

*Stubbornness is a much-maligned quality,* he panted as he climbed toward her. Her silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled the land. Then he finally got a good look at her. He sank to his knees. *I owe you a debt, Lady.*

She shook her head. *The debt is mine, not yours.*

*I failed you,* he said bitterly, looking at her wasted body.

*No, Daemon,* Jaenelle replied softly. *I failed you. You asked me to heal the crystal chalice and return to the living world. And I did. But I don’t think I ever forgave my body for being the instrument that was used to try to destroy me, and I became its cruelest torturer. For that I’m sorry because you treasured that part of me.*

*No, I treasured all of you. I love you, Witch. I always will. You’re everything I’d dreamed you would be.*

She smiled at him. *And I—* She shuddered, pressed her hand against her chest. *Come. There’s little time left.* She fled through the rocks, out of sight before he could move. He hurried after her, following the glittering trail, gasping as he felt a crushing weight descend on him. *Daemon.* Her voice came back to him, faint and pain-filled. *If the body is going to survive, I can’t stay any longer.* He fought against the weight.

*Jaenelle!*

*You have to take this in slow stages. Rest there now. Rest, Daemon. I’ll mark the trail for you. Please follow it. I’ll be waiting for you at the end.*

*JAENELLE!* A wordless whisper. His name spoken like a caress. Then silence. ~ Anne Bishop,
320:You okay with all of this?" I whispered to Daemon.

He shrugged. "Not like I can stop her."
I knew he could if he wanted, which meant he didn't have a problem with it.

"Cookie?" he offered, holding a cookie full of chocolate chips.
Upset tummy or not, there was no way I could refuse that. "Sure."

His lips tipped up one side and he leaned toward me, his mouth inches from mine. "Come and get it."

Come and get...? Daemon placed half the cookie between those full, totally kissable lips.

Oh, holy alien babies everywhere...

My mouth dropped open. Several of the girls at the table made sounds that had me wondering if they were turning into puddles under the table, but I couldn't bring myself to check out what they really were doing.
That cookie—those lips—were right there.

Heat swept over my cheeks. I could feel the eyes of everyone on else, and Daemon... dear God, Daemon arched his brows, daring me.
Dee gagged. "I think I'm going to hurl."

Mortified, I wanted to crawl into a hole. What did he think I was going to do? Take the cookie from his mouth like something straight out of an R rated version of Lady and the Tramp? Heck, I kind of wanted to and I wasn't sure what that said about me.

Daemon reached up and took the cookie. There was a gleam to his eyes, as if he just won some battle. "Times up, Kitten."
I stared at him.

Breaking the cookie into two, he handed me the larger piece. I snatched it away, half tempted to throw it back in his face, but it was... it was chocolate chip. So I ate it and loved it. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
321:He brought his other foot to the ground and gingerly tested his ankle. It would be a little sore, but it was still sound. He kept his back half turned from her as he ground his teeth, waiting for the insolent giggle he’d heard in so many other courts when he’d been maneuvered into looking foolish. He was furious for failing, furious because of the sudden despair he felt that she would think him an inadequate companion. He had forgotten that Jaenelle was Jaenelle. “I’m sorry, Daemon,” said a wavering, whispery voice behind him. “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride,” Daemon said as he turned around, his lips set in a rueful smile.

“Lady?” Then, alarmed. “Lady! Jaenelle, no, darling, don’t cry.” He gathered her into his arms while her shoulders shuddered with the effort not to make a sound. “Don’t cry,” Daemon crooned as he stroked her hair. “Please don’t cry. I’m not hurt. Honestly I’m not.” Since her face was buried against his chest, he allowed himself a pained smile as he kissed her hair. “I guess I’m too much of a grown-up to learn magic.”

“No, you’re not,” Jaenelle said, pushing away from him and scrubbing the tears off her face with the backs of her hands. “I’ve just never tried to explain it to anyone before.”

“Well, there you are,” he said too brightly. “If you’ve never shown anyone—” “Oh, I’ve shown lots of my other friends,” Jaenelle said brusquely. “I’ve just never tried to explain it.” Daemon was puzzled. “How did you show them?” Instantly he felt her pull away from him. Not physically—she hadn’t moved—but within. Jaenelle glanced at him nervously before ducking behind her veil of hair. “I…touched…them so they could understand. ~ Anne Bishop,
322:Fine!” I threw my hands up in the air. “Yes, you mean something to me. What you did for me on Thanksgiving—that made me…” My voice cracked. “That made me happy. You made me happy. And I still care about you. Okay? You mean something to me—something I can’t really even put
into words because everything seems too lame in comparison. I’ve always wanted you, even when I hated you. I want you even though you drive me freaking insane. And I know I screwed everything up. Not just for you and me, but for Dee.”
My breath caught on a sob. The words rushed from me, one after another. “And I never felt this way with anyone else. Like I’m falling every time I’m around you, like I can’t catch my breath, and I feel alive —not just standing around and letting my life walk past me. There’s been nothing like that with anyone else.” Tears pricked my eyes as I stepped back. My chest was swelling so fast it hurt. “But none of this matters, because I know you really hate me now . I understand that. I just wish I could go back and change everything! I—”
Daemon was suddenly in front of me, clasping my cheeks in his warm hands. “I never hated you.”
I blinked back the wetness gathering in my eyes. “But—”
“I don’t hate you now , Kat.” He stared intently into my eyes. “I’m mad at you—at myself. I’m so angry, I can taste it. I want to find Blake and rearrange parts of his body. But do you know w hat I thought about all day yesterday? All night? The one single thought I couldn’t escape, no matter how pissed off I am at you?”
“No,” I whispered.
“That I’m lucky, because the person I can’t get out of my head, the person who means more to me than I can stand, is still alive. She’s still there. And that’s you. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
323:Glistening liquid pooled in two spots. Matthew was trying to clean it up, but his hands were shaking, his jaw working. I grabbed some towels from the linen closet and knelt beside him.
“I have this,” I whispered.
Matthew sat back, lifting his head and closing his eyes. He let out a staggered breath. “This should’ve never happened.”
Tear built in my eyes as I sopped up what was left of Adam. “I know.”
They are all like my children. Now I’ve lost another, and for what? It doesn’t make sense.” His shoulders shook. “It never makes sense.”
“I’m sorry.” Wetness gathered on my cheeks, and I wiped at my face with my shoulder. “His is my fault. He was trying to protect me.”
…. “It’s not just your fault Katy. This was a world you stumbled into, one filled with treachery and greed. You weren’t prepared for it. Neither are any of them.”
I lifted my head, blinking back tears. “I trusted Blake when I should’ve trusted Daemon. I let this happen.”
Matthew twisted toward me, grasping my cheeks. “You cannot take on the full responsibility for this. You didn’t make the choices Blake did. You didn’t force his hand.”
I choked on a broken sob as grief tore through me. His words didn’t ease the guilt, and he knew it. Then the strangest thing happened. He pulled me into his arms, and I broke. Sobs raked my entire body. I pressed my head against his shoulder, my body shaking his, or maybe he was crying for his loss, too. Time passed, and it became New Year. I welcomed it with tears streaming down my face and a heart ripped apart. When my tear dried, my eyes nearly swollen shut.
He pulled back, pushing my hair aside. “This isn’t the end of anything for you … for Daemon. This is just the beginning, and now you know what you’re truly up against. Don’t end up like Dawson and Bethany. Both of you are stronger than that. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
324:What?' He cried, darting at him a look of fury: 'Dare you still implore the Eternal's mercy? Would you feign penitence, and again act an Hypocrite's part? Villain, resign your hopes of pardon. Thus I secure my prey!'

As He said this, darting his talons into the Monk's shaven crown, He sprang with him from the rock. The Caves and mountains rang with Ambrosio's shrieks. The Daemon continued to soar aloft, till reaching a dreadful height, He released the sufferer. Headlong fell the Monk through the airy waste; The sharp point of a rock received him; and He rolled from precipice to precipice, till bruised and mangled He rested on the river's banks. Life still existed in his miserable frame: He attempted in vain to raise himself; His broken and dislocated limbs refused to perform their office, nor was He able to quit the spot where He had first fallen. The Sun now rose above the horizon; Its scorching beams darted full upon the head of the expiring Sinner. Myriads of insects were called forth by the warmth; They drank the blood which trickled from Ambrosio's wounds; He had no power to drive them from him, and they fastened upon his sores, darted their stings into his body, covered him with their multitudes, and inflicted on him tortures the most exquisite and insupportable. The Eagles of the rock tore his flesh piecemeal, and dug out his eyeballs with their crooked beaks. A burning thirst tormented him; He heard the river's murmur as it rolled beside him, but strove in vain to drag himself towards the sound. Blind, maimed, helpless, and despairing, venting his rage in blasphemy and curses, execrating his existence, yet dreading the arrival of death destined to yield him up to greater torments, six miserable days did the Villain languish. On the Seventh a violent storm arose: The winds in fury rent up rocks and forests: The sky was now black with clouds, now sheeted with fire: The rain fell in torrents; It swelled the stream; The waves overflowed their banks; They reached the spot where Ambrosio lay, and when they abated carried with them into the river the Corse of the despairing Monk. ~ Matthew Lewis,
325:Yes?” Came the thin and reedy voice.

I winced as I pushed the door open. Beth sounded terrible. And when I got an eyeful of her, she looked just as bad. Sitting up against the headboard with a mountain of blankets piled around her, she had dark circles under her eyes. Her pale, waiflike features were sharp, and her hair was an unwashed, tangled mess. I tried not to breathe too deeply, because the room smelled of vomit and sweat.

I halted at the bed, shocked to my core. “Are you sick?”

Her unfocused gaze drifted away from me, landing on the door to the adjoined bathroom, it didn’t make sense. Hybrids—we couldn’t get sick. Not the common cold or the most dangerous cancer. Like the Luxen, we were immune to everything out there in terms of disease, but Beth? Yeah, she wasn’t looking too good.

A great sense of unease blossomed in my belly, stiffening my muscles. “Beth?”

Her watery stare finally drifted to me. “Is Dawson back yet?”

My heart turned over heavily, almost painfully. The two of them have been through so much, more than Daemon and I had, and this . . . God, this wasn’t fair. “No, he’s not back yet, but you? You look sick.”

She raised a slim, pale hand to her throat. “I'm not feeling very well.”

I didn’t know how bad this was, and I was almost afraid to find out. “What’s wrong?”

One shoulder rose, and it looked like it had taken great effort. “You shouldn’t be worried,” she said, her voice low as she picked at the hem of a blanket. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll be okay once Dawson comes back.” Her gaze floated off again, and as she dropped the edge of the blanket, she reached down, put her hand over her blanket-covered belly, and said, “We’ll be okay once Dawson comes back.”

“We’ll be . . . ?” I trailed off as my eyes widened. My jaw came unhinged and dropped as I gaped at her.

I stared at where her hand was and watched in dawned horror as she rubbed her belly in slow, steady circles.

Oh no. oh, hell to the no to the tenth power.

I started forward and then stopped. “Beth, are you . . . are you pregnant? ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
326:Let me see if I understand this," Jaenelle said.
[...]
"You and Falonar have decided to go your own ways," Jaenelle said with a patience that made Surreal wary.
She shrugged. "It was a mutual decision." The bastard.
"Uh-huh. So you packed your bags..."
"It was his eyrie," Surreal cut in. "I certainly didn't want to live there." And I didn't want to watch him courting Nurian in ways he never thought to court me.
"...and left Ebon Rih without telling Lucivar."
"Who would have strung Falonar up by the heels"... or by the balls, which might have been interesting to watch... "before having a little chat."
"No," Jaenelle said, "he would have waited for Chaosti to show up, and then he would have strung Falonar up by the heels." She paused. "Maybe by the heels."
Which just confirmed why Surreal had slipped away from Ebon Rih before Lucivar had time to notice. As the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih dealing with a Warlord Prince who was his second-in-command, Lucivar would have been nasty and explosive. Chaosti, the Warlord Prince of the Dea al Mon and a kinsman on her mother's side, would have approached Falonar with the protective viciousness that made Warlord Princes such a deadly facet of Blood society.
Dealing with the male relatives she'd acquired since coming to Kaeleer was so much fun.
"And you entered the Hall through one of the side doors to avoid seeing Daemon, who's working in his study and would have met you before you got out of the great hall."
Feeling more wary by the minute, Surreal did her best to look indifferent. "No reason for him to get involved in this." Sweet Darkness, please don't let him think this is any business of his. "Besides, I don't need either of them getting all snarly and protective over something that was a mutual decision."
"So instead of mentioning this to either of them, you went to the Keep and told Saetan."
Surreal winced. "Well, I figured I should tell someone before leaving Ebon Rih."
"Uh-huh. So you told the High Lord of Hell, the patriarch of this family, the man from whom Daemon and Lucivar inherited the temper you were trying to avoid." Jaenelle pushed the quilt aside and swung her legs over the side of the couch to sit up straight. "Did I miss something ? ~ Anne Bishop,
327:She left me at the silent time
When the moon had ceased to climb
The azure path of Heavens steep,
And like an albatross asleep,
Balanced on her wings of light,
Hovered in the purple night,
Ere she sought her ocean nest
In the chambers of the West.
She left me, and I stayed alone
Thinking over every tone
Which, though silent to the ear,
The enchanted heart could hear,
Like notes which die when born, but still
Haunt the echoes of the hill;
And feeling ever--oh, too much!--
The soft vibration of her touch,
As if her gentle hand, even now,
Lightly trembled on my brow;
And thus, although she absent were,
Memory gave me all of her
That even Fancy dares to claim:--
Her presence had made weak and tame
All passions, and I lived alone
In the time which is our own;
The past and future were forgot,
As they had been, and would be, not.
But soon, the guardian angel gone,
The daemon reassumed his throne
In my faint heart. I dare not speak
My thoughts, but thus disturbed and weak
I sat and saw the vessels glide
Over the ocean bright and wide,
Like spirit-winged chariots sent
Oer some serenest element
For ministrations strange and far;
As if to some Elysian star
Sailed for drink to medicine
Such sweet and bitter pain as mine.
And the wind that winged their flight
From the land came fresh and light,
And the scent of winged flowers,
And the coolness of the hours
Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day,
Were scattered oer the twinkling bay.
And the fisher with his lamp
And spear about the low rocks damp
Crept, and struck the fish which came
To worship the delusive flame.
Too happy they, whose pleasure sought
Extinguishes all sense and thought
Of the regret that pleasure leaves,
Destroying life alone, not peace!
Written in 1822 and probably addressed to Jane Williams. Edward and Jane Williams became friends of the Shelleys at Pisa and lived with them in Lerici
in 1822. Shelley liked to hear Jane sing and presented her with a guitar. A number of his last lyrics (e.g., "To Jane") are addressed to her. First published by Richard Garnett in Macmillan's Magazine (1862).


~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Lines Written in the Bay of Lerici
,
328:Daemons
A daemon is a process that runs in the background, not connecting to any controlling terminal. Daemons are normally started at boot time, are run as root or some
other special user (such as apache or postfix), and handle system-level tasks. As a
convention, the name of a daemon often ends in d (as in crond and sshd), but this is
not required, or even universal.
The name derives from Maxwell's demon, an 1867 thought experiment by the physicist James Maxwell. Daemons are also supernatural beings in Greek mythology,
existing somewhere between humans and the gods and gifted with powers and divine
knowledge. Unlike the demons of Judeo-Christian lore, the Greek daemon need not
be evil. Indeed, the daemons of mythology tended to be aides to the gods, performing
tasks that the denizens of Mount Olympus found themselves unwilling to do-much
as Unix daemons perform tasks that foreground users would rather avoid.
A daemon has two general requirements: it must run as a child of init, and it must
not be connected to a terminal.
In general, a program performs the following steps to become a daemon:
1. Call fork( ). This creates a new process, which will become the daemon.
2. In the parent, call exit( ). This ensures that the original parent (the daemon's
grandparent) is satisfied that its child terminated, that the daemon's parent is no
longer running, and that the daemon is not a process group leader. This last
point is a requirement for the successful completion of the next step.
3. Call setsid( ), giving the daemon a new process group and session, both of
which have it as leader. This also ensures that the process has no associated controlling terminal (as the process just created a new session, and will not assign
one).
4. Change the working directory to the root directory via chdir( ). This is done
because the inherited working directory can be anywhere on the filesystem. Daemons tend to run for the duration of the system's uptime, and you don't want to
keep some random directory open, and thus prevent an administrator from
unmounting the filesystem containing that directory.
5. Close all file descriptors. You do not want to inherit open file descriptors, and,
unaware, hold them open.
6. Open file descriptors 0, 1, and 2 (standard in, standard out, and standard error)
and redirect them to /dev/null.
Following these rules, here is a program that daemonizes itself:
~ OReilly Linux System Programming,
329:I don’t know what to . . . to think.” There was a horrifying burn of tears crawling up my throat.

“This is all overwhelming for you, I imagine. The whole world as you know it is on the brink of great change, and you’re here and don’t even know my name.” The man smiled so broadly, I wondered if it hurt. “You can call me Rolland.” Then he extended a hand.

My gaze dropped to it and I made no attempt to take it.

Rolland chuckled as he turned and strolled back to the desk. “So, you’re a hybrid? Mutated and linked to him on such an intense level that if one of you dies, so does the other?”

His question caught me off guard, but I kept quiet.

He sat on the edge of the desk. “You’re actually the first hybrid I’ve seen.”

“She really isn’t anything special.” The redhead sneered. “Frankly, she’s rather filthy, like an unclean animal.”

As stupid as it was, my cheeks heated, because I was filthy, and Daemon had just physically removed me from him. My pride—my everything—was officially wounded.

Rolland chuckled. “She’s had a rough day, Sadi.”

At her name, every muscle in my body locked up, and my gaze swung back to her. That was Sadi? The one Dee said was trying to molest Daemon—my Daemon? Anger punched through the confusion and hurt. Of course it would have to be a freaking walking and talking model and not a hag.

“Rough day or not, I can’t imagine she cleans up well.” Sadi looked at Daemon as she placed a hand on his chest. “I’m kind of disappointed.”

“Are you?” Daemon replied.
Every hair on my body rose as my arms unfolded.
“Yes,” she purred. “I really think you can do better. Lots better.” As she spoke, she trailed red-painted fingers down the center of his chest, over his abdomen, heading straight for the button on his jeans.

And oh, hell to the no. “Get your hands off him.”
Sadi’s head snapped in my direction. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t think I stuttered.” I took a step forward. “But it looks like you need me to repeat it. Get your freaking hands off him.”

One side of her plump red lips curled up. “You want to make me?”
In the back of my head, I was aware that Sadi didn’t move or speak like the other Luxen. Her mannerisms were too human, but then that thought was quickly chased away when Daemon reached down and pulled her hand away.

“Stop it,” he murmured, voice dropped low in that teasing way of his.

I saw red.

The pictures on the wall rattled and the papers on the desk started to lift up. Static charged over my skin. I was about to pull a Beth right here, seconds away from floating to the ceiling and ripping out every strand of red—

“And you stop it,” Daemon said, but the teasing quality was gone from his words. There was a warning in them that took the wind right out of my pissed-off sails.

The pictures settled as I gaped at him. Being slapped in the face would’ve been better. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
330:I don’t know what to . . . to think.” There was a horrifying burn of tears crawling up my throat.

“This is all overwhelming for you, I imagine. The whole world as you know it is on the brink of great change, and you’re here and don’t even know my name.” The man smiled so broadly, I wondered if it hurt. “You can call me Rolland.” Then he extended a hand.

My gaze dropped to it and I made no attempt to take it.

Rolland chuckled as he turned and strolled back to the desk. “So, you’re a hybrid? Mutated and linked to him on such an intense level that if one of you dies, so does the other?”

His question caught me off guard, but I kept quiet.

He sat on the edge of the desk. “You’re actually the first hybrid I’ve seen.”

“She really isn’t anything special.” The redhead sneered. “Frankly, she’s rather filthy, like an unclean animal.”

As stupid as it was, my cheeks heated, because I was filthy, and Daemon had just physically removed me from him. My pride—my everything—was officially wounded.

Rolland chuckled. “She’s had a rough day, Sadi.”

At her name, every muscle in my body locked up, and my gaze swung back to her. That was Sadi? The one Dee said was trying to molest Daemon—my Daemon? Anger punched through the confusion and hurt. Of course it would have to be a freaking walking and talking model and not a hag.

“Rough day or not, I can’t imagine she cleans up well.” Sadi looked at Daemon as she placed a hand on his chest. “I’m kind of disappointed.”

“Are you?” Daemon replied.

Every hair on my body rose as my arms unfolded.

“Yes,” she purred. “I really think you can do better. Lots better.” As she spoke, she trailed red-painted fingers down the center of his chest, over his abdomen, heading straight for the button on his jeans.

And oh, hell to the no. “Get your hands off him.”

Sadi’s head snapped in my direction. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t think I stuttered.” I took a step forward. “But it looks like you need me to repeat it. Get your freaking hands off him.”

One side of her plump red lips curled up. “You want to make me?”

In the back of my head, I was aware that Sadi didn’t move or speak like the other Luxen. Her mannerisms were too human, but then that thought was quickly chased away when Daemon reached down and pulled her hand away.

“Stop it,” he murmured, voice dropped low in that teasing way of his.

I saw red.

The pictures on the wall rattled and the papers on the desk started to lift up. Static charged over my skin. I was about to pull a Beth right here, seconds away from floating to the ceiling and ripping out every strand of red—

“And you stop it,” Daemon said, but the teasing quality was gone from his words. There was a warning in them that took the wind right out of my pissed-off sails.

The pictures settled as I gaped at him. Being slapped in the face would’ve been better. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
331: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 oer 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.

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Spectral Horseman
,
332:I.
Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest crest
Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm
Which rends our Mothers bosomPriestly Pest!
Masked Resurrection of a buried Form!

II.
Thy country's curse is on thee! Justice sold,
Truth trampled, Natures landmarks overthrown,
And heaps of fraud-accumulated gold,
Plead, loud as thunder, at Destruction's throne.

III.
And whilst that sure slow Angel which aye stands
Watching the beck of Mutability
Delays to execute her high commands,
And, though a nation weeps, spares thine and thee,

IV.
Oh, let a father's curse be on thy soul,
And let a daughter's hope be on thy tomb;
Be both, on thy gray head, a leaden cowl
To weigh thee down to thine approaching doom.

V.
I curse thee by a parent's outraged love,
By hopes long cherished and too lately lost,
By gentle feelings thou couldst never prove,
By griefs which thy stern nature never crossed;

VI.
By those infantine smiles of happy light,
Which were a fire within a stranger's hearth,
Quenched even when kindled, in untimely night
Hiding the promise of a lovely birth:

VII.
By those unpractised accents of young speech,
Which he who is a father thought to frame
To gentlest lore, such as the wisest teach--
THOU strike the lyre of mind!--oh, grief and shame!

VIII.
By all the happy see in children's growth--
That undeveloped flower of budding years--
Sweetness and sadness interwoven both,
Source of the sweetest hopes and saddest fears--

IX.
By all the days, under an hireling's care,
Of dull constraint and bitter heaviness,--
O wretched ye if ever any were,--
Sadder than orphans, yet not fatherless!

X.
By the false cant which on their innocent lips
Must hang like poison on an opening bloom,
By the dark creeds which cover with eclipse
Their pathway from the cradle to the tomb--

XI.
By thy most impious Hell, and all its terror;
By all the grief, the madness, and the guilt
Of thine impostures, which must be their error--
That sand on which thy crumbling power is built--

XII.
By thy complicity with lust and hate--
Thy thirst for tearsthy hunger after gold--
The ready frauds which ever on thee wait--
The servile arts in which thou hast grown old--

XIII.
By thy most killing sneer, and by thy smile--
By all the arts and snares of thy black den,
Andfor thou canst outweep the crocodile--
By thy false tearsthose millstones braining men--

XIV.
By all the hate which checks a father's love--
By all the scorn which kills a fathe's care--
By those most impious hands which dared remove
Natures high bounds--by thee--and by despair--

XV.
Yes, the despair which bids a father groan,
And cry, 'My children are no longer mine--
The blood within those veins may be mine own,
But--Tyrant--their polluted souls are thine; 60

XVI.
I curse thee--though I hate thee not.--O slave!
If thou couldst quench the earth-consuming Hell
Of which thou art a daemon, on thy grave
This curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well!

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, To The Lord Chancellor
,
333:I still stared at Daemon, completely aware that everyone else except him was watching me. Closely. But why wouldn’t he look at me? A razor-sharp panic clawed at my insides. No. This couldn’t be happening. No way.
My body was moving before I even knew what I was doing.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Dee shake her head and one of the Luxen males step forward, but I was propelled by an inherent need to prove that my worst fears were not coming true.

After all, he’d healed me, but then I thought of what Dee had said, of how Dee had behaved with me. What if Daemon was like her? Turned into something so foreign and cold? He would’ve healed me just to make sure he was okay.

I still didn’t stop. Please, I thought over and over again. Please. Please. Please. On shaky legs, I crossed the long room, and even though Daemon hadn’t seemed to even acknowledge my existence, I walked right up to him, my hands trembling as I placed them on his chest.

Daemon?” I whispered, voice thick.

His head whipped around, and he was suddenly staring down at me. Our gazes collided once more, and for a second I saw something so raw, so painful in those beautiful eyes. And then his large hands wrapped around my upper arms. The contact seared through the shirt I wore, branding my skin, and I thought—I expected—that he would pull me against him, that he would embrace me, and even though nothing would be all right, it would be better.

Daemon’s hands spasmed around my arms, and I sucked in an unsteady breath.

His eyes flashed an intense green as he physically lifted me away from him, setting me back down a good foot back.

I stared at him, something deep in my chest cracking. “Daemon?”

He said nothing as he let go, one finger at a time, it seemed, and his hands slid off my arms. He stepped back, returning his attention to the man behind the desk.

“So . . . awkward,” murmured the redhead, smirking.

I was rooted to the spot in which I stood, the sting of rejection burning through my skin, shredding my insides like I was nothing more than papier-mâché.

“I think someone was expecting more of a reunion,” the Luxen male behind the desk said, his voice ringing with amusement. “What do you think, Daemon?”

One shoulder rose in a negligent shrug. “I don’t think anything.”

My mouth opened, but there were no words. His voice, his tone, wasn’t like his sister’s, but like it had been when we first met. He used to speak to me with barely leashed annoyance, where a thin veil of tolerance dripped from every word.

The rift in my chest deepened.For the hundredth time since the Luxen arrived, Sergeant Dasher’s warning came back to me. What side would Daemon and his family stand on? A shudder worked its way down my spine. I wrapped my arms around myself, unable to truly process what had just happened.

“And you?" the man asked. When no one answered, he tried again. “Katy?”

I was forced to look at him, and I wanted to shrink back from his stare. “What?” I was beyond caring that my voice broke on that one word.

The man smiled as he walked around the desk. My gaze flickered over to Daemon as he shifted, drawing the attention of the beautiful redhead. “Were you expecting a more personal greeting?” he asked. “Perhaps something more intimate?”

I had no idea how to answer. I felt like I’d fallen into the rabbit hole, and warnings were firing off left and right. Something primal inside me recognized that I was surrounded by predators.

Completely. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
334:I still stared at Daemon, completely aware that everyone else except him was watching me. Closely. But why wouldn’t he look at me? A razor-sharp panic clawed at my insides. No. This couldn’t be happening. No way.

My body was moving before I even knew what I was doing.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Dee shake her head and one of the Luxen males step forward, but I was propelled by an inherent need to prove that my worst fears were not coming true.

After all, he’d healed me, but then I thought of what Dee had said, of how Dee had behaved with me. What if Daemon was like her? Turned into something so foreign and cold? He would’ve healed me just to make sure he was okay.

I still didn’t stop.
 Please, I thought over and over again. Please. Please. Please. On shaky legs, I crossed the long room, and even though Daemon hadn’t seemed to even acknowledge my existence, I walked right up to him, my hands trembling as I placed them on his chest.

Daemon?” I whispered, voice thick.

His head whipped around, and he was suddenly staring down at me. Our gazes collided once more, and for a second I saw something so raw, so painful in those beautiful eyes. And then his large hands wrapped around my upper arms. The contact seared through the shirt I wore, branding my skin, and I thought—I expected—that he would pull me against him, that he would embrace me, and even though nothing would be all right, it would be better.

Daemon’s hands spasmed around my arms, and I sucked in an unsteady breath.

His eyes flashed an intense green as he physically lifted me away from him, setting me back down a good foot back.

I stared at him, something deep in my chest cracking. “Daemon?”

He said nothing as he let go, one finger at a time, it seemed, and his hands slid off my arms. He stepped back, returning his attention to the man behind the desk.

“So . . . awkward,” murmured the redhead, smirking.

I was rooted to the spot in which I stood, the sting of rejection burning through my skin, shredding my insides like I was nothing more than papier-mâché.

“I think someone was expecting more of a reunion,” the Luxen male behind the desk said, his voice ringing with amusement. “What do you think, Daemon?”

One shoulder rose in a negligent shrug. “I don’t think anything.”

My mouth opened, but there were no words. His voice, his tone, wasn’t like his sister’s, but like it had been when we first met. He used to speak to me with barely leashed annoyance, where a thin veil of tolerance dripped from every word.

The rift in my chest deepened.
For the hundredth time since the Luxen arrived, Sergeant Dasher’s warning came back to me. What side would Daemon and his family stand on? A shudder worked its way down my spine. I wrapped my arms around myself, unable to truly process what had just happened.

“And you?" the man asked. When no one answered, he tried again. “Katy?”

I was forced to look at him, and I wanted to shrink back from his stare. “What?” I was beyond caring that my voice broke on that one word.

The man smiled as he walked around the desk. My gaze flickered over to Daemon as he shifted, drawing the attention of the beautiful redhead. “Were you expecting a more personal greeting?” he asked. “Perhaps something more intimate?”

I had no idea how to answer. I felt like I’d fallen into the rabbit hole, and warnings were firing off left and right. Something primal inside me recognized that I was surrounded by predators.

Completely. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
335:- Nunca vuelvas a llamarme así - le espeté.
- Es mejor que llarmarle <> a alguien, ¿no? - Salió por la puerta - Qué visita tan estimulante. La recordaré mucho tiempo.
Aquello ya era suficiente.
- ¿Sabes qué? Tienes toda la razón. Mira que llamarte tarado...Esa es una palabra que no te define bien - le dije sonriendo - <> te pega más.
- Conque <>, ¿eh? - repitió - Eres un encanto.
Levanté el dedo corazón.
(pág.20)

Eran más de la una, pero parecía que Daemon acabara de levantarse. Llevaba los tejanos arrugados y el pelo enmarañado. Hablaba con alguien por teléfono mientras se pasaba la mano por la mandíbula.
- ¿Tu hermano no tiene camisetas o qué? - le pregunté mientras cogía la pala.
- Me temo que no. No las lleva ni en invierno. Siempre va por ahí medio desnudo - refunfuñó - Es bastante incómodo tener que verlo así todo el día, enseñando tanta...carne ¡Qué grima!
A ella le daría grima, pero a mí...me alteraba bastante. Me puse a cavar hoyos en lugares estratégicos mientras notaba que se me secaba la garganta. Tenia una cara perfecta, un cuerpo de ensueño y una mala leche espectacular. Las tres reglas de oro de cualquier tío macizo, vaya.
(pág. 39)

- Tienes una cabecita bastante sucia, gatita.
Pestañeé. <>
- ¿Qué has dicho?
- Que tienes la cabeza sucia - repitió en voz baja. Sabía que Dee no podía oírle -, llena de tierra. ¿Qué creías que quería decir?
- Nada -...Tener a Daemon tan cerca no me reconfortaba en absoluto - Es normal ensuciarse cuando plantas.
Los labios le temblaron un instante.
- Hay muchas maneras de ensuciarse. Aunque no tengo la intención de mostrártelas.
(pág.46)

- Me da a mí que te has mojado tú más que el coche. Nunca pensé que lavar un coche pudiera ser tan complicado pero, después de observarte durante los últimos quince minutos, creo que deberían convertirlo en deporte olímpico.
- ¿Estabas observándome? - Qué grima. Y qué morbo. ¡No! de morboso, nada.
(pág.51)

- Pues sí ¿Y tú siempre te quedas mirando a los tíos cuando llamas a su puerta para preguntar por una dirección?
- ¿Siempre abres la puerta medio desnudo?
- Pues sí. Y no has respondido a mi pregunta. ¿Siempre pegas esos repasos?
Las mejillas me ardían.
(pág.53)

- Hasta mañana a medio día, gatita.
- Te odio - resoplé.
- El sentimiento es mutuo - Me miró por encima del hombro - Me juego veinte pavos a que llevas bañador y no biquini.
Era insufrible.
(Pág. 62)

- ¿Que no confía en mi? ¿Y qué tiene que confiarme, tu virtud?
Se le escapó otra carcajada y tardó unos momentos en poder contestar.
- Pues claro; no le gustan las chicas guapas que están coladitas por mi.
- ¿Qué? - ... - Estás de broma, ¿no?
- ¿A qué parte te refieres? - preguntó-
- ¡A todas!
- Venga ya. No me digas que no sabes que eres guapa. ¿No te lo ha dicho ningún chico antes?
(pág.90)

- Creo que estás condenada a estar conmigo un rato más.
- Seguro que parezco un gato remojado.
- Estás bien. La lluvia te favorece.
Fruncí el ceño.
- Ya me estás mintiendo otra vez.
Sentí que su cuerpo se movía junto al mío y, sin mediar palabra, me rozó la barbilla con los dedos y me atrajo hacia él. En sus labios se dibujó una sonrisa torcida.
- No te miento; te lo dijo en serio.
(pág.101)

- Bueno...Ya llegó el innombrable.
A Dee le dio un ataque de risa que hizo que toda la cafetería nos mirara.
- ¡Me parto!
Me hundí en la butaca. Desde la mañana en que Dee y él me habían preparado el desayuno, me había evitado y a mí me daba igual.
...
Seguramente Daemon era físicamente el hombre más perfecto que jamás había visto - su cara haría las delicias de cualquier retratista -, pero a la vez tenía bastantes papeletas para ser el cretino más grande sobre la faz de la Tierra.
(pág.145) ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
336:Sin quitarme los ojos de encima, acercó aún más su pupitre.
- ¿Sabes una cosa?
- ¿Qué?
- Que he entrado en tu blog.
Ay, Dios. ¿Cómo lo había encontrado? Un momento; la pregunta que debía hacerme era la siguiente: ¿por qué lo había encontrado? Mi blog no podía buscarse a través de Google...Estaba flipando en colores.
- Ya estás acosándome otra vez, ¿no? ¿Tengo que llamar a la poli para que te ponga una orden de alejamiento?
- Ni en sueños, gatita - Sonrió - Ah, espera, que ya salgo en ellos, ¿verdad?
Puse los ojos en blanco.
- Más bien apareces en mis pesadillas, Daemon.
(pág.154)

- ¿Me estás preguntando si me atraen las humanas? - dijo. El pelo le caía hacia delante en ondas. Unas gotitas de agua le recorrían los mechones y acababan salpicándome la mejilla - ¿O si eres tú la que me atrae?
Con las manos apoyadas en la roca, fue acercándose a mí lentamente. Muy pronto nos separaban sólo unos milímetros...Sentía su respiración como si fuera la mía, y cuando movió las caderas abrí los ojos y ahogué un grito.
Vaya que si funcionaba la cosa...Me despejó la duda de un plumazo.
(pág. 240)

- Sí que es importante el helado - dije.
- Es mi vida entera.- Dee tiró el monedero a Daemon, pero erró el objetivo - ¡Y tú me lo has quitado!
(pág. 258 NUNCA TE METAS ENTRE DEE Y SU COMIDA, Y MENOS SI SE TRATA DE HELADO)

- ¿Lo estás pasando bien con...Ash?
- ¿Y tú con tu amiguito el pulpo?
Me mordí el larbio.
- Qué simpático eres, como siempre.
...
- Estás...muy guapa, por cierto. Demasiado guapa para estar con ese idiota.
Me sonrojé y bajé la vista.
- ¿Te has tomado algo?
- Pues no, la verdad. ¿Por qué me lo preguntas, si puede saberse?
- Porque nunca me dices nada agradable.
- Touché.
(pág. 303)

- Recuérdame...que no te haga enfadar nunca más ¡La leche! ¿Eres agente secreto en tus ratos libres?
... Me recorrió la espalda con sus brazos y hundió una mano en los rizos que se me habían soltado del moño.
- No me has hecho caso - susurró contra mi hombro.
- Nunca te hago caso.
(pág. 327)

Daemon murmuró algo en un idioma desconocido. Era una lengua dulce y bonita. Mágica. De otro planeta.
Podría haberlo despertado, pero no lo hice sin saber demasiado bien por qué. La emoción que sentía por el contacto con su piel era más fuerte que todo lo demás.
Daemon tenía una mano en el borde de mi camiseta, y los dedos encima del pedazo de piel que había entre el borde de la camiseta y la cinturilla de los pantalones de pijama. La mano empezaba a abrirse paso por debajo de la camiseta, a través de mi estómago, en la parte en que este empieza a descender. El pulso se me desbocó. Me rozó las costillas con la punta de los dedos. Su cuerpo se movió y sentí su rodilla contra mí.
(pág. 338) O.O o O OMG

- Gatita
- Ni aunque fueras el último ser con aspecto humano sobre la faz de la Tierra ¿Ahora lo entiendes? ¿Capiche?

...
- Ademñas, no me atraes nada - Mentira podrida - Pero vamos, nada de nada. Eres...
De repente Daemon estaba delante de mí, a apenas un centímetro de mi rostro.
- ¿Qué soy?
- Ignorante
-¿Y qué más?
- Prepotente, controlador...-...- Y un...cretino.
- Venga ya, gatita, seguro que puedes hacerlo mejor - ... - Todavía no me creo que no te sientas atraída por mí.
(pág. 360)

- Seguro que hasta sueñas conmigo - Bajó la vista hacia mis labios y sentí que se despegaban - Seguro que escribes mi nombre en tus libretas, una y otra vez, rodeado por un corazoncito.
Me reí.
- En tus sueños, Daemon. Eres la última persona a la que...
Daemon me besó
(pág.361)

Una sonrisa pícara se le asomó a los labios.
- ¿Te das cuenta de que me encantan los retos?
Me reí entre dientes y me volví hacia la puerta mientras le dedicaba un gesto grosero con el dedo corazón.
- Y a mí, Daemon; y a mí.
(pág. 414) ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
337:AUGOEIDES:
   The magicians most important invocation is that of his Genius, Daemon, True Will, or Augoeides. This operation is traditionally known as attaining the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel. It is sometimes known as the Magnum Opus or Great Work.
   The Augoeides may be defined as the most perfect vehicle of Kia on the plane of duality. As the avatar of Kia on earth, the Augoeides represents the true will, the raison detre of the magician, his purpose in existing. The discovery of ones true will or real nature may be difficult and fraught with danger, since a false identification leads to obsession and madness. The operation of obtaining the knowledge and conversation is usually a lengthy one. The magician is attempting a progressive metamorphosis, a complete overhaul of his entire existence. Yet he has to seek the blueprint for his reborn self as he goes along. Life is less the meaningless accident it seems. Kia has incarnated in these particular conditions of duality for some purpose. The inertia of previous existences propels Kia into new forms of manifestation. Each incarnation represents a task, or a puzzle to be solved, on the way to some greater form of completion.
   The key to this puzzle is in the phenomena of the plane of duality in which we find ourselves. We are, as it were, trapped in a labyrinth or maze. The only thing to do is move about and keep a close watch on the way the walls turn. In a completely chaotic universe such as this one, there are no accidents. Everything is signifcant. Move a single grain of sand on a distant shore and the entire future history of the world will eventually be changed. A person doing his true will is assisted by the momentum of the universe and seems possessed of amazing good luck. In beginning the great work of obtaining the knowledge and conversation, the magician vows to interpret every manifestation of existence as a direct message from the infinite Chaos to himself personally.
   To do this is to enter the magical world view in its totality. He takes complete responsibility for his present incarnation and must consider every experience, thing, or piece of information which assails him from any source, as a reflection of the way he is conducting his existence. The idea that things happen to one that may or may not be related to the way one acts is an illusion created by our shallow awareness.
   Keeping a close eye on the walls of the labyrinth, the conditions of his existence, the magician may then begin his invocation. The genius is not something added to oneself. Rather it is a stripping away of excess to reveal the god within.
   Directly on awakening, preferably at dawn, the initiate goes to the place of invocation. Figuring to himself as he goes that being born anew each day brings with it the chance of greater rebirth, first he banishes the temple of his mind by ritual or by some magical trance. Then he unveils some token or symbol or sigil which represents to him the Holy Guardian Angel. This symbol he will likely have to change during the great work as the inspiration begins to move him. Next he invokes an image of the Angel into his minds eye. It may be considered as a luminous duplicate of ones own form standing in front of or behind one, or simply as a ball of brilliant light above ones head. Then he formulates his aspirations in what manner he will, humbling himself in prayer or exalting himself in loud proclamation as his need be. The best form of this invocation is spoken spontaneously from the heart, and if halting at first, will prove itself in time. He is aiming to establish a set of ideas and images which correspond to the nature of his genius, and at the same time receive inspiration from that source. As the magician begins to manifest more of his true will, the Augoeides will reveal images, names, and spiritual principles by which it can be drawn into greater manifestation. Having communicated with the invoked form, the magician should draw it into himself and go forth to live in the way he hath willed.
   The ritual may be concluded with an aspiration to the wisdom of silence by a brief concentration on the sigil of the Augoeides, but never by banishing. Periodically more elaborate forms of ritual, using more powerful forms of gnosis, may be employed. At the end of the day, there should be an accounting and fresh resolution made. Though every day be a catalog of failure, there should be no sense of sin or guilt. Magic is the raising of the whole individual in perfect balance to the power of Infinity, and such feelings are symptomatic of imbalance. If any unnecessary or imbalanced scraps of ego become identified with the genius by mistake, then disaster awaits. The life force flows directly into these complexes and bloats them into grotesque monsters variously known as the demon Choronzon. Some magicians attempting to go too fast with this invocation have failed to banish this demon, and have gone spectacularly insane as a result.
   ~ Peter J Carroll, Liber Null,
338:Prothalamion
"little soul, little flirting,
little perverse one
where are you off to now?
little wan one, firm one
little exposed one...
and never make fun of me again."
Now I must betray myself.
The feast of bondage and unity is near,
And none engaged in that great piety
When each bows to the other, kneels, and takes
Hand in hand, glance and glance, care and care,
None may wear masks or enigmatic clothes,
For weakness blinds the wounded face enough.
In sense, see my shocking nakedness.
I gave a girl an apple when five years old,
Saying, Will you be sorry when I am gone?
Ravenous for such courtesies, my name
Is fed like a raving fire, insatiate still.
But do not be afraid.
For I forget myself. I do indeed
Before each genuine beauty, and I will
Forget myself before your unknown heart.
I will forget the speech my mother made
In a restaurant, trapping my father there
At dinner with his whore. Her spoken rage
Struck down the child of seven years
With shame for all three, with pity for
The helpless harried waiter, with anger for
The diners gazing, avid, and contempt
And great disgust for every human being.
I will remember this. My mother's rhetoric
Has charmed my various tongue, but now I know
Love's metric seeks a rhyme more pure and sure.
For thus it is that I betray myself,
59
Passing the terror of childhood at second hand
Through nervous, learned fingertips.
At thirteen when a little girl died,
I walked for three weeks neither alive nor dead,
And could not understand and still cannot
The adult blind to the nearness of the dead,
Or carefully ignorant of their own death.
--This sense could shadow all the time's curving fruits,
But we will taste of them the whole night long,
Forgetting no twelfth night, no fete of June,
But in the daylight knowing our nothingness.
Let Freud and Marx be wedding guests indeed!
Let them mark out masks that face us there,
For of all anguish, weakness, loss and failure,
No form is cruel as self-deception, none
Shows day-by-day a bad dream long lived
And unbroken like the lies
We tell each other because we are rich or poor.
Though from the general guilt not free
We can keep honor by being poor.
The waste, the evil, the abomination
Is interrupted. the perfect stars persist
Small in the guilty night,
and Mozart shows
The irreducible incorruptible good
Risen past birth and death, though he is dead.
Hope, like a face reflected on the windowpane,
Remote and dim, fosters a myth or dream,
And in that dream, I speak, I summon all
Who are our friends somehow and thus I say:
"Bid the jewellers come with monocles,
Exclaiming, Pure! Intrinsic! Final!
Summon the children eating ice cream
To speak the chill thrill of immediacy.
Call for the acrobats who tumble
The ecstasy of the somersault.
Bid the self-sufficient stars be piercing
In the sublime and inexhaustible blue.
60
"Bring a mathematician, there is much to count,
The unending continuum of my attention:
Infinity will hurry his multiplied voice!
Bring the poised impeccable diver,
Summon the skater, precise in figure,
He knows the peril of circumstance,
The risk of movement and the hard ground.
Summon the florist! And the tobacconist!
All who have known a plant-like beauty:
Summon the charming bird for ignorant song.
"You, Athena, with your tired beauty,
Will you give me away? For you must come
In a bathing suit with that white owl
Whom, as I walk, I will hold in my hand.
You too, Crusoe, to utter the emotion
Of finding Friday, no longer alone;
You too, Chaplin, muse of the curbstone,
Mummer of hope, you understand!"
But this is fantastic and pitiful,
And no one comes, none will, we are alone,
And what is possible is my own voice,
Speaking its wish, despite its lasting fear;
Speaking of its hope, its promise and its fear,
The voice drunk with itself and rapt in fear,
Exaggeration, braggadocio,
Rhetoric and hope, and always fear:
"For fifty-six or for a thousand years,
I will live with you and be your friend,
And what your body and what your spirit bears
I will like my own body cure and tend.
But you are heavy and my body's weight
Is great and heavy: when I carry you
I lift upon my back time like a fate
Near as my heart, dark when I marry you.
"The voice's promise is easy, and hope
Is drunk, and wanton, and unwilled;
In time's quicksilver, where our desires grope,
The dream is warped or monstrously fulfilled,
In this sense, listen, listen, and draw near:
61
Love is inexhaustible and full of fear."
This life is endless and my eyes are tired,
So that, again and again, I touch a chair,
Or go to the window, press my face
Against it, hoping with substantial touch,
Colorful sight, or turning things to gain once more
The look of actuality, the certainty
Of those who run down stairs and drive a car.
Then let us be each other's truth, let us
Affirm the other's self, and be
The other's audience, the other's state,
Each to the other his sonorous fame.
Now you will be afraid, when, waking up,
Before familiar morning, by my mute side
Wan and abandoned then, when, waking up,
You see the lion or lamb upon my face
Or see the daemon breathing heavily
His sense of ignorance, his wish to die,
For I am nothing because my circus self
Divides its love a million times.
I am the octopus in love with God,
For thus is my desire inconclusible,
Until my mind, deranged in swimming tubes,
Issues its own darkness, clutching seas
---O God of my perfect ignorance,
Bring the New Year to my only sister soon,
Take from me strength and power to bless her head,
Give her the magnitude of secular trust,
Until she turns to me in her troubled sleep,
Seeing me in my wish, free from self-wrongs.
~ Delmore Schwartz,
339:I.
  The everlasting universe of things
  Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,
  Now darknow glittering--now reflecting gloom--
  Now lending splendour, where from secret springs
  The source of human thought its tribute brings
  Of waters--with a sound but half its own,
  Such as a feeble brook will oft assume,
  In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,
  Where waterfalls around it leap for ever,
Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river
Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.

II.
Thus thou, Ravine of Arvedark, deep Ravine--
Thou many-colour'd, many-voiced vale,
Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail
Fast cloud-shadows and sunbeams: awful scene,
Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down
From the ice-gulfs that gird his secret throne,
Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame
Of lightning through the tempest;--thou dost lie,
Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging,
Children of elder time, in whose devotion
The chainless winds still come and ever came
To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging
To hearan old and solemn harmony;
Thine earthly rainbows stretch'd across the sweep
Of the aethereal waterfall, whose veil
Robes some unsculptur'd image; the strange sleep
Which when the voices of the desert fail
Wraps all in its own deep eternity;
Thy caverns echoing to the Arve's commotion,
A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame;
Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion,
Thou art the path of that unresting sound
Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on thee
I seem as in a trance sublime and strange
To muse on my own separate fantasy,
My own, my human mind, which passively
Now renders and receives fast influencings,
Holding an unremitting interchange
With the clear universe of things around;
One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings
Now float above thy darkness, and now rest
Where that or thou art no unbidden guest,
In the still cave of the witch Poesy,
Seeking among the shadows that pass by
Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee,
Some phantom, some faint image; till the breast
From which they fled recalls them, thou art there!

III.
Some say that gleams of a remoter world
Visit the soul in sleep, that death is slumber,
And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber
Of those who wake and live.I look on high;
Has some unknown omnipotence unfurl'd
The veil of life and death? or do I lie
In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep
Spread far around and inaccessibly
Its circles? For the very spirit fails,
Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep
That vanishes among the viewless gales!
  Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky,
Mont Blanc appearsstill, snowy, and serene;
Its subject mountains their unearthly forms
Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between
Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps,
Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread
And wind among the accumulated steeps;
A desert peopled by the storms alone,
Save when the eagle brings some hunter's bone,
And the wolf tracks her there--how hideously
Its shapes are heap'd around! rude, bare, and high,
Ghastly, and scarr'd, and riven. --Is this the scene
Where the old Earthquake-daemon taught her young
Ruin? Were these their toys? or did a sea
Of fire envelop once this silent snow?
None can reply -- all seems eternal now.
The wilderness has a mysterious tongue
Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild,
So solemn, so serene, that man may be,
But for such faith, with Nature reconcil'd;
Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal
Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood
By all, but which the wise, and great, and good
Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.

IV.
The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams,
Ocean, and all the living things that dwell
Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain,
Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane,
The torpor of the year when feeble dreams
Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep
Holds every future leaf and flower; the bound
With which from that detested trance they leap;
The works and ways of man, their death and birth,
And that of him and all that his may be;
All things that move and breathe with toil and sound
Are born and die; revolve, subside, and swell.
Power dwells apart in its tranquillity,
Remote, serene, and inaccessible:
And this, the naked countenance of earth,
On which I gaze, even these primeval mountains
Teach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep
Like snakes that watch their prey, from their far fountains,
Slow rolling on; there, many a precipice
Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power
Have pil'd: dome, pyramid, and pinnacle,
A city of death, distinct with many a tower
And wall impregnable of beaming ice.
Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin
Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky
Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewing
Its destin'd path, or in the mangled soil
Branchless and shatter'd stand; the rocks, drawn down
From yon remotest waste, have overthrown
The limits of the dead and living world,
Never to be reclaim'd. The dwelling-place
Of insects, beasts, and birds, becomes its spoil;
Their food and their retreat for ever gone,
So much of life and joy is lost. The race
Of man flies far in dread; his work and dwelling
Vanish, like smoke before the tempest's stream,
And their place is not known. Below, vast caves
Shine in the rushing torrents' restless gleam,
Which from those secret chasms in tumult welling
Meet in the vale, and one majestic River,
The breath and blood of distant lands, for ever
Rolls its loud waters to the ocean-waves,
Breathes its swift vapours to the circling air.

V.
Mont Blanc yet gleams on high:--the power is there,
The still and solemn power of many sights,
And many sounds, and much of life and death.
In the calm darkness of the moonless nights,
In the lone glare of day, the snows descend
Upon that Mountain; none beholds them there,
Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun,
Or the star-beams dart through them. Winds contend
Silently there, and heap the snow with breath
Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home
The voiceless lightning in these solitudes
Keeps innocently, and like vapour broods
Over the snow. The secret Strength of things
Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome
Of Heaven is as a law, inhabits thee!
And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea,
If to the human mind's imaginings
Silence and solitude were vacancy?
Composed in Switzerland, July, 1816 (see date below). Printed at the end of the History of a Six Weeks' Tour published by Shelley in 1817, and reprinted with Posthumous Poems, 1824. Amongst the Boscombe manuscripts is a draft of this Ode, mainly in pencil, which has been collated by Dr. Garnett.

1.
In the preface of Mary Shelley's History of a Six Weeks Tour
(1817), Shelley writes: "the poem was composed under the immediate impression of the deep and powerful feelings excited by the objects which it attempts to describe\; and, as an undisciplined overflowing of the soul, rests its claim to approbation on an attempt to imitate the untamable
wildness and inaccessible solemnity from which those feelings sprang."
Shelley's prose account of his reaction to the first sight of Mont Blanc is in
a letter written on July 24 to T. L. Peacock.

1-2.
For a prose exposition of what Shelley calls "the intellectual philosophy,"
see his essay On Life: "I confess that I am one of those who am unable
to refuse my assent to the conclusions of those philosophers who assert that
nothing exists but as it is perceived .... The difference is merely nominal
between those two classes of thought which are vulgarly distinguished by
the names of ideas and of external objects. ... The existence of distinct
individual minds ... is likewise found to be a delusion. The words, I,
you, they, are ... merely marks employed to denote the different
modifications of the one mind. ... By the word things is to be
understood any object of thought. ... The relations of things remain
unchanged [in the intellectual philosophy]\; and such is the material of our
knowledge."

53.
Unfurl'd. "Rolled back" or merely "furled" is the meaning required by the
sense of the passage. "Upfurled" has been suggested as the word Shelley intended.

76-83.
For a related argument see Queen Mab, VI, 197-219.

79.
But for such faith. A surviving pencil draft of the poem reads "in such
a faith," which confirms the likelihood that this phrase is intended to mean
"even with such faith alone," rather than "except for such faith."


~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mont Blanc - Lines Written In The Vale of Chamouni
,
340:Epistles To Several Persons: Epistle Iv, To Richard
Boyle,
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se
Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures:
Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso,
Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae,
Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus, atque
Extenuantis eas consulto.
(Horace, Satires, I, x, 17-22)
'Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ
To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy:
Is it less strange, the prodigal should waste
His wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste?
Not for himself he sees, or hears, or eats;
Artists must choose his pictures, music, meats:
He buys for Topham, drawings and designs,
For Pembroke, statues, dirty gods, and coins;
Rare monkish manuscripts for Hearne alone,
And books for Mead, and butterflies for Sloane.
Think we all these are for himself? no more
Than his fine wife, alas! or finer whore.
For what his Virro painted, built, and planted?
Only to show, how many tastes he wanted.
What brought Sir Visto's ill got wealth to waste?
Some daemon whisper'd, "Visto! have a taste."
Heav'n visits with a taste the wealthy fool,
And needs no rod but Ripley with a rule.
See! sportive fate, to punish awkward pride,
Bids Bubo build, and sends him such a guide:
A standing sermon, at each year's expense,
That never coxcomb reach'd magnificence!
You show us, Rome was glorious, not profuse,
And pompous buildings once were things of use.
Yet shall (my Lord) your just, your noble rules
Fill half the land with imitating fools;
Who random drawings from your sheets shall take,
And of one beauty many blunders make;
Load some vain church with old theatric state,
86
Turn arcs of triumph to a garden gate;
Reverse your ornaments, and hang them all
On some patch'd dog-hole ek'd with ends of wall;
Then clap four slices of pilaster on't,
That lac'd with bits of rustic, makes a front.
Or call the winds through long arcades to roar,
Proud to catch cold at a Venetian door;
Conscious they act a true Palladian part,
And, if they starve, they starve by rules of art.
Oft have you hinted to your brother peer,
A certain truth, which many buy too dear:
Something there is more needful than expense,
And something previous ev'n to taste--'tis sense:
Good sense, which only is the gift of Heav'n,
And though no science, fairly worth the sev'n:
A light, which in yourself you must perceive;
Jones and Le Notre have it not to give.
To build, to plant, whatever you intend,
To rear the column, or the arch to bend,
To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot;
In all, let Nature never be forgot.
But treat the goddess like a modest fair,
Nor overdress, nor leave her wholly bare;
Let not each beauty ev'rywhere be spied,
Where half the skill is decently to hide.
He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds,
Surprises, varies, and conceals the bounds.
Consult the genius of the place in all;
That tells the waters or to rise, or fall;
Or helps th' ambitious hill the heav'ns to scale,
Or scoops in circling theatres the vale;
Calls in the country, catches opening glades,
Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades,
Now breaks, or now directs, th' intending lines;
Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.
Still follow sense, of ev'ry art the soul,
Parts answ'ring parts shall slide into a whole,
Spontaneous beauties all around advance,
87
Start ev'n from difficulty, strike from chance;
Nature shall join you; time shall make it grow
A work to wonder at--perhaps a Stowe.
Without it, proud Versailles! thy glory falls;
And Nero's terraces desert their walls:
The vast parterres a thousand hands shall make,
Lo! Cobham comes, and floats them with a lake:
Or cut wide views through mountains to the plain,
You'll wish your hill or shelter'd seat again.
Ev'n in an ornament its place remark,
Nor in an hermitage set Dr. Clarke.
Behold Villario's ten years' toil complete;
His quincunx darkens, his espaliers meet;
The wood supports the plain, the parts unite,
And strength of shade contends with strength of light;
A waving glow his bloomy beds display,
Blushing in bright diversities of day,
With silver-quiv'ring rills meander'd o'er-Enjoy them, you! Villario can no more;
Tir'd of the scene parterres and fountains yield,
He finds at last he better likes a field.
Through his young woods how pleas'd Sabinus stray'd,
Or sat delighted in the thick'ning shade,
With annual joy the redd'ning shoots to greet,
Or see the stretching branches long to meet!
His son's fine taste an op'ner vista loves,
Foe to the dryads of his father's groves;
One boundless green, or flourish'd carpet views,
With all the mournful family of yews;
The thriving plants ignoble broomsticks made,
Now sweep those alleys they were born to shade.
At Timon's villa let us pass a day,
Where all cry out, "What sums are thrown away!"
So proud, so grand of that stupendous air,
Soft and agreeable come never there.
Greatness, with Timon, dwells in such a draught
As brings all Brobdingnag before your thought.
To compass this, his building is a town,
88
His pond an ocean, his parterre a down:
Who but must laugh, the master when he sees,
A puny insect, shiv'ring at a breeze!
Lo, what huge heaps of littleness around!
The whole, a labour'd quarry above ground.
Two cupids squirt before: a lake behind
Improves the keenness of the Northern wind.
His gardens next your admiration call,
On ev'ry side you look, behold the wall!
No pleasing intricacies intervene,
No artful wildness to perplex the scene;
Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,
And half the platform just reflects the other.
The suff'ring eye inverted Nature sees,
Trees cut to statues, statues thick as trees;
With here a fountain, never to be play'd;
And there a summerhouse, that knows no shade;
Here Amphitrite sails through myrtle bow'rs;
There gladiators fight, or die in flow'rs;
Unwater'd see the drooping sea horse mourn,
And swallows roost in Nilus' dusty urn.
My Lord advances with majestic mien,
Smit with the mighty pleasure, to be seen:
But soft--by regular approach--not yet-First through the length of yon hot terrace sweat;
And when up ten steep slopes you've dragg'd your thighs,
Just at his study door he'll bless your eyes.
His study! with what authors is it stor'd?
In books, not authors, curious is my Lord;
To all their dated backs he turns you round:
These Aldus printed, those Du Sueil has bound.
Lo, some are vellum, and the rest as good
For all his Lordship knows, but they are wood.
For Locke or Milton 'tis in vain to look,
These shelves admit not any modern book.
And now the chapel's silver bell you hear,
That summons you to all the pride of pray'r:
Light quirks of music, broken and uneven,
Make the soul dance upon a jig to heaven.
89
On painted ceilings you devoutly stare,
Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre,
On gilded clouds in fair expansion lie,
And bring all paradise before your eye.
To rest, the cushion and soft dean invite,
Who never mentions Hell to ears polite.
But hark! the chiming clocks to dinner call;
A hundred footsteps scrape the marble hall:
The rich buffet well-colour'd serpents grace,
And gaping Tritons spew to wash your face.
Is this a dinner? this a genial room?
No, 'tis a temple, and a hecatomb.
A solemn sacrifice, perform'd in state,
You drink by measure, and to minutes eat.
So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear
Sancho's dread doctor and his wand were there.
Between each act the trembling salvers ring,
From soup to sweet wine, and God bless the King.
In plenty starving, tantaliz'd in state,
And complaisantly help'd to all I hate,
Treated, caress'd, and tir'd, I take my leave,
Sick of his civil pride from morn to eve;
I curse such lavish cost, and little skill,
And swear no day was ever pass'd so ill.
Yet hence the poor are cloth'd, the hungry fed;
Health to himself, and to his infants bread
The lab'rer bears: What his hard heart denies,
His charitable vanity supplies.
Another age shall see the golden ear
Embrown the slope, and nod on the parterre,
Deep harvests bury all his pride has plann'd,
And laughing Ceres reassume the land.
Who then shall grace, or who improve the soil?
Who plants like Bathurst, or who builds like Boyle.
'Tis use alone that sanctifies expense,
And splendour borrows all her rays from sense.
His father's acres who enjoys in peace,
90
Or makes his neighbours glad, if he increase:
Whose cheerful tenants bless their yearly toil,
Yet to their Lord owe more than to the soil;
Whose ample lawns are not asham'd to feed
The milky heifer and deserving steed;
Whose rising forests, not for pride or show,
But future buildings, future navies, grow:
Let his plantations stretch from down to down,
First shade a country, and then raise a town.
You too proceed! make falling arts your care,
Erect new wonders, and the old repair;
Jones and Palladio to themselves restore,
And be whate'er Vitruvius was before:
Till kings call forth th' ideas of your mind,
Proud to accomplish what such hands design'd,
Bid harbours open, public ways extend,
Bid temples, worthier of the God, ascend;
Bid the broad arch the dang'rous flood contain,
The mole projected break the roaring main;
Back to his bounds their subject sea command,
And roll obedient rivers through the land;
These honours, peace to happy Britain brings,
These are imperial works, and worthy kings.
~ Alexander Pope,
341:The Dunciad: Book I.
The Mighty Mother, and her son who brings
The Smithfield muses to the ear of kings,
I sing. Say you, her instruments the great!
Called to this work by Dulness, Jove, and Fate;
You by whose care, in vain decried and cursed,
Still Dunce the second reigns like Dunce the first;
Say how the Goddess bade Britannia sleep,
And poured her spirit o’er the land and deep.
In eldest time, e’er mortals writ or read,
E’er Pallas issued from the Thunderer’s head,
Dulness o’er all possessed her ancient right,
Daughter of Chaos and eternal Night:
Fate in their dotage this fair idiot gave,
Gross as her sire, and as her mother grave,
Laborious, heavy, busy, bold, and blind,
She ruled, in native anarchy, the mind.
Still her old empire to restore she tries,
For, born a goddess, Dulness never dies.
O thou! whatever title please thine ear,
Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff, or Gulliver!
Whether thou choose Cervantes’ serious air,
Or laugh and shake in Rabelais’ easy chair,
Or praise the court, or magnify mankind,
Or thy grieved country’s copper chains unbind;
From thy Boeotia though her power retires,
Mourn not, my SWIFT, at ought our realm acquires,
Here pleased behold her mighty wings out-spread
To hatch a new Saturnian age of lead.
Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne,
And laughs to think Monroe would take her down,
Where o’er the gates, by his famed by father’s hand
Great Cibber’s brazen, brainless brothers stand;
One cell there is, concealed from vulgar eye,
The cave of poverty and poetry.
Keen, hollow winds howl through the bleak recess,
Emblem of music caused by emptiness.
Hence bards, like Proteus long in vain tied down,
Escape in monsters, and amaze the town.
Hence miscellanies spring, the weekly boast
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Of Curll’s chaste press, and Lintot’s rubric post :
Hence hymning Tyburn’s elegiac lines,
Hence Journals, Medleys, Merc’ries, Magazines:
Sepulchral lies, our holy walls to grace,
And new Year odes, and all the Grub Street race.
In clouded majesty here Dulness shone;
Four guardian virtues, round, support her throne:
Fierce champion Fortitude, that knows no fears
Of hisses, blows, or want, or loss of ears:
Calm Temperance, whose blessings those partake
Who hunger, and who thirst for scribbling sake:
Prudence, whose glass presents th’ approaching goal.
Poetic justice, with her lifted scale,
Where, in nice balance, truth with gold she weighs,
And solid pudding against empty praise.
Here she beholds the chaos dark and deep,
Where nameless somethings in their causes sleep,
Till genial Jacob, or a warm third day,
Call forth each mass, a poem, or a play:
How hints, like spawn, scarce quick in embryo lie,
How new-born nonsense first is taught to cry.
Maggots half-formed in rhyme exactly meet,
And learn to crawl upon poetic feet.
Here one poor word an hundred clenches makes,
And ductile dullness new meanders takes;
There motley images her fancy strike,
Figures ill paired, and similes unlike.
She sees a mob of metaphors advance,
Pleased with the madness of the mazy dance:
How tragedy and comedy embrace;
How farce and epic get a jumbled race;
How time himself stands still at her command,
Realms shift their place, and ocean turns to land.
Here gay description Egypt glads with showers,
Or gives to Zembla fruits, to Barca flowers;
Glittering with ice here hoary hills are seen,
There painted valleys of eternal green,
In cold December fragrant chaplets blow,
And heavy harvests nod beneath the snow.
All these, and more, the cloud-compelling Queen
Beholds through fogs, that magnify the scene.
She, tinselled o’er in robes of varying hues,
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With self-applause her wild creation views;
Sees momentary monsters rise and fall,
And with her own fools-colours gilds them all.
’Twas on the day, when
rich and grave,
Like Cimon, triumphed both on land and wave:
(Pomps without guilt, of bloodless swords and maces,
Glad chains, warm furs, broad banners, and broad faces)
Now night descending, the proud scene was o’er,
But lived, in Settle’s numbers, one day more.
Now mayors and shrieves all hushed and satiate lay,
Yet eat, in dreams, the custard of the day;
While pensive poets painful vigils keep,
Sleepless themselves, to give their readers sleep.
Much to the mindful Queen the feast recalls
What city swans once sung within the walls;
Much she revolves their arts, their ancient praise,
And sure succession down from Heywood’s days.
She saw, with joy, the line immortal run,
Each sire impressed and glaring in his son:
So watchful Bruin forms, with plastic care,
Each growing lump, and brings it to a bear.
She saw old Prynne in restless Daniel shine,
And Eusden eke out Blackmore’s endless line;
She saw slow Philips creep like Tate’s poor page,
And all the mighty mad in Dennis rage.
In each she marks her image full expressed,
But chief in BAY’S monster-breeding breast;
Bays, formed by nature stage and town to bless,
And act, and be, a coxcomb with success.
Dulness with transport eyes the lively dunce,
Remembering she herself was pertness once.
Now (shame to fortune!) an ill run at play
Blanked his bold visage, and a thin third day:
Swearing and supperless the hero sate,
Blasphemed his gods, the dice, and damned his fate.
Then gnawed his pen, then dashed it on the ground,
Sinking from thought to thought, a vast profound!
Plunged for his sense, but found no bottom there,
Yet wrote and floundered on, in mere despair.
Round him much embryo, much abortion lay,
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Much future ode, and abdicated play;
Nonsense precipitate, like running lead,
That slipped through cracks and zigzags of the head;
All that on folly frenzy could beget,
Fruits of dull heat, and sooterkins of wit.
Next, o’er his books his eyes began to roll,
In pleasing memory of all he stole,
How here he sipped, how there he plundered snug
And sucked all o’er, like an industrious bug.
Here lay poor Fletcher’s half-eat scenes, and here
The frippery of crucified Molière;
There hapless Shakespeare, yet of Tibbald sore,
Wished he had blotted for himself before.
The rest on outside merit but presume,
Or serve (like other fools) to fill a room;
Such with their shelves as due proportion hold,
Or their fond parents dressed in red and gold;
Or where the pictures for the page atone,
And Quarles is saved by beauties not his own.
Here swells the shelf with Ogibly the great;
There, stamped with arms, Newcastle shines complete:
Here all his suffering brotherhood retire,
And ’scape the martyrdom of jakes and fire:
A Gothic library! Of Greece and Rome
Well purged, and worthy Settle, Banks, and Broome.
But, high above, more solid learning shone,
The classics of an age that heard of none;
There Caxton slept, with Wynkyn at his side,
One clasped in wood, and one in strong cow-hide;
There, saved by spice, like mummies, many a year,
Dry bodies of divinity appear:
De Lyra there a dreadful front extends,
And here the groaning shelves Philemon bends.
Of these twelve volumes, twelve of amplest size,
Redeemed from tapers and defrauded pies,
Inspired he seizes: these an altar raise:
An hetatomb of pure, unsullied lays
That altar crowns: a folio commonplace
Founds the whole pile, of all his works the base:
Quartos, octavos, shape the lessening pyre;
A twisted birthday ode completes the spire.
Then he: ‘Great tamer of all human art!
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First in my care, and ever at my heart;
Dulness! Whose good old cause I yet defend,
With whom my muse began, with whom shall end;
E’er since Sir Fopling’s periwig was praise
To the last honours of the butt and bays:
O thou! of business the directing soul!
To this our head like bias to the bowl,
Which, as more ponderous, made its aim more true,
Obliquely waddling to the mark in view:
O! ever gracias to perplexed mankind,
Still spread a healing mist before the mind;
And lest we err by wit’s wild dancing light,
Secure us kindly in our native night.
Or, if to wit a coxcomb make pretence,
Guard the sure barrier between that and sense;
Or quite unravel all the reasoning thread,
And hang some curious cobweb in its stead!
As, forced from wind-guns, lead itself can fly,
And ponderous slugs cut swiftly through the sky;
As clocks to weight their nimble motion owe,
The wheels above urged by the load below:
Me emptiness, and Dulness could inspire,
And were my elasticity, and fire.
Some daemon stole my pen(forgive th’offence)
And once betrayed me into common sense:
Else all my prose and verse were much the same;
This, prose on stilts, that, poetry fallen lame.
Did on the stage my fops appear confined?
My life gave ampler lessons to mankind.
Did the dead letter unsuccessful prove?
The brisk example never failed to move.
Yet sure had heaven decreed to save the state,
Heaven had decreed these works a longer date.
Could Troy be saved by any single hand,
This grey-goose weapon must have made her stand.
What can I now? my Fletcher cast aside,
Take up the Bible, once my better guide?
Or tread the path by venturous heroes trod,
This box my thunder, this right hand my god?
Or chaired at White’s amidst the doctors sit,
Teach oaths to gamesters, and to nobles wit?
Or bidst thou rather party to embrace?
174
(A friend to party thou, and all her race;
’Tis the same rope at different ends they twist;
To Dulness Ridpath is as dear as Mist.)
Shall I, like Curtius, desperate in my zeal,
O’er head and ears plunge for the commonweal?
Or rob Rome’s ancient geese of all their glories,
And cackling save the monarchy of Tories?
Hold—to the minister I more incline;
To serve his cause, O Queen! is serving thine.
And see! Thy very gazetteers give o’er,
Ev’n Ralph repents, and Henley writes no more.
What then remains? Ourself. Still, still remain
Cibberian forehead, and Cibberian brain.
This brazen brightness, to the ‘squire so dear;
This polished hardness, that reflects the peer;
This arch absurd, that sit and fool delights;
This mess, tossed up of Hockley Hole and White’s;
Where dukes and butchers join to wreathe my crown,
At once the bear and fiddle of the town.
O born in sin, and forth in folly brought!
Works damned, or to be damned! (your father’s fault)
Go, purified by flames ascend the sky,
My better and more Christian progeny!
Unstained, untouched, and yet in maiden sheets;
While all your smutty sisters walk the streets.
Ye shall not beg, like gratis-given Bland,
Sent with a pass, and vagrant through the land;
Not sail, with Ward, to ape-and-monkey climes,
Where vile mundungus trucks for viler rhymes;
Not sulphur-tipped, emblaze an alehouse fire;
Not wrap up oranges, to pelt your sire!
O! pass more innocent, in infant state,
To the mild limbo of our father Tate:
Or peaceably forgot, at once be blessed
In Shadwell’s bosom with eternal rest!
Soon to that mass of nonsense to return,
Where things destroyed are swept to things unborn.’
With that, a tear (portentous sign of grace!)
Stole from the master of the sevenfold face:
And thrice he lifted high the birthday brand,
And thrice he dropped it from his quivering hand;
Then lights the structure, with averted eyes:
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The rolling smokes involve the sacrifice.
The opening clouds disclose each work by turns,
Now flames the Cid, and now Perolla burns;
Great Ceasar roars, and hisses in the fires;
King John in silence modestly expires:
No merit now the dear Nonjuror claims,
Molière’s old stubble in a moment flames.
Tears gushed again, as from pale Priam’s eyes
When the last blaze sent Ilion to the skies.
Roused by the light, old Dulness heaved the head;
Then snatched a sheet of Thulè from her bed,
Sudden she flies, and whelms it o’er the pyre;
Down sink the flames, and with a hiss expire.
Her ample presence fills up all the place;
A veil of fogs dilates her awful face;
Great in her charms! as when on shrieves and mayors
She looks, and breathes herself into their airs.
She bids him wait her to her sacred dome:
Well pleased he entered, and confessed his home.
So spirits ending their terrestrial race,
Ascend, and recognize their native place.
This the Great Mother dearer held than all
The clubs of quidnuncs, or her own Guildhall:
Here stood her opium, here she nursed her owls,
And here she planned th’ imperial seat of Fools.
Here to her chosen all her works she shows;
Prose swelled to verse, verse loitering into prose:
How random thoughts now meaning chance to find,
Now leave all memory of sense behind:
How prologues into prefaces decay,
And these to notes are frittered quite away:
How index-learning turns no student pale,
Yet holds the eel of science by the tail:
How, with less reading than makes felons ’scape,
Less human genius than God gives an ape,
Small thanks to France, and none to Rome or Greece,
A past, vamped, future, old, revived, new piece,
’Twixt Plautus, Fletcher, Shakespeare, and Corneille,
Can make a Cibber, Tibbald, or Ozell.
The Goddess then, o’er his anointed head,
With mystic words, the sacred opium shed.
And lo! her bird, (a monster of a fowl,
176
Something betwixt a Heidegger and owl,)
Perched on his crown: ‘ All hail! and hail again,
My son! The promised land expects thy reign.
Know, Eusden thirsts no more for sack or praise;
He sleeps among the dull of ancient days;
Safe, where no critics damn, no duns molest,
Where wretched Withers, Ward, and Gildon rest,
And high-born Howard, more majestic sire,
With fool of quality completes the quire.
Thou Cibber! thou, his laurel shalt support,
Folly, my son, has still a friend at court.
Lift up your gates, ye princes, see him come!
Sound, sound ye viols, be the catcall dumb!
Bring, bring the madding bay, the drunken vine;
The creeping, dirty, courtly ivy join.
And thou! his aide de camp, lead on my sons,
Light-armed with points, antitheses, and puns.
Let bawdry, Billingsgate, my daughters dear,
Support his front, and oaths bring up the rear:
And under his, and under Archer’s wing,
Gaming and Grub Street skulk behind the king.
O! when shall rise a monarch all our own,
And I, a nursing-mother, rock the throne,
’Twixt prince and people close the curtain draw,
Shade him from light, and cover him from law;
Fatten the courtier, starve the learned band,
And suckle armies, and dry-nurse the land:
Till senates nod to lullabies divine,
And all be asleep, as at an ode of thine.’
She ceased. Then swells the Chapel Royal throat:
‘God save King Cibber!’ mounts in every note.
Familiar White’s, ‘God save king Colley!’ cries;
‘God save King Colley!’ Drury Lane replies:
To Needham’s quick the voice triumphal rode,
But pious Needham dropped the name of God;
Back to the Devil the last echoes roll,
And ‘Coll!’ each butcher roars at Hockley Hole.
So when Jove’s block descended from on high
(As sings thy great forefather Ogilby)
Loud thunder to its bottom shook the bog,
And the hoarse nation croaked, ‘God save King Log!
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~ Alexander Pope,
342:A FRAGMENT

PART I

Nec tantum prodere vati,
Quantum scire licet. Venit aetas omnis in unam
Congeriem, miserumque premunt tot saecula pectus.
Lucan, Phars. v. 176.

How wonderful is Death,
Death and his brother Sleep!
One pale as yonder wan and hornd moon,
With lips of lurid blue,
The other glowing like the vital morn,
When throned on ocean's wave
It breathes over the world:
Yet both so passing strange and wonderful!
Hath then the iron-sceptred Skeleton,
Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres,
To the hell dogs that couch beneath his throne
Cast that fair prey? Must that divinest form,
Which love and admiration cannot view
Without a beating heart, whose azure veins
Steal like dark streams along a field of snow,
Whose outline is as fair as marble clothed
In light of some sublimest mind, decay?
Nor putrefaction's breath
Leave aught of this pure spectacle
But loathsomeness and ruin?
Spare aught but a dark theme,
On which the lightest heart might moralize?
Or is it but that downy-wingd slumbers
Have charmed their nurse coy Silence near her lids
To watch their own repose?
Will they, when morning's beam
Flows through those wells of light,
Seek far from noise and day some western cave,
Where woods and streams with soft and pausing winds
A lulling murmur weave?
Ianthe doth not sleep
The dreamless sleep of death:
Nor in her moonlight chamber silently
Doth Henry hear her regular pulses throb,
Or mark her delicate cheek
With interchange of hues mock the broad moon.
Outwatching weary night,
Without assured reward.
Her dewy eyes are closed;
On their translucent lids, whose texture fine
Scarce hides the dark blue orbs that burn below
With unapparent fire,
The baby Sleep is pillowed:
Her golden tresses shade
The bosom's stainless pride,
Twining like tendrils of the parasite
Around a marble column.
Hark! whence that rushing sound?
'Tis like a wondrous strain that sweeps
Around a lonely ruin
When west winds sigh and evening waves respond
In whispers from the shore:
'Tis wilder than the unmeasured notes
Which from the unseen lyres of dells and groves
The genii of the breezes sweep.
Floating on waves of music and of light,
The chariot of the Daemon of the World
Descends in silent power:
Its shape reposed within: slight as some cloud
That catches but the palest tinge of day
When evening yields to night,
Bright as that fibrous woof when stars indue
Its transitory robe.
Four shapeless shadows bright and beautiful
Draw that strange car of glory, reins of light
Check their unearthly speed; they stop and fold
Their wings of braided air:
The Daemon leaning from the ethereal car
Gazed on the slumbering maid.
Human eye hath ne'er beheld
A shape so wild, so bright, so beautiful,
As that which o'er the maiden's charmd sleep
Waving a starry wand,
Hung like a mist of light.
Such sounds as breathed around like odorous winds
Of wakening spring arose,
Filling the chamber and the moonlight sky.
Maiden, the world's supremest spirit
Beneath the shadow of her wings
Folds all thy memory doth inherit
From ruin of divinest things,
Feelings that lure thee to betray,
And light of thoughts that pass away.
For thou hast earned a mighty boon,
The truths which wisest poets see
Dimly, thy mind may make its own,
Rewarding its own majesty,
Entranced in some diviner mood
Of self-oblivious solitude.
Custom, and Faith, and Power thou spurnest;
From hate and awe thy heart is free;
Ardent and pure as day thou burnest,
For dark and cold mortality
A living light, to cheer it long,
The watch-fires of the world among.
Therefore from nature's inner shrine,
Where gods and fiends in worship bend,
Majestic spirit, be it thine
The flame to seize, the veil to rend,
Where the vast snake Eternity
In charmd sleep doth ever lie.
All that inspires thy voice of love,
Or speaks in thy unclosing eyes,
Or through thy frame doth burn or move,
Or think or feel, awake, arise!
Spirit, leave for mine and me
Earth's unsubstantial mimicry!
It ceased, and from the mute and moveless frame
A radiant spirit arose,
All beautiful in naked purity.
Robed in its human hues it did ascend,
Disparting as it went the silver clouds,
It moved towards the car, and took its seat
Beside the Daemon shape.
Obedient to the sweep of ary song,
The mighty ministers
Unfurled their prismy wings.
The magic car moved on;
The night was fair, innumerable stars
Studded heaven's dark blue vault;
The eastern wave grew pale
With the first smile of morn.
The magic car moved on.
From the swift sweep of wings
The atmosphere in flaming sparkles flew;
And where the burning wheels
Eddied above the mountain's loftiest peak
Was traced a line of lightning.
Now far above a rock the utmost verge
Of the wide earth it flew,
The rival of the Andes, whose dark brow
Frowned o'er the silver sea.
Far, far below the chariot's stormy path,
Calm as a slumbering babe,
Tremendous ocean lay.
Its broad and silent mirror gave to view
The pale and waning stars,
The chariot's fiery track,
And the grey light of morn
Tingeing those fleecy clouds
That cradled in their folds the infant dawn.
The chariot seemed to fly
Through the abyss of an immense concave,
Radiant with million constellations, tinged
With shades of infinite colour,
And semicircled with a belt
Flashing incessant meteors.
As they approached their goal,
The wingd shadows seemed to gather speed.
The sea no longer was distinguished; earth
Appeared a vast and shadowy sphere, suspended
In the black concave of heaven
With the sun's cloudless orb,
Whose rays of rapid light
Parted around the chariot's swifter course,
And fell like ocean's feathery spray
Dashed from the boiling surge
Before a vessel's prow.
The magic car moved on.
Earth's distant orb appeared
The smallest light that twinkles in the heavens,
Whilst round the chariot's way
Innumerable systems widely rolled,
And countless spheres diffused
An ever varying glory.
It was a sight of wonder! Some were horned.
And like the moon's argentine crescent hung
In the dark dome of heaven; some did shed
A clear mild beam like Hesperus, while the sea
Yet glows with fading sunlight; others dashed
Athwart the night with trains of bickering fire,
Like spherd worlds to death and ruin driven;
Some shone like stars, and as the chariot passed
Bedimmed all other light.
Spirit of Nature! here
In this interminable wilderness
Of worlds, at whose involved immensity
Even soaring fancy staggers,
Here is thy fitting temple.
Yet not the lightest leaf
That quivers to the passing breeze
Is less instinct with thee,
Yet not the meanest worm,
That lurks in graves and fattens on the dead,
Less shares thy eternal breath.
Spirit of Nature! thou
Imperishable as this glorious scene,
Here is thy fitting temple.
If solitude hath ever led thy steps
To the shore of the immeasurable sea,
And thou hast lingered there
Until the sun's broad orb
Seemed resting on the fiery line of ocean,
Thou must have marked the braided webs of gold
That without motion hang
Over the sinking sphere:
Thou must have marked the billowy mountain clouds,
Edged with intolerable radiancy,
Towering like rocks of jet
Above the burning deep:
And yet there is a moment
When the sun's highest point
Peers like a star o'er ocean's western edge,
When those far clouds of feathery purple gleam
Like fairy lands girt by some heavenly sea:
Then has thy rapt imagination soared
Where in the midst of all existing things
The temple of the mightiest Daemon stands.
Yet not the golden islands
That gleam amid yon flood of purple light,
Nor the feathery curtains
That canopy the sun's resplendent couch,
Nor the burnished ocean waves
Paving that gorgeous dome,
So fair, so wonderful a sight
As the eternal temple could afford.
The elements of all that human thought
Can frame of lovely or sublime, did join
To rear the fabric of the fane, nor aught
Of earth may image forth its majesty.
Yet likest evening's vault that fary hall,
As heaven low resting on the wave it spread
Its floors of flashing light,
Its vast and azure dome;
And on the verge of that obscure abyss
Where crystal battlements o'erhang the gulf
Of the dark world, ten thousand spheres diffuse
Their lustre through its adamantine gates.
The magic car no longer moved;
The Daemon and the Spirit
Entered the eternal gates.
Those clouds of ary gold
That slept in glittering billows
Beneath the azure canopy,
With the ethereal footsteps trembled not;
While slight and odorous mists
Floated to strains of thrilling melody
Through the vast columns and the pearly shrines.
The Daemon and the Spirit
Approached the overhanging battlement,
Below lay stretched the boundless universe!
There, far as the remotest line
That limits swift imagination's flight,
Unending orbs mingled in mazy motion,
Immutably fulfilling
Eternal Nature's law.
Above, below, around,
The circling systems formed
A wilderness of harmony,
Each with undeviating aim
In eloquent silence through the depths of space
Pursued its wondrous way.
Awhile the Spirit paused in ecstasy.
Yet soon she saw, as the vast spheres swept by,
Strange things within their belted orbs appear.
Like animated frenzies, dimly moved
Shadows, and skeletons, and fiendly shapes,
Thronging round human graves, and o'er the dead
Sculpturing records for each memory
In verse, such as malignant gods pronounce,
Blasting the hopes of men, when heaven and hell
Confounded burst in ruin o'er the world:
And they did build vast trophies, instruments
Of murder, human bones, barbaric gold,
Skins torn from living men, and towers of skulls
With sightless holes gazing on blinder heaven,
Mitres, and crowns, and brazen chariots stained
With blood, and scrolls of mystic wickedness,
The sanguine codes of venerable crime.
The likeness of a thrond king came by,
When these had passed, bearing upon his brow
A threefold crown; his countenance was calm,
His eye severe and cold; but his right hand
Was charged with bloody coin, and he did gnaw
By fits, with secret smiles, a human heart
Concealed beneath his robe; and motley shapes,
A multitudinous throng, around him knelt,
With bosoms bare, and bowed heads, and false looks
Of true submission, as the sphere rolled by.
Brooking no eye to witness their foul shame,
Which human hearts must feel, while human tongues
Tremble to speak, they did rage horribly,
Breathing in self-contempt fierce blasphemies
Against the Daemon of the World, and high
Hurling their armd hands where the pure Spirit,
Serene and inaccessibly secure,
Stood on an isolated pinnacle,
The flood of ages combating below,
The depth of the unbounded universe
Above, and all around
Necessity's unchanging harmony.
PART II
O happy Earth! reality of Heaven!
To which those restless powers that ceaselessly
Throng through the human universe aspire;
Thou consummation of all mortal hope!
Thou glorious prize of blindly-working will!
Whose rays, diffused throughout all space and time,
Verge to one point and blend for ever there:
Of purest spirits thou pure dwelling-place!
Where care and sorrow, impotence and crime,
Languor, disease, and ignorance dare not come:
O happy Earth, reality of Heaven!
Genius has seen thee in her passionate dreams,
And dim forebodings of thy loveliness,
Haunting the human heart, have there entwined
Those rooted hopes, that the proud Power of Evil
Shall not for ever on this fairest world
Shake pestilence and war, or that his slaves
With blasphemy for prayer, and human blood
For sacrifice, before his shrine for ever
In adoration bend, or Erebus
With all its banded fiends shall not uprise
To overwhelm in envy and revenge
The dauntless and the good, who dare to hurl
Defiance at his throne, girt tho' it be
With Death's omnipotence. Thou hast beheld
His empire, o'er the present and the past;
It was a desolate sightnow gaze on mine,
Futurity. Thou hoary giant Time,
Render thou up thy half-devoured babes,
And from the cradles of eternity,
Where millions lie lulled to their portioned sleep
By the deep murmuring stream of passing things,
Tear thou that gloomy shroud.Spirit, behold
Thy glorious destiny!
           The Spirit saw
The vast frame of the renovated world
Smile in the lap of Chaos, and the sense
Of hope thro' her fine texture did suffuse
Such varying glow, as summer evening casts
On undulating clouds and deepening lakes.
Like the vague sighings of a wind at even,
That wakes the wavelets of the slumbering sea
And dies on the creation of its breath,
And sinks and rises, fails and swells by fits,
Was the sweet stream of thought that with wild motion
Flowed o'er the Spirit's human sympathies.
The mighty tide of thought had paused awhile,
Which from the Daemon now like Ocean's stream
Again began to pour.
           To me is given
The wonders of the human world to keep
Space, matter, time and mindlet the sight
Renew and strengthen all thy failing hope.
All things are recreated, and the flame
Of consentaneous love inspires all life:
The fertile bosom of the earth gives suck
To myriads, who still grow beneath her care,
Rewarding her with their pure perfectness:
The balmy breathings of the wind inhale
Her virtues, and diffuse them all abroad:
Health floats amid the gentle atmosphere,
Glows in the fruits, and mantles on the stream;
No storms deform the beaming brow of heaven,
Nor scatter in the freshness of its pride
The foliage of the undecaying trees;
But fruits are ever ripe, flowers ever fair,
And Autumn proudly bears her matron grace,
Kindling a flush on the fair cheek of Spring,
Whose virgin bloom beneath the ruddy fruit
Reflects its tint and blushes into love.
The habitable earth is full of bliss;
Those wastes of frozen billows that were hurled
By everlasting snow-storms round the poles,
Where matter dared not vegetate nor live,
But ceaseless frost round the vast solitude
Bound its broad zone of stillness, are unloosed;
And fragrant zephyrs there from spicy isles
Ruffle the placid ocean-deep, that rolls
Its broad, bright surges to the sloping sand,
Whose roar is wakened into echoings sweet
To murmur through the heaven-breathing groves
And melodise with man's blest nature there.
The vast tract of the parched and sandy waste
Now teems with countless rills and shady woods,
Corn-fields and pastures and white cottages;
And where the startled wilderness did hear
A savage conqueror stained in kindred blood,
Hymning his victory, or the milder snake
Crushing the bones of some frail antelope
Within his brazen foldsthe dewy lawn,
Offering sweet incense to the sunrise, smiles
To see a babe before his mother's door,
Share with the green and golden basilisk
That comes to lick his feet, his morning's meal.
Those trackless deeps, where many a weary sail
Has seen, above the illimitable plain,
Morning on night and night on morning rise,
Whilst still no land to greet the wanderer spread
Its shadowy mountains on the sunbright sea,
Where the loud roarings of the tempest-waves
So long have mingled with the gusty wind
In melancholy loneliness, and swept
The desert of those ocean solitudes,
But vocal to the sea-bird's harrowing shriek,
The bellowing monster, and the rushing storm.
Now to the sweet and many-mingling sounds
Of kindliest human impulses respond:
Those lonely realms bright garden-isles begem,
With lightsome clouds and shining seas between,
And fertile valleys, resonant with bliss,
Whilst green woods overcanopy the wave,
Which like a toil-worn labourer leaps to shore,
To meet the kisses of the flowerets there.
Man chief perceives the change, his being notes
The gradual renovation, and defines
Each movement of its progress on his mind.
Man, where the gloom of the long polar night
Lowered o'er the snow-clad rocks and frozen soil,
Where scarce the hardiest herb that braves the frost
Basked in the moonlight's ineffectual glow,
Shrank with the plants, and darkened with the night:
Nor where the tropics bound the realms of day
With a broad belt of mingling cloud and flame,
Where blue mists through the unmoving atmosphere
Scattered the seeds of pestilence, and fed
Unnatural vegetation, where the land
Teemed with all earthquake, tempest and disease,
Was man a nobler being; slavery
Had crushed him to his country's blood-stained dust.
Even where the milder zone afforded man
A seeming shelter, yet contagion there,
Blighting his being with unnumbered ills,
Spread like a quenchless fire; nor truth availed
Till late to arrest its progress, or create
That peace which first in bloodless victory waved
Her snowy standard o'er this favoured clime:
There man was long the train-bearer of slaves,
The mimic of surrounding misery,
The jackal of ambition's lion-rage,
The bloodhound of religion's hungry zeal.
Here now the human being stands adorning
This loveliest earth with taintless body and mind:
Blest from his birth with all bland impulses,
Which gently in his noble bosom wake
All kindly passions and all pure desires.
Him, still from hope to hope the bliss pursuing,
Which from the exhaustless lore of human weal
Dawns on the virtuous mind, the thoughts that rise
In time-destroying infiniteness gift
With self-enshrined eternity, that mocks
The unprevailing hoariness of age,
And man, once fleeting o'er the transient scene
Swift as an unremembered vision, stands
Immortal upon earth: no longer now
He slays the beast that sports around his dwelling
And horribly devours its mangled flesh,
Or drinks its vital blood, which like a stream
Of poison thro' his fevered veins did flow
Feeding a plague that secretly consumed
His feeble frame, and kindling in his mind
Hatred, despair, and fear and vain belief,
The germs of misery, death, disease, and crime.
No longer now the wingd habitants,
That in the woods their sweet lives sing away,
Flee from the form of man; but gather round,
And prune their sunny feathers on the hands
Which little children stretch in friendly sport
Towards these dreadless partners of their play.
All things are void of terror: man has lost
His desolating privilege, and stands
An equal amidst equals: happiness
And science dawn though late upon the earth;
Peace cheers the mind, health renovates the frame;
Disease and pleasure cease to mingle here,
Reason and passion cease to combat there;
Whilst mind unfettered o'er the earth extends
Its all-subduing energies, and wields
The sceptre of a vast dominion there.
Mild is the slow necessity of death:
The tranquil spirit fails beneath its grasp,
Without a groan, almost without a fear,
Resigned in peace to the necessity,
Calm as a voyager to some distant land,
And full of wonder, full of hope as he.
The deadly germs of languor and disease
Waste in the human frame, and Nature gifts
With choicest boons her human worshippers.
How vigorous now the athletic form of age!
How clear its open and unwrinkled brow!
Where neither avarice, cunning, pride, or care,
Had stamped the seal of grey deformity
On all the mingling lineaments of time.
How lovely the intrepid front of youth!
How sweet the smiles of taintless infancy.
Within the massy prison's mouldering courts,
Fearless and free the ruddy children play,
Weaving gay chaplets for their innocent brows
With the green ivy and the red wall-flower,
That mock the dungeon's unavailing gloom;
The ponderous chains, and gratings of strong iron,
There rust amid the accumulated ruins
Now mingling slowly with their native earth:
There the broad beam of day, which feebly once
Lighted the cheek of lean captivity
With a pale and sickly glare, now freely shines
On the pure smiles of infant playfulness:
No more the shuddering voice of hoarse despair
Peals through the echoing vaults, but soothing notes
Of ivy-fingered winds and gladsome birds
And merriment are resonant around.
The fanes of Fear and Falsehood hear no more
The voice that once waked multitudes to war
Thundering thro' all their aisles: but now respond
To the death dirge of the melancholy wind:
It were a sight of awfulness to see
The works of faith and slavery, so vast,
So sumptuous, yet withal so perishing!
Even as the corpse that rests beneath their wall.
A thousand mourners deck the pomp of death
To-day, the breathing marble glows above
To decorate its memory, and tongues
Are busy of its life: to-morrow, worms
In silence and in darkness seize their prey.
These ruins soon leave not a wreck behind:
Their elements, wide-scattered o'er the globe,
To happier shapes are moulded, and become
Ministrant to all blissful impulses:
Thus human things are perfected, and earth,
Even as a child beneath its mother's love,
Is strengthened in all excellence, and grows
Fairer and nobler with each passing year.
Now Time his dusky pennons o'er the scene
Closes in steadfast darkness, and the past
Fades from our charmd sight. My task is done:
Thy lore is learned. Earth's wonders are thine own.
With all the fear and all the hope they bring.
My spells are past: the present now recurs.
Ah me! a pathless wilderness remains
Yet unsubdued by man's reclaiming hand.
Yet, human Spirit, bravely hold thy course,
Let virtue teach thee firmly to pursue
The gradual paths of an aspiring change:
For birth and life and death, and that strange state
Before the naked powers that thro' the world
Wander like winds have found a human home,
All tend to perfect happiness, and urge
The restless wheels of being on their way,
Whose flashing spokes, instinct with infinite life,
Bicker and burn to gain their destined goal:
For birth but wakes the universal mind
Whose mighty streams might else in silence flow
Thro' the vast world, to individual sense
Of outward shows, whose unexperienced shape
New modes of passion to its frame may lend;
Life is its state of action, and the store
Of all events is aggregated there
That variegate the eternal universe;
Death is a gate of dreariness and gloom,
That leads to azure isles and beaming skies
And happy regions of eternal hope.
Therefore, O Spirit! fearlessly bear on:
Though storms may break the primrose on its stalk,
Though frosts may blight the freshness of its bloom,
Yet spring's awakening breath will woo the earth,
To feed with kindliest dews its favourite flower,
That blooms in mossy banks and darksome glens,
Lighting the green wood with its sunny smile.
Fear not then, Spirit, death's disrobing hand,
So welcome when the tyrant is awake,
So welcome when the bigot's hell-torch flares;
'Tis but the voyage of a darksome hour,
The transient gulf-dream of a startling sleep.
For what thou art shall perish utterly,
But what is thine may never cease to be;
Death is no foe to virtue: earth has seen
Love's brightest roses on the scaffold bloom,
Mingling with freedom's fadeless laurels there,
And presaging the truth of visioned bliss.
Are there not hopes within thee, which this scene
Of linked and gradual being has confirmed?
Hopes that not vainly thou, and living fires
Of mind as radiant and as pure as thou,
Have shone upon the paths of menreturn,
Surpassing Spirit, to that world, where thou
Art destined an eternal war to wage
With tyranny and falsehood, and uproot
The germs of misery from the human heart.
Thine is the hand whose piety would soothe
The thorny pillow of unhappy crime,
Whose impotence an easy pardon gains,
Watching its wanderings as a friend's disease:
Thine is the brow whose mildness would defy
Its fiercest rage, and brave its sternest will,
When fenced by power and master of the world.
Thou art sincere and good; of resolute mind,
Free from heart-withering custom's cold control,
Of passion lofty, pure and unsubdued.
Earth's pride and meanness could not vanquish thee.
And therefore art thou worthy of the boon
Which thou hast now received: virtue shall keep
Thy footsteps in the path that thou hast trod,
And many days of beaming hope shall bless
Thy spotless life of sweet and sacred love.
Go, happy one, and give that bosom joy
Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch
Light, life and rapture from thy smile.
The Daemon called its wingd ministers.
Speechless with bliss the Spirit mounts the car,
That rolled beside the crystal battlement,
Bending her beamy eyes in thankfulness.
The burning wheels inflame
The steep descent of Heaven's untrodden way.
Fast and far the chariot flew:
The mighty globes that rolled
Around the gate of the Eternal Fane
Lessened by slow degrees, and soon appeared
Such tiny twinklers as the planet orbs
That ministering on the solar power
With borrowed light pursued their narrower way.
Earth floated then below:
The chariot paused a moment;
The Spirit then descended:
And from the earth departing
The shadows with swift wings
Speeded like thought upon the light of Heaven.
The Body and the Soul united then,
A gentle start convulsed Ianthe's frame:
Her veiny eyelids quietly unclosed;
Moveless awhile the dark blue orbs remained:
She looked around in wonder and beheld
Henry, who kneeled in silence by her couch,
Watching her sleep with looks of speechless love,
And the bright beaming stars
That through the casement shone.

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Daemon Of The World
,
343: Ilion

Book I: The Book of the Herald



Dawn in her journey eternal compelling the labour of mortals,
Dawn the beginner of things with the night for their rest or their ending,
Pallid and bright-lipped arrived from the mists and the chill of the Euxine.
Earth in the dawn-fire delivered from starry and shadowy vastness
Woke to the wonder of life and its passion and sorrow and beauty,
All on her bosom sustaining, the patient compassionate Mother.
Out of the formless vision of Night with its look on things hidden
Given to the gaze of the azure she lay in her garment of greenness,
Wearing light on her brow. In the dawn-ray lofty and voiceless
Ida climbed with her god-haunted peaks into diamond lustres,
Ida first of the hills with the ranges silent beyond her
Watching the dawn in their giant companies, as since the ages
First began they had watched her, upbearing Time on their summits.
Troas cold on her plain awaited the boon of the sunshine.
There, like a hope through an emerald dream sole-pacing for ever,
Stealing to wideness beyond, crept Simois lame in his currents,
Guiding his argent thread mid the green of the reeds and the grasses.
Headlong, impatient of Space and its boundaries, Time and its slowness,
Xanthus clamoured aloud as he ran to the far-surging waters,
Joining his call to the many-voiced roar of the mighty Aegean,
Answering Oceans limitless cry like a whelp to its parent.
Forests looked up through their rifts, the ravines grew aware of their shadows.
Closer now gliding glimmered the golden feet of the goddess.
Over the hills and the headlands spreading her garment of splendour,
Fateful she came with her eyes impartial looking on all things,
Bringer to man of the day of his fortune and day of his downfall.
Full of her luminous errand, careless of eve and its weeping,
Fateful she paused unconcerned above Ilions mysteried greatness,
Domes like shimmering tongues of the crystal flames of the morning,
Opalesque rhythm-line of tower-tops, notes of the lyre of the sungod.
High over all that a nation had built and its love and its laughter,
Lighting the last time highway and homestead, market and temple,
Looking on men who must die and women destined to sorrow,
Looking on beauty fire must lay low and the sickle of slaughter,
Fateful she lifted the doom-scroll red with the script of the Immortals,
Deep in the invisible air that folds in the race and its morrows
Fixed it, and passed on smiling the smile of the griefless and deathless,
Dealers of death though death they know not, who in the morning
Scatter the seed of the event for the reaping ready at nightfall.
Over the brooding of plains and the agelong trance of the summits
Out of the sun and its spaces she came, pausing tranquil and fatal,
And, at a distance followed by the golden herds of the sungod,
Carried the burden of Light and its riddle and danger to Hellas.
Even as fleets on a chariot divine through the gold streets of ether,
Swiftly when Life fleets, invisibly changing the arc of the soul-drift,
And, with the choice that has chanced or the fate man has called and now suffers
Weighted, the moment travels driving the past towards the future,
Only its face and its feet are seen, not the burden it carries.
Weight of the event and its surface we bear, but the meaning is hidden.
Earth sees not; lifes clamour deafens the ear of the spirit:
Man knows not; least knows the messenger chosen for the summons.
Only he listens to the voice of his thoughts, his hearts ignorant whisper,
Whistle of winds in the tree-tops of Time and the rustle of Nature.
Now too the messenger hastened driving the car of the errand:
Even while dawn was a gleam in the east, he had cried to his coursers.
Half yet awake in lights turrets started the scouts of the morning
Hearing the jar of the wheels and the throb of the hooves exultation,
Hooves of the horses of Greece as they galloped to Phrygian Troya.
Proudly they trampled through Xanthus thwarting the foam of his anger,
Whinnying high as in scorn crossed Simois tangled currents,
Xanthus reed-girdled twin, the gentle and sluggard river.
One and unarmed in the car was the driver; grey was he, shrunken,
Worn with his decades. To Pergama cinctured with strength Cyclopean
Old and alone he arrived, insignificant, feeblest of mortals,
Carrying Fate in his helpless hands and the doom of an empire.
Ilion, couchant, saw him arrive from the sea and the darkness.
Heard mid the faint slow stirrings of life in the sleep of the city,
Rapid there neared a running of feet, and the cry of the summons
Beat round the doors that guarded the domes of the splendour of Priam.
Wardens charged with the night, ye who stand in Laomedons gateway,
Waken the Ilian kings. Talthybius, herald of Argos,
Parleying stands at the portals of Troy in the grey of the dawning.
High and insistent the call. In the dimness and hush of his chamber
Charioted far in his dreams amid visions of glory and terror,
Scenes of a vivider world,though blurred and deformed in the brain-cells,
Vague and inconsequent, there full of colour and beauty and greatness,
Suddenly drawn by the pull of the conscious thread of the earth-bond
And of the needs of Time and the travail assigned in the transience
Warned by his body, Deiphobus, reached in that splendid remoteness,
Touched through the nerve-ways of life that branch to the brain of the dreamer,
Heard the terrestrial call and slumber startled receded
Sliding like dew from the mane of a lion. Reluctant he travelled
Back from the light of the fields beyond death, from the wonderful kingdoms
Where he had wandered a soul among souls in the countries beyond us,
Free from the toil and incertitude, free from the struggle and danger:
Now, compelled, he returned from the respite given to the time-born,
Called to the strife and the wounds of the earth and the burden of daylight.
He from the carven couch upreared his giant stature.
Haste-spurred he laved his eyes and regained earths memories, haste-spurred
Donning apparel and armour strode through the town of his fathers,
Watched by her gods on his way to his fate, towards Pergamas portals.
Nine long years had passed and the tenth now was wearily ending,
Years of the wrath of the gods, and the leaguer still threatened the ramparts
Since through a tranquil morn the ships came past Tenedos sailing
And the first Argive fell slain as he leaped on the Phrygian beaches;
Still the assailants attacked, still fought back the stubborn defenders.
When the reward is withheld and endlessly leng thens the labour,
Weary of fruitless toil grows the transient heart of the mortal.
Weary of battle the invaders warring hearthless and homeless
Prayed to the gods for release and return to the land of their fathers:
Weary of battle the Phrygians beset in their beautiful city
Prayed to the gods for an end of the danger and mortal encounter.
Long had the high-beached ships forgotten their measureless ocean.
Greece seemed old and strange to her children camped on the beaches,
Old like a life long past one remembers hardly believing
But as a dream that has happened, but as the tale of another.
Time with his tardy touch and Nature changing our substance
Slowly had dimmed the faces loved and the scenes once cherished:
Yet was the dream still dear to them longing for wife and for children,
Longing for hearth and glebe in the far-off valleys of Hellas.
Always like waves that swallow the shingles, lapsing, returning,
Tide of the battle, race of the onset relentlessly thundered
Over the Phrygian corn-fields. Trojan wrestled with Argive,
Caria, Lycia, Thrace and the war-lord mighty Achaia
Joined in the clasp of the fight. Death, panic and wounds and disaster,
Glory of conquest and glory of fall, and the empty hearth-side,
Weeping and fortitude, terror and hope and the pang of remembrance,
Anguish of hearts, the lives of the warriors, the strength of the nations
Thrown were like weights into Destinys scales, but the balance wavered
Pressed by invisible hands. For not only the mortal fighters,
Heroes half divine whose names are like stars in remoteness,
Triumphed and failed and were winds or were weeds on the dance of the surges,
But from the peaks of Olympus and shimmering summits of Ida
Gleaming and clanging the gods of the antique ages descended.
Hidden from human knowledge the brilliant shapes of Immortals
Mingled unseen in the mellay, or sometimes, marvellous, maskless,
Forms of undying beauty and power that made tremble the heart-strings
Parting their deathless secrecy crossed through the borders of vision,
Plain as of old to the demigods out of their glory emerging,
Heard by mortal ears and seen by the eyeballs that perish.
Mighty they came from their spaces of freedom and sorrowless splendour.
Sea-vast, trailing the azure hem of his clamorous waters,
Blue-lidded, maned with the Night, Poseidon smote for the future,
Earth-shaker who with his trident releases the coils of the Dragon,
Freeing the forces unborn that are locked in the caverns of Nature.
Calm and unmoved, upholding the Word that is Fate and the order
Fixed in the sight of a Will foreknowing and silent and changeless,
Hera sent by Zeus and Athene lifting his aegis
Guarded the hidden decree. But for Ilion, loud as the surges,
Ares impetuous called to the fire in mens hearts, and his passion
Woke in the shadowy depths the forms of the Titan and demon;
Dumb and coerced by the grip of the gods in the abyss of the being,
Formidable, veiled they sit in the grey subconscient darkness
Watching the sleep of the snake-haired Erinnys. Miracled, haloed,
Seer and magician and prophet who beholds what the thought cannot witness,
Lifting the godhead within us to more than a human endeavour,
Slayer and saviour, thinker and mystic, leaped from his sun-peaks
Guarding in Ilion the wall of his mysteries Delphic Apollo.
Heavens strengths divided swayed in the whirl of the Earth-force.
All that is born and destroyed is reborn in the sweep of the ages;
Life like a decimal ever recurring repeats the old figure;
Goal seems there none for the ball that is chased throughout Time by the Fate-teams;
Evil once ended renews and no issue comes out of living:
Only an Eye unseen can distinguish the thread of its workings.
Such seemed the rule of the pastime of Fate on the plains of the Troad;
All went backwards and forwards tossed in the swing of the death-game.
Vain was the toil of the heroes, the blood of the mighty was squandered,
Spray as of surf on the cliffs when it moans unappeased, unrequited
Age after fruitless age. Day hunted the steps of the nightfall;
Joy succeeded to grief; defeat only greatened the vanquished,
Victory offered an empty delight without guerdon or profit.
End there was none of the effort and end there was none of the failure.
Triumph and agony changing hands in a desperate measure
Faced and turned as a man and a maiden trampling the grasses
Face and turn and they laugh in their joy of the dance and each other.
These were gods and they trampled lives. But though Time is immortal,
Mortal his works are and ways and the anguish ends like the rapture.
Artists of Nature content with their work in the plan of the transience,
Beautiful, deathless, august, the Olympians turned from the carnage,
Leaving the battle already decided, leaving the heroes
Slain in their minds, Troy burned, Greece left to her glory and downfall.
Into their heavens they rose up mighty like eagles ascending
Fanning the world with their wings. As the great to their luminous mansions
Turn from the cry and the strife, forgetting the wounded and fallen,
Calm they repose from their toil and incline to the joy of the banquet,
Watching the feet of the wine-bearers rosily placed on the marble,
Filling their hearts with ease, so they to their sorrowless ether
Passed from the wounded earth and its air that is ploughed with mens anguish;
Calm they reposed and their hearts inclined to the joy and the silence.
Lifted was the burden laid on our wills by their starry presence:
Man was restored to his smallness, the world to its inconscient labour.
Life felt a respite from height, the winds breathed freer delivered;
Light was released from their blaze and the earth was released from their greatness.
But their immortal content from the struggle titanic departed.
Vacant the noise of the battle roared like the sea on the shingles;
Wearily hunted the spears their quarry; strength was disheartened;
Silence increased with the march of the months on the tents of the leaguer.
But not alone on the Achaians the steps of the moments fell heavy;
Slowly the shadow deepened on Ilion mighty and scornful:
Dragging her days went by; in the rear of the hearts of her people
Something that knew what they dared not know and the mind would not utter,
Something that smote at her soul of defiance and beauty and laughter,
Darkened the hours. For Doom in her sombre and giant uprising
Neared, assailing the skies: the sense of her lived in all pastimes;
Time was pursued by unease and a terror woke in the midnight:
Even the ramparts felt her, stones that the gods had erected.
Now no longer she dallied and played, but bounded and hastened,
Seeing before her the end and, imagining massacre calmly,
Laughed and admired the flames and rejoiced in the cry of the captives.
Under her, dead to the watching immortals, Deiphobus hastened
Clanging in arms through the streets of the beautiful insolent city,
Brilliant, a gleaming husk but empty and left by the daemon.
Even as a star long extinguished whose light still travels the spaces,
Seen in its form by men, but itself goes phantom-like fleeting
Void and null and dark through the uncaring infinite vastness,
So now he seemed to the sight that sees all things from the Real.
Timeless its vision of Time creates the hour by things coming.
Borne on a force from the past and no more by a power for the future
Mighty and bright was his body, but shadowy the shape of his spirit
Only an eidolon seemed of the being that had lived in him, fleeting
Vague like a phantom seen by the dim Acherontian waters.
But to the guardian towers that watched over Pergamas gateway
Out of the waking city Deiphobus swiftly arriving
Called, and swinging back the huge gates slowly, reluctant,
Flung Troy wide to the entering Argive. Ilions portals
Parted admitting her destiny, then with a sullen and iron
Cry they closed. Mute, staring, grey like a wolf descended
Old Talthybius, propping his steps on the staff of his errand;
Feeble his body, but fierce still his glance with the fire within him;
Speechless and brooding he gazed on the hated and coveted city.
Suddenly, seeking heaven with her buildings hewn as for Titans,
Marvellous, rhythmic, a child of the gods with marble for raiment,
Smiting the vision with harmony, splendid and mighty and golden,
Ilion stood up around him entrenched in her giant defences.
Strength was uplifted on strength and grandeur supported by grandeur;
Beauty lay in her lap. Remote, hieratic and changeless,
Filled with her deeds and her dreams her gods looked out on the Argive,
Helpless and dumb with his hate as he gazed on her, they too like mortals
Knowing their centuries past, not knowing the morrow before them.
Dire were his eyes upon Troya the beautiful, his face like a doom-mask:
All Greece gazed in them, hated, admired, grew afraid, grew relentless.
But to the Greek Deiphobus cried and he turned from his passion
Fixing his ominous eyes with the god in them straight on the Trojan:
Messenger, voice of Achaia, wherefore confronting the daybreak
Comest thou driving thy car from the sleep of the tents that besiege us?
Fateful, I deem, was the thought that, conceived in the silence of midnight,
Raised up thy aged limbs from the couch of their rest in the stillness,
Thoughts of a mortal but forged by the Will that uses our members
And of its promptings our speech and our acts are the tools and the image.
Oft from the veil and the shadow they leap out like stars in their brightness,
Lights that we think our own, yet they are but tokens and counters,
Signs of the Forces that flow through us serving a Power that is secret.
What in the dawning bringst thou to Troya the mighty and dateless
Now in the ending of Time when the gods are weary of struggle?
Sends Agamemnon challenge or courtesy, Greek, to the Trojans?
High like the northwind answered the voice of the doom from Achaia:
Trojan Deiphobus, daybreak, silence of night and the evening
Sink and arise and even the strong sun rests from his splendour.
Not for the servant is rest nor Time is his, only his death-pyre.
I have not come from the monarch of men or the armoured assembly
Held on the wind-swept marge of the thunder and laughter of ocean.
One in his singleness greater than kings and multitudes sends me.
I am a voice out of Phthia, I am the will of the Hellene.
Peace in my right I bring to you, death in my left hand. Trojan,
Proudly receive them, honour the gifts of the mighty Achilles.
Death accept, if Ate deceives you and Doom is your lover,
Peace if your fate can turn and the god in you chooses to hearken.
Full is my heart and my lips are impatient of speech undelivered.
It was not made for the streets or the market, nor to be uttered
Meanly to common ears, but where counsel and majesty harbour
Far from the crowd in the halls of the great and to wisdom and foresight
Secrecy whispers, there I will speak among Ilions princes.
Envoy, answered the Laomedontian, voice of Achilles,
Vain is the offer of peace that sets out with a threat for its prelude.
Yet will we hear thee. Arise who are fleetest of foot in the gateway,
Thou, Thrasymachus, haste. Let the domes of the mansion of Ilus
Wake to the bruit of the Hellene challenge. Summon Aeneas.
Even as the word sank back into stillness, doffing his mantle
Started to run at the bidding a swift-footed youth of the Trojans
First in the race and the battle, Thrasymachus son of Aretes.
He in the dawn disappeared into swiftness. Deiphobus slowly,
Measuring Fate with his thoughts in the troubled vasts of his spirit,
Back through the stir of the city returned to the house of his fathers,
Taming his mighty stride to the pace infirm of the Argive.
But with the god in his feet Thrasymachus rapidly running
Came to the halls in the youth of the wonderful city by Ilus
Built for the joy of the eye; for he rested from war and, triumphant,
Reigned adored by the prostrate nations. Now when all ended,
Last of its mortal possessors to walk in its flowering gardens,
Great Anchises lay in that luminous house of the ancients
Soothing his restful age, the far-warring victor Anchises,
High Bucoleons son and the father of Rome by a goddess;
Lonely and vagrant once in his boyhood divine upon Ida
White Aphrodite ensnared him and she loosed her ambrosial girdle
Seeking a mortals love. On the threshold Thrasymachus halted
Looking for servant or guard, but felt only a loneness of slumber
Drawing the souls sight within away from its life and things human;
Soundless, unheeding, the vacant corridors fled into darkness.
He to the shades of the house and the dreams of the echoing rafters
Trusted his high-voiced call, and from chambers still dim in their twilight
Strong Aeneas armoured and mantled, leonine striding,
Came, Anchises son; for the dawn had not found him reposing,
But in the night he had left his couch and the clasp of Cresa,
Rising from sleep at the call of his spirit that turned to the waters
Prompted by Fate and his mother who guided him, white Aphrodite.
Still with the impulse of speed Thrasymachus greeted Aeneas:
Hero Aeneas, swift be thy stride to the Ilian hill-top.
Dardanid, haste! for the gods are at work; they have risen with the morning,
Each from his starry couch, and they labour. Doom, we can see it,
Glows on their anvils of destiny, clang we can hear of their hammers.
Something they forge there sitting unknown in the silence eternal,
Whether of evil or good it is they who shall choose who are masters
Calm, unopposed; they are gods and they work out their iron caprices.
Troy is their stage and Argos their background; we are their puppets.
Always our voices are prompted to speech for an end that we know not,
Always we think that we drive, but are driven. Action and impulse,
Yearning and thought are their engines, our will is their shadow and helper.
Now too, deeming he comes with a purpose framed by a mortal,
Shaft of their will they have shot from the bow of the Grecian leaguer,
Lashing themselves at his steeds, Talthybius sent by Achilles.
Busy the gods are always, Thrasymachus son of Aretes,
Weaving Fate on their looms, and yesterday, now and tomorrow
Are but the stands they have made with Space and Time for their timber,
Frame but the dance of their shuttle. What eye unamazed by their workings
Ever can pierce where they dwell and uncover their far-stretching purpose?
Silent they toil, they are hid in the clouds, they are wrapped with the midnight.
Yet to Apollo I pray, the Archer friendly to mortals,
Yet to the rider on Fate I abase myself, wielder of thunder,
Evil and doom to avert from my fatherland. All night Morpheus,
He who with shadowy hands heaps error and truth upon mortals,
Stood at my pillow with images. Dreaming I erred like a phantom
Helpless in Ilions streets with the fire and the foeman around me.
Red was the smoke as it mounted triumphant the house-top of Priam,
Clang of the arms of the Greeks was in Troya, and thwarting the clangour
Voices were crying and calling me over the violent Ocean
Borne by the winds of the West from a land where Hesperus harbours.
Brooding they ceased, for their thoughts grew heavy upon them and voiceless.
Then, in a farewell brief and unthought and unconscious of meaning,
Parting they turned to their tasks and their lives now close but soon severed:
Destined to perish even before his perishing nation,
Back to his watch at the gate sped Thrasymachus rapidly running;
Large of pace and swift, but with eyes absorbed and unseeing,
Driven like a car of the gods by the whip of his thoughts through the highways,
Turned to his mighty future the hero born of a goddess.
One was he chosen to ascend into greatness through fall and disaster,
Loser of his world by the will of a heaven that seemed ruthless and adverse,
Founder of a newer and greater world by daring adventure.
Now, from the citadels rise with the townships crowding below it
High towards a pondering of domes and the mystic Palladium climbing,
Fronted with the morning ray and joined by the winds of the ocean,
Fate-weighed up Troys slope strode musing strong Aeneas.
Under him silent the slumbering roofs of the city of Ilus
Dreamed in the light of the dawn; above watched the citadel, sleepless
Lonely and strong like a goddess white-limbed and bright on a hill-top,
Looking far out at the sea and the foe and the prowling of danger.
Over the brow he mounted and saw the palace of Priam,
Home of the gods of the earth, Laomedons marvellous vision
Held in the thought that accustomed his will to unearthly achievement
And in the blaze of his spirit compelling heaven with its greatness,
Dreamed by the harp of Apollo, a melody caught into marble.
Out of his mind it arose like an epic canto by canto;
Each of its halls was a strophe, its chambers lines of an epode,
Victor chant of Ilions destiny. Absent he entered,
Voiceless with thought, the brilliant megaron crowded with paintings,
Paved with a splendour of marble, and saw Deiphobus seated,
Son of the ancient house by the opulent hearth of his fathers,
And at his side like a shadow the grey and ominous Argive.
Happy of light like a lustrous star when it welcomes the morning,
Brilliant, beautiful, glamoured with gold and a fillet of gem-fire,
Paris, plucked from the song and the lyre by the Grecian challenge,
Came with the joy in his face and his eyes that Fate could not alter.
Ever a child of the dawn at play near a turn of the sun-roads,
Facing destinys look with the careless laugh of a comrade,
He with his vision of delight and beauty brightening the earth-field
Passed through its peril and grief on his way to the ambiguous Shadow.
Last from her chamber of sleep where she lay in the Ilian mansion
Far in the heart of the house with the deep-bosomed daughters of Priam,
Noble and tall and erect in a nimbus of youth and of glory,
Claiming the world and life as a fief of her strength and her courage,
Dawned through a doorway that opened to distant murmurs and laughter,
Capturing the eye like a smile or a sunbeam, Penthesilea.
She from the threshold cried to the herald, crossing the marble,
Regal and fleet, with her voice that was mighty and dire in its sweetness.
What with such speed has impelled from the wind-haunted beaches of Troas,
Herald, thy car though the sun yet hesitates under the mountains?
Comest thou humbler to Troy, Talthybius, now than thou camest
Once when the streams of my East sang low to my ear, not this Ocean
Loud, and I roamed in my mountains uncalled by the voice of Apollo?
Bringest thou dulcet-eyed peace or, sweeter to Penthesilea,
Challenge of war when the spears fall thick on the shields of the fighters,
Lightly the wheels leap onward chanting the anthem of Ares,
Death is at work in his fields and the heart is enamoured of danger?
What says Odysseus, the baffled Ithacan? what Agamemnon?
Are they then weary of war who were rapid and bold and triumphant,
Now that their gods are reluctant, now victory darts not from heaven
Down from the clouds above Ida directing the luminous legions
Armed by Fate, now Pallas forgets, now Poseidon slumbers?
Bronze were their throats to the battle like bugles blaring in chorus;
Mercy they knew not, but shouted and ravened and ran to the slaughter
Eager as hounds when they chase, till a woman met them and stayed them,
Loud my war-shout rang by Scamander. Herald of Argos,
What say the vaunters of Greece to the virgin Penthesilea?
High was the Argives answer confronting the mighty in Troya.
Princes of Pergama, whelps of the lion who roar for the mellay,
Suffer my speech! It shall ring like a spear on the hearts of the mighty.
Blame not the herald; his voice is an impulse, an echo, a channel
Now for the timbrels of peace and now for the drums of the battle.
And I have come from no cautious strength, from no half-hearted speaker,
But from the Phthian. All know him! Proud is his soul as his fortunes,
Swift as his sword and his spear are the speech and the wrath from his bosom.
I am his envoy, herald am I of the conquering Argives.
Has not one heard in the night when the breezes whisper and shudder,
Dire, the voice of a lion unsatisfied, gnawed by his hunger,
Seeking his prey from the gods? For he prowls through the glens of the mountains,
Errs a dangerous gleam in the woodlands, fatal and silent.
So for a while he endures, for a while he seeks and he suffers
Patient yet in his terrible grace as assured of his banquet;
But he has lacked too long and he lifts his head and to heaven
Roars in his wonder, incensed, impatiently. Startled the valleys
Shrink from the dreadful alarum, the cattle gallop to shelter.
Arming the herdsmen cry to each other for comfort and courage.
So Talthybius spoke, as a harper voicing his prelude
Touches his strings to a varied music, seeks for a concord;
Long his strain he prepares. But one broke in on the speaker,
Sweet was his voice like a harps though heard in the front of the onset,
One of the sons of Fate by the people loved whom he ruined,
Leader in counsel and battle, the Priamid, he in his beauty
Carelessly walking who scattered the seeds of Titanic disaster.
Surely thou dreamedst at night and awaking thy dreams have not left thee!
Hast thou not woven thy words to intimidate children in Argos
Sitting alarmed in the shadows who listen pale to their nurses?
Greek, thou art standing in Ilion now and thou facest her princes.
Use not thy words but thy kings. If friendship their honey-breathed burden,
Friendship we clasp from Achilles, but challenge outpace with our challenge
Meeting the foe ere he moves in his will to the clash of encounter.
Such is the way of the Trojans since Phryx by the Hellespont halting
Seated Troy on her hill with the Ocean for comrade and sister.
Shaking in wrath his filleted head Talthybius answered:
Princes, ye speak their words who drive you! Thus said Achilles:
Rise, Talthybius, meet in her spaces the car of the morning;
Challenge her coursers divine as they bound through the plains of the Troad.
Hasten, let not the day wear gold ere thou stand in her ramparts.
Herald charged with my will to a haughty and obstinate nation,
Speak in the palace of Priam the word of the Phthian Achilles.
Freely and not as his vassal who leads, Agamemnon, the Argive,
But as a ruler in Hellas I send thee, king of my nations.
Long I have walked apart from the mellay of gods in the Troad,
Long has my listless spear leaned back on the peace of my tent-side,
Deaf to the talk of the trumpets, the whine of the chariots speeding;
Sole with my heart I have lived, unheeding the Hellene murmur,
Chid when it roared for the hunt the lion pack of the war-god,
Day after day I walked at dawn and in blush of the sunset,
Far by the call of the seas and alone with the gods and my dreaming,
Leaned to the unsatisfied chant of my heart and the rhythms of ocean,
Sung to by hopes that were sweet-lipped and vain. For Polyxenas brothers
Still are the brood of the Titan Laomedon slain in his greatness,
Engines of God unable to bear all the might that they harbour.
Awe they have chid from their hearts, nor our common humanity binds them,
Stay have they none in the gods who approve, giving calmness to mortals:
But like the Titans of old they have hugged to them grandeur and ruin.
Seek then the race self-doomed, the leaders blinded by heaven
Not in the agora swept by the winds of debate and the shoutings
Lion-voiced, huge of the people! In Troyas high-crested mansion
Speak out my word to the hero Deiphobus, head of the mellay,
Paris the racer of doom and the stubborn strength of Aeneas.
Herald of Greece, when thy feet shall be pressed on the gold and the marble,
Rise in the Ilian megaron, curb not the cry of the challenge.
Thus shalt thou say to them striking the ground with the staff of defiance,
Fronting the tempests of war, the insensate, the gamblers with downfall.
Princes of Troy, I have sat in your halls, I have slept in your chambers;
Not in the battle alone as a warrior glad of his foemen,
Glad of the strength that mates with his own, in peace we encountered.
Marvelling I sat in the halls of my enemies, close to the bosoms
Scarred by the dints of my sword and the eyes I had seen through the battle,
Ate rejoicing the food of the East at the tables of Priam
Served by the delicatest hands in the world, by Hecubas daughter,
Or with our souls reconciled in some careless and rapturous midnight
Drank of the sweetness of Phrygian wine, admiring your bodies
Shaped by the gods indeed, and my spirit revolted from hatred,
Softening it yearned in its strings to the beauty and joy of its foemen,
Yearned from the death that oertakes and the flame that cries and desires
Even at the end to save and even on the verge to deliver
Troy and her wonderful works and her sons and her deep-bosomed daughters.
Warned by the gods who reveal to the heart what the mind cannot hearken
Deaf with its thoughts, I offered you friendship, I offered you bridal,
Hellas for comrade, Achilles for brother, the world for enjoyment
Won by my spear. And one heard my call and one turned to my seeking.
Why is it then that the war-cry sinks not to rest by the Xanthus?
We are not voices from Argolis, Lacedaemonian tricksters,
Splendid and subtle and false; we are speakers of truth, we are Hellenes,
Men of the northl and faithful in friendship and noble in anger,
Strong like our fathers of old. But you answered my truth with evasion
Hoping to seize what I will not yield and you flattered your people.
Long have I waited for wisdom to dawn on your violent natures.
Lonely I paced oer the sands by the thousand-throated waters
Praying to Pallas the wise that the doom might turn from your mansions,
Buildings delightful, gracious as rhythms, lyrics in marble,
Works of the transient gods, and I yearned for the end of the war-din
Hoping that Death might relent to the beautiful sons of the Trojans.
Far from the cry of the spears, from the speed and the laughter of axles,
Heavy upon me like iron the intolerable yoke of inaction
Weighed like a load on a runner. The war-cry rose by Scamander;
Xanthus was crossed on a bridge of the fallen, not by Achilles.
Often I stretched out my hand to the spear, for the Trojan beaches
Rang with the voice of Deiphobus shouting and slaying the Argives;
Often my heart like an anxious mother for Greece and her children
Leaped, for the air was full of the leonine roar of Aeneas.
Always the evening fell or the gods protected the Argives.
Then by the moat of the ships, on the hither plain of the Xanthus
New was the voice that climbed through the din and sailed on the breezes,
High, insistent, clear, and it shouted an unknown war-cry
Threatening doom to the peoples. A woman had come in to aid you,
Regal and insolent, fair as the morning and fell as the northwind,
Freed from the distaff who grasps at the sword and she spurns at subjection
Breaking the rule of the gods. She is turbulent, swift in the battle.
Clanging her voice of the swan as a summons to death and disaster,
Fleet-footed, happy and pitiless, laughing she runs to the slaughter;
Strong with the gait that allures she leaps from her car to the slaying,
Dabbles in blood smooth hands like lilies. Europe astonished
Reels from her shock to the Ocean. She is the panic and mellay,
War is her paean, the chariots thunder of Penthesilea.
Doom was her coming, it seems, to the men of the West and their legions;
Ajax sleeps for ever, Meriones lies on the beaches.
One by one they are falling before you, the great in Achaia.
Ever the wounded are borne like the stream of the ants when they forage
Past my ships, and they hush their moans as they near and in silence
Gaze at the legions inactive accusing the fame of Achilles.
Still have I borne with you, waited a little, looked for a summons,
Longing for bridal torches, not flame on the Ilian housetops,
Blood in the chambers of sweetness, the golden amorous city
Swallowed by doom. Not broken I turned from the wrestle Titanic,
Hopeless, weary of toil in the ebb of my glorious spirit,
But from my stress of compassion for doom of the kindred nations,
But for her sake whom my soul desires, for the daughter of Priam.
And for Polyxenas sake I will speak to you yet as your lover
Once ere the Fury, abrupt from Erebus, deaf to your crying,
Mad with the joy of the massacre, seizes on wealth and on women
Calling to Fire as it strides and Ilion sinks into ashes.
Yield; for your doom is impatient. No longer your helpers hasten,
Legions swift to your call; the yoke of your pride and your splendour
Lies not now on the nations of earth as when Fortune desired you,
Strength was your slave and Troya the lioness hungrily roaring
Threatened the western world from her ramparts built by Apollo.
Gladly released from the thraldom they hated, the insolent shackles
Curbing their manhood the peoples arise and they pray for your ruin;
Piled are their altars with gifts; their blessings help the Achaians.
Memnon came, but he sleeps, and the faces swart of his nation
Darken no more like a cloud over thunder and surge of the onset.
Wearily Lycia fights; far fled are the Carian levies.
Thrace retreats to her plains preferring the whistle of stormwinds
Or on the banks of the Strymon to wheel in her Orphean measure,
Not in the revel of swords and fronting the spears of the Hellenes.
Princes of Pergama, open your gates to our Peace who would enter,
Life in her gracious clasp and forgetfulness, grave of earths passions,
Healer of wounds and the past. In a comity equal, Hellenic,
Asia join with Greece, one world from the frozen rivers
Trod by the hooves of the Scythian to farthest undulant Ganges.
Tyndarid Helen resign, the desirable cause of your danger,
Back to Greece that is empty long of her smile and her movements.
Broider with riches her coming, pomp of her slaves and the waggons
Endlessly groaning with gold that arrive with the ransom of nations.
So shall the Fury be pacified, she who exultant from Sparta
Breathed in the sails of the Trojan ravisher helping his oarsmen.
So shall the gods be appeased and the thoughts of their wrath shall be cancelled,
Justice contented trace back her steps and for brands of the burning
Torches delightful shall break into Troy with the swords of the bridal.
I like a bridegroom will seize on your city and clasp and defend her
Safe from the envy of Argos, from Lacedaemonian hatred,
Safe from the hunger of Crete and the Locrians violent rapine.
But if you turn from my voice and you hearken only to Ares
Crying for battle within you deluded by Hera and Pallas,
Swiftly the fierce deaths surges shall close over Troy and her ramparts
Built by the gods shall be stubble and earth to the tread of the Hellene.
For to my tents I return not, I swear it by Zeus and Apollo,
Master of Truth who sits within Delphi fathomless brooding
Sole in the caverns of Nature and hearkens her underground murmur,
Giving my oath to his keeping mute and stern who forgets not,
Not from the panting of Ares toil to repose, from the wrestle
Locked of hope and death in the ruthless clasp of the mellay
Leaving again the Trojan ramparts unmounted, leaving
Greece unavenged, the Aegean a lake and Europe a province.
Choosing from Hellas exile, from Peleus and Deidamia,
Choosing the field for my chamber of sleep and the battle for hearthside
I shall go warring on till Asia enslaved to my footsteps
Feels the tread of the God in my sandal pressed on her bosom.
Rest shall I then when the borders of Greece are fringed with the Ganges;
Thus shall the past pay its Titan ransom and, Fate her balance
Changing, a continent ravished suffer the fortune of Helen.
This I have sworn allying my will to Zeus and Ananke.
So was it spoken, the Phthian challenge. Silent the heroes
Looked back amazed on their past and into the night of their future.
Silent their hearts felt a grasp from gods and had hints of the heavens.
Hush was awhile in the room, as if Fate were trying her balance
Poised on the thoughts of her mortals. At length with a musical laughter
Sweet as the jangling of bells upon anklets leaping in measure
Answered aloud to the gods the virgin Penthesilea.
Long I had heard in my distant realms of the fame of Achilles,
Ignorant still while I played with the ball and ran in the dances
Thinking not ever to war; but I dreamed of the shock of the hero.
So might a poet inland who imagines the rumour of Ocean,
Yearn with his lust for the giant upheaval, the dance as of hill-tops,
Toss of the yellow mane and the tawny march and the voices
Lionlike claiming earth as a prey for the clamorous waters.
So have I longed as I came for the cry and the speed of Achilles.
But he has lurked in his ships, he has sulked like a boy that is angry.
Glad am I now of his soul that arises hungry for battle,
Glad, whether victor I live or defeated travel the shadows.
Once shall my spear have rung on the shield of the Phthian Achilles.
Peace I desire not. I came to a haughty and resolute nation,
Honour and fame they cherish, not life by the gift of a foeman.
Sons of the ancient house on whom Ilion looks as on Titans,
Chiefs whom the world admires, do you fear then the shock of the Phthian?
Gods, it is said, have decided your doom. Are you less in your greatness?
Are you not gods to reverse their decrees or unshaken to suffer?
Memnon is dead and the Carians leave you? Lycia lingers?
But from the streams of my East I have come to you, Penthesilea.
Virgin of Asia, answered Talthybius, doom of a nation
Brought thee to Troy and her haters Olympian shielded thy coming,
Vainly who feedest mens hearts with a hope that the gods have rejected.
Doom in thy sweet voice utters her counsels robed like a woman.
Answered the virgin disdainfully, wroth at the words of the Argive:
Hast thou not ended the errand they gave thee, envoy of Hellas?
Not, do I think, as our counsellor camst thou elected from Argos,
Nor as a lover to Troy hast thou hastened with amorous footing
Hurting thy heart with her frowardness. Hatred and rapine sent thee,
Greed of the Ilian gold and lust of the Phrygian women,
Voice of Achaian aggression! Doom am I truly; let Gnossus
Witness it, Salamis speak of my fatal arrival and Argos
Silent remember her wounds. But the Argive answered the virgin:
Hearken then to the words of the Hellene, Penthesilea.
Virgin to whom earths strongest are corn in the sweep of thy sickle,
Lioness vain of thy bruit who besiegest the paths of the battle!
Art thou not satiate yet? hast thou drunk then so little of slaughter?
Death has ascended thy car; he has chosen thy hand for his harvest.
But I have heard of thy pride and disdain, how thou scornest the Argives
And of thy fate thou complainest that ever averse to thy wishes
Cloisters the Phthian and matches with weaklings Penthesilea.
Not of the Ithacan boar nor the wild-cat littered in Locris
Nor of the sleek-coat Argive wild-bulls sates me the hunting;
So hast thou said, I would bury my spear in the lion of Hellas.
Blind and infatuate, art thou not beautiful, bright as the lightning?
Were not thy limbs made cunningly linking sweetness to sweetness?
Is not thy laughter an arrow surprising hearts imprudent?
Charm is the seal of the gods upon woman. Distaff and girdle,
Work of the jar at the well and the hush of our innermost chambers,
These were appointed thee, but thou hast scorned them, O Titaness, grasping
Rather the shield and the spear. Thou, obeying thy turbulent nature,
Tramplest oer laws that are old to the pleasure thy heart has demanded.
Rather bow to the ancient Gods who are seated and constant.
But for thyself thou passest and what hast thou gained for the aeons
Mingled with men in their works and depriving the age of thy beauty?
Fair art thou, woman, but fair with a bitter and opposite sweetness
Clanging in war when thou matchest thy voice with the shout of assemblies.
Not to this end was thy sweetness made and the joy of thy members,
Not to this rhythm Heaven tuned its pipe in thy throat of enchantment,
Armoured like men to go warring forth and with hardness and fierceness
Mix in the strife and the hate while the varied meaning of Nature
Perishes hurt in its heart and life is emptied of music.
Long have I marked in your world a madness. Monarchs descending
Court the imperious mob of their slaves and their suppliant gesture
Shameless and venal offends the majestic tradition of ages:
Princes plead in the agora; spurred by the tongue of a coward,
Heroes march to an impious war at a priestly bidding.
Gold is sought by the great with the chaffering heart of the trader.
Asia fails and the Gods are abandoning Ida for Hellas.
Why must thou come here to perish, O noble and exquisite virgin,
Here in a cause not thine, in a quarrel remote from thy beauty,
Leaving a land that is lovely and far to be slain among strangers?
Girl, to thy rivers go back and thy hills where the grapes are aspirant.
Trust not a fate that indulges; for all things, Penthesilea,
Break with excess and he is the wisest who walks by a measure.
Yet, if thou wilt, thou shalt meet me today in the shock of the battle:
There will I give thee the fame thou desirest; captive in Hellas,
Men shall point to thee always, smiling and whispering, saying,
This is the woman who fought with the Greeks, overthrowing their heroes;
This is the slayer of Ajax, this is the slave of Achilles.
Then with her musical laughter the fearless Penthesilea:
Well do I hope that Achilles enslaved shall taste of that glory
Or on the Phrygian fields lie slain by the spear of a woman.
But to the herald Achaian the Priamid, leader of Troya:
Rest in the halls of thy foes and ease thy fatigue and thy winters.
Herald, abide till the people have heard and reply to Achilles.
Not as the kings of the West are Ilions princes and archons,
Monarchs of men who drive their nations dumb to the battle.
Not in the palace of Priam and not in the halls of the mighty
Whispered councils prevail and the few dispose of the millions;
But with their nation consulting, feeling the hearts of the commons
Ilions princes march to the war or give peace to their foemen.
Lightning departs from her kings and the thunder returns from her people
Met in the ancient assembly where Ilus founded his columns
And since her famous centuries, names that the ages remember
Leading her, Troya proclaims her decrees to obedient nations.
Ceasing he cried to the thralls of his house and they tended the Argive.
Brought to a chamber of rest in the luminous peace of the mansion,
Grey he sat and endured the food and the wine of his foemen,
Chiding his spirit that murmured within him and gazed undelighted,
Vexed with the endless pomps of Laomedon. Far from those glories
Memory winged it back to a sward half-forgotten, a village
Nestling in leaves and low hills watching it crowned with the sunset.
So for his hour he abode in earths palace of lordliest beauty,
But in its caverns his heart was weary and, hurt by the splendours,
Longed for Greece and the smoke-darkened roof of a cottage in Argos,
Eyes of a woman faded and children crowding the hearthside.
Joyless he rose and eastward expected the sunrise on Ida.
***
~ Sri Aurobindo, 1 - The Book of the Herald
,
344:

Book IV: The Book of Partings



Eagerly, spurred by Ares swift in their souls to the war-cry,
All now pressed to their homes for the food of their strength in the battle.
Ilion turned her thoughts in a proud expectancy seaward
Waiting to hear the sounds that she loved and the cry of the mellay.
Now to their citadel Priams sons returned with their father,
Now from the gates Talthybius issued grey in his chariot;
But in the halls of Anchises Aeneas not doffing his breastpiece
Hastily ate of the corn of his country, cakes of the millet
Doubled with wild-deers flesh, from the quiet hands of Cresa.
She, as he ate, with her calm eyes watching him smiled on her husband:
Ever thou hastest to battle, O warrior, ever thou fightest
Far in the front of the ranks and thou seekest out Locrian Ajax,
Turnest thy ear to the roar for the dangerous shout of Tydides;
There, once heard, leaving all thou drivest, O stark in thy courage.
Yet am I blest among women who tremble not, left in thy mansion,
Quiet at old Anchises feet when I see thee in vision
Sole with the shafts hissing round thee and say to my quivering spirit,
Now he is striking at Ajax, now he has met Diomedes.
Such are the mighty twain who are ever near to protect thee,
Phoebus, the Thunderers son, and thy mother, gold Aphrodite;
Such are the Fates that demand thee, O destined head of the future.
But though my thoughts for their own are not troubled, always, Aeneas,
Sore is my heart with pity for other Ilian women
Who in this battle are losing their children and well-loved husbands,
Brothers too dear, for the eyes that are wet, for the hearts that are silent.
Will not this war then end that thunders for ever round Troya?
But to Cresa the hero answered, the son of Anchises:
Surely the gods protect, yet is Death too always mighty.
Most in his shadowy envy he strikes at the brave and the lovely,
Grudging works to abridge their days and to widow the sunlight.
Most, disappointed, he rages against the beloved of Heaven;
Striking their lives through their hearts he mows down their loves and their pleasures.
Truly thou sayst, thou needst not to fear for my life in the battle;
Ever for thine I fear lest he find thee out in his anger,
Missing my head in the fight, when he comes here crossed in his godhead.
Yet shall Phoebus protect and my mother, gold Aphrodite.
But to Aeneas answered the tranquil lips of Cresa:
So may it be that I go before thee, seeing, Aeneas,
Over my dying eyes thy lips bend down for the parting.
Blissfullest end is this for a woman here mid earths sorrows;
Afterwards there we hope that the hands shall join which were parted.
So she spoke, not knowing the gods: but Aeneas departing
Clasped his fathers knees, the ancient mighty Anchises.
Bless me, my father; I go to the battle. Strong with thy blessing
Even today may I hurl down Ajax, slay Diomedes,
And on the morrow gaze on the empty beaches of Troas.
Troubled and joyless, nought replying to warlike Aeneas
Long Anchises sat unmoving, silent, sombre,
Gazing into his soul with eyes that were closed to the sunlight.
Prosper, Aeneas, slowly he answered him, son of a goddess,
Prosper, Aeneas; and if for Troy some doom is preparing,
Suffer always the will of the gods with a piety constant.
Only they will what Necessity fashions compelled by the Silence.
Labour and war she has given to man as the law of his transience.
Work; she shall give thee the crown of thy deeds or their ending appointed,
Whether glorious thou pass or in silent shadows forgotten.
But what thy mother commands perform ever, loading thy vessels.
Who can know what the gods have hid with the mist of our hopings?
Then from the house of his fathers Aeneas rapidly striding
Came to the city echoing now with the wheels of the chariots,
Clanging with arms and astream with the warlike tramp of her thousands.
Fast through the press he strode and men turning knew Aeneas,
Greatened in heart and went on with loftier thoughts towards battle.
He through the noise and the crowd to Antenors high-built mansion
Striding came, and he turned to its courts and the bronze of its threshold
Trod which had suffered the feet of so many princes departed.
But as he crossed its brazen square from the hall there came running,
Leaping up light to his feet and laughing with sudden pleasure,
Eurus the youngest son of Polydamas. Clasping the fatal
War-hardened hand with a palm that was smooth as a maidens or infants,
Well art thou come, Aeneas, he said, and good fortune has sent thee!
Now I shall go to the field; thou wilt speak with my grandsire Antenor
And he shall hear thee though chid by his heart reluctant. Rejoicing
I shall go forth in thy car or warring by Penthesilea,
Famous, give to her grasp the spear that shall smite down Achilles.
Smiling answered Aeneas, Surely will, Eurus, thy prowess
Carry thee far to the front; thou shalt fight with Epeus and slay him.
Who shall say that this hand was not chosen to pierce Menelaus?
But for a while with the ball should it rather strive, O hero,
Till in the play and the wrestle its softness is trained for the smiting.
Eagerly Eurus answered, But they have told me, Aeneas,
This is the last of our fights; for today will Penthesilea
Meet Achilles in battle and slay him ending the Argives.
Then shall I never have mixed in this war that is famous for ever.
What shall I say when my hairs are white like the aged Antenors?
Men will ask, And what were thy deeds in the warfare Titanic?
Whom didst thou slay of the Argives, son of Polydamas, venging
Bravely thy father? Then must I say, I lurked in the city.
I was too young and only ascending the Ilian ramparts
Saw the return or the flight, but never the deed and the triumph.
Friend, if you take me not forth, I shall die of grief ere the sunset.
Plucking the hand of Aeneas he drew him into the mansion
Vast; and over the floor of the spacious hall they hastened
Laughing, the gracious child and the mighty hero and statesman,
Flower of a present stock and the burdened star of the future.
Meanwhile girt by his sons and the sons of his sons in his chamber
Cried to the remnants left of his blood the aged Antenor.
Hearken you who are sprung from my loins and children, their offspring!
None shall again go forth to the fight who is kin to Antenor.
Weighed with my curse he shall go and the spear-points athirst of the Argives
Meet him wroth; he shall die in his sin and his name be forgotten.
Oft have I sent forth my blood to be spilled in vain in the battle
Fighting for Troy and her greatness earned by my toil and my fathers.
Now all the debt has been paid; she rejects us driven by the immortals.
Much do we owe to the mother who bore us, much to our country;
But at the last our life is ours and the gods and the futures.
Gather the gold of my house and our kin, O ye sons of Antenor.
Warned by a voice in my soul I will go forth tonight from this city
Fleeing the doom and bearing my treasures; the ships shall receive them
Gathered, new-keeled by my care and the gods, in the narrow Propontis.
Over Gods waters guided, treading the rage of Poseidon,
Bellying out with their sails let them cleave to the untravelled distance
Oceans crests and resign to their Fates the doomed and the evil.
So Antenor spoke and his children heard him in silence;
Awed by his voice and the dread of his curse they obeyed, though in sorrow.
Halamus only replied to his father: Dire are the white hairs
Reverend, loved, of a father, dreadful his curse to his children.
Yet in my heart there is one who cries, tis the voice of my country,
She for whose sake I would be in Tartarus tortured for ever.
Pardon me then, if thou wilt; if the gods can, then let them pardon.
For I will sleep in the dust of Troy embracing her ashes,
There where Polydamas sleeps and the many comrades I cherished.
So let me go to the darkness remembered or wholly forgotten,
Yet having fought for my country, true in my fall to my nation.
Then in his aged wrath to Halamus answered Antenor:
Go then and perish doomed with the doomed and the hated of heaven;
Nor shall the gods forgive thee dying nor shall thy father.
Out from the chamber Halamus strode with grief in his bosom
Wrestling with wrath and he went to his doom nor looked back at his dear ones.
Crossing the hall the son of Antenor and son of Anchises
Met in the paths of their fates where they knotted and crossed for the parting,
One with the curse of the gods and his sire fast wending to Hades,
Fortunate, blessed the other; yet equal their minds were and virtues.
Cypris son to the Antenorid: Thee I have sought and thy brothers,
Bough of Antenor; sore is our need today of thy counsels,
Endless our want of their arms that are strong and their hearts that recoil not
Meeting myriads stark with the spear in unequal battle.
Halamus answered him: I will go forth to the palace of Priam,
There where Troy yet lives and far from the halls of my fathers;
There will I speak, not here. For my kin they repose in the mansion
Sitting unarmed in their halls while their brothers fall in the battle.
Eurus eagerly answered the hero: Me rather, therefore,
Take to the fight with you; I will make war on the Greeks for my uncles;
One for all I will fill their place in the shock with the foemen.
But from his chamber-door Antenor heard and rebuked him:
Scamp of my heart, thou torment! in to thy chamber and rest there,
Bound with cords lest thou cease, thou flutter-brain, scourged into quiet;
So shall thy lust of the fight be healed and our mansion grow tranquil.
Chid by the old man Eurus slunk from the hall discontented,
Yet with a dubious smile like a moonbeam lighting his beauty.
But to Antenor the Dardanid born from the white Aphrodite:
Late the Antenorids learn to flinch from the spears of the Argives,
Even this boy of their blood has Polydamas heart and his valour.
Nor should a life that was honoured and noble be stained in its ending.
Nay, then, the mood of a child would shame a grey-headed wisdom,
If for the fault of the people virtue and Troy were forgotten.
For, though the people hear us not, yet are we bound to our nation:
Over the people the gods are; over a man is his country;
This is the deity first adored by the hearths of the noble.
For by our nations will we are ruled in the home and the battle
And for our nations weal we offer our lives and our childrens.
Not by their own wills led nor their passions men rise to their manhood,
Selfishly seeking their good, but the gods and the States and the fathers.
Wroth Antenor replied to the warlike son of Anchises:
Great is the soul in thee housed and stern is thy will, O Aeneas;
Onward it moves undismayed to its goal though a city be ruined.
They too guide thee who deepest see of the ageless immortals,
One with her heart and one in his spirit, Cypris and Phoebus.
Yet might a man not knowing this think as he watched thee, Aeneas,
Spurring Priams race to its fall he endangers this city,
Hoping to build a throne out of ruins sole in the Troad.
I too have gods who warn me and lead, Athene and Hera.
Not as the ways of other mortals are theirs who are guided,
They whose eyes are the gods and they walk by a light that is secret.
Coldly Aeneas made answer, stirred into wrath by the taunting:
High wert thou always, nurtured in wisdom, ancient Antenor.
Walk then favoured and led, yet watch lest passion and evil
Feign auguster names and mimic the gait of the deathless.
And with a smile on his lips but wrath in his bosom answered,
Wisest of men but with wisdom of mortals, aged Antenor:
Led or misled we are mortals and walk by a light that is given;
Most they err who deem themselves most from error excluded.
Nor shalt thou hear in this battle the shout of the men of my lineage
Holding the Greeks as once and driving back Fate from their country.
His alone will be heard for a space while the stern gods are patient
Even now who went forth a victim self-offered to Hades,
Last whom their wills have plucked from the fated house of Antenor.
They now with wrath in their bosoms sundered for ever and parted.
Forth from the halls of Antenor Aeneas rapidly striding
Passed once more through the city hurrying now with its car-wheels,
Filled with a mightier rumour of war and the march of its thousands,
Till at Troys upward curve he found the Antenorid crestward
Mounting the steep incline that climbed to the palace of Priam
White in her proud and armed citadel. Silent, ascending
Hardly their feet had attempted the hill when behind them they hearkened
Sweet-tongued a call and the patter and hurry of light-running sandals,
Turning they beheld with a flush on his cheeks and a light on his lashes
Challenging mutely and pleading the boyish beauty of Eurus.
Racer to mischief, said Halamus, couldst thou not sit in thy chamber?
Surely cords and the rod await thee, Eurus, returning.
Answered with laughter the child, I have broken through ranks of the fighters,
Dived under chariot-wheels to arrive here and I return not.
I too for counsel of battle have come to the palace of Priam.
Burdened with thought they mounted slowly the road of their fathers
Breasting the Ilian hill where Laomedons mansion was seated,
They from the crest down-gazing saw their countrys housetops
Under their feet and heard the murmur of Troya below them.
But in the palace of Priam coming and going of house-thralls
Filled all the corridors; smoke from the kitchens curled in its plenty
Rich with savour and breathed from the labouring lungs of Hephaestus.
Far in the halls and the chambers voices travelled and clustered,
Anklets jangling ran and sang back from doorway to doorway
Mocking with music of speed and its laughters the haste of the happy,
Sound came of arms, there was tread of the great, there were murmurs of women,
Voices glad of the doomed in Laomedons marvellous mansion.
Six were the halls of its splendour, a hundred and one were its chambers
Lifted on high upon columns that soared like the thoughts of its dwellers,
Thoughts that transcended the earth though they sank down at last into ashes;
So had Apollo dreamed to his lyre; and its tops were a grandeur
Domed, as if seeking to roof mens lives with a hint of the heavens;
Marble his columns rose and with marble his roofs were appointed,
Conquered wealth of the world in its largeness suffered, supporting
Purities of marble, glories of gold. Nor only of matter
Blazed there the brutal pomps, but images mystic or mighty
Crowded ceiling and wall, a work that the gods even admire
Hardly believing that forms like these were imagined by mortals
Here upon earth where sight is a blur and the soul lives encumbered.
Scrolls that remembered in gems the thoughts austere of the ancients
Bordered the lines of the stone and the forms of serpent and Naiad
Ran in relief on those walls of pride in the palace of Priam
Mingled with Dryads who tempted and fled and Satyrs who followed,
Sports of the nymphs in the sea and the woods and their meetings with mortals,
Sessions and battles of Trojan demigods, deaths that were famous,
Wars and loves of men and the deeds of the golden immortals.
Pillars sculptured with gods and with giants soared up from bases
Lion-carved or were seated on bulls and bore into grandeur
Amply those halls where they soared, or in lordliness slenderly fashioned,
Dressed in flowers and reeds like virgins standing on Ida,
Guarded the screens of stone and divided alcove and chamber.
Ivory carved and broidered robes and the riches of Indus
Cherished in sandalwood triumphed and teemed in the palace of Priam;
Doors that were carven and fragrant sheltered the joys of its princes.
Here in a chamber of luminous privacy Paris was arming.
Near him moved Helen, a whiteness divine, and intent on her labour
Fastened his cuirass, bound the greaves and settled the hauberk
Thrilling his limbs with her touch that was heaven to the yearning of mortals.
She with her hands of delight caressing the senseless metal
Pressed her lips to his brilliant armour; she bowed down, she whispered:
Cuirass, allowed by the gods, protect the beauty of Paris;
Keep for me that for which country was lost and my child and my brothers.
Yearning she bent to his feet, to the sandal-strings of her lover;
Then as she gazed up, changed grew her mood; for the Daemon within her
Rose that had banded Greece and was burning Troy into ashes.
Slowly a smile that was perfect and perilous over her beauty
Dawned like the sunlight on Paradise; strangely she looked on her lover.
So might a goddess have gazed as she played with the love of a mortal
Passing an hour on the earth ere she rose up white to Olympus.
So art thou winner, Paris, yet and thy spirit ascendant
Leads this Troy where thou wilt, O thou mighty one veiled in thy beauty.
First in the dance and the revel, first in the joy of the mellay,
Who would not leave for thy sake and repent it not country and homestead?
Winning thou reignest still over Troy, over Fate, over Helen.
Always so canst thou win? Has Death no claim on thy beauty,
Fate no scourge for thy sins? How the years have passed by in a glory,
Years of this heaven of the gods, O ravisher, since from my hearthstone
Seizing thou borest me compelled to thy ships and my joy on the waters.
Troy is enringed with the spears, her children fall and her glories,
Mighty souls of heroes have gone down prone to the darkness;
Thou and I abide! the mothers wail for our pleasure.
Wilt thou then keep me for ever, O son of Priam, in Troya?
Fate was my mother, they say, and Zeus for this hour begot me.
Art thou a god too, O hero, disguised in this robe of the mortal,
Brilliant, careless of death and of sin as if sure of thy rapture?
What then if Fate today were to lay her hands on thee, Paris?
Calmly he looked on the face of which Greece was enamoured, the body
For whose desire great Troy was a sacrifice, tranquil regarded
Lovely and dire on the lips he loved that smile of a goddess,
Saw the daughter of Zeus in the woman, yet was not shaken.
Temptress of Argos, he answered, thou snare for the world to be seized in,
Thou then hopst to escape! But the gods could not take thee, O Helen,
How then thy will that to mine is a captive, or how, though with battle,
He who has lost thee, unhappy, the Spartan, bright Menelaus?
All things yield to a man and Zeus is himself his accomplice
When like a god he wills without remorse or longing.
Thou on this earth art mine since I claimed thee beheld, not speaking,
But with thy lids that fell thou veiledst thy heart of compliance.
Then in whatever beyond I shall know how to take thee, O Helen,
Even as here upon earth I knew, in heaven as in Sparta;
I on Elysian fields will enjoy thee as now in the Troad.
Silent a moment she lingered like one who is lured by a music
Rapturous, heard by himself alone and his lover in heaven,
Then in her beauty compelling she rose up divine among women.
Yes, it is good, she cried, what the gods do and actions of mortals;
Good is this play of the world; it is good, the joy and the torture.
Praised be the hour of the gods when I wedded bright Menelaus!
Praised, more praised the keels that severed the seas towards Helen
Churning the senseless waves that knew not the bliss of their burden!
Praised to the end the hour when I passed through the doors of my husband
Laughing with joy in my heart for the arms that bore and enchained me!
Never can Death undo what life has done for us, Paris.
Nor, whatsoever betide, can the hour be unlived of our rapture.
This too is good that nations should meet in the shock of the battle,
Heroes be slain and a theme be made for the songs of the poets,
Songs that shall thrill with the name of Helen, the beauty of Paris.
Well is this also that empires should fall for the eyes of a woman;
Well that for Helen Hector ended, Memnon was slaughtered,
Strong Sarpedon fell and Troilus ceased in his boyhood.
Troy for Helen burning, her glory, her empire, her riches,
This is the sign of the gods and the type of things that are mortal.
Thou who art kin to the masters of heaven, unconstrained like thy kindred
High on this ancient stage of the Troad with gods for spectators
Play till the end thy part, O thou wondrous and beautiful actor:
Fight and slay the Greeks, my countrymen; victor returning
Take for reward of the play, thy delight of Argive Helen.
Force from my bosom a hint of the joy denied to the death-claimed,
Rob in the kiss of my lips a pang from the raptures of heaven.
Clasping him wholly her arms of desire were a girdle of madness,
Cestus divine of the dread Aphrodite. He with her kisses
Flushed like the gods with unearthly wine and rejoiced in his ruin.
Thus while they conversed now in this hour that was near to their parting
Last upon earth, a fleet-footed slavegirl came to the chamber:
Paris, thy father and mother desire thee; there in the strangers
Outer hall Aeneas and Halamus wait for thy coming.
So with the Argive he wended to Priams ample chamber
Far in Laomedons house where Troy looked upwards to Ida.
Priam and Hecuba there, the ancient grey-haired rulers,
Waiting him sat in their chairs of ivory calm in their greatness;
Hid in her robes at their feet lay Cassandra crouched from her visions.
Since, O my father, said Paris, thy thoughts have been with me, thy blessing
Surely shall help me today in my strife with the strength of Achilles.
Surely the gods shall obey in the end the might of our spirits,
Pallas and Hera, flame-sandalled Artemis, Zeus and Apollo.
Ever serve the immortal brightnesses man when he stands up
Firm with his will uplifted a steadfast flame towards the heavens,
Ares works in his heart and Hephaestus burns in his labour.
Priam replied to his son: Forewilled by the gods, Alexander,
All things happen on earth and yet we must strive who are mortals,
Knowing all vain, yet we strive; for our nature seizing us always
Drives like the flock that is herded and urged towards shambles or pasture.
So have the high gods fashioned these tools of their action and pleasure;
Failure and grief are their engines no less than the might of the victor;
They in the blow descend and resist in the sobs of the smitten.
Such are their goads that I too must walk in the paths that are common,
Even I who know must send for thee, moved by Cassandra.
Speak, O my child, since Apollo has willed it, once, and be silent.
But in her raiment hidden Cassandra answered her father:
No, for my heart has changed since I cried for him, vexed by Apollo.
Why should I speak? For who will believe me in Troy? who believed me
Ever in Troy or the world? Event and disaster approve me
Only, my comrades, not men in their thoughts, not my brothers and kinsmen.
All by their hopes are gladly deceived and grow wroth with the warner,
Half-blind prophets of hope entertained by the gods in the mortal!
Wiser blind, if nothing they saw or only the darkness.
I too once hoped when Apollo pursued me with love in his temple.
Round me already there gleamed the ray of the vision prophetic,
Thrill of that rapture I felt and the joy of the god in his seeing
Nor did I know that the knowledge of mortals is bound unto blindness.
Either only they walk mid the coloured dreams of the senses
Treading the greenness of earth and deeming the touch of things real,
Or if they see, by the curse of the gods their sight into falsehood
Easily turns and leads them more stumbling astray than the sightless.
So are we either blind in a darkness or dazzled by seeing.
Thus have the gods protected their purpose and baffled the sages;
Over the face of the Truth their shield of gold is extended.
But I deemed otherwise, urged by the Dreadful One, he who sits always
Veiled in us fighting the gods whom he uses. I cried to Apollo,
Give me thy vision sheer, not such as thou givst to thy prophets,
Troubled though luminous; clear be the vision and ruthless to error,
Far-darting god who art veiled by the sun and by death thou art shielded.
Then I shall know that thou lovest. He gave, alarmed and reluctant,
Driven by Fate and his heart; but I mocked him, I broke from my promise,
Courage fatal helping my heart to its ruin with laughter.
Always now I remember his face that grew tranquil and ruthless,
Hear the voice divine and implacable: Since thou deceivest
Even the gods and thou hast not feared to lie to Apollo,
Speak shalt thou henceforth only truth, but none shall believe thee:
Scorned in thy words, rejected yet more for their bitter fulfilment,
Scourged by the gods thou must speak though thy sick heart yearns to be silent.
For in this play thou hast dared to play with the masters of heaven,
Girl, it is thou who hast lost; thy voice is mine and thy bosom.
Since then all I foreknow; therefore anguish is mine for my portion:
Since then all whom I love must perish slain by my loving.
Even of that I denied him, violent force shall bereave me
Grasped mid the flames of my city and shouts of her merciless victors.
But to Cassandra answered gently the voice of her brother:
Sister of mine, afflicted and seized by the dreadful Apollo,
All whose eyes can pierce that curtain, gaze into dimness;
This they have glimpsed and that they imagine deceived by their natures
Seeing the forms in their hearts of dreadful things and of joyous;
As in the darkness our eyes are deceived by shadows uncertain,
Such is their sight who rend the veil that the dire gods have woven.
Busy our hearts are weaving thoughts and images always:
After their kind they see what here we call truth. So thy nature
Tender and loving, plagued by this war and its fears for thy loved ones,
Sees calamity everywhere; when the event like the vision
Seems, as in every war the beloved must fall and the cherished,
Then the heart cries, It has happened as all shall happen I mourn for.
All that was bright it misses and only seizes on sorrow.
Dear, on the brightness look and if thou must prophesy, tell us
Rather of great Pelides slain by my spear in the onset.
But with a voice of grief the sister answered her brother:
Yes, he shall fall and his slayer too perish and Troy with his slayer.
But in his spirit rejoicing Paris answered Cassandra:
Let but this word come true; for the rest, the gods shall avert it.
Look once more, O Cassandra, and comfort the heart of thy mother,
See, O seer, my safe return with the spoils of Achilles.
And with a voice of grief the sister answered her brother:
Thou shalt return for thy hour while Troy yet stands in the sunshine.
But in his spirit exultant Paris seizing the omen:
Hearst thou, my father, my mother? She who still prophesied evil
Now perceives of our night this dawning. Yet is it grievous,
Since through a heart that we love must be pierced the heart of Achilles.
Fate, with this evil satisfied, turn in the end from Troya.
Bless me, my father, and thou, O Hecuba, mother long-patient,
Still forgive that thy children have fallen for Helen and Paris.
Tenderly yearning his mother drew him towards her and murmured:
All for thy hyacinth curls was forgiven even from childhood
And for thy sunlit looks, O wonder of charm, O Paris.
Paris, my son, though Troy must fall, thy mother forgives thee,
Blessing the gods who have lent thee to me for a while in their sunshine.
Theirs are fate and result, but ours is the joy of our children;
Even the griefs are dear that come from their hands while they love us.
Fight and slay Achilles, the murderer dire of thy brothers;
Venging Hector return, my son, to the clasp of thy mother.
But in his calm august to Paris Priam the monarch:
Victor so mightst thou come, so gladden the heart of thy mother.
Then to the aged father of Paris Helen the Argive
Bright and immortal and sad like a star that grows near to the dawning
And on its pale companions looks who now fade from its vision:
Me too pardon and love, my parents, even Helen,
Cause of all bane and all death; but I came from the gods for this ruin
Born as a torch for the burning of empires, cursed with this beauty.
Nor have I known a fathers embrace, a mothers caresses,
But to the distant gods I was born and nursed as an alien
Here by earth from fear, not affection, compelled by the thunders.
Two are her monstrous births, from the Furies and from the immortals;
Either touching mortality suffers and bears not the contact.
I have been both, a monster of doom and a portent of beauty.
Slowly Priam the monarch answered to Argive Helen:
That which thou art the gods have made thee; thou couldst not be other:
That which thou didst, the gods have done; thou couldst not prevent them.
Who here shall blame or whom shall he pardon? Should not my people
Rail at me murmuring, Priam has lost what his fathers had gathered;
Cursed is this king by heaven and cursed who are born as his subjects?
Masked the high gods act; the doer is hid by his working.
Each of us bears his punishment, fruit of a seed thats forgotten;
Each of us curses his neighbour protecting his heart with illusions:
Therefore like children we blame each other and hate and are angry.
Take, my child, the joy of the sunshine won by thy beauty.
I who lodge on this earth as an alien bound by the body,
Wearing my sorrow even as I wear the imperial purple,
Praise yet the gods for my days that have seen thee at last in my ending.
Fitly Troy may cease having gazed on thy beauty, O Helen.
He became silent, he ceased from words. But Paris and Helen
Lightly went and gladly; pursuing their footsteps the mother,
Mother once of Troilus, mother once of Hector,
Stood at the door with her death in her eyes, nor returned from her yearning,
But as one after a vanishing sunbeam gazes in prison,
Gazed down the corridors after him, long who had passed from her vision.
Then in the silent chamber Cassandra seized by Apollo
Staggered erect and tossing her snow-white arms of affliction
Cried to the heavens in her pain; for the fierce god tortured her bosom:
Woe is me, woe for the guile and the bitter gift of Apollo!
Woe, thrice woe, for my birth in Troy and the lineage of Teucer!
So do you deal, O gods, with those who have served you and laboured,
Those who have borne for your sake the evil burden of greatness.
Blessed is he who holds mattock in hand or who bends oer the furrow
Taking no thought for the good of mankind, with no yearnings for knowledge.
Woe unto me for my wisdom which none shall value nor hearken!
Woe unto thee, O King, for thy strength which shall not deliver!
Better the eye that is sealed, more blest is the spirit thats feeble.
Vainly your hopes with iron Necessity struggle, O mortals.
Virtue shall lie in her pangs, for the gods have need of her torture;
Sin shall be scourged, though her deeds were compelled by the gods in their anger.
None shall avail in the end, the coward shall die and the hero.
Troy shall fall in her sin and her virtues shall not protect her;
Argos shall grow by her crimes till the gods shall destroy her for ever.
Now have I fruit of thy love, O Loxias, dreadful Apollo.
Woe is me, woe for the flame that approaches the house of my fathers!
Woe is me, woe for the hand of Ajax laid on my tresses!
Woe, thrice woe to him who shall ravish and him who shall cherish!
Woe for the ships that shall bound too swift oer the azure Aegean!
Woe for thy splendid shambles of hell, O Argive Mycenae!
Woe for the evil spouse and the house accursd of Atreus!
So with her voice of the swan she clanged out doom on the peoples,
Over the palace of Priam and over the armd nation
Marching resolved to the war in the pride of its centuries conquered,
Centuries slain by a single day of the anger of heaven.
Dim to the thoughts like a vision of Hades the luminous chamber
Grew; in his ivory chair King Priam sat like a shadow
Throned mid the ghosts of departed kings and forgotten empires.
But in his valiance careless and bli the the Priamid hastened
Seeking the pillared megaron wide where Deiphobus armoured
Waited his coming forth with the warlike chiefs of the Trojans.
Now as he passed by the halls of the women, the chambers that harboured
Daughters and wives of King Priam and wives of his sons and their playmates,
Niches of joy that were peopled with murmurs and sweet-tongued laughters,
Troubled like trees with their birds in a morning of sun and of shadow
Where in some garden of kings one walks with his heart in the sunshine,
Out from her door where she stood for him waiting Polyxena started,
Seized his hand and looked in his face and spoke to her brother.
Then not even the brilliant strength of Paris availed him;
Joyless he turned his face from her eyes of beauty and sorrow.
So it is come, the hour that I feared, and thou goest, O Paris,
Armed with the strength of Fate to strike at my heart in the battle;
For he is doomed and thou and I, a victim to Hades.
This thou preferrest and neither thy father could move nor thy mother
Burning with Troy in their palace, nor could thy country persuade thee,
Nor dost thou care for thy sisters happiness pierced by thy arrows.
Will she remember it all, my sister Helen, in Argos
Passing tranquil days with her husband, bright Menelaus,
Holding her child on her knees? But we shall lie joyless in Hades.
Paris replied: O sister Polyxena, blame me not wholly.
We by the gods are ensnared; for the pitiless white Aphrodite
Doing her will with us both compels this. Helpless our hearts are
And when she drives perforce must love, for death or for gladness:
Weighed in unequal scales she deals them to one or another.
Happy who holding his love can go down into bottomless Hades.
But to her brother replied in her anguish the daughter of Priam:
Evilly deal with my days the immortals happy in heaven;
Yes, I accuse the gods and I curse them who heed not our sorrow.
This they have done with me, forcing my heart to the love of a foeman,
One whose terrible hands have been stained with the blood of my brothers.
This now they do, they have taken the two whom I love beyond heaven,
Brother and husband, and drive to the fight to be slain by each other.
Nay, go thou forth; for thou canst not help it, nor I, nor can Helen.
Since I must die as a pageant to satisfy Zeus and his daughter,
Since now my heart must be borne as a victim bleeding to please them,
So let it be, let me deck myself and be bright for the altar.
Into her chamber she turned with her great eyes blind, unregarding;
He for a moment stood, then passed to the megaron slowly;
Dim was the light in his eyes and clouded his glorious beauty.
Meanwhile armed in the palace of Priam Penthesilea.
Near her her captains silent and mighty stood, from the Orient
Distant clouds of war, Surabdas and iron Surenas,
Pharatus planned like the hills, Somaranes, Valarus, Tauron,
High-crested Sumalus, Arithon, Sambus and Artavoruxes.
There too the princes of Phrygian Troya gathered for counsel
And with them Eurus came, Polydamas son, who most dearly
Loved was of all the Trojan boys by the glorious virgin.
She from her arming stayed to caress his curls and to chide him:
Eurus, forgotten of grace, dost thou gad like a stray in the city
Eager to mix with the armoured men and the chariots gliding?
High on the roofs wouldst thou watch the swaying speck that is battle?
Better to aim with the dart or seek with thy kind the palaestra;
So wilt thou sooner be part of this greatness rather than straining
Yearn from afar to the distance that veils the deeds of the mighty.
But with an anxious lure in his smile on her Eurus answered:
Not that remoteness to see have I come to the palace of Priam
Leaving the house of my fathers, but for the spear and the breastpiece.
Hast thou not promised me long I shall fight in thy car with Achilles?
Doubtful he eyed her, a lions cub at play in his beauty,
And mid the heroes who heard him laughter arose for a moment,
Yet with a sympathy stirred; they remembered the days of their childhood,
Thought of Troy still mighty, life in its rose-touched dawning
When they had longed for the clash of the fight and the burden of armour.
Glad, with the pride of the lioness watching her cub in the desert,
Couchant she lies with her paws before her and joys in his gambols,
Over the prey as he frisks and is careless, answered the virgin:
Younger than thou in my nation have mounted the steed and the war-car.
Eurus, arm; from under my shield thou shalt gaze at the Phthian,
Reaching my shafts for the cast from the rim of my car in the battle
Handle perhaps the spear that shall smite down the Phthian Achilles.
What sayst thou, Halamus? Were not such prowess a perfect beginning
Worthy Polydamas son and the warlike house of Antenor?
Halamus started and smiting his hand on the grief of his bosom,
Sombre replied and threatened with Fate the high-hearted virgin.
Virgin armipotent, wherefore mockst thou thy friend, though unwitting?
Nay, for the world will know at the end and my death cannot hide it,
Slain by a fathers curse we fight who are kin to Antenor.
Take not the boy in thy car, lest the Furies, Penthesilea,
Aim through the shield and the shielder to wreak the curse of the grandsire.
They will not turn nor repent for thy strength nor his delicate beauty.
Swiftly to Halamus answered the high-crested might of the virgin:
Curses leave lightly the lips when the soul of a man is in anger
Even as blessings easily crowd round the head that is cherished.
Yet have I never seen that a curse has sharpened a spear-point;
Never Death drew back from the doomed by the power of a blessing.
Valour and skill and chance are Fate and the gods and the Furies.
Give me the boy; a hero shall come back formed from the onset.
Do as thou wilt, replied Halamus; Fate shall guard or shall end him.
Then to the boy delighted and smiling-eyed and exultant
Cried with her voice like the call of heavens bugles waking the heroes,
Blown by the lips of gold-haired Valkyries, Penthesilea.
Go, find the spear, gird the sword, don the cuirass, child of the mighty.
Armed when thou standst on the plain of the Xanthus, field of thy fathers,
See that thou fight on this day like the comrade of Penthesilea.
Bud of a hero, gaze unalarmed in the eyes of Achilles.
Light as a hound released he ran to the hall of the armour
Where were the shields of the mighty, the arms of the mansion of Teucer;
There from the house-thralls he wrung the greaves and the cuirass and helmet
Troilus wore, the wonderful boy who, ere ripened his prowess,
Conquered the Greeks and drove to the ships and fought with Achilles.
These on his boyish limbs he donned and ran back exulting
Bearing spears and a sword and rejoiced in the clank on his armour.
Meanwhile Deiphobus, head of the mellay, moved by Aeneas
Opened the doors of their warlike debate to the strength of the virgin:
Well do I hope that our courage outwearying every opponent
Triumph shall lift to her ancient seat on the Pergaman turrets;
Clouds from Zeus come and pass; his sunshine eternal survives them.
Yet we are few in the fight and armoured nations besiege us.
Surging on Troy today a numberless foe well-captained
Hardly pushed back in shock after shock with the Myrmidon numbers
Swelled returns; they fight with a hope that broken refashion
Helpful skies and a man now leads them who conquers and slaughters,
One of the sons of the gods and armed by the gods for the struggle.
We unhelped save by Ares stern and the mystic Apollo
And but as mortals striving with stubborn mortal courage,
Hated and scorned and alone in the world, by the nations rejected,
Fight with the gods and mankind and Achilles and numbers against us
Keeping our country from death in this bitter hour of her fortunes.
Therefore have prudence and hardihood severed contending our counsels
Whether far out to fight on the seaward plain with the Argives
Or behind Xanthus the river impetuous friendly to Troya.
This my brother approves and the son of Antenor advises,
Prudent masters of war who prepare by defence their aggression.
But for myself from rashness I seek a more far-seeing wisdom,
Not behind vain defences choosing a tardy destruction,
Rather as Zeus with his spear of the lightning and chariot of tempest
Scatters and chases the heavy mass of the clouds through the heavens,
So would I hunt the Greeks through the plains to their lair by the Ocean,
Straight at the throat of my foeman so would I leap in the battle.
Swiftly to smite at the foe is prudence for armies outnumbered.
Then to the Dardanid answered the high-crested Penthesilea:
There where I find my foe I will fight him, whether by Xanthus
Or at the fosse of the ships where they crouch behind bulwarks for shelter,
Or if they dare by Scamander the higher marching on Troya.
Sternly approved her the Trojan, So should they fight who would triumph
Meeting the foe ere he move in his will to the clash of encounter.
But with his careless laughter the brilliant Priamid Paris:
Joy of the battle, joy of the tempest, joy of the gamble
Mated are in thy blood, O virgin, daughter of Ares.
Thou like the deathless wouldst have us combat, us who are human?
Come, let the gods do their will with us, Ares let lead and his daughter!
Always the blood is wiser and knows what is hid from the thinker.
Life and treasure and fame to cast on the wings of a moment,
Fiercer joy than this the gods have not given to mortals.
Highly to Paris the virgin armipotent Penthesilea,
Paris and Halamus, shafts of the war-god, fear not for Troya.
Not as a vaunt do I speak it, you gods who stern-thoughted watch us,
But in my vision of strength and the soul that is seated within me,
Not while I live and war shall the host of the Myrmidon fighters
Forcing the currents lave, as once they were wont, in Scamander
Vaunting their victor car-wheels red with the blood of the vanquished.
Then when I lie by some war-god slain on the fields of the Troad,
Fight again if you will behind high-banked fast-flowing Xanthus.
Halamus answered her, Never so by my will would I battle
Flinging Troy as a stake on the doubtful diceboard of Ares.
But you have willed it and so let it be; yet hearken my counsel.
Massed in the fight let us aim the storm of our spears at one greatness,
Mighty Pelides head who gives victory still to the Argives.
Easy the Greeks to destroy lay Achilles once slain on the Troad,
But if the Peleid lives the fire shall yet finish with Troya.
Join then Orestes speed to the stubborn might of Aeneas,
Paris fatal shafts and the missiles of Penthesilea.
Others meanwhile, a puissant screen of our bravest and strongest,
Fighting shall hold back Pylos and Argolis, Crete and the Locrian.
Thou, Deiphobus, front the bronze-clad stern Diomedes,
I with Polydamas spear will dare to restrain and discourage
Ajax feet though they yearn for pursuit and are hungry for swiftness.
Knot of retreat behind let some strong experienced captain
Stand with our younger levies guarding the fords of the Xanthus,
Fortify the wavering line and dawn as fresh strength on the wearied.
Then if the fierce gods prevail we shall perish not driven like cattle
Over the plains, but draw back sternly and slowly to Troya.
Answered the Priamid, Wise is thy counsel, branch of Antenor.
Chaff are the southern Achaians, only the hardihood Hellene,
Only the savage speed of the Locrian rescues their legions.
Marshal we so this field. Stand, Halamus, covering Xanthus,
Helping our need when the foe press hard on the Ilian fighters.
Paris, my brother, thou with our masses aid the Eoan.
I with Aeneas single spear am enough for the Argive.
Gladlier Halamus cried would I fight in the front with the Locrian!
This too let be as you will; for one is the glory and service
Fighting in front or guarding behind the fate of our country.
So in their thoughts they ordered battle. Meanwhile Eurus
Gleaming returned and the room grew glad with the light of his armour.
Glad were its conscious walls of that vision of boyhood and valour;
Gods of the household sighed and smiled at his courage and beauty,
They who had seen so many pass over their floors and return not
Hasting to battle, the fair and the mighty, the curled and the grizzled,
All of them treading one path like the conscious masks of one pageant
Winding past through the glare of a light to the shadows beyond them.
But on her captains proudly smiling Penthesilea
Seized him and cried aloud, her wild and warlike nature
Moved by the mothers heart that the woman loses not ever.
Who then shall fear for the fate of Troy when such are her children?
Verily, Eurus, yearning has seized me to meet thee in battle
Rather than Locrian Ajax, rather than Phthian Achilles.
There acquiring a deathless fame I would make thee my captive,
Greedy and glad who feel as a lioness eyeing her booty.
Nay, I can never leave thee behind, my delicate Trojan,
But, when this war ends, will bear thee away to the hills of my country
And, as a robber might, with my captive glad and unwilling
Bring thee a perfect gift to my sisters Ditis and Anna.
Eurus, there in my land thou shalt look on such hills as thy vision
Gazed not on yet, with their craggy tops besieging Cronion,
Sheeted in virgin white and chilling his feet with their vastness.
Thou shalt rejoice in our wooded peaks and our fruit-bearing valleys,
Lakes of Elysium dreaming and wide and rivers of wonder.
All day long thou shalt glide between mystic woodlands in silence
Broken only by call of the birds and the plashing of waters.
There shalt thou see, O Eurus, the childhood of Penthesilea.
Thou shalt repose in my fathers house and walk in the gardens
Green where I played at the ball with my sisters, Ditis and Anna.
Musing she ceased, but if any god had touched her with prescience
Bidding her think for the last time now of the haunts of her childhood,
Gaze in her soul with a parting love at the thought of her sisters
And of the lovely and distant land where she played through her summers,
Brief was the touch; for she changed at once and only of triumph
Dreamed and only yearned in her heart for the shock of Achilles.
So they passed from the halls of Priam fated and lofty,
Halls where the air seemed sobbing yet with the cry of Cassandra;
Clad in their brilliant armour, bright in their beauty and courage,
Sons of the passing demigods, they to their latest battle
Down the ancestral hill of the Pergamans moved to the gateway.
Loud with an endless march, with a tireless gliding to meet them,
All Troy streamed from her streets and her palaces armed for the combat.
Then to the voice of Deiphobus clanging high oer the rumour
Wide the portals swung that shall close on a blood-red evening,
Slow, foreboding, reluctant, and through the yawn of the gateway
Drove with a cry her steeds the virgin Penthesilea
Calling aloud, O steeds of my east, we drive to Achilles.
Bli the in the car behind her Eurus scouted around him
Scared with his eyes lest Antenor his grandsire should rise in the gateway,
Hardly believing his fate that led him safe through the portals.
After her trampled and crashed the ranks of her orient fighters.
Paris next with his hosts came brilliant, gold on his armour,
Gold on his helm; a mighty bow hung slack on his shoulder,
Propped oer his arm a spear, as he drove his car through the gateway.
Next Deiphobus drove and the hero strong Aeneas,
Leading their numbers on. Behind them Dus and Polites,
Helenus, Priams son, Thrasymachus, grizzled Aretes,
Came like the tempest his father, Adamas, son of the Northwind
Orus old in the fight and Eumachus, kin to Aeneas,
Who was Cresas brother and richest of men in the Troad
After Antenor only and Priam, Ilions monarch.
Halamus drove and Arintheus led on his Lycian levies.
Who were the last to speed out of Troya of all those legions
Doomed to the sword? for never again from the ancient city
Foot would march or chariots crash in their pride to the Xanthus.
Aetor the old and Tryas the conqueror known by the Oxus.
They in the portals met and their ancient eyes on each other
Looked amazed, admiring on age the harness of battle.
They in the turreted head of the gateway halted and conversed.
Twenty years have passed, O Tryas, chief of the Trojans,
Since in the battle thy car was seen and the arm of thy prowess
Age has wronged. Why now to the crowded ways of the battle
Move once more thy body infirm and thy eyes that are faded?
And to Antenors brother the Teucrian, Thou too, O Aetor,
Old and weary hast sat in thy halls and desisted from battle.
Now in Troys portals I meet thee driving forth to the mellay.
Aetor answered, Which then is better, to wretchedly perish
Crushed by the stones of my falling house or slain like a victim
Dragged through the blood of my kin on the sacred hearth of my fathers,
Or in the battle to cease mid the war-cry and hymn of the chariots
Knowing that Troy yet stands in her pride though doomed in her morrows?
So have the young men willed and the old like thee who age not,
Old are thy limbs, but thy heart is still young and hot for the war-din.
Tryas replied, To perish is better for man or for nation
Nobly in battle, nor end disgraced by disease or subjection.
So have I come here to offer this shoulder Laomedon leaned on,
Arms that have fought by the Oxus and conquered the Orients heroes
Famous in Priams wars, and a heart that is faithful to Troya.
These I will offer to death on his splendid altar of battle,
Tri bute from Ilion. If she must fall, I shall see not her ending.
Aetor replied to Tryas, Then let us perish together,
Joined by the love of our race who in life were divided in counsel.
All things embrace in death and the strife and the hatred are ended.
Silent together they drove for the last time through Ilions portals
Out with the rest to the fight towards the sea and the spears of the Argives.
Only once, as they drove, they gazed back silent on Troya
Lifting her marble pride in the golden joy of the morning.
So through the ripening morn the army, crossing Scamander,
Filling the heavens with the dust and the war-cry, marched on the Argives.
Far in front Troys plain spread wide to the echoing Ocean.
***
~ Sri Aurobindo, 4 - The Book of Partings
,
345:The Witch Of Hebron
A Rabbinical Legend
Part I.
From morn until the setting of the sun
The rabbi Joseph on his knees had prayed,
And, as he rose with spirit meek and strong,
An Indian page his presence sought, and bowed
Before him, saying that a lady lay
Sick unto death, tormented grievously,
Who begged the comfort of his holy prayers.
The rabbi, ever to the call of grief
Open as day, arose; and girding straight
His robe about him, with the page went forth;
Who swiftly led him deep into the woods
That hung, heap over heap, like broken clouds
On Hebron’s southern terraces; when lo!
Across a glade a stately pile he saw,
With gleaming front, and many-pillared porch
Fretted with sculptured vinage, flowers and fruit,
And carven figures wrought with wondrous art
As by some Phidian hand.
But interposed
For a wide space in front, and belting all
The splendid structure with a finer grace,
A glowing garden smiled; its breezes bore
Airs as from paradise, so rich the scent
That breathed from shrubs and flowers; and fair the growths
Of higher verdure, gemm’d with silver blooms,
Which glassed themselves in fountains gleaming light
Each like a shield of pearl.
Within the halls
Strange splendour met the rabbi’s careless eyes,
Halls wonderful in their magnificance,
With pictured walls, and columns gleaming white
Like Carmel’s snow, or blue-veined as with life;
222
Through corridors he passed with tissues hung
Inwrought with threaded gold by Sidon’s art,
Or rich as sunset clouds with Tyrian dye;
Past lofty chambers, where the gorgeous gleam
Of jewels, and the stainèd radiance
Of golden lamps, showed many a treasure rare
Of Indian and Armenian workmanship
Which might have seemed a wonder of the world:
And trains of servitors of every clime,
Greeks, Persians, Indians, Ethiopians,
In richest raiment thronged the spacious halls.
The page led on, the rabbi following close,
And reached a still and distant chamber, where
In more than orient pomp, and dazzling all
The else-unrivalled splendour of the rest,
A queenly woman lay; so beautiful,
That though upon her moon-bright visage, pain
And langour like eclipsing shadows gloomed,
The rabbi’s aged heart with tremor thrilled;
Then o’er her face a hectic colour passed,
Only to leave that pallor which portends
The nearness of the tomb.
From youth to age
The rabbi Joseph still had sought in herbs
And minerals the virtues they possess,
And now of his medicaments he chose
What seemed most needful in her sore estate;
“Alas, not these,” the dying woman said,
“A malady like mine thou canst not cure,
’Tis fatal as the funeral march of Time!
But that I might at length discharge my mind
Of a dread secret, that hath been to me
An ever-haunting and most ghostly fear,
Darkening my whole life like an ominous cloud
And which must end it ere the morning come,
Therefore did I entreat thy presence here.”
The rabbi answered, “If indeed it stand
Within my power to serve thee, speak at once
223
All that thy heart would say. But if ’tis vain,
If this thy sin hath any mortal taint,
Forbear, O woman, to acquaint my soul
With aught that could thenceforth with horror chase
The memory of a man of Israel.”
“I am,” she said “the daughter of thy friend
Rabbi Ben Bachai—be his memory blest!
Once at thy side a laughing child I played;
I married with an Arab Prince, a man
Of lofty lineage, one of Ishmael’s race;
Not great in gear. Behold’st thou this abode?
Did ever yet the tent-born Arab build
Thus for his pride or pleasure? See’st thou
These riches? An no! Such were ne’er amassed
By the grey desert’s wild and wandering son;
Deadly the game by which I won them all!
And with a burning bitterness at best
Have I enjoyed them! And how gladly now
Would I, too late, forego them all, to mend
My broken peace with a repentant heed
In abject poverty!”
She ceased, and lay
Calm in her loveliness, with dreamy looks
Roaming, perhaps, in thought the fateful past;
Then suddenly her beauteous countenance grew
Bedimm’d and drear, then dark with mortal pangs,
While fierce convulsions shook her tortured frame,
And from her foaming lips such words o’erran,
That rabbi Joseph sank upon his knees,
And bowed his head a space in horror down
While ardent, pitying prayers for her great woe
Rose from his soul; when, lo! The woman’s face
Was cloudless as a summer heaven! The late
Dark brow was bright, the late pale cheek suffused
With roseate bloom; and, wondrous more than all,
Here weary eyes were changed to splendours now
That shot electric influence, and her lips
Were full and crimson, curled with stormy pride.
The doubting rabbi stood in wild amaze
To see the dying woman bold and fierce
224
In bright audacity of passion’s power.
“These are the common changes,” then she said,
“Of the fell ailment, that with torments strange,
Which search my deepest life, is tearing up
The dark foundations of my mortal state,
And sinking all its structures, hour by hour,
Into the dust of death. For nothing now
Is left me but to meet my nearing doom
As best I may in silent suffering.”
Then as he heard her words and saw her face,
The rabbi in his wisdom knew some strong
Indwelling evil spirit troubled her,
And straighway for an unction sent, wherewith
The famous ancestor whose name he bore,
Herod the Great’s chief hakim, had expelled
The daemon haunter of the dying king.
With this he touched her forehead and her eyes
And all her finger-tips. Forthwith he made
Within a consecrated crucible
A fire of citron-wood and cinnamon;
Then splashed the flames with incense, mingling all
With the strong influence of fervent prayer;
And, as the smoke arose, he bowed her head
Into its coils, that so she might inhale
Its salutary odour—till the fiend
That dwelt within her should be exorcised.
Her face once more grew pale with pain; she writhed
In burning torment, uttering many words
Of most unhallowed meaning! Yet her eyes
Were fixed the while, and motionless her lips!
Whereby the rabbi certainly perceived
’Twas not the woman of herself that spake,
But the dread spirit that possessed her soul,
And thus it cried aloud.
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225

Part II.

“WHY am I here, in this my last resort,

Perturbed with incense and anointings? Why

Compelled to listen to the sound of prayers

That smite me through as with the fire of God?

O pain, pain, pain! Is not this chamber full

Of the implacable stern punishers?

Full of avenging angels, holding each

A scourge of thunder in his potent hand,

Ready to lighten forth! And then, thus armed,

For ever chase and wound us as we fly!

Nor end with this—but, in each wound they make,

Pour venom sweltered from that tree As-gard,

Whose deadly shadow in its blackness falls

Over the lake of everlasting doom!

“Five hundred years ago, I, who thus speak,

Was an Egyptian of the splendid court

Of Ptolemy Philadelphus. To the top

Of mountainous power, though roughened with unrest,

And girt with dangers as with thunder-clouds,

Had I resolved by all resorts to climb;

By truth and falsehood, right and wrong alike;

And I did climb! Then firmly built in power

Second alone to my imperial lord’s,

I crowned with its impunity my lust
Of beauty, sowing broadcast everywhere
Such sensual baits wide round me, as should lure
Through pleasure, or through interest entrap,
The fairest daughters of the land, and lo!
Their lustrous eyes surcharged with passionate light
The chambers of my harem! But at length
Wearied of these, though sweet, I set my heart
On riches, heaped to such a fabulous sum
As never one man’s hoard in all the world
Might match; and to acquire them, steeped my life
In every public, every private wrong,
In lies, frauds, secret murders; till at last
A favoured minion I had trusted most,
And highest raised, unveiled before the king
The dark abysmal badness of my life;
But dearly did he rue it; nor till then
Guessed I how deadly grateful was revenge!
226
I stole into his chamber as he slept,
And with a sword, whose double edge for hours
I had whetted for the purpose of the deed,
There staked him through the midriff to his bed.
I fled; but first I sent, as oft before,
A present to the household of the man
Who had in secret my betrayer bribed.
Twas scented wine, and rich Damascus cakes;
On these he feasted, and fell sudden down,
Rolling and panting in his dying pangs,
A poisoned desert dog!
“But I had fled.
A swift ship bore me, which my forecast long
Had kept prepared against such need as this.
Over the waves three days she proudly rode;
Then came a mighty storm, and trampled all
Her masted bravery flat, and still drove on
The wave-swept ruin towards a reefy shore!
Meanwhile amongst the terror-stricken crew
An ominous murmur went from mouth to mouth;
They grouped themselves in councils, and, ere long,
Grew loud and furious with surmises wild,
And maniac menaces, all aimed at me!
My fugitive head it was at which so loud
The thunder bellowed! The wild-shrieking winds
And roaring waters held in vengeful chase
Me only! Me! Whose signal crimes alone
Had brought on us this anger of the gods!
And thus reproaching me with glaring eyes,
They would have seized and slain me, but I sprang
Back from amongst them, and, outstriking, stabbed
With sudden blow their leader to the heart;
Then, with my poniard scaring off the rest,
Leaped from the deck, and swimming reached the shore,
From which, in savage triumph, I beheld
The battered ship, with all her howling crew,
Heel, and go down, amid the whelming waves.
“Inland my course now lay for many days,
O’er barren hills and glens, whose herbless scopes
Never grew luminous with a water gleam,
227
Or heard the pleasant bubble of a brook,
For vast around the Afric desert stretched.
Starving and sun-scorched and afire with thirst,
I wandered ever on, until I came
To where, amid the dun and level waste,
In frightful loneliness, a mouldered group
Of ancient tombs stood ghostly. Here at last,
Utterly spent, in my despair I lay
Down on the burning sand, to gasp and die!
When from among the stones a withered man,
Old-seeming as the desert where he lived,
Came and stood by me, saying ‘get thee up!
Not much have I to give, but these at least
I offer to thy need, water and bread.’
“Then I arose and followed to his cell,—
A dismal cell, that seemed itself a tomb,
So lightless was it, and so foul with damp,
And at its entrance there were skulls and bones.
Long and deep drank I of the hermit’s draught,
And munched full greedily the hermit’s bread;
But with the strength which thence my frame derived,
Fierce rage devoured me, and I cursed my fate!
Whereat the withered creature laughed in scorn,
And mocked me with the malice of his eyes,
That sometimes, like a snake’s, shrank small, and then
Enlarging blazed as with infernal fire!
Then, on a sudden, with an oath that seemed
To wake a stir in the grey musty tombs,
As if their silence shuddered, he averred
That he could life me once more to the height
Of all my wishes—nay, even higher, but
On one condition only. Dared I swear,
By the dread angel of the second death,
I would be wholly his, both body and soul,
After a hundred years?
“Why should I not?
I answered, quivering with a stormy haste,
A rampart unreluctance! For so great
Was still my fury against all mankind,
And my desire of pomp and riches yet
228
So monstrous, that I felt I could have drunk
Blood, fire, or worse, to wear again the power
That fortune, working through my enemies’ hands,
Had stript away from me. So, word by word,
I swore the oath as he repeated it;
Nor much it moved me, in my eagerness,
To feel a damp and earthy odour break
Out of each tomb, from which there darkling rose
At every word a hissing as of snakes;
And yet the fell of hair upon my scalp
Rose bristling under a cold creeping thrill:
But I failed not, I swore the dread oath through,
And then the tombs grew silent as their dead.
But through my veins a feeling of strong youth
Coursed bold along, and summered in my heart,
Till there before him in my pride I stood
In stately strength, and swift as is the wind,
Magnificant as a desert-nurtured steed
Of princeliest pedigree, with nostrils wide
Dilated, and with eyes effusing flame.
‘Begone,’ he said, ’and live thy hundred years
Of splendour, power, pleasure, ease.’ His voice
Sighed off into the distance. He was gone:
Only a single raven, far aloft,
Was beating outwards with its sable wings;
The tombs had vanished, and the desert grey
Merged its whole circle with the bending sky.
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Part III.

“OUT of these wilds to Egypt I returned:

Men thought that I had perished with the ship,

And no one knew me now, because my face

And form were greatly changed,—from passing fair

To fairer yet; from manly, to a pile

So nobly built, that in all eyes I seemed

Beauteous as Thammuz! And my heart was changed;

Ambition wilder than a leopard’s thirst

229

For blood of roe, or flying hart, possessed

My spirit, like the madness of a god!

But this I yet even in its fiercest strain

Could curb and guide with sovereign strength of will.

From small beginnings onward still I worked,

Stepping as up a stair from rival head

To rival head,—from high to higher still,

Unto the loftiest post that might be held

Under the Ptolemies; and meantime paid

Each old unsettled score, defeating those

Who erst had worked against me, sweeping them

Out of all posts, all places; for though time

And change had wide dispersed them through the land,

The sleuth-hounds of my vengeance found them out!

Which things not being in a corner done,

What wonder was it that all Egypt now,
From end to end, even like a shaken hive,
Buzzed as disturbed with my portentous fame?
“And what to me were secret enemies?
Had I not also spies, who could pin down
A whisper in the dark and keep it there?
Could dash a covert frown by the same means
An open charge had challenged? Hence my name
Became a sound that struck through every heart
Ineffable dismay! And yet behold
There more I trampled on mankind, the more
Did fawning flatterers praise me as I swept
Like a magnificant meteor through the land!
The more I hurled the mighty from their seats,
And triumphed o’er them prostrate in the dust,
The human hounds that licked my master hand
But multiplied the more! And still I strode
From bad to worse, corrupting as I went,
Making the lowly ones more abject yet;
Awing as with a thunder-bearing hand
The high and affluent; while I bound the strong
To basest service, even with chains of gold.
All hated, cursed and feared me, for in vain
Daggers were levelled at my brazen heart—
They glanced, and slew some minion at my side
Poison was harmless as a heifer’s milk
When I had sipped it with my lips of scorn;
230
All that paraded pomp and smiling power
Could draw against me from the envious hearts
Of men in will as wicked as myself
I challenged, I encountered, and o’erthrew!
“But, after many years, exhaustion sere
Spread through the branches of my tree of life;
My forces flagged, my senses more and more
Were blunted, and incapable of joy;
The splendours of my rank availed me not;
A poverty as naked as a slave’s
Peered from them mockingly. The pride of power
That glowed so strong within me in my youth
Was now like something dying at my heart.
To cheat or stimulate my jaded taste,
Feasts, choice or sumptuous, were devised in vain;
there was disfavour, there was fraud within,
Like that which filled the fair-appearing rind
Of those delusive apples that of old
Grew on the Dead Sea shore.
“And yet, though thus
All that gave pleasure to my younger life
Was withering from my path like summer grass,
I still had one intense sensation, which
Grew ever keener as my years increased—
A hatred of mankind; to pamper which
I gloated, with a burning in my soul,
Over their degradation; and like one
Merry with wine, I revelled day by day
In scattering baits that should corrupt them more:
The covetous I sharpened into thieves,
Urged the vindictive, hardened the malign,
Whetted the ruffian with self-interest,
And flung him then, a burning brand, abroad.
And the decadence of the state in which
My fortunes had recast me, served me well.
Excess reeled shameless in the court itself,
Or, staggering thence, was rivalled by the wild
Mad looseness of the crowd. Down to its death
The old Greek dynasty was sinking fast;
Waste and pale want, extortion, meanness, fraud—
231
These, welling outwards from the throne itself,
Spread through the land.
“But now there seized my soul
A new ambition—from his feeble throne
To hurl the king, and mount thereon myself!
To this end still I lured him into ill,
And daily wove around him cunning snares,
That reached and trammelled too his fawning court;
And all went well, the end at last was near,
But in my triumph one thing I forgot—
My name was measured. At a banquet held
In the king’s chamber, lo! A guest appeared,
Chief of a Bactrian tribe, who tendered gold
To pay for some great wrong his desert horde
Had done our caravans; his age, men said,
Was wonderful; his craft more wondrous still;
For this his fame had spread through many lands,
And the dark seekers of forbidden lore
Knew his decrepit wretch to be their lord.
“The first glance that I met of his weird eye
Had sent into my soul a fearful doubt
That I had seen that cramp-shrunk withered form
And strange bright eye in some forgotten past.
But at the dry croak of his raven voice
Remembrance wok; I knew that I beheld
The old man of the tombs: I saw, and fell
Into the outer darkness of despair.
The day that was to close my dread account
Was come at last. The long triumphant feast
Of life had ended in a funeral treat.
I was to die—to suffer with the damned
The hideous torments of the second death!
The days, weeks, months of a whole hundred years
Seemed crushed into a thought, and burning out
In that brief period which was left me now.
“Stung with fierce horror, shame, and hate I fled;
I seized my sword, to plunge its ready point
Into my maddened heart, but on my arm
I felt a strong forbidding grasp! I turned;
232
The withered visage of the Bactrian met
My loathing eyes; I struggled to be free
From the shrunk wretch in vain; his spidery hands
Were strong as fetters of Ephesian brass,
And all my strength, though now with madness strung,
Was as a child’s to his. He calmly smiled:
‘Forbear, thou fool! Am I not Sammael?
Whom to resist is vain, and from whom yet
Has never mercy flowed; for what to me
Are feelings which thou knowest even in men
Are found the most in fools. But wide around
A prince of lies I reign. ’Tis I that fill
the Persian palaces with lust and wrong,
Till like the darkling heads of sewers they flow
With a corruption that in fretting thence
Taints all the region round with rankest ill;
’Tis I that clot the Bactrian sand with blood;
And now I come to fling the brands of war
Through all this people, this most ill-mixed mob,
Where Afric’s savage hordes meet treacherous Greeks,
And swarming Asia’s luxury-wasted sons.
This land throughout shall be a deluge soon
Of blood and fire, till ruin stalk alone,
A grisly spectre, in its grass-grown marts.’
The fiery eyes within his withered face
Glowed like live coals, as he triumphant spake,
And his strange voice, erewhile so thin and dry,
Came as if bellowed from the vaults of doom.
Prone fell I, powerless to move or speak;
And now he was about to plunge me down
Ten thousand times ten thousand fathoms deep
Through the earth’s crust, and through the slimy beds
Of nether ocean—down! Still down, below
The darkling roots of all this upper world
Into the regions of the courts of hell!
“To stamp me downward to the convict dead
His heel was raised, when suddenly I heard
Him heave a groan of superhuman pain,
So deep twas drawn! And as he groaned, I saw
A mighty downburst of celestial light
233
Enwrap his shrivelled form from head to foot,
As with a robe within whose venomous folds
He writhed in torment. Then above him stood
A shining shape, unspeakably sublime,
And gazed upon him! One of the high sons
Of Paradise, who still keep watch and ward
O’er Israel’s progeny, where’er dispersed;
And now they fought for me with arms that filled
The air wide round with flashes and swift gleams
Of dazzling light; full soon the Evil One
Fell conquered. Then forth sprang he from the ground
And with dark curses wrapped him in a cloud
That moved aloft, low thundering as it went.
“And then the shining son of paradise
Came where I lay and spoke, his glorious face
Severe with wrath, and yet divinely fair—
‘O Child of Guilt! Should vengeance not be wrought
On thee as well? On Sammael’s willing slave?’
I clasped his radiant knees—I wept—I groaned—
I beat my bosom in my wild distress.
At last the sacred Presence, who had held
The blow suspended still, spoke thus: ‘Thou’rt spared;
From no weak pity, but because thou art
Descended from the line of Israel:
For that cause spared;—yet must thou at my hand
Find some meet punishment.’ And as he spake,
He laid his hand with a life-crushing weight
Upon my forehead—and I fell, as dead!
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Part IV.

“AWAKING as from sleep, I bounded up,

Stung with a feeling of enormous strength,

Though yet half wild with horror. Onward then

Ramping I went, out through the palace gates,

Down the long streets, and into the highways,

Forth to the wilds, amazed at my own speed!

234

And now afar, in long-drawn line appeared

A caravan upon its outward way

Over the desert of Pentapolis.

And strange the instinct seemed that urged me then

to rush amongst them—and devour: for I

Was fierce with hunger, and inflamed with thirst.

“Amidst a laggard company I leaped

That rested yet beside a cooling spring;

One of those clear springs that, like giant pearls,

Inlay the burning borders of the grey

Enormous desert. All at once they rose!

Some fled, some threw themselves amongst the brakes,

Some seized their swords and lances; this to see

Filled me at once with a mysterious rage

And savage joy! The sternness of their looks,

Their fearful cries, the gleaming of their spears

Seemed to insult me, and I rushed on them.

Then sudden spasms of pain searched deep my side,
Wherein a fell lance quivered. On I rushed;
I roared a roar that startled e’en myself,
So loud and hoarse and terrible its tone,
Then bounding, irresistible it seemed
As some huge fragment from a crag dislodged,
Against the puny wretch that sent the lance,
Instantly tore him, as he were a kid,
All into gory shreds! The others fled
At sight of this, nor would I chase them then,
All wearied by my flight. Besides, the well
Was gleaming in its coolness by me there.
“And as I stooped to quench my parching thirst,
Behold, reversed within the water clear,
The semblance of a monstrous lion stood!
I saw his shaggy mane, I saw his red
And glaring eyeballs rolling in amaze,
His rough and grinning lips, his long sharp fangs
All foul with gore and hung with strings of flesh!
I shrank away in horrible dismay.
But as the sun each moment fiercer grew,
I soon returned to stoop and slake my thirst.
Again was that tremendous presence there
Standing reversed, as erewhile, in the clear
235
And gleaming mirror of the smiling well!
The horrid truth smote like a rush of fire
Upon my brain! The dreadful thing I saw
Was my own shadow! I was a wild beast.”
“They did not fable, then, who held that oft
The guilty dead are punished in the shapes
Of beasts, if brutal were their lives as men.”
“Long lapped I the cool lymph, while still my tongue
Made drip for drip against the monstrous one,
Which, as in ugly mockery, from below
Seemed to lap up against it. But though thirst
Was quenched at length, what was there might appease
The baffled misery of my fated soul?
The thought that I no more was human, ran
Like scorpion venom through my mighty frame;
Fiercely I bounded, tearing up the sands,
That, like a drab mist, coursed me as I went
Out on my homeless track. I made my fangs
Meet in my flesh, trusting to find in pain
Some respite from the anguish of regret.
From morn to night, from night to morn, I fled,
Chased by the memory of my lost estate;
Then, worn and bleeding, in the burning sands
I lay down, as to die. In vain!—in vain!
The savage vigour of my lion-life
Might yield alone to the long tract of time.
“From hill to valley rushing after prey,
With whirlwind speed, was now my daily wont,
For all things fled before me—all things shrank
In mortal terror at my shaggy front.
Sometimes I sought those close-fenced villages,
Wherein the desert-dwellers hide their swart
And naked bodies from the scorching heats,
Hoping that I might perish by their shafts.
And often was I wounded—often bore
Their poisoned arrows in my burning flesh—
But still I lived.
“The tenor of my life
236
Was always this—the solitary state
Of a wild beast of prey, that hunted down
The antelope, the boar, the goat, the gorged
Their quivering flesh, and lapped their steaming blood;
Then slept till hunger, or the hunter’s cry,
Roused him again to battle or to slay,
To flight, pursuit, blood, stratagem, and wounds.
And to make this rude life more hideous yet,
I still retained a consciousness of all
The nobler habits of my eariler time,
And had a keen sense of what most had moved
My nature as a man, and knew besides
That this my punishment was fixed by One
Too mighty to be questioned, and too just
One tittle of its measure to remit.
“How long this haggard course of life went on
I might not even guess, for I had lost
The human faculty that measures time.
But still from night to night I found myself
Roaming the desert, howling at the moon,
Whose cold light always, as she poured it down,
Awoke a drear distemper in my brain:
But much I shunned the sunblaze, which at once
Inflamed me, and revealed my dread approach.
“Homelessly roaming thus for evermore,
The tempests beat on my unsheltered bulk,
In those bleak seasons when the drenching rains
Drove into covert all those gentler beasts
That were my natural prey. I swinkt beneath
The furnace heats of the midsummer sun,
When even the palm of the oasis stood
All withered, like a weed: and for how long,
Yet knew not.
“Thus the sun and moon arose
Through an interminable tract of time,
And yet though sense was dim, the view of all
My human life was ever at my beck,
Nay, opened out before me of itself
Plain as the pictures in a wizard’s glass!
237
I saw again the trains that round my car
Streamed countless, saw its pageants and its pomps,
Its faces fair and passionate, and felt
Lie’s eager pleasures, even its noble pangs!
Then in the anguish of my goaded heart
Would I roll howling in the burning sand.
“At length this life of horror seemed to near
Its fated bourn. The slow but sure approach
Of old decay was felt in every limb
And every function of my lion frame.
My massive strength seemed spent, my speed was gone,
The antelope escaped me! Wearily
I sought a mountain cavern, shut from day
By savage draperies of tangled briers,
And only dragged my tardy bulk abroad
When hunger urged. It chanced on such a day
I sprange amid a herd of buffaloes
And tore their leader down, who bellowing fell.
When, lo! The chief of those that drove them came
Against me, and I turned my rage on him:
But though the long lapse of so many years
Of ever-grinding wretchedness had dulled
My memory, I felt that I had seen
His withered visage twice before; and straight
A shuddering awe subdued me, and I crouched
Beneath him in the dust. My lust of blood,
My ruthless joy at sight of mortal pain,
Within me died, and if in human speech
I might have told the wild desire that filled
My being, I had prayed him once for all
To crush me out of life, and to consign
My misery to the pit of final death!
But when, all hopeless, I again looked up,
The tawney presence of the desert chief
Was gone, and I beheld the shining son
Of paradise, from whose majestic brow
There flashed the lightings of a wrath divine.
Yea, twas the angel that with Sammael
Had fought for me in Egypt; and once more
He laid his crushing had upon my front;
And earth and sky, and all that in them is,
238
Became to me a darkness, swimming blank
In the Eternal, round that point where now
My body lay, stretched dead upon the sand.
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Part V.

“AGAIN I lived—again I felt. But now

The winds of heaven seemed under me, and I

Was sweeping, like the spirit of a storm

That bellowed round me, in its murky glooms,

All heaving with a motion wide and swift

That seemed yet mightier than the darkling swells

Of ocean, wrestling with a midnight gale!

The wild winds tossed me; I was drenched throughout

With heavy moisture, and at intervals

Amid the ragged gaps of moving cloud,

Methought I caught dim glimpses of the sun

Hanging aloft, as if in drear eclipse;

But as my senses cleared, I saw my limbs

Were clothed with plumage; and long-taloned claws

Were closing eagerly with fierce desire

And sudden hunger after blood and prey!

An impulse to pursue and to destroy

Both on the earth and in the air, ran quick

Out from my heart and shivered in my wings;

And as a thing more central yet, I felt

Pregnant within me, throned o’er all, a lone

And sullen, yet majestic, glow of pride.

“’Twas plain that I, who had aforetime been

Crushed out of human being into that

Of a wild beast, had thence again passed on
Into the nature of some mighty thing
That now swept sailing on wide van-like wings,
Amid the whirls of an aërial gloom,
That out extending in one mighty cope
Hung heaving, like a black tent-roof, o’er all
The floor of Africa.
239
“Still on I swept,
And still as far as my keen vision went,
That now was gifted with a power that seemed
To pierce all space, I saw the vapours roll
In dreadful continuous of black
And shapeless masses, by the winds convulsed;
But soon in the remotest distance came
A change: the clouds were touched with sunny light,
And, as I nearer drew, I saw them dash,
Like the wild surges of an uproused sea
Of molten gold, against the marble sides
Of lofty mountains, which, though far below
My flight, yet pierced up through them all, and stood
With splintered cones and monster-snouted crags,
Immovable as fate. Beneath me, lo!
The grandeur of the kingdom of the air
Was circling in its magnitude! It was
A dread magnificence of which before
I might not even dream. I saw its quick
And subtle interchange of forms and hues,
Saw its black reservoirs of densest rain,
Its awful forges of the thunderstorm.
“At last, as onward still I swept, above
A milky mass of vapour far outspread,
Behold, reflected in its quiet gleam,
I saw an image that swept on with me,
Reversed as was the lion’s in the well,
With van-like wings, with eyeballs seething fire,
With taloned claws, and cruel down-bent beak,—
The mightiest eagle that had ever sailed
The seas of space since Adam named the first!
“My fated soul had passed into the form
Of that huge eagle which swept shadowed there.
Cold horror thrilled me! I was once again
Imprisoned in the being of a brute,
In the base being of a nature yet
Inferior by what infinite descent
To that poor remnant of intelligence
Which still kept with me,—like a put-back soul
Burningly conscious of its powers foregone,
240
Its inborn sovreignty of kind, and yet
So latent, self-less; once again to live
A life of carnage, and to sail abroad
A terror to all birds and gentle beasts
That heard the stormy rushings of my wings!
A royal bird indeed, who lived alone
In the great stillness of the mighty hills,
Or in the highest heavens.
“But in truth
Not much for many seasons had I need
To search for prey, for countless hosts of men,
Forth mustering over all the face of earth,
Cast the quick gleam of arms o’er trampled leagues
Of golden corn, and as they onward marched
They left behind them seas of raging fire,
In whose red surges cities thronged with men
And happy hamlets, homes of health and peace,
That rang erewhile with rural thankfulness,
Were whelmed in one wide doom; or in their strength
Confronted upon some set field of fight,
Their sullen masses charged with dreadful roar
That far out-yelled the fiercest yells of beasts,
And with brute madness rushed on wounds and death;
Or else about fenced cities they would pitch
Their crowded camps, and leaguer them for years,
Sowing the fields about them with a slime
Of carnage, till their growths were plagues alone.
What is the ravage made by brutes on brutes
To that man makes on man?
“With mingled pain
And joy I saw the wondrous ways of men,
(For ever when I hungered, close at hand,
Some fresh slain man lay smoking in his gore)
And though the instincts of the eagle’s life
Were fierce within me, yet I felt myself
Cast in a lot more capable of joy;
Safe from pursuit, from famine, and from wounds.
Some solaces, though few and far between,
Were added to me; and I argued thence,
In the dark musings of my eagle heart,
241
That not for ever was my soul condemned
To suffer in the body of a brute;
For though remembrance of the towering crimes
And matchless lusts, that filled my whole career
Of human life, worked in me evermore,
No longer did they shed about my life
So venomous a blight. Nay, I could think
How often I had looked with longing eyes
Up at the clear Egyptian heavens, and watched
The wings that cleft them, envying every bird
That, soaring in the sunshine, seemed to be
Exempt from all the grovelling cares of men.
I thought how once, when with my hunting train
I pierced that region round the cataracts,
I watched an eagle as it rose aloft
Into the lovely blue, and wished to change
My being with it as it floated on,
So inaccessible to hate or hurt,
So peaceful, at a height in heaven so safe;
And then it passed away through gorgeous clouds
Against the sunset, through the feathered flags
Of royal purple edged with burning gold.
“These fields of space were my dominion now;
Motion alone within a world so rich
Was something noble: but to move at will,
Upward or forward, or in circles vast,
Through boundless spaces with a rushing speed
No living thing might rival, and to see
The glory of the everlasting hills
Beneath me, and the myriad-peopled plains,
Broad rivers, and the towery towns that sate
Beside their spacious mouths, with out beyond
The lonely strength of the resounding seas—
This liberty began to move my sense
As something godlike; and in moving made
A sure impression that kept graining still
Into the texture of my brute estate—
Yea, graining in through all its fleshy lusts
And savage wonts.
“Hence ever more and more
242
The temper of a better spirit grew
Within me, as from inkling roots, and moved
E’en like an embryon in its moist recess:
A sensibility to beauteous things
As now I saw them in the heavens displayed,
And in the bright luxuriance of the earth;
Some power of just comparison, some sense
Of how a man would rank them, could he see
Those earthly grandeurs from the sovreign height
Whence I beheld them. And with this a wish
To commune even with the human race,
And pour the loftier wonders of my life
Into their ears, through a rich-worded song
Whose golden periods in mellow flow
Should witch all ears that heard them—ev’n old men s,
Ev’n jaded monarchs; not to speak of theirs,
Those spirit-lovely ones—yea, moons of love,
That rise at first in the Circassian hills—
And they should tingle all like tiny shells
Of roseate whiteness to its perfect chords.
“One day amid the mountains of the moon,
Behold a sudden storm had gatherd up
Out of my view, hid by a neighbouring height,
But which, thence wheeling with terrific force,
Wide tossed me with its gusts—aloft, and then
Downward as far; then whirlingly about,
Ev’n like a withered leaf. My strength of wing
Availed me nought, so mightily it raged;
Then suddenly, in the dim distance, lo!
I saw, as from the storm’s Plutonian heart,
A mass of white-hot light come writing forth,
And then the figure of a withered man
Seemed dropping headlong through the lurid clouds;
While full within the radiant light, again
The conquering son of paradise appeared,
Upon whose brow divine I yet might trace
Some sing of wrath. Onward the vision rushed,
Orbed in white light. I felt a stifling heat,
One cruel blasting pang, and headlong then
Fell earthward—dead; a plumb descending mass.
243
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Part VI.

“WITHIN a rustic chamber, dark and low,

Thronged with wild-looking men and women strange,

I seemed to waken. Inwardly I felt

No briskness of existence, but a sense

Of languor rather, or revival slow:

And evermore the men and women came

And gazed upon me, shouting in amaze,

Then would they whirl about the room in dance,

Abandoned to their barbarous delight.

“I turned mine eyes about the low-roofed room,

Half fearing and half hoping I might see

The mighty angel that now ruled my life;

They thought I needed air, and I was borne

to a low casement. Like a picture lay

The world without. On all sides wide around

Nothing but mountains, feathered to their tops

With a dense growth of pines, and valleys filled

With a cold darkness that was lit alone

By the broad flashes of the furious streams

That leaped in thunder our of marble gaps!

Dull vapours, like a canopy of smoke,

Did so obscure the sun, that I had thought

The scene that now I saw was not of earth,

But for a golden flush that now and then

Would touch the highest ranges. What I was
I knew not, but I felt my former wants,
And oft I made vain efforts to expand
The wings I had no longer, and sail off,
And through those sullen vapours—up, and up—
Into the mighty silence of the blue.
“The day was fading, and a blare of horns,
With many voices and much trampling noise,
Heard from without, aroused me; and, ere long,
Women rushed in, each bearing some rich robe
Or some gay bauble, wherewithal they next
244
Arrayed me to their taste; and then they held
A mirror up before me, and I saw
My soul had this time passed into the form
Of a fair damsel. She, whose form I now
Re-animated, was—so learned I soon—
The only child of a Circassian chief,
Who had been long regarded by her house
As its chief treasure, for her beauty rare;
Reserved for him, no matter whence he came,
Whose hand could dip into the longest purse.
But envy lurks in the Circassian hills
As elsewhere, and a dose of opium,
Administered by one who had been long
The rival beauty of a neighbouring tribe,
Had served to quash a bargain quite complete
Save in the final payment of the gold,
Which had been even offered and told down,
And only not accepted, through some old
Delaying ceremony of the tribe;
And in this luckless circumstances, twas plain
That both my admirable parents saw
The unkindest turn of all.
“On all hands forth
Had scouts been sent to summon the whole tribe
To attend my obsequies, and then forthwith
Exterminate our ancient enemies
Through all their tents—such was the fierce resolve.
But while these things were pending, lo! The light
Had broken like a new morn from the eyes
Of the dead beauty; on her cheeks had dawned
A roseate colour; from her moistening lips
Low murmurs, too, had broken; whereupon
My parents in exulting hope transformed
The funeral to a general tribal feast,
And loaded me with all the ancient gauds
And ornaments they held. The Persian, too,
Had been invited to renew his suit,
And carry me at once beyond the reach
Of future opium doses.
“Soon he came
245
Galloping back to bear me to the arms
Of his long-bearded lord. He paid the price;
My worthy parents took a fond farewell
Of me, with tears declaring me to be
The life-light of their eyes, their rose of joy,—
Then stretched their palms out for the stranger’s gold,
And hurried off to count it o’er again—
The dear recovered treasure they so late
Had mourned as lost for ever. On that night
I was packed neatly on a camel’s back
Beside a precious case of porcelain pipes,
And carried Persia-ward, by stages safe,
From the Circassian mountains.
“At the court
I soon became the favourite of the king;
Lived sumptuously, but in perpetual fear:
For all my luxury and gold and gems,
I envied the poor slaves who swept the floors.
I was the favourite of my Persian lord
For one whole month, perhaps a little more,
And then I learned my place was to be filled;
And though I loathed him, as we loathe some cold
And reptile creature, yet I could not bear
To see a newer rival take my place,
For I was beautiful, and therefore vain:
So, that I might regain his favour past,
I now arrayed myself in airy robes,
While scarfs of purple like an orient queen’s
Barred them with brilliant tints, and gold and pearls
Confined the wavelets of my sunny hair.
“The harem all applauded, and there seemed
Even in his own dull eyes almost a flash
As of extorted joy, but this became
At the next moment a malignant scowl,
Which had its dark cause in such thoughts as these:
‘What! Did so soft and ignorant a thing
Hope to enchant again a man so wise
As he was—he! The paragon of kings!
By floating in before him like a swan,
A little better feathered than before?’
246
And then he waved the harem ladies forth,
And with him kept only a Nubian girl,
Whom he thought dull, and altogether his:
A conclave of those strange demoniac dwarfs
Who from their secret dens and crypts would come
On given signals forth, was summoned in:
Wizard-like beings, with enormous heads,
Splay-feet, and monstrous spider-fingered hands.
Nor was the council long; I on that night
Was to be poisoned with a pomegranate.
Then stole the Nubian girl away, and brought
Me word of all; yet her news moved me not,
So sure I felt that this was not my doom;
Or moved me only to prepare for flight
With the poor Nubian girl. Unseen I came
To my own chamber, where I packed my goods;
And whence, unseen by all, we swiftly fled.
’Twas plain and patent to my inmost self
That in this last change I had always been
Regenerating more and more; for though
I had a love of mischief in my head,
At heart I was not bad, and they who knew
Me closely, or at least the woman sort,
Loved me,—nay, served me, as the Nubian did.
And now, as no one else might sell me,—lo!
I sold myself, and found myself installed
Queen of a rude baboon-like Afric king.
“Then I was captive to a Bedouin sheik,
Was sold in the slave-mart of Astrachan,
And carried thence to India, to be crowned
A rajahpoot’s sultana; from which state
Flying at length, I fell into a worse,
Being pounced on by a Turkoman horse-stealer.
At Alexandra I became the slave
Of a harsh Roman matron, who was wont
To flog and famish me to make me good,
And when I owned myself converted, then
She flogged and famished me the more, to make
My goodness lasting; and I finally
Fell stabbed in Cairo—slaughtered by a slave.
247
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part VII.

“AFTER some short and intermediate terms

Of transmigration, all in female forms,

In which, through kindly offices performed,

It seemed the temper of my spirit much

Had humanized, and in the last of which

Twas mine to die for once a natural death,

Again I had some deep-down hold on being,

Dim as an oyster’s in its ocean-bed;

Then came a sense of light and air, of space,

Of hunger, comfort, warmth, of sight and sound

I caught at length the drift of speech, and knew

That all who came to see me and admire

Called me Ben Bachai’s daughter.

“Dark indeed,

But lovely as a starry night I grew,

A maid, the glory of her father’s house,

Her mother’s dovelet, filling all her wonts

With tenderness and joy. Still as I grew,

By strange degrees the memory of all

That I had been came back upon my mind

To fill it with wild sorrow and dismay;

To know I was a cheat, nor wholly what

I seemed to my fond parents—that I was

But half their daughter, and the rest a fiend,

With a fiend’s destiny,—ah! This, I say,
Would smite me even in dreams with icy pangs
Or wordless woe, yea, even while I slept
So innocently as it seemed, and so
Securely happy in the arms of love!”
As this was said, the Rabbi looked, and saw
That now again the woman seemed to speak
As of herself, and not as heretofore
With moveless lips, and prisoned voice, that came
As from some dark duality within.
248
Her looks had changed, too, with the voice, and now
Again she lay, a queen-like creature, racked
With mortal sufferings, who, when these grew less,
Or for a time remitted, even thus
Took up her tale again.
“At length upgrown
To womanhood, by some mysterious pact
Existing twixt my father’s house and that
Of an Arabian prince time out of mind,
I was now wedded ere I wished, and he,
My husband, finally had come to claim
And bear me from my home, that happiest home
Which I should know no more: a man most fair
To look upon, but void of force, in truth
The weakling of a worn-out line, who yet
(What merit in a prince!) Was not depraved,
Not wicked, not the mendicant of lust,
But mild, and even affectionate and just.
My dowry was immense, and flushed with this
The prince had summoned from his vassal tribe
Five hundred horse, all spearmen, to escort
And guard us desert-ward. And as we went
These ever and anon, at signal given,
Would whirl around us like a thunder-cloud
Wind-torn, and shooting instant shafts of fire!
And thus we roamed about the Arabian wastes,
Pitching our camp amid the fairest spots.
Beneath an awning oft I lay, and gazed
Out at the cloudless ether, where it wrapt
The silent hills, like to a conscious power
Big with the soul of an eternal past.
“But long this life might last not, for the prince
Sickened and died;—died poor, his wealth and mine
Having been squandered on the hungry horde
That wont to prance about us; who ere long,
Divining my extremity, grew loud
And urgent for rewards, till on a day,
By concert as it seemed, the tribe entire
Came fiercely round me, all demanding gifts,
Gifts that I had not; as they nearer pressed,
249
Wearing his way among them, lo! I saw
The old man of the tombs! The Bactrian sage!
With signs of awe they made him room to pass;
He fixed me with his shrunk and serpent eyes,
Waved off the abject Arabs, and then asked
‘Why art thou poor? With needs so great upon thee?
I offer thee long life and wealth and power.’
“I turned to him and said: ‘Should I not know,
By all the past, the nature of thy gifts?
Shows and delusions, evil, sin-stained all,
And terminating in eternal loss.’
‘Well, take it as thou wilt,’ he said; ‘my gifts
Are not so weighed by all.’ And saying this
He went his way, while I retired within
My lonely tent to weep.
“Next day the tribes
Again assembled, and with threats and cries,
And insults loud, they raised a passion in me.
My blood arose: I chid them angrily,
Called them all things but men, till they, alarmed,
Fell back in sullen silence for a while,
Crouching like tigers ready for a spring.
Humbled, perplexed, and frightened, I returned
Into my tent, and there within its folds
Stood the weird Bactrian with his snaky eyes,
And wiry voice that questioned as before:
‘Why art thou poor? Why dost thou suffer wrong,
With all this petty baseness brattling round?
Am I not here to help thee? I, thy one
Sole friend—not empty, but with ample means.
Behold the secrets of the inner earth!
There, down among the rock-roots of the hills,
What seest thou there? Look, as I point, even those
Strange miscreations, as they seem to thee,
Are demoniac moilers that obey
Such arts as I possess; the gnomish brood
Of Demogorgon. See them how they moil
Amid those diamonds shafts and reefs of gold
Embedded in the oldest drifts of time,
And in the mire that was the first crude floor
250
And blind extension of the infant earth:
Why art thou poor, then, when such slaves as they
Might work for thee, and glut thy need with all
The matchless values which are there enwombed,
Serving thee always as they now serve me?
Nor these alone: turn thou thy looks aloft,
And watch the stars as they go swimming past.
Behold their vastness, each a world,’ he said;
‘The secrets of all these, too, thou shalt know,
The spirits of all these shall be thy slaves,
If thou wilt swear as erst amid the tombs.’
“The woe of desolation wrapped me round,
The joy to know all mysteries tempted me,
And with a shudder that shook me to the soul
I swore, as erst I swore amid the tombs.
“As on my hand he placed a signet-ring,
Suddenly loud the desert winds arose,
And blew with mighty stress among the tents;
And instantly aloft the thunder ran,
A mighty issue of miraculous light
Burst shaft-like forward, smiting him in twain,
Or so it seemed, down through the solid earth.
In vain I shrunk into a dim recess;
Before me stood the son of paradise.
Then leapt the soul to life within my heart—
Leapt into life with fear, and pain, and woe—
Anger and sadness both were on his brow.
“‘Could’st thou no trial bear—all but redeemed;
Could’st thou not rest content? A rabbi’s child!
Enjoy as best thou may this ill-won power
Over the darker agencies of time,
And bide the end, which end is punishment
But the more terrible, the more delayed;
Yet know this also, thou shalt thus no more
Be punished in a body built of clay.’
He vanished, leaving me to sharp remorse,
And harrowed with the thought of his grieved look.
‘And yet no power in heaven or hell,’ I said,
‘May now annul my deed.’
251
“And not one day
Of joy has brought to me my ‘ill-won power.’
I built vast palaces in quiet view
Of ancient cities, or by famous streams;
I filled my halls with men and women fair,
And with these pages of a beauty rare
Like striplings kidnapped from some skirt of heaven;
Yet sorrowful of countenance withal,
As knowing that their mortal doom is joined
With mine irrevocably, that with me
’Tis theirs to own these shows of time, with me
To live—with me to die. And as, ’tis said,
A hunted roe will evermore beat round
Towards whence he started first, I felt at length
An ardent longing for my native place;
That spot in all the earth where only I,
In tasting of it, had divined the worth
And Sabbath quality of household peace.
Then coming hither, thus constrained, I pitched
My dwelling here, even this thou seest; built fair,
And filled with splendours such as never yet
Under one roof-tree on this earth were stored.
See yon surpassing lustres! Could this orb
Show such? From Mars came that; from Venus this;
And yonder mass of sun-bright glory, that
From Mercury came, whence came these viols, too,
Instinct with fervent music such as ne’er
From earthly instruments might thrill abroad.”
Then seizing one of them, even as she spake,
Over its chords she moved her ivory hand,
And instantly the palace domes throughout
Rang resonant, as every hall and crypt
Were pulsing music from a thousand shells
That still ran confluent with a mellow slide
And intercourse of cadence: sweet, and yet
Most mournful and most weird, and oft intoned
With a wild wilfulness of power that worked
For madness more than joy. “Even such, ” she said
“Are the delights with which I most converse
In the dark loneness of my fated soul,
252
For all is show, not substance. All I hold
But darkens more the certainty I have
Of wrath to come, from which no change of place,
No earthly power, no power of heaven nor hell,
May shield me now. I see it shadowing forth
Even like a coming night, in whose dark folds
My soul would ask to hide itself in vain.
And now I go to meet the angel’s face;
I will not claim my hundred years of pride,
I trample underneath my feet the gift
For which I sold my soul; I will not touch
The ring of Sammael, nor use his power
To stay the torments that devour my life;
Misery, shame, remorse, and dread are mine;
Yet shall the angel see repentent eyes,
And know at last I could one trial bear;
Too late, too late.”
As thus the woman spake,
Her brow grew dark, and suddenly she shrieked
In her great agony. “Oh pray for me!
Pray, rabbi! For the daughter of thy friend!
The hour is coming, nay, the hour is come!”
There was a rustle as of wings aloft,
A sudden flicker in the lights below,
And she, who until now seemed speaking, sank
Back on her pillow and in silence lay
Beautiful in the marble calm of death.
The rabbi gazed on her, and thought the while
Of those far times, when, as a child, her grace
Had filled with pleasantness her father’s house.
Then to her servants gave in charge the corpse,
And forth he paced, much musing as he went.
At length he turned to gaze once more upon
The silent house of death. Can such things be?
All had evanished like a morning mist!
Only the woods that hung like clouds about
The steeps of Hebron, in the whitening dawn
Lay dark against the sky! Only a pool
Gleamed flat before him, where it seemed erewhile
The splendid palace had adorned the view!
253
Perplexed in mind, the rabbi turned again
And hurried homeward, muttering as he went:
Was it a vision? Can such marvels be?
But what in truth are all things, even those
That seem most solid—dust and air at last
~ Charles Harpur,

IN CHAPTERS [119/119]



   56 Fiction
   20 Poetry
   16 Psychology
   16 Occultism
   11 Integral Yoga
   3 Philosophy
   2 Christianity
   1 Mysticism
   1 Education


   55 H P Lovecraft
   22 Carl Jung
   13 Sri Aurobindo
   7 Percy Bysshe Shelley
   3 Nolini Kanta Gupta
   2 Plato
   2 H. P. Lovecraft
   2 Aleister Crowley


   55 Lovecraft - Poems
   7 Shelley - Poems
   7 Mysterium Coniunctionis
   6 The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious
   6 Aion
   4 Savitri
   3 The Practice of Psycho therapy
   3 The Life Divine
   2 The Secret Doctrine
   2 Kena and Other Upanishads
   2 Collected Poems
   2 5.1.01 - Ilion


01.04 - The Secret Knowledge, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  If we could hear the muffled Daemon voice.
  11.30

01.05 - The Yoga of the King - The Yoga of the Spirits Freedom and Greatness, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  Warnings from the Daemonic inner voice
  And peeps and lightning-leaps of prophecy

02.10 - The Kingdoms and Godheads of the Little Mind, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  The mighty Daemon lies unshaped within,
  To evoke, to give it form is Nature's task.
  --
  Two sun-gaze Daemons witnessing all that is.
  69.2

04.03 - The Eternal East and West, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 01, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   The East does not consider the individual in his social behaviour in terms of freedom and liberty but of service and obligation, not in terms of rights but of duties. The Indian term for right and duty is the sameadhikar. The word originally and usually meant duty, one's sphere of work or service, capacity: the meaning of "right" was secondary and only latterly, probably as a result of the impact from the West, has gained predominance. The West measures human progress by the amount of rights gained for the individual or for the group. It does not seem to have any other standard: submission, obedience, any diminution of the sense of separate individuality meant slavery and loss of human value and dignity. It was the Greek perhaps, with Socrates as the great pioneer, who first declared the supremacy of the individual reason (although he himself obeyed in all things his guardian angel, the Daemon). In India, generally in the East, the value of the individual is estimated in another way. So long as he is in the society, the individual is bound by its demands: he has to serve it according to his best capacity. That is the dharma the Law that one has to observe conscientiously. But if he chooses, he can break the bonds forthwith, come out, come out of the society altogether and be free absolutely that is the only meaning of freedom. In the West the individual is taught to remain in the world and with the society, maintain his individuality and independence and gradually enlarge them in and through the natural fetters and bondages that a collective life and efficient organisation demands and inevitably imposes. The East, on the contrary, asks the individual never to protest and assert his individuality, which is in their view only another name for Ignorant egoism, but to know his position in the social scheme and fulfil the duties and obligations of that position. But the individual has the freedom not to enter into the social frame at all. If he chooses freedom as his ideal, it is the supreme freedom that he must choose, out of the chain of a terrestrial life. He can become the spiritual "outlaw", the sanysi, the word means one who has abandoned everything totally and absolutely.
   The contrast points to a synthesis parallel to or an extension of the one we spoke of earlier. The first thing to note is that the individual is the source of all progress; the individual has the right, as it is also his duty to maintain himself and fulfil himself, grow to his largest and highest dimensions! Secondly, the individual has to take cognisance of the others, the whole humanity, in fact, even for the sake of his own progress. The individual is not an isolated entity, a freak product in Nature, but is integrated into it, a part and parcel of its texture and composition. Indeed the individual has a double role to perform, first to increase himself and secondly to increase others. Using the terms which the Sartrian view of existence has put into vogue, we can say, the individual en soi (in himself) is the individual in commonalty with others, living and moving in and through every other person; and then there is the individual pour soi (for himself), that is to say, existing for himself, apart and away from others, in his own inner absolute autonomy. The individual is individualised, i.e. raises and lifts himself and then becomes the spearhead breaking through the level where Nature stands fixed, leading others to follow and raise themselves. The individual is the power of organised self-consciousness; the growth of the individual means the growth of this power of organised consciousness. And growth means ascension or evolution from level to level. The individual starts from the organic cell, that is the lower end, it progresses through various gradations of the vital and mental worlds till he reaches the culmination of its growth in the Spirit as tman. But this vertical growth must be reflected in a horizontal growth too. There is a solidarity among the individuals forming the collective humanity so that the progress of one means the progress of others in the same direction, at least a chance and possibility opened for an advance. On the other hand, it may be noted that unless the collectivity rises to a certain level the individual too cannot go very far from it. A higher lift in the individual presupposes a corresponding or some minimum lift in others. There cannot or should not be too great a rift between the individual and the collective.

05.12 - The Soul and its Journey, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 03, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   The souls group themselves into natural types according to the fundamental mode of consciousness and its dynamism. And they form a hierarchy: they exist and function in an organisation, the type and pattern of which is the pyramid. At the apex is the One Supreme, at the base the infinity of individual and disparate souls, earthly sparks, that are emanations, derivations, scattered condensations, parts and parcels of that One Supreme. In between, from the top towards the bottom, lie in a graded scale formations more and more specialised, particularised and concretised: as we rise we meet the larger, vaster more comprehensive forms of the same entities till we arrive at the typal and original, the source being. Thus we can view a soul along its line of emanation from the central source as a series of beings, the higher enclosing and encompassing the lower. Not only so, a higher entity can have several lower emanations and each of these again can emanate several others. The number of emanations multiply as one goes down and they decrease as one goes up. We can understand now what is meant when we speak of kindred souls. When there is an inexplicable natural affinity or similarity between two souls, it happens in such a case that the souls are emanations of the same Over-Soul. And it happens also sometimes that the guardian angel or Daemon whom one may contact is none other than one's own Over-Soul. The term Over-Soul takes thus a literal and a profound significance.
   We may illustrate here a little. At the apex of the pyramid of existence is the Divine, the Supreme Person, the Purushottama. Even there as He begins to lean and look dawn, He expresses himself at the very outset as the dual personality of Ishwara and Shakti (the Divine Father and the Divine Mother)sa dvityam aicchat, as the Upanishad says. That is still the Divine in His highest transcendent status, partpara. Next, this dual or biune or divalent reality shows itself or throws itself further out in a fourfold valency of the dynamic truth consciousness, creating and leading the cosmic evolution. The Four Aspects of Ishwara, forming the male or purua line, are the great names: Mahavira, Balarama, Pradyumna and Aniruddha. And the corresponding four aspects of Ishwari form the other great quaternary: Maheshwari, Mahakali, Mahalakshmi and Mahasaraswati. They embody the four major attri butes of the Divine in his relation to the created universe: Knowledge, Power, Love and skill in work. They also represent thus a divine fourfold order. The first embodies the Brahmin quality of large wisdom, wide comprehension, a vast consciousness; the second has the Kshatriya quality of force, dynamism, concentration and drive of energy; the third possesses the Vaishya quality of harmony, beauty, mutuality and the fourth has the Shudra quality of perfect execution, thoroughness in detailed working, order and arrangement.

07.02 - The Parable of the Search for the Soul, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  The Daemons of the unknown overshadow his mind
  Casting their dreams into live moulds of thought,

1.01 - Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious, #The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  for soul is a life-giving Daemon who plays his elfin game above
  and below human existence, for which reason in the realm of
  --
  and its Daemonism. If the soul were uniformly dark it would
  be a simple matter. Unfortunately this is not so, for the anima
  --
  gods have claimed another victim. This is how Daemonic power
  reveals itself to us. Until not so long ago it would have been an
  --
  immortal Daemon that pierces the chaotic darknesses of brute
  life with the light of meaning. He is the enlightener, the master
  --
  but the driving Daemon of wisdom became as it were his bodily
  double. He himself says:

1.01 - Soul and God, #The Red Book Liber Novus, #unset, #Zen
  52. The Draft continues: How thick the earlier darkness was! How impetuous and how egotistic my passion was, subjugated by all the Daemons of ambition, the desire for glory, greed, uncharitableness, and zeal! How ignorant I was at the time! Life tore me away, and I deliberately moved away from you and I have done so for all these years. I recognize how good all of this was. But I thought that you were lost, even though I sometimes thought that I was lost. But you were not lost. I went on the way of the day. You went invisibly with me and guided me step by step, putting the pieces together meaningfully (pp. 20-21).
  53. In 1912, Jung endorsed Maeder's notion of the prospective function of the dream (An attempt at an account of psychoanalytic theory, CW 4, 452). In a discussion in the Zrich Psychoanalytical

1.03 - THE ORPHAN, THE WIDOW, AND THE MOON, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  The identification of Malchuth with Luna forms a link with alchemy, and is another example of the process by which the patristic symbolism of sponsus and sponsa had been assimilated much earlier. At the same time, it is a repetition of the way the originally pagan hierosgamos was absorbed into the figurative language of the Church Fathers. But Vigenerus adds something that seems to be lacking in patristic allegory, namely the darkening of the other half of the moon during her opposition. When the moon turns upon us her fullest radiance, her other side is in complete darkness. This strict application of the Sol-Luna allegory might have been an embarrassment to the Church, although the idea of the dying Church does take account, to a certain extent, of the transience of all created things.130 I do not mention this fact in order to criticize the significance of the ecclesiastical Sol-Luna allegory. On the contrary I want to emphasize it, because the moon, standing on the borders of the sublunary world ruled by evil, has a share not only in the world of light but also in the Daemonic world of darkness, as our author clearly hints. That is why her changefulness is so significant symbolically: she is duplex and mutable like Mercurius, and is like him a mediator; hence their identification in alchemy.131 Though Mercurius has a bright side concerning whose spirituality alchemy leaves us in no doubt, he also has a dark side, and its roots go deep.
  [20] The quotation from Vigenerus bears no little resemblance to a long passage on the phases of the moon in Augustine.132 Speaking of the unfavourable aspect of the moon, which is her changeability, he paraphrases Ecclesiasticus 27 : 12 with the words: The wise man remaineth stable as the sun, but a fool is changed as the moon,133 and poses the question: Who then is that fool who changeth as the moon, but Adam, in whom all have sinned?134 For Augustine, therefore, the moon is manifestly an ally of corruptible creatures, reflecting their folly and inconstancy. Since, for the men of antiquity and the Middle Ages, comparison with the stars or planets tacitly presupposes astrological causality, the sun causes constancy and wisdom, while the moon is the cause of change and folly (including lunacy).135 Augustine attaches to his remarks about the moon a moral observation concerning the relationship of man to the spiritual sun,136 just as Vigenerus did, who was obviously acquainted with Augustines epistles. He also mentions (Epistola LV, 10) the Church as Luna, and he connects the moon with the wounding by an arrow: Whence it is said: They have made ready their arrows in the quiver, to shoot in the darkness of the moon at the upright of heart.137 It is clear that Augustine did not understand the wounding as the activity of the new moon herself but, in accordance with the principle omne malum ab homine, as the result of mans wickedness. All the same, the addition in obscura luna, for which there is no warrant in the original text, shows how much the new moon is involved. This hint of the admitted dangerousness of the moon is confirmed when Augustine, a few sentences later on, cites Psalm 71 : 7: In his days justice shall flourish, and abundance of peace, until the moon shall be destroyed.138 Instead of the strong interficiatur the Vulgate has the milder auferaturshall be taken away or fail.139 The violent way in which the moon is removed is explained by the interpretation that immediately follows: That is, the abundance of peace shall grow until it consumes all changefulness of mortality. From this it is evident that the moons nature expressly partakes of the changefulness of mortality, which is equivalent to death, and therefore the text continues: For then the last enemy, death, shall be destroyed, and whatever resists us on account of the weakness of the flesh shall be utterly consumed. Here the destruction of the moon is manifestly equivalent to the destruction of death.140 The moon and death significantly reveal their affinity. Death came into the world through original sin and the seductiveness of woman (= moon), and mutability led to corruptibility.141 To eliminate the moon from Creation is therefore as desirable as the elimination of death. This negative assessment of the moon takes full account of her dark side. The dying of the Church is also connected with the mystery of the moons darkness.142 Augustines cautious and perhaps not altogether unconscious disguising of the sinister aspect of the moon would be sufficiently explained by his respect for the Ecclesia-Luna equation.
  --
  [22] In this psychologem all the implications of the Sol-Luna allegory are carried to their logical conclusion. The Daemonic quality which is connected with the dark side of the moon, or with her position midway between heaven and the sublunary world,155 displays its full effect. Sun and moon reveal their antithetical nature, which in the Christian Sol-Luna relationship is so obscured as to be unrecognizable, and the two opposites cancel each other out, their impact resultingin accordance with the laws of energeticsin the birth of a third and new thing, a son who resolves the antagonisms of the parents and is himself a united double nature. The unknown author of the Consilium156 was not conscious of the close connection of his psychologem with the process of transubstantiation, although the last sentence of the text contains clearly enough the motif of teoqualo, the god-eating of the Aztecs.157 This motif is also found in ancient Egypt. The Pyramid text of Unas (Vth dynasty) says: Unas rising as a soul, like a god who liveth upon his fathers and feedeth upon his mothers.158 It should be noted how alchemy put in the place of the Christian sponsus and sponsa an image of totality that on the one hand was material, and on the other was spiritual and corresponded to the Paraclete. In addition, there was a certain trend in the direction of an Ecclesia spiritualis. The alchemical equivalent of the God-Man and the Son of God was Mercurius, who as an hermaphrodite contained in himself both the feminine element, Sapientia and matter, and the masculine, the Holy Ghost and the devil. There are relations in alchemy with the Holy Ghost Movement which flourished in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and was chiefly connected with the name of Joachim of Flora (11451202), who expected the imminent coming of the third kingdom, namely that of the Holy Ghost.159
  [23] The alchemists also represented the eclipse as the descent of the sun into the (feminine) Mercurial Fountain,160 or as the disappearance of Gabricus in the body of Beya. Again, the sun in the embrace of the new moon is treacherously slain by the snake-bite (conatu viperino) of the mother-beloved, or pierced by the telum passionis, Cupids arrow.161 These ideas explain the strange picture in Reusners Pandora,162 showing Christ being pierced with a lance by a crowned virgin whose body ends in a serpents tail.163 The oldest reference to the mermaid in alchemy is a quotation from Hermes in Olympiodorus: The virginal earth is found in the tail of the virgin.164 On the analogy of the wounded Christ, Adam is shown in the Codex Ashburnham pierced in the side by an arrow.165

1.04 - The Self, #Aion, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  when she said: "Eros, dear Socrates, is a mighty Daemon." The
  Greek words daimon and daimonion express a determining

1.05 - Christ, A Symbol of the Self, #Aion, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  LXXX, 1-3, and in Michael Psellus, De Daemonibus (in Marsilius Ficinus, Auc-
  tores Platonici [Iamblichus de mysteriis Aegyptiorum], Venice, 1497).
  --
  -i.e., a Daemonic claim to power on the part of the unconscious
  which makes it all the more formidable. This unavoidable con-

1.06 - Psychic Education, #On Education, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  "The veiled psychic is the flame of the Godhead always alight within us, inextinguishable even by that dense unconsciousness of any spiritual self within which obscures our outward nature... It is the concealed Witness and Control, the hidden Guide, the Daemon of Socrates, the inner light or inner voice of the mystic... It is the individual soul, caitya purusa, supporting mind, life and body, standing behind the mental, the vital, the subtle-physical being in us and watching and profiting by their development and experience... It is this secret psychic entity which is the true original Conscience in us deeper than the constructed and conventional conscience of the moralist, for it is this which points always towards Truth and Right and Beauty, towards Love and Harmony and all that is a divine possibility in us, and persists till these things become the major need of our nature... If the secret psychic person can come forward into the front... the whole nature can be turned towards the real aim of life, the supreme victory, the ascent into spiritual existence."2
  ~ The Mother On Education

1.06 - The Ascent of the Sacrifice 2 The Works of Love - The Works of Life, #The Synthesis Of Yoga, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  This physical mind of inertia believes in no divinity other than its own small earth-gods; it aspires perhaps to a greater comfort, order, pleasure, but asks for no uplifting and no spiritual deliverance. At the centre we meet a stronger Will of life with a greater gusto, but it is a blinded Daemon, a perverted spirit and exults in the very elements that make of life a striving turmoil and an unhappy imbroglio. It is a soul of human or Titanic desire clinging to the garish colour, disordered poetry, violent tragedy or stirring melodrama of this mixed flux of good and evil, joy and sorrow, light and darkness, heady rapture and bitter torture.
  It loves these things and would have more and more of them or, even when it suffers and cries out against them, can accept or joy in nothing else; it hates and revolts against higher things and in its fury would trample, tear or crucify any diviner Power that has the presumption to offer to make life pure, luminous and happy and snatch from its lips the fiery brew of that exciting mixture. Another Will-in-Life there is that is ready to follow the ameliorating ideal Mind and is allured by its offer to extract some harmony, beauty, light, nobler order out of life, but this is a smaller part of the vital nature and can be easily overpowered by its more violent or darker duller yoke-comrades; nor does it readily lend itself to a call higher than that of the

1.08 - The Gods of the Veda - The Secret of the Veda, #Vedic and Philological Studies, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  But why, it might be asked, should each subjective order or stratum of consciousness necessarily involve the co-existence of a corresponding order of beings & objective world-stratum? For the modern mind, speculative & introspective like the Vedic, is yet speculative within the limits of sensational experience and therefore unable to believe in, even if it can conceive of existence, least of all of an objective existence under conditions different from those [with] which we are familiar and of which our senses assure us. We may therefore admit the profundity & subtlety of the subjective distinction, but we shall be apt to regard the belief in objective worlds & beings unseen by our senses as either an early poetic fancy or a crude superstition of savages. But the Vedic mentality, although perfectly rational, stood at the opposite pole of ideas from the modern and its subjective consciousness admitted a class of experiences which we reject and cut short the moment they begin to present themselves by condemning them as hallucinations. The idea of modern men that the ancients evolved their gods by a process of poetic imagination, is an error due to inability to understand an alien mentality & unwillingness to investigate from within those survivals of it which still subsist though with difficulty under modern conditions. Encouraging this order of phenomena, fostering & developing carefully the states of mind in which they were possible and the movements of mind & sense by which they were effected, the Vedic Rishis saw and communed with the gods and threw themselves into the worlds of which they had the conception. They believed in them for the same reason that Joan of Arc believed in her saints & her voices, Socrates in his Daemon or Swedenborg in his spirits, because they had constant experience of them and of the validity both of the experiences and of the instruments of mind & sense by which they were maintained in operation. They would have answered a modern objector that they had as good a proof of them as the scientist has of the worlds & the different orders of life revealed to his optical nerve by microscope & telescope. Some of them might even question whether these scientific discoveries were not optical illusions due to the excitation of the nerve by the instruments utilised! We may, similarly, get rid of the Vedic experiences, disbelieve and discount them, saying that they missed one essential instrument of truth, the sceptical distrust of their instruments,but we cannot argue from them in the minds that received them a childish irrationality or a savage superstition. They trusted, like us, their experience, believed their mind & senses and argued logically from their premisses.
  It is true that apart from these experiences the existence of various worlds & different orders of beings was a logical necessity of the Vedic conception of existence. Existence being a life, a soul expressing itself in forms, every distinct order of consciousness, every stratum or sea of conscious-being (samudra, sindhu, apah as the Vedic thinkers preferred to call them) demanded its own order of objective experiences (lokas, worlds), tended inevitably to throw itself into forms of individualised being (vishah, ganah, prajah). Moreover, in a world so conceived, nothing could happen in this world without relation to some force or being in the worlds behind; nor could there be any material, vital or mental movement except as the expression of a life & a soul behind it. Everything here must be supported from the worlds of mind or it could not maintain its existence. From this idea to the peopling of the world with innumerable mental & vital existences,existences essentially vital like the Naiads, Dryads, Nereids, Genii, Lares & Penates of the Greeks and Romans, the wood-gods, river-gods, house-gods, tree-deities, snake-deities of the Indians, or mental like the intermediate gods of our old Pantheon, would be a natural and inevitable step. This Animism is a remarkably universal feature in the religious culture of the ancient world. I cannot accept the modern view that its survival in a crude form among the savages, those waifs & strays of human progress, is a proof of their low & savage originany more than the peculiarly crude ideas of Christianity that exist in uneducated negro minds [and] would survive in a still more degraded form if they were long isolated from civilised life, would be a proof to future research that Christianity originated from a cannibal tribe on the African continent. The idea is essentially a civilised conception proceeding from keen susceptibility & only possible after a meditative dwelling upon Naturenot different indeed in rank & order from Wordsworths experience of Nature which no one, I suppose, would consider an atavistic recrudescence of old savage mentality, and impossible to the animal man. The dog & crow who reason from their senses, do not stand in awe of inanimate objects, or of dawn & rain & shine or expect from them favours.

1.08 - The Historical Significance of the Fish, #Aion, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  rather gives one the sinister impression of a Daemonic ram, 11 and
  not at all of a lamb who is led meekly to the slaughter. The

1.1.1 - Text, #Kena and Other Upanishads, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
    2.: The Eternal knew their thought and appeared before them; and they knew not what was this mighty Daemon.
    3.: They said to Agni, "O thou that knowest all things born, learn of this thing, what may be this mighty Daemon," and he said, "So be it."
    4.: He rushed towards the Eternal and It said to him, "Who art thou?" "I am Agni," he said, "I am he that knows all things born."
  --
    6.: The Eternal set before him a blade of grass; "This burn;" and he made towards it with all his speed, but could not burn it. There he ceased, and turned back; "I could not know of It, what might be this mighty Daemon."
    7.: Then they said to Vayu, "O Vayu, this discern, what is this mighty Daemon." He said, "So be it."
    8.: He rushed upon That; It said to him, "Who art thou?" "I am Vayu," he said, "and I am he that expands in the Mother of things."
  --
    10.: That set before him a blade of grass; "This take." He went towards it with all his speed and he could not take it. Even there he ceased, even thence he returned; "I could not discern of That, what is this mighty Daemon."
    11.: Then they said to Indra, "Master of plenitudes, get thou the knowledge, what is this mighty Daemon." He said, "So be it." He rushed upon That. That vanished from before him.
    12.: He in the same ether came upon the Woman, even upon Her who shines out in many forms, Uma daughter of the snowy summits. To her he said, "What was this mighty Daemon?"
  --- FOURTH PART:

1.1.2 - Commentary, #Kena and Other Upanishads, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  tremendous presence, the Yaksha, the Daemon, the Spirit, the
  unknown Power, the Terrible beyond good and evil for whom
  --
  as the Unknown; the gods knew not what was this Daemon.
  Therefore Agni first arises at their bidding to discover its
  --
  having discovered. One thing only is settled that this Daemon
  is no Birth of the material cosmos, no transient thing that is
  --
  that it may riot and enjoy. If this Daemon be no birth of Matter,
  but some stupendous Life-force active whether in the depths or
  --
  pure mentality and there he approaches the Woman, the manyshining, Uma Haimavati; from her he learns that this Daemon
  is the Brahman by whom alone the gods of mind and life and

1.14 - Bibliography, #Aion, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  Psellus, Michael. De Daemonibus. In: Iamblichus de Mysteriis
  Aegyptiorum, etc. Edited by Marsilio Ficino. Venice, 1497.

1.14 - The Structure and Dynamics of the Self, #Aion, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  it is his chthonic Daemon, his familiar spirit. Secondly, the snake
  is the commonest symbol for the dark, chthonic world of in-

1.15 - Index, #Aion, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  ram: Christ as, 90, 92; Daemonic,
  105/; symbol of Christ and Attis,

1.22 - The Necessity of the Spiritual Transformation, #The Human Cycle, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  In fact, as we have seen, the mind and the intellect are not the key-power of our existence. For they can only trace out a round of half-truths and uncertainties and revolve in that unsatisfying circle. But concealed in the mind and life, in all the action of the intellectual, the aesthetic, the ethical, the dynamic and practical, the emotional, sensational, vital and physical being, there is a power that sees by identity and intuition and gives to all these things such truth and such certainty and stability as they are able to compass. Obscurely we are now beginning to see something of this behind all our science and philosophy and all our other activities. But so long as this power has to work for the mind and life and not for itself, to work in their forms and not by its own spontaneous light, we cannot make any great use of this discovery, cannot get the native benefit of this inner Daemon. Mans road to spiritual supermanhood will be open when he declares boldly that all he has yet developed, including the intellect of which he is so rightly and yet so vainly proud, are now no longer sufficient for him, and that to uncase, discover, set free this greater Light within shall be henceforward his pervading preoccupation. Then will his philosophy, art, science, ethics, social existence, vital pursuits be no longer an exercise of mind and life, done for themselves, carried in a circle, but a means for the discovery of a greater Truth behind mind and life and for the bringing of its power into our human existence. We shall be on the right road to become ourselves, to find our true law of perfection, to live our true satisfied existence in our real being and divine nature.
  ***

1.23 - The Double Soul in Man, #The Life Divine, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  10:The true soul secret in us - subliminal, we have said, but the word is misleading, for this presence is not situated below the threshold of waking mind, but rather burns in the temple of the inmost heart behind the thick screen of an ignorant mind, life and body, not subliminal but behind the veil, - this veiled psychic entity is the flame of the Godhead always alight within us, inextinguishable even by that dense unconsciousness of any spiritual self within which obscures our outward nature. It is a flame born out of the Divine and, luminous inhabitant of the Ignorance, grows in it till it is able to turn it towards the Knowledge. It is the concealed Witness and Control, the hidden Guide, the Daemon of Socrates, the inner light or inner voice of the mystic. It is that which endures and is imperishable in us from birth to birth, untouched by death, decay or corruption, an indestructible spark of the Divine. Not the unborn Self or Atman, for the Self even in presiding over the existence of the individual is aware always of its universality and transcendence, it is yet its deputy in the forms of Nature, the individual soul, caitya purus.a, supporting mind, life and body, standing behind the mental, the vital, the subtle-physical being in us and watching and profiting by their development and experience. These other person-powers in man, these beings of his being, are also veiled in their true entity, but they put forward temporary personalities which compose our outer individuality and whose combined superficial action and appearance of status we call ourselves: this inmost entity also, taking form in us as the psychic Person, puts forward a psychic personality which changes, grows, develops from life to life; for this is the traveller between birth and death and between death and birth, our nature parts are only its manifold and changing vesture. The psychic being can at first exercise only a concealed and partial and indirect action through the mind, the life and the body, since it is these parts of Nature that have to be developed as its instruments of self-expression, and it is long confined by their evolution. Missioned to lead man in the Ignorance towards the light of the Divine Consciousness, it takes the essence of all experience in the Ignorance to form a nucleus of soul-growth in the nature; the rest it turns into material for the future growth of the instruments which it has to use until they are ready to be a luminous instrumentation of the Divine. It is this secret psychic entity which is the true original Conscience in us deeper than the constructed and conventional conscience of the moralist, for it is this which points always towards Truth and Right and Beauty, towards Love and Harmony and all that is a divine possibility in us, and persists till these things become the major need of our nature. It is the psychic personality in us that flowers as the saint, the sage, the seer; when it reaches its full strength, it turns the being towards the Knowledge of Self and the Divine, towards the supreme Truth, the supreme Good, the supreme Beauty, Love and Bliss, the divine heights and largenesses, and opens us to the touch of spiritual sympathy, universality, oneness. On the contrary, where the psychic personality is weak, crude or ill-developed, the finer parts and movements in us are lacking or poor in character and power, even though the mind may be forceful and brilliant, the heart of vital emotions hard and strong and masterful, the life-force dominant and successful, the bodily existence rich and fortunate and an apparent lord and victor. It is then the outer desire-soul, the pseudo-psychic entity, that reigns and we mistake its misinterpretations of psychic suggestion and aspiration, its ideas and ideals, its desires and yearnings for true soul-stuff and wealth of spiritual experience.7 If the secret psychic Person can come forward into the front and, replacing the desire-soul, govern overtly and entirely and not only partially and from behind the veil this outer nature of mind, life and body, then these can be cast into soul images of what is true, right and beautiful and in the end the whole nature can be turned towards the real aim of life, the supreme victory, the ascent into spiritual existence.
  11:But it might seem then that by bringing this psychic entity, this true soul in us, into the front and giving it there the lead and rule we shall gain all the fulfilment of our natural being that we can seek for and open also the gates of the kingdom of the Spirit. And it might well be reasoned that there is no need for any intervention of a superior Truth-Consciousness or principle of Supermind to help us to attain to the divine status or the divine perfection. Yet, although the psychic transformation is one necessary condition of the total transformation of our existence, it is not all that is needed for the largest spiritual change. In the first place, since this is the individual soul in Nature, it can open to the hidden diviner ranges of our being and receive and reflect their light and power and experience, but another, a spiritual transformation from above is needed for us to possess our self in its universality and transcendence. By itself the psychic being at a certain stage might be content to create a formation of truth, good and beauty and make that its station; at a farther stage it might become passively subject to the worldself, a mirror of the universal existence, consciousness, power, delight, but not their full participant or possessor. Although more nearly and thrillingly united to the cosmic consciousness in knowledge, emotion and even appreciation through the senses, it might become purely recipient and passive, remote from mastery and action in the world; or, one with the static self behind the cosmos, but separate inwardly from the world-movement, losing its individuality in its Source, it might return to that Source and have neither the will nor the power any further for that which was its ultimate mission here, to lead the nature also towards its divine realisation. For the psychic being came into Nature from the Self, the Divine, and it can turn back from Nature to the silent Divine through the silence of the Self and a supreme spiritual immobility. Again, an eternal portion of the Divine,8 this part is by the law of the Infinite inseparable from its Divine Whole, this part is indeed itself that Whole, except in its frontal appearance, its frontal separative self-experience; it may awaken to that reality and plunge into it to the apparent extinction or at least the merging of the individual existence. A small nucleus here in the mass of our ignorant Nature, so that it is described in the Upanishad as no bigger than a man's thumb, it can by the spiritual influx enlarge itself and embrace the whole world with the heart and mind in an intimate communion or oneness. Or it may become aware of its eternal Companion and elect to live for ever in His presence, in an imperishable union and oneness as the eternal lover with the eternal Beloved, which of all spiritual experiences is the most intense in beauty and rapture. All these are great and splendid achievements of our spiritual self-finding, but they are not necessarily the last end and entire consummation; more is possible.

1.36 - Quo Stet Olympus - Where the Gods, Angels, etc. Live, #Magick Without Tears, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
  Speculation on such points is unpardonably profitless; I have only devoted these few paragraphs to the subject because it is useful to re but the somewhat soapbox type of critic who thinks to re but the whole thesis "Sunt Daemones" by the snook-cocking query "Quo Stet Olympus."
  Love is the law, love under will.

1956-09-05 - Material life, seeing in the right way - Effect of the Supermind on the earth - Emergence of the Supermind - Falling back into the same mistaken ways, #Questions And Answers 1956, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
    A principle of dark and dull inertia is at its [lifes] base; all are tied down by the body and its needs and desires to a trivial mind, petty desires and emotions, an insignificant repetition of small worthless functionings, needs, cares, occupations, pains, pleasures that lead to nothing beyond themselves and bear the stamp of an ignorance that knows not its own why and whither. This physical mind of inertia believes in no divinity other than its small earth-gods; it aspires perhaps to a greater fort, order, pleasure, but asks for no uplifting and no spiritual deliverance. At the centre we meet a stronger Will of life with a greater gusto, but it is a blinded Daemon, a perverted spirit and exults in the very elements that make of life a striving turmoil and an unhappy imbroglio. It is a soul of human or Titanic desire clinging to the garish colour, disordered poetry, violent tragedy or stirring melodrama of the mixed flux of good and evil, joy and sorrow, light and darkness, heady rapture and bitter torture. It loves these things and would have more and more of them or, even when it suffers and cries out against them, can accept or joy in nothing else; it hates and revolts against higher things and in its fury would trample, tear or crucify any diviner Power that has the presumption to offer to make life pure, luminous and happy and snatch from its lips the fiery brew of that exciting mixture. Another Will-in-Life there is that is ready to follow the ameliorating ideal Mind and is allured by its offer to extract some harmony, beauty, light, nobler order out of life, but this is a smaller part of the vital nature and can be easily overpowered by its more violent or darker duller yoke-comrades; nor does it readily lend itself to a call higher than that of the Mind unless that call defeats itself, as Religion usually does, by lowering its demand to conditions more intelligible to our obscure vital nature. All these forces the spiritual seeker grows aware of in himself and finds all around him and has to struggle and combat incessantly to be rid of their grip and dislodge the long-entrenched mastery they have exercised over his own being as over the environing human existence. The difficulty is great; for their hold is so strong, so apparently invincible that it justifies the disdainful dictum which pares human nature to a dogs tail,for, straighten it never so much by force of ethics, religion, reason or any other redemptive effort, it returns in the end always to the crooked curl of Nature. And so great is the vim, the clutch of that more agitated Life-Will, so immense the peril of its passions and errors, so subtly insistent or persistently invasive, so obstinate up to the very gates of Heaven the fury of its attack or the tedious obstruction of its obstacles that even the saint and the Yogin cannot be sure of their liberated purity or their trained self-mastery against its intrigue or its violence.
    Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis of Yoga, SABCL, Vol. 20, pp. 160-61

1.ac - The Garden of Janus, #Crowley - Poems, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
  May follow that first dire Daemonic dawn
  When he did split

1f.lovecraft - At the Mountains of Madness, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   part of some of Lakes party. From the look of things, that Daemon
   mountain wind must have been enough to drive any man mad in the midst
  --
   oppressive polar solitude and Daemon mountain wind in driving Lakes
   party mad.
  --
   first sight of this dead antarctic worldof the Daemoniac plateau of
   Leng, of the Mi-Go, or Abominable Snow-Men of the Himalayas, of the
  --
   One could picture the Daemoniac fray between namelessly monstrous
   entities as it surged out of the black abyss with great clouds of
  --
   could never know what that Daemon message wasbut those burials at
   Lakes camp had shewn how much importance the beings attached to their
  --
   Tekeli-li! And at last we remembered that the Daemoniac
   shoggothsgiven life, thought, and plastic organ patterns solely by the
  --
   which we crossed; but a single fantastic, Daemoniac glimpse, among the
   churning zenith-clouds, of what lay back of those other violet westward

1f.lovecraft - Beyond the Wall of Sleep, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   a sudden blow, he had flung himself upon the other in a Daemoniac
   ecstasy of bloodthirstiness, shrieking fiendishly that he would jump
  --
   name of Algol, the Daemon-Star. It is to meet and conquer the oppressor
   that I have vainly striven for aeons, held back by bodily encumbrances.
  --
   vengeance. Watch me in the sky close by the Daemon-Star. I cannot speak
   longer, for the body of Joe Slater grows cold and rigid, and the coarse

1f.lovecraft - Ex Oblivione, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   oblivion from which the Daemon Life had called me for one brief and
   desolate hour.

1f.lovecraft - Facts concerning the Late, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   it peer Daemoniacal hints of truth which make it sometimes a
   thousandfold more hideous. Science, already oppressive with its

1f.lovecraft - From Beyond, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   have seen beyond the bounds of infinity and drawn down Daemons from the
   stars. . . . I have harnessed the shadows that stride from world to

1f.lovecraft - Herbert West-Reanimator, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the most appalling and Daemoniac succession of cries that either of us
   had ever heard. Not more unutterable could have been the chaos of
  --
   so that we were in Arkham when it broke with full Daemoniac fury upon
   the town. Though not as yet licenced physicians, we now had our
  --
   was the embodied Daemon-soul of the plague itself. Eight houses were
   entered by a nameless thing which strewed red death in its wakein all,
  --
   the voiceless simianism, and the Daemoniac savagery. They dressed its
   wound and carted it to the asylum at Sefton, where it beat its head
  --
   fearsome recollections of such things. Ever since our first Daemoniac
   session in the deserted farmhouse on Meadow Hill in Arkham, we had felt
  --
   even now if it could have been other than a Daemoniac dream of
   delirium. West had a private laboratory in an east room of the
  --
   final soul-shattering catastrophe held elements of Daemoniac phantasy
   which make even me doubt the reality of what I saw.

1f.lovecraft - Hypnos, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   ambitiousno god or Daemon could have aspired to discoveries and
   conquests like those which we planned in whispers. I shiver as I speak

1f.lovecraft - Medusas Coil, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   closeness to Daemonic and palaeogean traditions.
   I! I! Shub-Niggurath! Ya-Rlyeh! Ngagi nbulu bwana nlolo! Ya,
  --
   Daemon twilight! The blasphemies that lurk and leer and hold a Witches
   Sabbat with that woman as a high-priestess! The black shaggy entities
  --
   guessing what a Daemon of the pitwhat a gorgon of the elder
   blasphemieshad come to flaunt their ancient and stainless name.

1f.lovecraft - Memory, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   subterranean grottoes it flows, so that the Daemon of the Valley knows
   not why its waters are red, nor whither they are bound.
   The Genie that haunts the moonbeams spake to the Daemon of the Valley,
   saying, I am old, and forget much. Tell me the deeds and aspect and
   name of them who built these things of stone. And the Daemon replied,
   I am Memory, and am wise in lore of the past, but I too am old. These
  --
   So the Genie flew back to the thin horned moon, and the Daemon looked
   intently at a little ape in a tree that grew in a crumbling courtyard.

1f.lovecraft - Nyarlathotep, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Daemoniac alteration in the sequence of the seasonsthe autumn heat
   lingered fearsomely, and everyone felt that the world and perhaps the

1f.lovecraft - Out of the Aeons, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   dietheir hellish god or patron Daemon Ghatanothoa, which lowered and
   brooded eternally though unseen in the crypts beneath that fortress on
  --
   thanfearful for their prestige and privilege in case the Daemon-God
   should be dethronedthey set up a frantic clamour against the so-called
  --
   power against any god or Daemon. When the cylinder was slipped back
   into the sleepers cloak Imash-Mo was content, for he knew Tyog was
  --
   reared to vanished gods and Daemons. Though none knew to what
   bottomless deep the sacred peak and Cyclopean fortress of dreaded
  --
   adjourned to the office below, out of sight of that Daemoniac thing
   which could not be. For I had begun to harbour the most terrible and

1f.lovecraft - Pickmans Model, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Pickmans morbid art was preminently one of Daemoniac portraiture.
   These figures were seldom completely human, but often approached
  --
   the pictures we saw the Daemons themselves and were afraid of them. And
   the queer part was, that Pickman got none of his power from the use of

1f.lovecraft - Polaris, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   played the shocking coruscations of the Daemon-light. After the beams
   came clouds, and then I slept.
  --
   creatures are Daemons, for they laugh at me and tell me I am not
   dreaming. They mock me whilst I sleep, and whilst the squat yellow foe

1f.lovecraft - The Alchemist, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   young Charles themselves in the acquisition of Daemonological and
   alchemical learning. Yet read as I might, in no manner could I account
  --
   of the old alchemists and Daemonologists. The apparition spoke of the
   curse which had hovered over my house, told me of my coming end, dwelt

1f.lovecraft - The Call of Cthulhu, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   orgiastic licence here whipped themselves to Daemoniac heights by howls
   and squawking ecstasies that tore and reverberated through those
  --
   awed by the cosmic majesty of this dripping Babylon of elder Daemons,
   and must have guessed without guidance that it was nothing of this or
  --
   rose above the unclean froth like the stern of a Daemon galleon. The
   awful squid-head with writhing feelers came nearly up to the bowsprit

1f.lovecraft - The Case of Charles Dexter Ward, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Daemonologists, and magicians known to man; and was a treasure-house of
   lore in the doubtful realms of alchemy and astrology. Hermes
  --
   horrors and Daemoniac alliances which seemed all the more menacing
   because they could not be named, understood, or even proved to exist.
  --
   writing Luke Fenner set down to portray the Daemoniac intonations:
   DEESMEESJESHETBONE DOSEFE DUVEMAENITEMOSS. Not till the year 1919
  --
   occultism and Daemonology, were what he sought now; and when Providence
   sources proved unfruitful he would take the train for Boston and tap
  --
   Daemonia Coeli Gad, Almousin, Gibor, Jehosua,
   Evam, Zariatnatmik, veni, veni, veni.
  --
   morbidities. Was Daemoniac possession in truth a possibility? Allen had
   something to do with it, and the detectives must find out more about

1f.lovecraft - The Challenge from Beyond, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   even that caused by the sensation of Daemonic flight. It had come from
   some vague flash or remote recollectionjust what, he could not at once

1f.lovecraft - The Colour out of Space, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the night a pale insidious beam of the same Daemoniac tint.
   It does credit to the alertness of Ammis mind that he puzzled even at
  --
   kind of growth or nourishment even now. But whatever Daemon hatchling
   is there, it must be tethered to something or else it would quickly

1f.lovecraft - The Crawling Chaos, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   as if in mocking, Daemoniac concord, throbbed from gulfs below the
   damnable, the detestable pounding of that hideous ocean. And as those

1f.lovecraft - The Curse of Yig, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   unmistakable. Then Audrey saw against the stars the black, Daemoniac
   silhouette of something anthropoidthe undulant bulk of a gigantic head

1f.lovecraft - The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Daemon-sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud, and who
   gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time amidst
  --
   forgotten dreams; the spires of infamous Thalarion, that Daemon-city of
   a thousand wonders where the eidolon Lathi reigns; the charnal gardens
  --
   universe where the Daemon-sultan Azathoth gnaws hungrily in chaos amid
   pounding and piping and the hellish dancing of the Other Gods, blind,
  --
   nighted throne of the Daemon Azathoth in the formless central void.
   At the set of sun the merchants licked their excessively wide lips and
  --
   vortex of shrieking and Daemonic madness. He screamed again and again,
   but whenever he did so the black paws tickled him with greater
  --
   warned him never to approach the central void where the Daemon-sultan
   Azathoth gnaws hungrily in the dark. Altogether, it was not well to
  --
   proportions, whose vaultings were covered with Daemoniac carvings and
   in whose centre yawned a foul and bottomless well like that in the
  --
   a frantick and indescribable chaos of Daemon cacophony. Now and then
   bodies fell from the narrow ridges of the headlands into the sea
  --
   mortal thought, and in it glowed the Daemon-light. Then Randolph Carter
   knew that his quest was done, and that he saw above him the goal of all
  --
   that pale-litten and limitless chamber the hideous blast of a Daemon
   trumpet. Three times pealed that frightful brazen scream, and when the
  --
   Daemon-sultan whose name no lips dare speak aloud.
   When Barzai the Wise climbed Hatheg-Kla to see the Great Ones dance
  --
   caution of the Daemon legate who had bidden the seeker beware the
   madness of that song. Only to taunt had Nyarlathotep marked out the way
  --
   mindless Daemon-sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud.
   Unswerving and obedient to the foul legates orders, that hellish bird

1f.lovecraft - The Dreams in the Witch House, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  he been on those nights of Daemoniac alienage? The roaring twilight
  abysses-the green hillside-the blistering terrace-the pulls from the
  --
  mindless Daemon-sultan Azathoth?
  Just before he made the plunge the violet light went out and left him

1f.lovecraft - The Dunwich Horror, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Daemons are Matters of too common Knowledge to be denyd; the cursed
   Voices of Azazel and Buzrael, of Beelzebub and Belial, being heard
  --
   away chittering in Daemoniac laughter; but if they fail, they subside
   gradually into a disappointed silence.
  --
   the stable and the Daemoniac piping of late whippoorwills in the glen,
   Selina Frye tottered to the telephone and spread what news she could of
  --
   and the Daemonolatreia of Remigius, in which he seemed hopeful of
   finding some formula to check the peril he conjured up.
  --
   but that had all the vicious malevolence of a Daemon. Opposite the base
   of Sentinel Hill the tracks left the road, and there was a fresh

1f.lovecraft - The Festival, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Efficiunt Daemones, ut quae non sunt, sic tamen
   quasi sint, conspicienda hominibus exhibeant.
  --
   published in 1681, the shocking Daemonolatreia of Remigius, printed in
   1595 at Lyons, and worst of all, the unmentionable Necronomicon of the

1f.lovecraft - The Green Meadow, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   fancied I could detect a kind of malignant hatred and Daemoniac
   triumph. Sometimes they struck me as being in horrible colloquy with
  --
   around me, the land I had left seemed involved in a Daemoniac tempest
   where clashed the will of the hellish trees and what they hid, with

1f.lovecraft - The Haunter of the Dark, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   lulled by the thin monotonous piping of a Daemoniac flute held in
   nameless paws.

1f.lovecraft - The History of the Necronomicon, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Daemons.
   Composed by Abdul Alhazred, a mad poet of Sana, in Yemen, who is said

1f.lovecraft - The Horror at Red Hook, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   suggested the most terrible Daemon-evocations of the Alexandrian
   decadence:
  --
   with the locked and brimming coffer of transmitted Daemon-lore.
   Suddenly a ray of physical light shot through these phantasms, and
  --
   the Daemoniac rattle and wheeze of a blasphemous organ, choking and
   rumbling out the mockeries of hell in a cracked, sardonic bass. In an
  --
   cold damp stone, gasping and shivering as the Daemon organ croaked on,
   and the howling and drumming and tinkling of the mad procession grew
  --
   Daemones incubi et succubae, et an ex tali congressu proles nasci
   queat?

1f.lovecraft - The Horror in the Burying-Ground, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   eldritch horror and Daemoniac abnormality. God, how life-like both of
   those corpses were . . . and how in earnest poor Thorndike had been

1f.lovecraft - The Horror in the Museum, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   not all of these Daemoniac abnormalities were artificial.
   It was Joness frank scepticism and amusement at these irresponsible
  --
   infinite distance of Daemoniac snortings and bayings. Toward the last
   they were rolling on the floor, overturning benches or striking against

1f.lovecraft - The Hound, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   a secret room, far, far underground; where huge winged Daemons carven
   of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and
  --
   Daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure
   supernatural manifestation of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed
  --
   and every night that Daemoniac baying rolled over the windswept moor,
   always louder and louder. On October 29 we found in the soft earth
  --
   And as I pronounced the last Daemoniac sentence I heard afar on the
   moor the faint baying of some gigantic hound. The moon was up, but I

1f.lovecraft - The Last Test, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Ceasing with a quick sneer, he laughed so Daemoniacally that Georgina
   shivered.

1f.lovecraft - The Lurking Fear, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Daemon implications of the thing. Now that I am telling it anyway, lest
   the brooding make me a maniac, I wish I had never concealed it. For I,
  --
   insistence the squatters told tales of a Daemon which seized lone
   wayfarers after dark, either carrying them off or leaving them in a
  --
   vividly the ravages of Daemon teeth and talons; yet no visible trail
   led away from the carnage. That some hideous animal must be the cause,
  --
   Daemon solid entity or vaporous pestilence, I meant to see it.
   I had thoroughly searched the ruin before, hence knew my plan well;
  --
   the third watched. From whatever direction the Daemon might come, our
   potential escape was provided. If it came from within the house, we had
  --
   patriarch of the twisted trees. In the Daemon flash of a monstrous
   fireball the sleeper started up suddenly while the glare from beyond
  --
   impression save of wild-armed titan trees, Daemoniac mutterings of
   thunder, and Charonian shadows athwart the low mounds that dotted and
  --
   of those nameless blights of outer voids whose faint Daemon scratchings
   we sometimes hear on the farthest rim of space, yet from which our own
  --
   to the clear nights no Daemoniac aggressions had taken place, and the
   completeness of our vain searches of house and country almost drove us
  --
   that the Daemon was generally quiet in winter. Thus there was a kind of
   haste and desperation in our last daylight canvass of the
  --
   that the Daemon must have come by way of Cone Mountain, a wooded
   southern prolongation of which ran to within a short distance of the
  --
   wondered why the Daemon, approaching the three watchers either from the
   window or the interior, had begun with the men on each side and left
  --
   wind rose to Daemoniac crescendoes of ululation. We were sure that the
   lone tree on Maple Hill had been struck again, and Munroe rose from his
  --
   the Daemon shadow in the mansion, the general strain and
   disappointment, and the thing that occurred at the hamlet in an October
  --
   preparation that I saw glistening in the distance two Daemoniac
   reflections of my expiring lamp; two reflections glowing with a baneful
  --
   Daemoniac night.
   After that I recall running, spade in hand; a hideous run across
  --
   thing came abruptly and unannounced; a Daemon, rat-like scurrying from
   pits remote and unimaginable, a hellish panting and stifled grunting,
  --
   lightning over malignant ivied walls and Daemon arcades choked with
   fungous vegetation. . . . Heaven be thanked for the instinct which led

1f.lovecraft - The Moon-Bog, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   floundering steps as if dragged by a clumsy but resistless Daemon-will.
   As the naiads neared the bog, without altering their course, a new line
  --
   vague contorted shadow struggling as if drawn by unseen Daemons. Crazed
   as I was, I saw in that awful shadow a monstrous resemblancea

1f.lovecraft - The Mound, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Daemons in league with the evil gods. That is why they shut out all
   surface folk, and did fearful things to any who ventured down where
  --
   Feeling sure that his visitors were men and not Daemons, and arguing
   that they could have no reason for considering him an enemy, Zamacona

1f.lovecraft - The Music of Erich Zann, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   and the Daemon madness of that night-baying viol behind me.
   I staggered back in the dark, without the means of striking a light,

1f.lovecraft - The Nameless City, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   treasury of Daemoniac lore; sentences from Alhazred the mad Arab,
   paragraphs from the apocryphal nightmares of Damascius, and infamous
  --
   queer extracts, and muttered of Afrasiab and the Daemons that floated
   with him down the Oxus; later chanting over and over again a phrase

1f.lovecraft - The Rats in the Walls, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   ancestors as a race of hereditary Daemons beside whom Gilles de Retz
   and the Marquis de Sade would seem the veriest tyros, and hinted
  --
   favourite bane of children all over the countryside, and the Daemon
   heroine of a particularly horrible old ballad not yet extinct near the
  --
   Daemon swineherd drove about with his staff a flock of fungous, flabby
   beasts whose appearance filled me with unutterable loathing. Then, as
  --
   Daemoniac frenzy, either fighting off some menace or clutching other
   forms with cannibal intent.
  --
   in that buildingthat building whose Daemon activities were stopped
   only by the dagger of my ancestor Walter de la Poer.
  --
   that Daemon swineherd in the twilit grotto! It was not Edward Norrys
   fat face on that flabby, fungous thing! Who says I am a de la Poer? He
  --
   rats whose scampering will never let me sleep; the Daemon rats that
   race behind the padding in this room and beckon me down to greater

1f.lovecraft - The Shadow out of Time, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   records of split personalities from the days of Daemoniac-possession
   legends to the medically realistic present, at first bothered me more
  --
   parts of some Daemoniac dreamor illusion born of delirium. A fever
   raged in my brain, and everything came to me through a kind of
  --
   my torch. Every stone and corner of that Daemoniac gulf was known to
   me, and at many points I stopped to cast beams of light through choked
  --
   tug of that Daemon wind? I thought of these things at the last moment,
   and thought also of the nameless entities which might be lurking in the
  --
   The Daemon wind died down, and the bloated, fungoid moon sank
   reddeningly in the west. I lurched to my feet and began to stagger
  --
   Daemon pipingsin truth a lingering, lurking menace, waiting and slowly
   weakening in black abysses while varied shapes of life drag out their

1f.lovecraft - The Shadow over Innsmouth, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   of his dealing with Daemons there. Fact is, I guess on the whole it was
   really the Captain that gave the bad reputation to the reef.
  --
   hoard, either of pirates or of Daemons. The clergymenor priests, or
   whatever they were called nowadaysalso wore this kind of ornament as a
  --
   comparable to the Daemoniac, blasphemous reality that I sawor believe
   I saw. I have tried to hint what it was in order to postpone the horror

1f.lovecraft - The Shunned House, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   condemned to death as a Daemoniac but afterward saved from the stake by
   the Paris parliament and shut in a madhouse. He had been found covered
  --
   Then, in the midst of that Daemoniac spectacle, I saw a fresh horror
   which brought cries to my lips and sent me fumbling and staggering
  --
   a hell, it had received at last the Daemon soul of an unhallowed thing.
   And as I patted down the last spadeful of mould, I shed the first of

1f.lovecraft - The Temple, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the black and forgotten depths. This Daemoniac laughter which I hear as
   I write comes only from my own weakening brain. So I will carefully don

1f.lovecraft - The Thing on the Doorstep, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   illustrating a book of Edwards Daemoniac poems, yet our comradeship
   suffered no lessening. Young Derbys odd genius developed remarkably,

1f.lovecraft - The Tomb, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   the slope whose presiding Daemon beckoned to me with unseen fingers. As
   I emerged from an intervening grove upon the plain before the ruin, I

1f.lovecraft - The Unnamable, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Cotton Mather, in that Daemoniac sixth book which no one should read
   after dark, minced no words as he flung forth his anathema. Stern as a
  --
   grisly glassless frame of that Daemoniac attic window.
   Then came a noxious rush of noisome, frigid air from that same dreaded

1f.lovecraft - The Whisperer in Darkness, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   especial time. I vainly try to assure myself that these Daemoniac
   creatures are not gradually leading up to some new policy hurtful to
  --
   that strange upstairs bed in the haunted farmhouse among the Daemoniac
   hillslay there fully dressed, with a revolver clenched in my right

1f.lovecraft - The White Ship, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   returned. Therein walk only Daemons and mad things that are no longer
   men, and the streets are white with the unburied bones of those who

1f.lovecraft - Under the Pyramids, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   of the fiendish. The suddenness of it was apocalyptic and Daemoniacone
   moment I was plunging agonisingly down that narrow well of
  --
   preternatural depth and Daemoniac mystery revived, by a circumstance
   which grew in horror and significance even as I formulated my

1f.lovecraft - Winged Death, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Something monstrous and Daemoniac is at work around me, and I am a
   helpless victim. In the morning, when I returned from breakfast, that
  --
   that Daemoniac fly crawled out before my eyes. I grabbed something flat
   and made passes at the thing despite my panic fear, but with no more
  --
   actions of that hybrid Daemon. It stays on the clock, but is very
   slowly crawling around backward from the 12 mark to meet the gradually

1.fua - The Nightingale, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
   English version by Raficq Abdulla Original Language Persian/Farsi The nightingale raises his head, drugged with passion, Pouring the oil of earthly love in such a fashion That the other birds shaded with his song, grow mute. The leaping mysteries of his melodies are acute. 'I know the secrets of Love, I am their piper,' He sings, 'I seek a David with broken heart to decipher Their plaintive barbs, I inspire the yearning flute, The Daemon of the plucked conversation of the lute. The roses are dissolved into fragrance by my song, Hearts are torn with its sobbing tone, broken along The fault lines of longing filled with desire's wrong. My music is like the sky's black ocean, I steal The listener's reason, the world becomes the seal Of dreams for chosen lovers, where only the rose Is certain. I cannot go further, I am lame, and expose My anchored soul to the divine Way. My love for the rose is sufficient, I shall stay In the vicinity of its petalled image, I need No more, it blooms for me the rose, my seed. The hoopoe replies: 'You love the rose without thought. Nightingale, your foolish song is caught By the rose's thorns, it is a passing thing. Velvet petal, perfume's repose bring You pleasure, yes, but sorrow too For the rose's beauty is shallow: few Escape winter's frost. To seek the Way Release yourself from this love that lasts a day. The bud nurtures its own demise as day nurtures night. Groom yourself, pluck the deadly rose from your sight. [1490.jpg] -- from The Conference of the Birds: The Selected Sufi Poetry of Farid ud-Din Attar, Translated by Raficq Abdulla <
1.lovecraft - Ex Oblivione, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  But as the gate swung wider and the sorcery of the drug and the dream pushed me through, I knew that all sights and glories were at an end; for in that new realm was neither land nor sea, but only the white void of unpeopled and illimitable space. So, happier than I had ever dared hope to be, I dissolved again into that native infinity of crystal oblivion from which the Daemon Life had called me for one brief and desolate hour.

1.lovecraft - Fungi From Yuggoth, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  The Daemon said that he would take me home
  To the pale, shadowy land I half recalled
  --
  Out in the mindless void the Daemon bore me,
  Past the bright clusters of dimensioned space,
  --
  "I am His Messenger," the Daemon said,
  As in contempt he struck his Master's head.

1.lovecraft - Nathicana, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
          With figures of fairies and Daemons.    
          Here glimmer strange suns and strange planets,
  --
          The Daemon-damn'd season of Dzannin;    
          When red shone the suns and the planets,  
  --
          Till all the carv'd fairies and Daemons    
          Leer'd redly from the backgrounds of shadow.
  --
          A draught that the Daemons delight ih;    
          A drught that will banish the redness;    

1.lovecraft - Nemesis, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  With the moans of invisible Daemons, that out of the green waters rise.    
                                        

1.lovecraft - On Reading Lord Dunsanys Book Of Wonder, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
            In silent Daemon cavalcade.    
                              

1.lovecraft - Psychopompos- A Tale in Rhyme, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  Round and around the howling Daemons glide,
  Whilst the fierce leader scales the vine-clad side;

1.pbs - Alastor - or, the Spirit of Solitude, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  Of more than man, where marble Daemons watch
  The Zodiac's brazen mystery, and dead men

1.pbs - Fragment - Satan Broken Loose, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  And with millions of Daemons in his train,
  Was ranging over the world again.

1.pbs - Hellas - A Lyrical Drama, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  Three vials of the tears which Daemons weep
  When virtuous spirits through the gate of Death
  --
   The Daemons and the nymphs repeat
  The harmony.

1.pbs - Lines Written in the Bay of Lerici, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  The Daemon reassumed his throne
  In my faint heart. I dare not speak

1.pbs - The Daemon Of The World, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  object:1.pbs - The Daemon Of The World
  author class:Percy Bysshe Shelley
  --
  The chariot of the Daemon of the World
   Descends in silent power:
  --
  The Daemon leaning from the ethereal car
   Gazed on the slumbering maid.
  --
   Beside the Daemon shape.
  Obedient to the sweep of ary song,
  --
  The temple of the mightiest Daemon stands.
   Yet not the golden islands
  --
   The Daemon and the Spirit
   Entered the eternal gates.
  --
   The Daemon and the Spirit
  Approached the overhanging battlement,
  --
  Against the Daemon of the World, and high
  Hurling their armd hands where the pure Spirit,
  --
  Which from the Daemon now like Ocean's stream
  Again began to pour.
  --
  The Daemon called its wingd ministers.
  Speechless with bliss the Spirit mounts the car,

1.pbs - The Spectral Horseman, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  And twine his vast wreaths round the forms of the Daemons;
  Then in agony roll his death-swimming eyeballs,

1.pbs - To The Lord Chancellor, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  Of which thou art a Daemon, on thy grave
  This curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well!

1.wby - Meditations In Time Of Civil War, #Yeats - Poems, #William Butler Yeats, #Poetry
  How the Daemonic rage
  Imagined everything.
  --
  The half-read wisdom of Daemonic images,
  Suffice the ageing man as once the growing boy.

2.03 - THE ENIGMA OF BOLOGNA, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  [85] In order to clarify this passage, I must go back to the myth of Cadmus, a kinsman of the Pelasgian Hermes Ithyphallikos.228 The hero set out to find his lost sister Europa, whom Zeus had carried away with him after turning himself into a bull. Cadmus, however, received the divine comm and to give up the search, and instead to follow a cow, with moon markings on both her sides, until she lay down, and there to found the city of Thebes. At the same time he was promised Harmonia, the daughter of Ares and Aphrodite as a wife. When the cow had lain down, he wanted to sacrifice her, and he sent his companions to fetch water. They found it in a grove sacred to Ares, which was guarded by a dragon, the son of Ares. The dragon killed most of the companions, and Cadmus, enraged, slew it and sowed the dragons teeth. Immediately armed men sprang up, who fell to fighting among themselves until only five remained. Cadmus was then given Harmonia to wife. The spitting of the snake (dragon) to the oak seems to be an addition of Philalethas. It represents the banishment of the dangerous Daemon into the oak,229 a point made not only by the commentary on the Aelia inscription in Malvasius but by the fairytale of The Spirit in the Bottle.
  [86] The psychological meaning of the myth is clear: Cadmus has lost his sister-anima because she has flown with the supreme deity into the realm of the suprahuman and the subhuman, the unconscious. At the divine comm and he is not to regress to the incest situation, and for this reason he is promised a wife. His sister-anima, acting as a psychopomp in the shape of a cow (to correspond with the bull of Zeus), leads him to his destiny as a dragon-slayer, for the transition from the brother-sister relationship to an exogamous one is not so simple. But when he succeeds in this, he wins Harmonia, who is the dragons sister. The dragon is obviously disharmony, as the armed men sprung from its teeth prove. These kill one another off as though exemplifying the maxim of Pseudo-Democritus, nature subdues nature, which is nothing less than the uroboros conceptually formulated. Cadmus holds fast to Harmonia while the opposites in projected form slaughter one another. This image is a representation of the way in which a split-off conflict behaves: it is its own battle-ground. By and large this is also true of yang and yin in classical Chinese philosophy. Hand in hand with this selfcontained conflict there goes an unconsciousness of the moral problem of opposites. Only with Christianity did the metaphysical opposites begin to percolate into mans consciousness, and then in the form of an almost dualistic opposition that reached its zenith in Manichaeism. This heresy forced the Church to take an important step: the formulation of the doctrine of the privatio boni, by means of which she established the identity of good and being. Evil as a

2.18 - January 1939, #Evening Talks With Sri Aurobindo, #unset, #Zen
   Sri Aurobindo: Yes. All men who have been great and strong believe in some higher force greater than themselves, moving them. Socrates used to call this force his Daemon. It is curious how sometimes even in small things one depends on the voice. Once Socrates was walking with a disciple. When they came to a place where they had to take a turn, the disciple said, "Let us take this route." Socrates said: "No, my Daemon asks me to take the other." The disciple did not agree and followed his own route. After he had gone a certain distance he was attacked by a herd of pigs and thrown down by them.
   There are some who do not follow an inner voice but an inner light. The Quakers believed in that.

2.23 - Man and the Evolution, #The Life Divine, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  All these are conclusions that can be arrived at even from the observation of the outward phenomena of Nature's progression, her surface evolution of being and of consciousness in the physical birth and the body. But there is the other, the invisible factor; there is rebirth, the progress of the soul by ascent from grade to grade of the evolving existence, and in the grades to higher and higher types of bodily and mental instrumentation. In this progression the psychic entity is still veiled, even in man the conscious mental being, by its instruments, by mind and life and body; it is unable to manifest fully, held back from coming to the front where it can stand out as the master of its nature, obliged to submit to a certain determination by the instruments, to a domination of Purusha by Prakriti. But in man the psychic part of the personality is able to develop with a much greater rapidity than in the inferior creation, and a time can arrive when the soul entity is close to the point at which it will emerge from behind the veil into the open and become the master of its instrumentation in Nature. But this will mean that the secret indwelling spirit, the Daemon, the Godhead within is on the point of emergence; and, when it emerges, it can hardly be doubted that its demand will be, as indeed it already is in the mind itself when it undergoes the inner psychic influence, for a diviner, a more spiritual existence. In the nature of the earth life where the mind is an instrument of the Ignorance, this can only be effected by a change of consciousness, a transition from a foundation in Ignorance to a foundation in Knowledge, from the mental to a supramental consciousness, a supramental instrumentation of Nature.
  There is no conclusive validity in the reasoning that because this is a world of Ignorance, such a transformation can only be achieved by a passage to a heaven beyond or cannot be achieved at all and the demand of the psychic entity is itself ignorant and must be replaced by a merger of the soul in the Absolute. This conclusion could only be solely valid if Ignorance were the whole meaning, substance and power of the world-manifestation or if there were no element in worldNature itself through which there could be an exceeding of the ignorant mentality that still burdens our present status of being.

2.27 - The Gnostic Being, #The Life Divine, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  But flux of nature and fixity of nature are two aspects of being neither of which, nor indeed both together, can be a definition of personality. For in all men there is a double element, the unformed though limited flux of being or Nature out of which personality is fashioned and the personal formation out of that flux. The formation may become rigid and ossify or it may remain sufficiently plastic to change constantly and develop; but it develops out of the formative flux, by a modification or enlargement or remoulding of the personality, not, ordinarily, by an abolition of the formation already made and the substitution of a new form of being, - this can only occur in an abnormal turn or a supernormal conversion. But besides this flux and this fixity there is also a third and occult element, the Person behind of whom the personality is a self-expression; the Person puts forward the personality as his role, character, persona, in the present act of his long drama of manifested existence. But the Person is larger than his personality, and it may happen that this inner largeness overflows into the surface formation; the result is a self-expression of being which can no longer be described The Gnostic Being by fixed qualities, normalities of mood, exact lineaments, or marked out by any structural limits. But neither is it a mere indistinguishable, quite amorphous and unseizable flux: though its acts of nature can be characterised but not itself, still it can be distinctively felt, followed in its action, it can be recognised, though it cannot easily be described; for it is a power of being rather than a structure. The ordinary restricted personality can be grasped by a description of the characters stamped on its life and thought and action, its very definite surface building and expression of self; even if we may miss whatever was not so expressed, that might seem to detract little from the general adequacy of our understanding, because the element missed is usually little more than an amorphous raw material, part of the flux, not used to form a significant part of the personality. But such a description would be pitifully inadequate to express the Person when its Power of Self within manifests more amply and puts forward its hidden Daemonic force in the surface composition and the life. We feel ourselves in presence of a light of consciousness, a potency, a sea of energy, can distinguish and describe its free waves of action and quality, but not fix itself; and yet there is an impression of personality, the presence of a powerful being, a strong, high or beautiful recognisable Someone, a Person, not a limited creature of Nature but a Self or Soul, a Purusha. The gnostic Individual would be such an inner Person unveiled, occupying both the depths - no longer selfhidden - and the surface in a unified self-awareness; he would not be a surface personality partly expressive of a larger secret being, he would be not the wave but the ocean: he would be the Purusha, the inner conscious Existence self-revealed, and would have no need of a carved expressive mask or persona.
  This, then, would be the nature of the gnostic Person, an infinite and universal being revealing - or, to our mental ignorance, suggesting - its eternal self through the significant form and expressive power of an individual and temporal selfmanifestation. But the individual nature-manifestation, whether strong and distinct in outline or multitudinous and protean but still harmonic, would be there as an index of the being, not as the whole being: that would be felt behind, recognisable but indefinable, infinite. The consciousness also of the gnostic Person would be an infinite consciousness throwing up forms of self-expression, but aware always of its unbound infinity and universality and conveying the power and sense of its infinity and universality even in the finiteness of the expression, - by which, moreover, it would not be bound in the next movement of farther self-revelation. But this would still not be an unregulated unrecognisable flux but a process of self-revelation making visible the inherent truth of its powers of existence according to the harmonic law natural to all manifestation of the Infinite.

3.00.2 - Introduction, #The Practice of Psycho therapy, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  both of them to a direct confrontation with the Daemonic forces lurking in
  the darkness. The resultant paradoxical blend of positive and negative, of

3.02 - SOL, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  [113] From what has been said about the active sun-substance it should be clear that Sol in alchemy is much less a definite chemical substance than a virtus, a mysterious power18 believed to have a generative19 and transformative effect. Just as the physical sun lightens and warms the universe, so, in the human body, there is in the heart a sunlike arcanum from which life and warmth stream forth.20 Therefore Sol, says Dorn, is rightly named the first after God, and the father and begetter of all,21 because in him the seminal and formal virtue of all things whatsoever lies hid.22 This power is called sulphur.23 It is a hot, Daemonic principle of life, having the closest affinities with the sun in the earth, the central fire or ignis gehennalis (fire of hell). Hence there is also a Sol niger, a black sun, which coincides with the nigredo and putrefactio, the state of death.24 Like Mercurius, Sol in alchemy is ambivalent.
  [114] The miraculous power of the sun, says Dorn, is due to the fact that all the simple elements are contained in it, as they are in heaven and in the other heavenly bodies. We say that the sun is a single element, he continues, tacitly identifying it with the quintessence. This view is explained by a remarkable passage from the Consilium coniugii: The Philosophers maintained that the father of the gold and silver is the animating principle [animal] of earth and water, or man or part of a man, such as hair, blood, menstruum, etc.25 The idea at the back of this is that primitive conception of a universal power of growth, healing, magic, and prestige,26 which is to be found as much in the sun as in men and plants, so that not only the sun but man too, and especially the enlightened man, the adept, can generate the gold by virtue of this universal power. It was clear to Dorn (and to other alchemists as well) that the gold was not made by the usual chemical procedures,27 for which reason he called gold-making (chrysopoeia) a miracle. The miracle was performed by a natura abscondita (hidden nature), a metaphysical entity perceived not with the outward eyes, but solely by the mind.28 It was infused from heaven,29 provided that the adept had approached as closely as possible to things divine and at the same time had extracted from the substances the subtlest powers fit for the miraculous act. There is in the human body a certain aethereal substance, which preserves its other elemental parts and causes them to continue,30 he says. This substance or virtue is hindered in its operations by the corruption of the body; but the Philosophers, through a kind of divine inspiration, knew that this virtue and heavenly vigour can be freed from its fetters, not by its contrary . . . but by its like.31 Dorn calls it veritas. It is the supreme power, an unconquerable fortress, which hath but very few friends, and is besieged by innumerable enemies. It is defended by the immaculate Lamb, and signifies the heavenly Jerusalem in the inner man. In this fortress is the true and indubitable treasure, which is not eaten into by moths, nor dug out by thieves, but remaineth for ever, and is taken hence after death.32

3.02 - The Psychology of Rebirth, #The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  sometimes gifted with Daemonic intuitions, ruthless, malicious,
  untruthful, bitchy, double-faced, and mystical. 17 The animus is

3.04 - LUNA, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  [173] According to the ancient view, the moon stands on the border-line between the eternal, aethereal things and the ephemeral phenomena of the earthly, sublunar realm.271 Macrobius says: The realm of the perishable begins with the moon and goes downwards. Souls coming into this region begin to be subject to the numbering of days and to time. . . . There is no doubt that the moon is the author and contriver of mortal bodies.272 Because of her moist nature, the moon is also the cause of decay.273 The loveliness of the new moon, hymned by the poets and Church Fathers, veils her dark side, which however could not remain hidden from the fact-finding eye of the empiricist.274 The moon, as the star nearest to the earth, partakes of the earth and its sufferings, and her analogy with the Church and the Virgin Mary as mediators has the same meaning.275 She partakes not only of the earths sufferings but of its Daemonic darkness as well.276
  b. The Dog

3.05 - SAL, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  [251] It is not easy for a modern mind to conceive salt, a cold-damp, lunar-terrestrial substance, as a bird and a spirit. Spirit, as the Chinese conceive it, is yang, the fiery and dry element, and this accords with the views of Heraclitus as well as with the Christian concept of the Holy Ghost as tongues of fire. Luna, we have seen, is unquestionably connected with mens, manas, mind, etc. But these connections are of a somewhat ambiguous nature. Although the earth can boast of an earth-spirit and other Daemons, they are after all spirits and not spirit. The cold side of nature is not lacking in spirit, but it is a spirit of a special kind, which Christianity regarded as demonic and which therefore found no acclaim except in the realm of the magical arts and sciences. This spirit is the snake-like Nous or Agathodaimon, which in Hellenistic syncretism merges together with Hermes. Christian allegory and iconography also took possession of it on the basis of John 3 : 14: And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up. The mercurial serpent or spirit Mercurius is the personification and living continuation of the spirit who, in the prayer entitled the Secret Inscription in the Great Magic Papyrus of Paris, is invoked as follows:
  Greetings, entire edifice of the Spirit of the air, greetings, Spirit that penetratest from heaven to earth, and from earth, which abideth in the midst of the universe, to the uttermost bounds of the abyss, greetings, Spirit that penetratest into me, and shakest me. . . . Greetings, beginning and end of irremovable Nature, greetings, thou who revolvest the elements that untiringly render service, greetings, brightly shining sun, whose radiance ministereth to the world, greetings, moon shining by night with disc of fickle brilliance, greetings, all ye spirits of the demons of the air. . . . O great, greatest, incomprehensible fabric of the world, formed in a circle! . . . dwelling in the aether, having the form of water, of earth, of fire, of wind, of light, of darkness, star-glittering, damp-fiery-cold Spirit! [
  --
  [346] Alchemy announced a source of knowledge, parallel if not equivalent to revelation, which yields a bitter water by no means acceptable to our human judgment. It is harsh and bitter or like vinegar,689 for it is a bitter thing to accept the darkness and blackness of the umbra solis and to pass through this valley of the shadow. It is bitter indeed to discover behind ones lofty ideals narrow, fanatical convictions, all the more cherished for that, and behind ones heroic pretensions nothing but crude egotism, infantile greed, and complacency. This painful corrective is an unavoidable stage in every psycho therapeutic process. As the alchemists said, it begins with the nigredo, or generates it as the indispensable prerequisite for synthesis, for unless the opposites are constellated and brought to consciousness they can never be united. Freud halted the process at the reduction to the inferior half of the personality and tended to overlook the Daemonic dangerousness of the dark side, which by no means consists only of relatively harmless infantilisms. Man is neither so reasonable nor so good that he can cope eo ipso with evil. The darkness can quite well engulf him, especially when he finds himself with those of like mind. Mass-mindedness increases unconsciousness and then the evil swells like an avalanche, as contemporary events have shown. Even so, society can also work for good; it is even necessary because of the moral weakness of most human beings, who, to maintain themselves at all, must have some external good to cling on to. The great religions are psycho therapeutic systems that give a foothold to all those who cannot stand by themselves, and they are in the overwhelming majority.
  [347] In spite of their undoubtedly heretical methods the alchemists showed by their positive attitude to the Church that they were cleverer than certain modern apostles of enlightenment. Alsovery much in contrast to the rationalistic tendencies of todaythey displayed, despite its tortuousness, a remarkable understanding of the imagery upon which the Christian cosmos is built. This world of images, in its historical form, is irretrievably lost to modern man; its loss has spiritually impoverished the masses and compelled them to find pitiful substitutes, as poisonous as they are worthless. No one can be held responsible for this development. It is due rather to the restless tempo of spiritual growth and change, whose motive forces go far beyond the horizon of the individual. He can only hope to keep pace with it and try to understand it so far that he is not blindly swallowed up by it. For that is the alarming thing about mass movements, even if they are good, that they demand and must demand blind faith. The Church can never explain the truth of her images because she acknowledges no point of view but her own. She moves solely within the framework of her images, and her arguments must always beg the question. The flock of harmless sheep was ever the symbolic prototype of the credulous crowd, though the Church is quick to recognize the wolves in sheeps clothing who lead the faith of the multitude astray in order to destroy them. The tragedy is that the blind trust which leads to perdition is practised just as much inside the Church and is praised as the highest virtue. Yet our Lord says: Be ye therefore wise as serpents,690 and the Bible itself stresses the cleverness and cunning of the serpent. But where are these necessary if not altogether praiseworthy qualities developed and given their due? The serpent has become a by-word for everything morally abhorrent, and yet anyone who is not as smart as a snake is liable to land himself in trouble through blind faith.

3.09 - The Return of the Soul, #The Practice of Psycho therapy, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  with the bait of social security. Against the Daemonism from within, the
  Church offers some protection so long as it wields authority. But

3.10 - The New Birth, #The Practice of Psycho therapy, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  first body has its equivalent in the disagreeable, Daemonic,
  unconscious anima which we considered in the last chapter. At its

31.10 - East and West, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Alexander, Caesar and Napoleon are the ideal men of action in the West, while Krishna, Arjuna and Bhishma are the representatives 'of the ideal of the East. The European heroes display Daemoniac restlessness and exuberance. The Indian heroes possess the godly virtues of calmness and poise along with clear insight. Napoleon is a mighty Vibhuti of the Divine Power. But Sri Krishna is the Incarnation of God Himself Leaving aside some solitary exceptions, the West has generally failed to imbibe spirituality; even so the East has failed to assimilate the true spirit of earthly action. As in the West the Christ is practically buried in oblivion, so the East has somehow managed to wipe out the teachings of Sri Krishna. And, in consequence, the people of the East try to avoid action as much as possible in order to attain to union with God. The West moves in the diametrically opposite direction and tries to attain perfection in every sphere of work in the outer world. Typically, Haeckel was enthusiastic enough to devote his entire life to the discovery of the life-history of the cray fish. To plant a banner in the polar region has been the mission of many a youth in the West. The Eastern mind is apt to look upon these things as a mere child's play. The Eastern mind was never content until it could in some way or other associate even the inescapable mundane knowledge with the knowledge of the Self. The motto of the East runs: "Know the Self alone and cast aside all other thoughts."
   The East in its natural bent has aspired for the Divine, the Infinite, the Eternal. She has sought for and found the Supreme which is unity in diversity and which maintains its identity in the midst of multitudinous variables. The dynamic West has understood well, too well, the restless movements of life, its conflicts, its hustle-bustle, its hurly-burly, its diversity and it always runs after something new, ever new. The East wants the Truth beyond the senses, direct realisation and spiritual vision. The West wants Reason, Intellect, the analytic and discursive faculty. Both seem to be wholly taken up - almost eaten up - with their own ideals. Therefore they have secured benefit as well as incurred loss. The East realised the Self, hence she is great and supreme in that way. But at the same time, she lacks in a rich earthly mind that makes for richness, opulence, success in life. The aspirant of the East has endeavoured to acquire mastery over himself, but has failed to see that the mastery over the world is the true fulfilment of one's own self-mastery. The West is particularly concerned with the body. So she has come by the vast material prospect of an infinite variety. But for want of the firm basis of the Self behind the body all her acquisitions are but temporary, and have ended in an external glamour. No doubt, she has created the joy of life, but in the absence of the conscious knowledge of the Self, this joy has not culminated in the bliss divine. The West seeks to dominate the world by force and violence and by exercising her power through external means. She has not the patience or the wisdom to realise that the achievement of unity within one's self is the first necessity and absolute condition, that alone can give a total fulfilment in a perfect contentment. The East has discovered the foundation of Truth. She has not thought it necessary to build a broad-based outward edifice of delight on it, while the West has always tried to build a vast earthly palace, but where? On the shifting sands. The West has become prosperous in life, accepting outward forms without number, but she lacks in the intimate high seriousness. The East is profound with her realisation, but in life she is or has become a destitute.

4.01 - Introduction, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  coronet; or as the king's son or the witch's child with Daemonic
  attributes. Seen as a special instance of "the treasure hard to

4.04 - Conclusion, #The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  of power and superiority or else a Daemonic aura of even greater
  fascination. But because of the anima's ambivalence, the pro-

5.04 - THE POLARITY OF ADAM, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  [589] According to a Rabbinic view Adam even had a tail.169 His condition at first was altogether most inauspicious. As he lay, still inanimate, on the ground, he was of a greenish hue, with thousands of impure spirits fluttering round who all wanted to get into him. But God shooed them away till only one remained, Lilith, the mistress of spirits, who succeeded in so attaching herself to Adams body that she became pregnant by him. Only when Eve appeared did she fly away again.170 The Daemonic Lilith seems to be a certain aspect of Adam, for the legend says that she was created with him from the same earth.171 It throws a bad light on Adams nature when we are told that countless demons and spooks arose from his nocturnal emissions (ex nocturno seminis fluxu). This happened during the one hundred and thirty years which he had to spend apart from Eve, banished from the heavenly court under the anathema of excommunication.172 In Gnosticism the original man Adamas, who is nothing but a paraphrase of Adam,173 was equated with the ithyphallic Hermes and with Korybas, the pederastic seducer of Dionysus,174 as well as with the ithyphallic Cabiri.175 In the Pistis Sophia we meet a Sabaoth Adamas, the ruler (
  ) of the Aeons, who fights against the light of Pistis Sophia176 and is thus wholly on the side of evil. According to the teachings of the Bogomils, Adam was created by Satanal, Gods first son and the fallen angel, out of mud. But Satanael was unable to bring him to life, so God did it for him.177 Adams inner connection with Satan is likewise suggested in Rabbinic tradition, where Adam will one day sit on Satans throne.178

5.1.01.1 - The Book of the Herald, #5.1.01 - Ilion, #unset, #Zen
  Brilliant, a gleaming husk but empty and left by the Daemon.
  Even as a star long extinguished whose light still travels the spaces,

5.1.01.4 - The Book of Partings, #5.1.01 - Ilion, #unset, #Zen
  Then as she gazed up, changed grew her mood; for the Daemon within her
  Rose that had banded Greece and was burning Troy into ashes.

5 - The Phenomenology of the Spirit in Fairytales, #The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  share on the one hand in the Daemonically superhuman and on
  the other in the bestially subhuman. It must be remembered,
  --
  and pays for this audacity by a dubious affinity with Daemon
  and beast, and so is open to moral misinterpretation.
  --
  These qualities make Mercurius seem like a Daemonic being
  resurrected from primitive times, older even than the Greek
  --
  example, the Daemonic features exhibited by Yahweh in the
  Old Testament, we shall find in them not a few reminders of the
  --
  civilizing, i.e., assimilation, of a primitive Daemonic figure who
  was originally autonomous and even capable of causing posses-

6.0 - Conscious, Unconscious, and Individuation, #The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  103 Aaifiwp fj iravra Kv^ipvai, a feminine Daemonium.
  104 Freeman, Ancilla to the Pre-Socratic Philosophers, p. 45.

6.10 - THE SELF AND THE BOUNDS OF KNOWLEDGE, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  [785] The claim to authority is naturally not in itself sufficient to establish a metaphysical truth. Its authority must also be backed by the equally vehement need of the multitude. As this need always arises from a condition of distress, any attempt at explanation will have to examine the psychic situation of those who allow themselves to be convinced by a metaphysical assertion. It will then turn out that the statements of the inspired personality have made conscious just those images and ideas which compensate the general psychic distress. These images and ideas were not thought up or invented by the inspired personality but happened to him as experiences, and he became, as it were, their willing or unwilling victim. A will transcending his consciousness seized hold of him, which he was quite unable to resist. Naturally enough he feels this overwhelming power as divine. I have nothing against this word, but with the best will in the world I cannot see that it proves the existence of a transcendent God. Suppose a benevolent Deity did in fact inspire a salutary truth, what about all those cases where a half-truth or unholy nonsense was inspired and accepted by an eager following? Here the devil would be a better bet oron the principle omne malum ab homineman himself. This metaphysical either-or explanation is rather difficult to apply in practice because most inspirations fall between the two extremes, being neither wholly true nor wholly false. In theory, therefore, they owe their existence to the co-operation of a good and a bad power. We would also have to suppose a common plan of work aiming at an only tolerably good goal, so to speak, or make the assumption that one power bungles the handiwork of the other ora third possibility that man is capable of thwarting Gods intention to inspire a perfect truth (the inspiration of a half-truth is naturally out of the question) with an almost Daemonic energy. What, in any of these cases, would have happened to Gods omnipotence?
  [786] It therefore seems to me, on the most conservative estimate, to be wiser not to drag the supreme metaphysical factor into our calculations, at all events not at once, but, more modestly, to make an unknown psychic or perhaps psychoid238 factor in the human realm responsible for inspirations and suchlike happenings. This would make better allowance not only for the abysmal mixture of truth and error in the great majority of inspirations but also for the numerous contradictions in Holy Writ. The psychoid aura that surrounds consciousness furnishes us with better and less controversial possibilities of explanation and moreover can be investigated empirically. It presents a world of relatively autonomous images, including the manifold God-images, which whenever they appear are called God by nave people and, because of their numinosity (the equivalent of autonomy!), are taken to be such. The various religious denominations support this traditional viewpoint, and their respective theologians believe themselves, inspired by Gods word, to be in a position to make valid statements about him. Such statements always claim to be final and indisputable. The slightest deviation from the dominant assumption provokes an unbridgeable schism. One cannot and may not think about an object held to be indisputable. One can only assert it, and for this reason there can be no reconciliation between the divergent assertions. Thus Christianity, the religion of brotherly love, offers the lamentable spectacle of one great and many small schisms, each faction helplessly caught in the toils of its own unique rightness.

BOOK I. -- PART III. SCIENCE AND THE SECRET DOCTRINE CONTRASTED, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
  Elementary Daemons. (See Timaeus.)
  [[Vol. 1, Page]] 568 THE SECRET DOCTRINE.

BOOK I. -- PART II. THE EVOLUTION OF SYMBOLISM IN ITS APPROXIMATE ORDER, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
  independent and supreme; Daemons with the fanatics, who, intellectual as they often may be, are
  unable to understand the Spirit of the philosophical sentence, in pluribus unum. With the hermetic
  --
  oelicius, and denounced as the soul of lightning, its Daemon*; we have either to apply the same
  explanation and definitions to the "Lord God of Israel," under the same circumstances, or renounce

COSA - BOOK VIII, #The Confessions of Saint Augustine, #Saint Augustine of Hippo, #Christianity
  renewed. For he feared to offend his friends, proud Daemon-worshippers,
  from the height of whose Babylonian dignity, as from cedars of Libanus,
  --
  rites of those proud Daemons, whose pride he had imitated and their
  rites adopted, he became bold-faced against vanity, and shame-faced

Cratylus, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  called them demons, because they were Daemones (knowing or wise),
  and in our older Attic dialect the word itself occurs. Now he and

ENNEAD 06.05 - The One and Identical Being is Everywhere Present In Its Entirety.345, #Plotinus - Complete Works Vol 04, #Plotinus, #Christianity
   Daemon may remain after death or be changed to Daemon superior to predominating power, iii. 4.6 (15-239).
   Daemon of souls is their love, iii. 5.4 (50-1130).
  --
  Destiny chosen, helped by Daemon, iii. 4.5 (15-239).
  Destiny conformed to character of soul, iii. 4.5 (15-238).
  --
  Guidance of Daemon does not interfere with responsibility, iii. 4.5 (15-238).
  Guilt cause of fall of souls, (Pythagorean), iv. 8.1 (6-120).
  --
  Responsibility not injured by guidance of Daemon, iii. 4.5 (15-238).
  Responsibility not to be shifted from responsible reason, iii. 2.15 (47-1065).
  --
  Soul descended into world vestige of, is Daemon, iii. 5.6 (50-1132).
  Soul distraction, sensation is not, iv. 4.25 (28-477); iii. 4.6 (15-241).

Ex Oblivione, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  But as the gate swung wider and the sorcery of drug and dream pushed me through, I knew that all sights and glories were at an end; for in that new realm was neither land nor sea, but only the white void of unpeopled and illimitable space. So, happier than I had ever dared hoped to be, I dissolved again into that native infinity of crystal oblivion from which the Daemon Life had called me for one brief and desolate hour.

LUX.05 - AUGOEIDES, #Liber Null, #Peter J Carroll, #Occultism
  The magician's most important invocation is that of his Genius, Daemon, True Will, or Augoeides. This operation is traditionally known as attaining the Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel. It is sometimes known as the Magnum Opus or Great Work.
  The Augoeides may be defined as the most perfect vehicle of Kia on the plane of duality. As the avatar of Kia on earth, the Augoeides represents the true will, the raison d'etre of the magician, his purpose in existing. The discovery of one's true will or real nature may be difficult and fraught with danger, since a false identification leads to obsession and madness.

Meno, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  Also here, as in the Ion and Phaedrus, Plato appears to acknowledge an unreasoning element in the higher nature of man. The philosopher only has knowledge, and yet the statesman and the poet are inspired. There may be a sort of irony in regarding in this way the gifts of genius. But there is no reason to suppose that he is deriding them, any more than he is deriding the phenomena of love or of enthusiasm in the Symposium, or of oracles in the Apology, or of divine intimations when he is speaking of the Daemonium of Socrates. He recognizes the lower form of right opinion, as well as the higher one of science, in the spirit of one who desires to include in his philosophy every aspect of human life; just as he recognizes the existence of popular opinion as a fact, and the Sophists as the expression of it.
  This Dialogue contains the first intimation of the doctrine of reminiscence and of the immortality of the soul. The proof is very slight, even slighter than in the Phaedo and Republic. Because men had abstract ideas in a previous state, they must have always had them, and their souls therefore must have always existed. For they must always have been either men or not men. The fallacy of the latter words is transparent. And Socrates himself appears to be conscious of their weakness; for he adds immediately afterwards, 'I have said some things of which I am not altogether confident.' (Compare Phaedo.) It may be observed, however, that the fanciful notion of pre-existence is combined with a true but partial view of the origin and unity of knowledge, and of the association of ideas. Knowledge is prior to any particular knowledge, and exists not in the previous state of the individual, but of the race. It is potential, not actual, and can only be appropriated by strenuous exertion.

Talks With Sri Aurobindo 1, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  call this force his Daemon. Demon means divine being. It is curious how
  sometimes even in small things one depends on the voice. Once Socrates
  was walking with a disciple. When they were about to take a turn, the disciple said, "Let us go along this route." Socrates replied, "No, my Daemon
  asks me to take that other." The disciple didn't agree and pursued his own

The Shadow Out Of Time, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  days of Daemonic-possession legends to the medically realistic present, at first bothered
  me more than they consoled me.
  --
  possess a final, desperate hope that they all form parts of some Daemonic dream or
  illusion born of delirium. A fever raged in my brain, and everything came to me through
  --
  of that Daemonic gulf was known to me, and at many points I stopped to cast beams of
  light through choked and crumbling, yet familiar, archways.
  --
  The Daemon wind died down, and the bloated, fungoid moon sank reddeningly in the
  west. I lurched to my feet and began to stagger southwestward toward the camp. What in
  --
  of the mad winds and Daemon pipings - in truth a lingering, lurking menace, waiting and
  slowly weakening in black abysses while varied shapes of life drag out their

WORDNET



--- Overview of noun daemon

The noun daemon has 2 senses (no senses from tagged texts)
                  
1. devil, fiend, demon, daemon, daimon ::: (an evil supernatural being)
2. daemon, demigod ::: (a person who is part mortal and part god)


--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun daemon

2 senses of daemon                          

Sense 1
devil, fiend, demon, daemon, daimon
   => evil spirit
     => spirit, disembodied spirit
       => spiritual being, supernatural being
         => belief
           => content, cognitive content, mental object
             => cognition, knowledge, noesis
               => psychological feature
                 => abstraction, abstract entity
                   => entity

Sense 2
daemon, demigod
   => deity, divinity, god, immortal
     => spiritual being, supernatural being
       => belief
         => content, cognitive content, mental object
           => cognition, knowledge, noesis
             => psychological feature
               => abstraction, abstract entity
                 => entity


--- Hyponyms of noun daemon

2 senses of daemon                          

Sense 1
devil, fiend, demon, daemon, daimon
   => incubus
   => succubus, succuba
   => dybbuk, dibbuk

Sense 2
daemon, demigod
   => Adonis


--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun daemon

2 senses of daemon                          

Sense 1
devil, fiend, demon, daemon, daimon
   => evil spirit

Sense 2
daemon, demigod
   => deity, divinity, god, immortal




--- Coordinate Terms (sisters) of noun daemon

2 senses of daemon                          

Sense 1
devil, fiend, demon, daemon, daimon
  -> evil spirit
   => bad fairy
   => bogey, bogy, bogie
   => devil, fiend, demon, daemon, daimon
   => cacodemon, cacodaemon
   => ghoul
   => goblin, hob, hobgoblin
   => kelpy, kelpie
   => vampire, lamia
   HAS INSTANCE=> Mephistopheles

Sense 2
daemon, demigod
  -> deity, divinity, god, immortal
   HAS INSTANCE=> Demogorgon
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hypnos
   HAS INSTANCE=> Morpheus
   => daemon, demigod
   => sea god
   => sun god
   => Celtic deity
   => Egyptian deity
   => Semitic deity
   => Hindu deity
   => Persian deity
   HAS INSTANCE=> Bodhisattva, Boddhisatva
   HAS INSTANCE=> Arhat, Arhant, lohan
   => Chinese deity
   => Japanese deity
   => goddess
   => earth-god, earth god
   => demiurge
   => Greco-Roman deity, Graeco-Roman deity
   => Greek deity
   => Roman deity
   => Norse deity
   => Teutonic deity
   => Anglo-Saxon deity
   => Phrygian deity
   HAS INSTANCE=> Quetzalcoatl
   => saint
   => war god, god of war
   => zombi, zombie, snake god




--- Grep of noun daemon
cacodaemon
daemon
eudaemon



IN WEBGEN [10000/227]

Wikipedia - Agathodaemon (alchemist)
Wikipedia - Agathodaemon (disambiguation)
Wikipedia - Agathodaemon -- Spirit (daemon) of the vineyards and grainfields in ancient Greek religion
Wikipedia - BSD Daemon
Wikipedia - BSD daemon
Wikipedia - Commons Daemon
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Wikipedia - Cult image -- Human-made object that is venerated for the deity, person, spirit or daemon that it represents
Wikipedia - Daemon (classical mythology) -- Good or benevolent nature spirit in classical Greek mythology
Wikipedia - Daemon (computer software)
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Wikipedia - Upstart (software) -- An event-based replacement for the traditional init daemon
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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5834070.Vincent_Daemon
https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Lacedaemon
https://thoughtsandvisions-searle88.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-case-for-daemon.html
https://esotericotherworlds.blogspot.com/2012/11/daemon.html
Occultopedia - cacodaemon
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/Daemon
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Recap/DoctorWhoS8E5TheDaemons
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/VideoGame/DaemonBride
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/VideoGame/DaemonXMachina
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http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Tropers/Canidaemon
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https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Daemon_(novel_series)
WildC.A.T.S. (1994 - 1995) - Comic series created br Jim Lee. Set 10,000 years ago, amidst a war that spanned millennia, the Kherubim and Daemonites crashed on the planet Earth. While the Kherubim assimilated, the Daemonites carried their plans of domination underground, until which time they could resurface and conquer not on...
His Dark Materials ::: TV-14 | 1h | Adventure, Drama, Family | TV Series (2019 ) -- A young girl is destined to liberate her world from the grip of the Magisterium which represses people's ties to magic and their animal spirits known as daemons. Stars:
His Dark Materials ::: TV-14 | 1h | Adventure, Drama, Family | TV Series (2019- ) Episode Guide 23 episodes His Dark Materials Poster -- A young girl is destined to liberate her world from the grip of the Magisterium which represses people's ties to magic and their animal spirits known as daemons. Stars:
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Demon Busters: Ecchi na Ecchi na Demon Taiji The Animation -- -- - -- 1 ep -- Visual novel -- Harem Hentai Demons Supernatural School -- Demon Busters: Ecchi na Ecchi na Demon Taiji The Animation Demon Busters: Ecchi na Ecchi na Demon Taiji The Animation -- Kou is a member of the public morals committee at Moriyaji Gakuen, along with his childhood friend Ai and kouhai Karen. One day while he was making the rounds after school, he was attacked by a weird being. He was frozen in fear and could not evade its attack, but he was saved by two girls, Konoka and Lizera. They were ‘daemon busters’ who fight against daemons borne from the lust and cravings of humans. They told him that he was a kyuumashi who could absorb the desires that create daemons, and they asked for his help since his special ability makes their battles much easier. When he uses his ability, it causes him to be able to see girls naked and also makes them horny. If the daemons aren’t defeated, then their lust will cause the whole school to become an orgy. As part of the public morals committee, he can’t let that happen! -- -- (Source: Hau~ Omochikaeri!) -- OVA - Sep 25, 2015 -- 6,780 6.81
Genei wo Kakeru Taiyou -- -- AIC -- 13 eps -- Original -- Magic -- Genei wo Kakeru Taiyou Genei wo Kakeru Taiyou -- Akari Taiyou is an apprentice fortune teller living with her aunt, uncle, and their daughter Fuyuna. Having lost her mother at a young age, the only thing Akari has left of her is a deck of tarot cards and a dream to follow in her footsteps as a fortune teller. -- -- One night, Akari has a dream of being attacked by a plant monster and witnesses a stronger version of herself defeat it. When she awakens, she discovers to her horror that the monster was actually Fuyuna. But mysteriously, Akari and her relatives soon forget Fuyuna ever existed. After another close encounter with a similar monster, she is rescued by three magical girls: Ginka Shirokane, Seira Hoshikawa, and Luna Tsukuyomi. They explain that they are from the Sefiro Fiore organization, which uses Elemental Tarot power to fight the evil creatures known as "Daemonia." -- -- Akari discovers she too is a magical girl and has inherited her mother's power of The Sun card. However, she comes to realize Daemonia are actually people who have been possessed, and she must decide whether to try to save what is left of their humanity or to wipe them from existence. As Akari comes to terms with her grim duty of protecting the world from Daemonia, the bonds of the organization and that of their team will soon be strained when they deal with grave threats from the outside and from within. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Aniplex of America -- 48,475 6.42
Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans - Urðr Hunt -- -- Sunrise Beyond -- ? eps -- Original -- Action Sci-Fi Space Drama Mecha -- Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans - Urðr Hunt Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans - Urðr Hunt -- Year P.D. 323. Gjallarhorn's political intervention into the Arbrau central parliament escalated into an armed conflict using mobile suits. The incident was brought to an end by Tekkadan, a group of boys who came from Mars. -- -- News of Tekkadan's exploits has also reached the ears of Wistario Afam, a youth born and raised at the Radonitsa Colony near Venus. Venus, which lost to Mars in the contest for development, is a remote frontier planet in which the four great economic blocs show little interest. It is now used only as a penal colony for criminals, whose inhabitants don't even have IDs. -- -- Then Wistario, who hopes to change the status quo of this homeland, encounters a girl who claims to be the guide to the Urdr-Hunt. -- -- (Source: Gundam Global Portal) -- -- ONA - ??? ??, ???? -- 7,528 N/AFinal Fantasy XV: Episode Ardyn - Prologue -- -- Satelight -- 1 ep -- Game -- Action -- Final Fantasy XV: Episode Ardyn - Prologue Final Fantasy XV: Episode Ardyn - Prologue -- In an age when gods walk alongside mankind, the world of Eos finds itself falling into darkness. Calamity befalls the human race when malevolent creatures known as "daemons" scourge the land and obliterate armies with seemingly unstoppable brute force. In these dire times, nobles of House Caelum rise to prominence. Owing to their god-given healing powers, which allow them to purge the plague spread by the monsters, they earn the people's trust and allegiance. -- -- With no leader to rule the first human kingdom and guide the masses, the gods fervently seek to fill this vacancy—a man of the Caelum bloodline seems to be a desirable choice. The ambitious and charismatic pragmatist, Somnus Lucis Caelum, is pit against his humble and altruistic brother, Ardyn Lucis Caelum, in competition for the throne. As tensions rise between the rivals and anticipations surge, the fate of the world rests upon one of the two's decisive victory. -- -- ONA - Feb 17, 2019 -- 7,489 6.60
Yu☆Gi☆Oh! 5D's: Shinkasuru Kettou! Stardust vs. Red Demon's -- -- - -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Fantasy Game Sci-Fi -- Yu☆Gi☆Oh! 5D's: Shinkasuru Kettou! Stardust vs. Red Demon's Yu☆Gi☆Oh! 5D's: Shinkasuru Kettou! Stardust vs. Red Demon's -- A non-canon Yu☆Gi☆Oh! 5D's special from the 2008 Super Jump Anime Tour. Yuusei Fudou and Jack Atlas face off in a Riding Duel for the title of Duel King, with Aki and the twins watching. The ace dragons, Stardust Dragon and Red Daemon's Dragon, clash once again, and this time gain the power to 'evolve' using the Buster Mode trap card, becoming "Stardust Dragon/Buster" and "Red Demon's Dragon/Buster." -- Special - Sep 21, 2008 -- 8,769 6.95
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Anything-sync-daemon
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Category;Daemons
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Category:Daemons
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Daemons
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Display_manager#Login_daemons
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Music_Player_Daemon
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Music_Player_Daemon/Tips_and_tricks
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Music_Player_Daemon/Troubleshooting
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Network_Time_Protocol_daemon
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/OpenSSH#Daemon_management
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Profile-sync-daemon
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Scanner_Button_Daemon
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Special:Search/Daemons
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Special:Search?search="bitcoin-daemon"
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Very_Secure_FTP_Daemon
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Daemon_(classical_mythology)
Agathodaemon
Agathodaemon of Alexandria
Andreas Eudaemon-Joannis
Angels and Daemons at Play
Bird Internet routing daemon
BSD Daemon
Byasa daemonius
Commons Daemon
Constitution of the Lacedaemonians
Daemon (classical mythology)
Daemon (computing)
Daemones Ceramici
Daemon (film)
Daemon (novel series)
Daemonolatreiae libri tres
Daemonologie
Daemonorops
Daemonosaurus
Daemon Tools
Daemontools
De praestigiis daemonum
Diocese of Lacedaemon
Druid: Daemons of the Mind
Dysdaemonia boreas
Enlightened Sound Daemon
Eudaemon (disambiguation)
Eudaemonia argiphontes
Eudaemonia argus
Eudaemonia (moth)
Eudaemonia troglophylla
Eudaemon (mythology)
Eudaemons
Eurynomos (daemon)
Flavobacterium daemonensis
Full Metal Daemon: Muramasa
Hyacinthus the Lacedaemonian
Kudzu (computer daemon)
Lacedaemonia
Lacedaemonius
Lacedaemon Province
Line Printer Daemon protocol
List of Unix daemons
Madhuca daemonica
Multicast Routing Daemon v6
Music Player Daemon
Pandaemonium (film)
Pandaemonium (Jennings book)
Petrophila daemonalis
Point-to-Point Protocol daemon
Pseudomonarchia Daemonum
ReBoot: Daemon Rising
Stratis (configuration daemon)
Sumerian Daemons
System Security Services Daemon
The Daemon Lover
The Destroying Angel and Daemons of Evil Interrupting the Orgies of the Vicious and Intemperate
The Eudaemonic Pie
Vachellia daemon



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