TERMS STARTING WITH
Gnome: An elemental (q.v.) of the element Earth.
Gnome Computers ::: (company) A small UK hardware and software company. They make transputer boards for the Acorn Archimedes among other things.E-mail: Chris Stenton . (1994-09-30)
Gnome Computers "company" A small UK hardware and software company. They make {transputer} boards for the {Acorn} {Archimedes} among other things. E-mail: Chris Stenton "chris@gnome.co.uk". (1994-09-30)
Gnome [from Greek gnome thought, intelligence; or gnomon one who knows, an instructor, interpreter, guardian] Coined by Paracelsus for the elemental beings pertaining to the element earth, hence popularly believed in Medieval Europe to inhabit mines and caves, pictured as very small men, ugly and often misshapen. The females, called gnomides, were supposed to be of extreme beauty and goodness, being the especial guardians of diamonds. Elemental beings generally “are the Soul of the elements, the capricious forces in Nature, acting under one immutable Law, inherent in these Centres of Force, with undeveloped consciousness and bodies of plastic mould, which can be shaped according to the conscious or unconscious will of the human being who puts himself en rapport with them” (BCW 6:189). They belong to the three elemental kingdoms below the mineral kingdom.
Gnomes ::: Elementals of Earth. There are many types and categories of Earth elementals, but these are the classical designation for the base spirits of the element.
GNOME {GNU Network Object Model Environment}
gnome ::: n. --> An imaginary being, supposed by the Rosicrucians to inhabit the inner parts of the earth, and to be the guardian of mines, quarries, etc.
A dwarf; a goblin; a person of small stature or misshapen features, or of strange appearance.
A small owl (Glaucidium gnoma) of the Western United States.
A brief reflection or maxim.
gnome ::: One of a fabled race of dwarflike creatures who live underground and guard treasure hoards. gnomes.
gnome ::: one of a fabled race of dwarflike creatures who live underground and guard treasure hoards. gnomes.
gnomes ::: Gnomes In Alchemical tradition, these are the elemental spirits of Earth.
GNOMES See NATURE BEING
TERMS ANYWHERE
agnomen ::: n. --> An additional or fourth name given by the Romans, on account of some remarkable exploit or event; as, Publius Caius Scipio Africanus.
An additional name, or an epithet appended to a name; as, Aristides the Just.
allow-none "programming" An annotation in {GTk} documentation indicating that the annotated entity may be null. {(http://live.gnome.org/GObjectIntrospection/Annotations)}. (2009-09-29)
NATURE BEING Evolutionary being belonging to the deva evolution and at stages of development corresponding to the vegetable and animal kingdoms as well as the lowest human stages. In the normal case, a nature being has no lower envelopes than the etheric. Nature beings work as builders of organisms for monads of the human evolution. Of old, nature beings are divided into four groups according to the four elements: gnomes (earth), undines (water), sylphs (air), salamanders
(fire). The pixies, fairies, trolls, etc. of folklore have reference to nature beings.
Gnome: An elemental (q.v.) of the element Earth.
Gnome Computers ::: (company) A small UK hardware and software company. They make transputer boards for the Acorn Archimedes among other things.E-mail: Chris Stenton . (1994-09-30)
Gnome Computers "company" A small UK hardware and software company. They make {transputer} boards for the {Acorn} {Archimedes} among other things. E-mail: Chris Stenton "chris@gnome.co.uk". (1994-09-30)
Gnome [from Greek gnome thought, intelligence; or gnomon one who knows, an instructor, interpreter, guardian] Coined by Paracelsus for the elemental beings pertaining to the element earth, hence popularly believed in Medieval Europe to inhabit mines and caves, pictured as very small men, ugly and often misshapen. The females, called gnomides, were supposed to be of extreme beauty and goodness, being the especial guardians of diamonds. Elemental beings generally “are the Soul of the elements, the capricious forces in Nature, acting under one immutable Law, inherent in these Centres of Force, with undeveloped consciousness and bodies of plastic mould, which can be shaped according to the conscious or unconscious will of the human being who puts himself en rapport with them” (BCW 6:189). They belong to the three elemental kingdoms below the mineral kingdom.
Gnomes ::: Elementals of Earth. There are many types and categories of Earth elementals, but these are the classical designation for the base spirits of the element.
Called in different ages by a host of names, they are best known in Europe by the terms given by the medieval Fire-philosophers: salamanders (beings of the element fire); sylphs (denizens of the element air); undines (the water elementals); and gnomes (beings of the element earth). These are all general terms for elementals, whether of spiritual or material worlds, though most commonly used for the more material elementals.
childe ::: n. --> A cognomen formerly prefixed to his name by the oldest son, until he succeeded to his ancestral titles, or was knighted; as, Childe Roland.
cognomen ::: n. --> The last of the three names of a person among the ancient Romans, denoting his house or family.
A surname.
cognominal ::: a. --> Of or pertaining to a cognomen; of the nature of a surname. ::: n. --> One bearing the same name; a namesake.
cognomination ::: n. --> A cognomen or surname.
Earth Besides being our terrestrial globe, earth is a comprehensive symbol, meaning the matter or vehicular side of manifestation as well as one of the four, five, or seven elements. It is primordial undifferentiated matter which, by the action of spirit, produces the manifested worlds of entities. The Western alchemists called this Adam’s Earth; in Greek mythology it is the lower side of Rhea. The bringing forth of animate beings was due to the marriage of heaven and earth, so that our earth is an offspring of this cosmic union. Connected with this meaning are the numerous allusions to earth as the nether pole of manifestation, and it is often synonymous with the nether regions, as Pluto, Yama, etc. In the zodiac it is occasionally symbolized by Taurus, the bull which in popular astrology is the first and fixed earthy sign. As the lowest of the several elements, earth denotes physicalization, what we call physical matter being a combination of all four elements with the earth-element predominating. The pure element, however, is not physical, its characteristic property or tattva in connection with the human organs is smell, and its name in the Hindu system is prithivi-tattva; it is characterized by square or cubical forms and by fixity; the nature spirits pertaining to it were said by medieval European mystics to be the gnomes.
East Asian monks, especially those in the Chan, Son, Zen, and Thièn schools, often use multiple names throughout their careers, e.g., ordination name, cognomen, toponym (e.g., the mountains, monasteries, hermitages, or regions where they dwelled), posthumous or funerary name, and honorary names and titles conferred by a monarch. Commonly, these monks are listed in their genealogical lineages by a four-Sinograph name, which gives this alternate name first, typically followed by their ordination name: e.g., Linji Yixuan (hermitage name + ordination name), Dongshan Liangjie (mountain name + ordination name), Pojo Chinul (posthumous name/official title + ordination name). The main entries for these monks are found under this common four-Sinograph lineage name, with a blind cross-reference in the main body of the dictionary for their two-Sinograph ordination name; e.g.: Congshen. (C) (從諗). See ZHAOZHOU CONGSHEN.
Elemental: A spirit evolved in and from, and inhabiting, one of the four elements—a sylph (spirit of the air), a gnome (spirit of the earth), a salamander (spirit of the fire), or an undine (spirit of the water). Occultists regard elementals as beings having substance, but visible only to those who have inner sight; some elementals are regarded benign, others as malignant. (Cf. elemental essence.)
elementals ::: Elementals Creatures or spirits that inhabit and take on the qualities of the four elements. Sylphs are the spirits of Air, gnomes, the spirits of Earth, salamanders, the spirits of Fire, and undines, the spirits of water. Elementals are also thought forms which can be manifested by worked up emotion for personal use to enhance a ritual or spell. These thought forms are taken from your subconscious and have aspects of you, although they are detached from you. See also Familiars.
Elemental(s) ::: Nature-spirits or sprites. The theosophical usage, however, means beings who are beginning a course ofevolutionary growth, and who thus are in the elemental states of their growth. It is a generalizing term forpurposes of convenient expression for all beings evolutionally below the minerals. Nevertheless, theminerals themselves are expressions of one family or host or hierarchy of elemental beings of a moreevolved type. The vegetable kingdom likewise manifests merely one family or host of elemental beingshappening to be in the vegetable phase of their evolution on this earth. Just so likewise is it as regards thebeasts. The beasts are highly evolved elemental beings, relatively speaking. Men in far distant aeons ofthe kosmic past were elemental beings also. We have evolved from that elemental stage into becomingmen, expressing with more or less ease, mostly very feebly, the innate divine powers and faculties lockedup in the core of the core of each one of us.An elemental is a being who has entered our universe on the lowest plane or in the lowest world, degree,or step on the rising stairway of life; and this stairway of life begins in any universe at its lowest stage,and ends for that universe in its highest stage -- the universal kosmic spirit. Thus the elemental passesfrom the elemental stage through all the realms of being as it rises along the stairway of life, passingthrough the human stage, becoming superhuman, quasi-divine -- a quasi-god -- then becoming a god.Thus did we humans first enter this present universe.Every race of men on earth has believed in these hosts of elemental entities -- some visible, like men, likethe beasts, like the animate plants; and others invisible. The invisible entities have been called by variousnames: fairies, sprites, hobgoblins, elves, brownies, pixies, nixies, leprechauns, trolls, kobolds, goblins,banshees, fawns, devs, jinn, satyrs, and so forth. The medieval mystics taught that these elemental beingswere of four general kinds: those arising in and frequenting the element of fire -- salamanders; thosearising in and frequenting the element air -- sylphs; those arising in and frequenting the element water -undines; those arising in and frequenting the element earth -- gnomes.
Elemental ::: Traditionally an entity associated with a particular element. Each of the four classical elements of Hermetic theory has its own "main" elemental: these are salamanders for Fire, sylphs for Air, undines for Water, and gnomes for Earth.
faming. (T. chos ming; J. homyo; K. pommyong 法名). In Chinese, "dharma name." In East Asian Buddhism, the given name in one's dharma lineage is typically a new religious name-often consisting of two Sinographs for monks, nuns, and laymen, or sometimes three Sinographs for laywomen-that is conferred by the preceptor to a person who has undergone either the three refuges (RATNATRAYA) ceremony or monastic ordination. After ordination, monks and nuns no longer use their secular names but will subsequently be known only by their dharma names. In many East Asian traditions, following long-established Chinese practice going back to the time of DAO'AN (312-385), monks and nuns also often abandon their secular surname and take in its place the surname SHI (J. Shaku; K. Sok; V. Thích), a transliteration of the first syllable of sĀKYA, the Buddha's own clan name, as a mark of their spiritual ties to the clan of the Buddha. In the case of monks and nuns and people of notable accomplishment, this dharma name is traditionally preceded by another cognomen or cognomina that alludes to one's lineage group, place of residence (such as one's home monastery or mountain), an imperially bestowed title, and/or other known virtues. ¶ In Tibet, two names are given and the first name is typically the first name of the preceptor; thus, those ordained by Bstan 'dzin rgya mtsho (Tenzin Gyatso) (the fourteenth Dalai Lama) will have Bstan 'dzin (Tenzin) as the first of their two dharma names.
Fazhao. (J. Hosho; K. Popcho 法照) (d.u.). Tang-dynasty Chinese monk, now revered by followers of the Japanese JoDOSHu and JoDO SHINSHu as the fifth patriarch of the PURE LAND (JINGTU ZONG) tradition in China. Fazhao resided at LUSHAN early in his career, where he devoted himself to recitation of the name of the buddha AMITĀBHA (see NIANFO); there, Fazhao had a vision of AMITĀBHA, who personally taught him about the pure land. Fazhao subsequently traveled to the Chinese capital of Chang'an, where he developed the method of WUHUI NIANFO, or "five-tempo intonation of [the name of] the Buddha." When he demonstrated this practice in 767 at the monastery of Yunfengsi, the practice is said to have resulted in a series of miracles, such as the appearance of Amitābha amid the clouds, which in turn purportedly led Emperor Daizong (762-779) to invite Fazhao to the imperial palace. In addition to demonstrating the value of buddha-recitation practice, Fazhao also sought to explain pure land teachings in terms drawn from TIANTAI doctrine, bringing pure land beliefs into the mainstream of contemporary Buddhist intellectual discourse. Because of his success in propagating pure land teachings, his peers called Fazhao the "latter-day SHANDAO." Fazhao later moved to the monastery of Zhulinsi on WUTAISHAN and acquired the cognomen Wuhui fashi (Dharma Master Five-Tempo).
GNOME {GNU Network Object Model Environment}
gnome ::: n. --> An imaginary being, supposed by the Rosicrucians to inhabit the inner parts of the earth, and to be the guardian of mines, quarries, etc.
A dwarf; a goblin; a person of small stature or misshapen features, or of strange appearance.
A small owl (Glaucidium gnoma) of the Western United States.
A brief reflection or maxim.
gnome ::: One of a fabled race of dwarflike creatures who live underground and guard treasure hoards. gnomes.
gnome ::: one of a fabled race of dwarflike creatures who live underground and guard treasure hoards. gnomes.
gnomes ::: Gnomes In Alchemical tradition, these are the elemental spirits of Earth.
GNOMES See NATURE BEING
GNU Network Object Model Environment ::: (operating system) (GNOME) A project to build a complete, user-friendly desktop based entirely on free software. GNOME is part of the GNU project and larger applications which share a consistent look and feel. GNOME uses GTK+ as the GUI toolkit for applications.GNOME is intended to run on any modern and functional Unix-like system. The current version runs on Linux, FreeBSD, IRIX and Solaris. . (1998-10-17)
GNU Network Object Model Environment "operating system" (GNOME) A project to build a complete, {user-friendly} {desktop} based entirely on {free software}. GNOME is part of the {GNU project} and part of the {OpenSource} movement. The desktop will consist of small {utilities} and larger {applications} which share a consistent {look and feel}. GNOME uses {GTK+} as the {GUI} {toolkit} for applications. GNOME is intended to run on any modern and functional {Unix}-like system. The current version runs on {Linux}, {FreeBSD}, {IRIX} and {Solaris}. {(http://gnome.org/)}. (1998-10-17)
GObject Introspection "programming" A {GNOME} project that defines a {syntax} for {introspection annotation} {pragmas} to be used in the {GObject library} {source code}. Rather than actual {introspection}, these are intended to allow automatic generation of {bindings} ({API}s) to expose the library to higher-level languages. The sort of information provided is the type and direction (in, out, inout) of function parameters and the responsibility for freeing memory used by data structures. {GObject Introspection Home (http://live.gnome.org/GObjectIntrospection/)}. (2010-01-19)
goblin ::: n. --> An evil or mischievous spirit; a playful or malicious elf; a frightful phantom; a gnome.
In the plural, and in a more restricted sense, applied to the gnomes or earth elementals of medieval European thought.
Jakushitsu Genko. (C. Jishi Yuanguang 寂室元光) (1290-1367). Japanese ZEN monk in the RINZAISHu and founder of the Eigenji branch of the school. After entering the monastery at the age of thirteen, Jakushitsu studied under several Zen masters, including Yakuo Tokken (1244-1320) of ZENKoJI in Kamakura, who administered to him the complete monastic precepts (gusokukai) of a BHIKsU, and Yishan Yining (J. Issan Ichinei; 1247-1317) of NANZENJI in Kyoto, a Chinese LINJI ZONG monk who was active in Japan. Jakushitsu traveled to Yuan China in 1320 together with another Rinzai monk named Kao Sonen (d.1345). There, he studied with such eminent Linji Chan masters as ZHONGFENG MINGBEN (1263-1323), who gave him the cognomen Jishi (J. Jakushitsu), and Yuansou Xingduan (1255-1341). After returning to Japan in 1326, Jakushitsu spent the next twenty-five years traveling around the country as an itinerant monk, until 1362, when he assumed the abbacy of Eigenji, a monastery built for him by Sasaki Ujiyori (1326-1370) in omi no kuni (present-day Shiga prefecture). The emperor subsequently invited him to stay at Tenryuji in Kyoto and KENCHoJI in Kamakura, but he refused, choosing to remain at Eigenji for the remainder of his life. Jakushitsu is well known for his flute playing and his refined Zen poetry, which is considered some of the finest examples of the genre. He was given the posthumous title Enno Zenji (Zen Master Consummate Response).
Kobold The German name for the fairy of the hearth or the elemental beings or nature sprites of the character of the earth element. Popularly believed to inhabit mines and other underground places, corresponding to the gnomes. When such a being dwells in a house it is sometimes mistakenly called a poltergeist or racket sprite.
Liu Chengzhi. (劉程之) (354-410). Chinese lay Buddhist known for his specialization in PURE LAND practice; his cognomen was Liu Yimin. Liu lived in the period between the Eastern Jin and Liu-Song dynasties. He lost his father at a very young age and is said to have waited on his mother with utmost filial piety. An accomplished scholar and civil servant, he eventually resigned his government post to live in solitude in the valleys and forests. Learning about the practice of reciting the Buddha's name (NIANFO) that was then occurring in the community of LUSHAN HUIYUAN (334-416) at DONGLINSI on LUSHAN, Liu Chengzhi moved there, eventually staying for eleven years, concentrating on the practice of reciting the Buddha's name. Eventually, he was able to achieve the samādhi of recitation (NIANFO sanmei), which provoked many spiritual responses. One day, for example, AMITĀBHA appeared before Liu, suffusing Liu with radiant light from his golden body. He subsequently dreamed about the water named Eight Kinds of Merit in the pond of the seven jewels in Amitābha's pure land. Hearing a voice telling him, "You may drink the water," he ingested only a small amount, after which he felt the cool refreshment spread throughout his chest and smelled unusual fragrance emanating from his entire body. The next day, he told Huiyuan that the time had come for him to be reborn in the western pure land and, soon afterwards, he passed away in serenity. PENG SHAOSHENG (1740-1796), in his JUSHI ZHUAN ("Biographies of [Eminent] Laymen"), lists Liu Chengzhi as one of the three great lay masters (SANGONG) of Chinese Buddhism, along with LI TONGXUAN (635-730) and PANG YUN (740-803), praising Liu for his mastery of pure land (JINGTU) practice.
Mahatala (Sanskrit) Mahātala [from mahā great + tala sphere, place] Great place, pointing to prevalence or dominance of astral substance; the sixth in the descending scale of the seven talas. The corresponding loka or pole is bhuvarloka. Mahatala among other things corresponds to the elemental beings who are connected with taste, and therefore includes the state of consciousness appertaining to this class. It corresponds in one sense to the pranic activity in man, and in nature to the salamanders and gnomes of the Rosicrucians. Mahatala is the next to the grossest of the cosmic spheres or realms; the grossest or most material of all being patala.
Man'gong Wolmyon. (滿空月面) (1871-1946). In Korean, "Replete in Emptiness, Moon-Face"; the cognomen and ordination name of an important SoN (C. Chan) monk of the late Choson and Japanese colonial periods. Man'gong was born in T'aein county, North Cholla province, and became a novice monk in 1884. After enlightenment experiences in 1895 and 1901, he became in 1904 a dharma heir of KYoNGHo SoNGU (1849-1912), the preeminent Son master of his generation who was renowned for his efforts to revitalize Korean Son practice. Like Kyongho, Man'gong was also a well-known iconoclast, who practiced an "unconstrained practice" (K. muae haeng; C. WU'AI XING) that was not bound by the customary restrictions of monastic discipline. After 1905, Man'gong often resided at SUDoKSA on Mt. Toksung in South Ch'ungch'ong province, and he and his lineage are closely associated with that monastery. Man'gong also collaborated with such contemporary Buddhist leaders as HAN YONGUN (1879-1944) and Soktu Pot'aek (1882-1954) in attempting to rejuvenate Korean Buddhist practice. Man'gong established the Sonhagwon (Cloister for Son Learning) in 1921 in order to promote Korean Son meditation training. Man'gong emphasized training in "questioning meditation" (K. kanhwa Son; C. KANHUA CHAN), using the meditative topic (K. hwadu; C. HUATOU) "no" (K. mu; C. WU; see WU GONG'AN; GOUZI WU FOXING). Man'gong was also publicly critical of the Japanese colonial government. There is a well-known anecdote that, at a conference of abbots from the thirty-one Korean head monasteries (PONSA) in 1937, he chided the Japanese governor-general by telling him that only Korean Buddhists would be able to save him once he had fallen into hell for destroying their tradition. In his later years, Man'gong retreated to the hermitage of Chonwolsa, near Sudoksa on Mt. Toksung. Man'gong had several renowned disciples who constitute the Toksung transmission lineage, including the monks Kobong (1890-1961), Ch'unsong (1891-1977), and Pyokch'o (1899-1986), and the nuns KIM IRYoP (1896-1971) and Pophŭi (1887-1975); Sungsan Haengwon (1927-2004), a major propagator of the Korean Son tradition in the West, was Man'gong's dharma successor through Kobong.
Namuci. (T. Grol med; C. Mowang [Boxun]; J. Mao [Hajun]; K. Mawang [Pasun] 魔王 [波旬]). In Sanskrit and Pāli, "Non-releaser," a cognomen of MĀRA, the anthropomorphized evil one, also sometimes known as PĀPĪYĀMS. Namuci is the name of a devil killed by the king of the divinities, INDRA, and absorbed into the Buddhist pantheon as one of the evil ones (māra). Namuci is sometimes identified with the third of the four types of māras most commonly found in Buddhist literature: (1) klesamāra (P. kilesamāra), the māra of afflictions; (2) SKANDHAMĀRA (P. khandhamāra), the māra of the aggregates; (3) MṚTYUMĀRA (P. maccumāra), the māra of death; and (4) DEVAPUTRAMĀRA (P. devaputtamāra), the divinity Māra. As the "personification of death" itself, Māra cum Namuci thus releases no one from his grasp.
Nanjo Bun'yu. (南条文雄) (1849-1927). Japanese Buddhist scholar who helped to introduce the modern Western discipline of Buddhist Studies to Japan; he is usually known in the West by his own preferred transcription of Nanjio Bunyiu. Nanjo was the third son of the abbot of a temple in the HIGASHI HONGANJIHA (see oTANIHA; HONGANJI) of JoDO SHINSHu, and was eventually ordained as a priest in that sect. In 1876, the Higashi Honganjiha sent Nanjo to England, where he studied Sanskrit and other Buddhist canonical languages with FRIEDRICH MAX MÜLLER (1823-1900). After eight years overseas, he returned to Japan in 1884, teaching Sanskrit and Buddhism at Tokyo Imperial University, where he was an important Japanese pioneer in Sanskrit pedagogy and the study of Indian Buddhist literature. He also held a succession of posts as professor and president of several Buddhist universities in Tokyo, Kyoto, and Nagoya. Nanjo played a critical role in reviving the study of Buddhist literature in China. While he was in Oxford, Nanjo met YANG WENHUI (1837-1911; cognomen Yang Renshan) and later arranged to send Yang copies of some three hundred Chinese Buddhist texts that had been lost in China during the depredations of the Taiping Rebellion (1851-1865). Yang was able to reprint and distribute these scriptures from his personal publication house, the Jinling Sutra Publishing Center, in Nanjing. Nanjo is best known in the West for publishing in 1883 the first comprehensive catalogue of the East Asian Buddhist canon, A Catalogue of the Chinese Translation of the Buddhist Tripitaka, the Sacred Canon of the Buddhists in China and Japan, compiled by order of the Secretary of State for India. This catalogue is especially important for making one of the first attempts to correlate the Chinese translations of Buddhist texts with their Sanskrit and Tibetan recensions. Nanjo also edited the Sanskrit recensions of such texts as the LAnKĀVATĀRASuTRA and the larger and smaller SUKHĀVATĪVYuHASuTRA (which he translated in collaboration with F. Max Müller) and assisted HENDRIK KERN in preparing his Sanskrit edition of the SADDHARMAPUndARĪKASuTRA.
Pak Chungbin. (朴重彬) (1891-1943). Founder of the Korean new religion of WoNBULGYO; also known by his cognomen SOT'AESAN. He is said to have begun his quest to discover the fundamental principle of the universe and human life at the age of seven and continued ascetic training for about twenty years. Finally, in 1916 at the age of twenty-six, Sot'aesan is said to have attained a personal enlightenment, which is considered the founding year of his religion. Since Sot'aesan recognized compelling parallels between his own experience and the description of enlightenment in Buddhism, he first called his religious organization the Pulpop Yon'guhoe (Society for the Study of the BUDDHADHARMA); later, the religion adopted the formal name of Wonbulgyo (lit. Consummate Buddhism). He presented his enlightenment, which he symbolized with the "one circle image" (IRWoNSANG), as the criterion of religious belief and practice by proclaiming the "cardinal tenet of one circle" (irwon chongji). Along with organizing his religion's fundamental tenets and building its institutional base, he and his followers also worked to improve the ordinary life of his followers, by establishing thrift and savings institutions and engaging in farming and land reclamation projects. The three foundational religious activities of edification (kyohwa), education (kyoyuk), and public service (chason) continue to be emblematic of Wonbulgyo practice. Sot'aesan published in 1943 the Wonbulgyo chongjon ("Principal Book of Won Buddhism"), a primer of the basic tenets of Wonbulgyo, which is one of the two representative scriptures of the religion, along with the Taejonggyong ("Discourses of the Founding Master"), the dialogues and teachings of Sot'aesan, published in 1962 by his successor Chongsan Song Kyu (1900-1962). Sot'aesan died in 1943 at the age of fifty-three, after delivering his last lecture, entitled "The Truth of Birth and Death" (Saengsa ŭi chilli).
Peng Shaosheng. (彭紹升) (1740-1796). A Confucian literatus turned Buddhist adherent during the Qing dynasty (1683-1839); his cognomen was Peng Jiqing. Peng authored several important biographical collections of Chinese Buddhist adherents who were mostly ignored in the traditional collections of biographies of eminent monks (GAOSENG ZHUAN); these include a collection of biographies of laypeople, the JUSHI ZHUAN ("Record of [Eminent] Laymen") and the SHANNÜREN ZHUAN ("Record of [Eminent] Laywomen"), along with a c. 1783 collection of biographies of pure land figures titled Jingtu shengxian lu ("A Record of Pure Land Sages"). See JUSHI ZHUAN; SHANNÜREN ZHUAN.
physiognomer ::: n. --> Physiognomist.
Pojo Chinul. (C. Puzhao Zhine; J. Fusho Chitotsu 普照知訥) (1158-1210). In Korean, lit. "Shining Universally, Knowing Reticence"; the premier Korean SoN master of the Koryo dynasty and one of the two most influential monks in the history of Korean Buddhism (along with WoNHYO); he usually referred to himself using his cognomen Moguja (Oxherder). Chinul was a native of the Tongju district to the west of the Koryo capital of Kaesong (present-day Sohŭng in Hwanghae province). In 1165, he was ordained by the Son master Chonghwi (d.u.) at Kulsansa on Mt. Sagul, one of the monastic centers of the so-called "Nine Mountains school of Son" (see KUSAN SoNMUN). In 1182, Chinul passed the Son clerical examinations (SŬNGKWA) held at the monastery of Pojesa in the capital of Kaesong, but rather than take an ecclesiastical position he opted instead to form a retreat society (KYoLSA) with some fellow monks. Chinul left the capital and headed south and began his residence at Ch'ongwonsa in Ch'angp'yong (present-day South Cholla province). There, Chinul is said to have attained his initial awakening while reading the LIUZU TAN JING. In 1185, Chinul relocated himself to Pomunsa on Mt. Haga (present-day North Kyongsang province), where he had his second awakening while reading LI TONGXUAN's HUAYAN JING HELUN ("Commentary to the AVATAMSAKASuTRA"). In 1188, Chinul and the monk Tŭkchae (d.u.) launched the first Samādhi and PrajNā Retreat Society (CHoNGHYE KYoLSA) at the monastery of Kojosa on Mt. Kong (present-day North Kyongsang province). Chinul subsequently moved the community to the Kilsangsa on Mt. Songgwang, which was later renamed SUSoNSA, or the Son Cultivation Community, by King Hŭijong (r. 1204-1211); this is the major monastery now known as SONGGWANGSA. On his way to establish the retreat society, Chinul is said to have briefly resided at the hermitage Sangmujuam on CHIRISAN, where he attained his final awakening while reading the recorded sayings (YULU) of the CHAN master DAHUI ZONGGAO. In addition to reciting the VAJRACCHEDIKĀPRAJNĀPĀRAMITĀSuTRA, the practice of the Son Cultivation Community at Kilsangsa was purportedly based on the three principles of the concurrent practice of SAMĀDHI and PRAJNĀ as taught in the Liuzu tan jing, faith and understanding of the perfect and sudden teachings (K. wondon kyo; C. YUANDUN JIAO) according to the AvataMsakasutra, and the shortcut method of "questioning meditation" (K. kanhwa Son; C. KANHUA CHAN) developed by Dahui. Chinul is renowned for developing an ecumenical approach to Buddhist thought and practice, which sought to reconcile the insights of the "word of the Buddha"-viz., the scriptures, or KYO-with the "mind of the Buddha"-viz., Son practice. He taught an approach to Buddhist practice that combined an initial sudden awakening followed by continued gradual cultivation (K. dono chomsu; C. DUNWU JIANXIU), which he saw as the optimal soteriological schema for most practitioners. Chinul also was the first to introduce "questioning meditation" (kanhwa Son) into the Korean Son tradition, and this type of meditation would hold pride of place in Korean Buddhism from that point forward. Chinul was later given the posthumous title Puril Pojo (Buddha-Sun That Shines Universally). His many works include the SUSIM KYoL ("Secrets on Cultivating the Mind"), KANHWA KYoRŬI RON ("Resolving Doubts About Observing the Meditative Topic"), WoNDON SoNGBUL NON ("The Complete and Sudden Attainment of Buddhahood"), and his magnum opus, the PoPCHIP PYoRHAENGNOK CHoRYO PYoNGIP SAGI ("Excerpts from the 'Dharma Collection and Special Practice Record' with Personal Notes"), which is included in the SAJIP ("Fourfold Collection").
Shitou Xiqian. (J. Sekito Kisen; K. Soktu Hŭich'on 石頭希遷) (700-790). In Chinese, "Rare Transformation Atop a Stone"; master in the Tang-dynasty CHAN ZONG, who was an important ancestor in the lineages of the CAODONG ZONG, YUNMEN ZONG, and FAYAN ZONG, three of the five major houses of the mature Song-dynasty Chan tradition (see WU JIA QI ZONG). Xiqian is claimed to have studied with the sixth patriarch (LIUZU) HUINENG (638-713) while still a youth and was present at the master's deathbed. He subsequently traveled to Qingyuanshan in modern-day Jiangxi province to study with a monk who was claimed to have been one of the sixth patriarch's most eminent disciples: QINGYUAN XINGSI (d. 740). Xingsi is said to have thought highly of his new disciple, famously calling him a unicorn among the other horned animals in his congregation, and eventually made Xiqian his principal dharma heir (FASI). In 742, after his teacher's death, he traveled to Mt. Nanyue (present-day Hunan province), where he lived in a hermitage built on top of a large boulder, hence his cognomen Shitou ("Atop a Stone"). In 762, he traveled to Tanzhou near present-day Changsha, before returning to Mt. Nanyue, where he passed away at the age of ninety. Although during his lifetime Xiqian seems to have been a fairly obscure teacher in a little-known regional lineage, he retrospectively came to be viewed as one of the two most influential teachers of the classical Chan period, along with MAZU DAOYI (709-788). This inflated appraisal is largely a result of the prominence of Xiqian's third-generation successor DONGSHAN LIANGJIE (807-869), one of the two teachers after whom the Caodong school is named. Xiqian is the author of the CANTONG QI, regarded by the Chinese Caodong zong and Japanese SoToSHu as one of their foundational scriptures. Xiqian's short verse, in a total of 220 Sinographs, is highly regarded for its succinct and unequivocal expression of the teaching of nonduality.
Software in the Public Interest, Inc. ::: (company) (SPI) A non-profit corporation which helps organisations develop and distribute open hardware and open software. SPI's goals are:* to create, form and establish an organization to formulate and provide software systems for use by the general public without charge;* to teach and train individuals regarding the use and application of such systems;* to hold classes, seminars and workshops concerning the proper use and application of computers and computer systems;* to endeavor to monitor and improve the quality of currently existing publicly available software;* to support, encourage and promote the creation and development of software available to the general public;* to provide information and education regarding the proper use of the Internet;* to organize, hold and conduct meetings, discussions and forums on contemporary issues concerning the use of computers and computer software;* to foster, promote and increase access to software systems available to the general public;* to solicit, collect and otherwise raise money and to expend such funds in furtherance of the goals and activities of the corporation;* to aid, assist, cooperate, co-sponsor and otherwise engage in concerted action with private, educational and governmental organisations and associations on all issues and matters concerning the use of computers and computer software and;* generally to endeavor to promote, foster and advance interest in computers and computer software by all available means and methods.SPI currently supports Berlin, Debian, GNOME, LSB, Open Source. .(2002-04-14)
Software in the Public Interest, Inc. "company" (SPI) A non-profit corporation which helps organisations develop and distribute {open hardware} and {open software}. SPI's goals are: * to create, form and establish an organization to formulate and provide software systems for use by the general public without charge; * to teach and train individuals regarding the use and application of such systems; * to hold classes, seminars and workshops concerning the proper use and application of computers and computer systems; * to endeavor to monitor and improve the quality of currently existing publicly available software; * to support, encourage and promote the creation and development of software available to the general public; * to provide information and education regarding the proper use of the Internet; * to organize, hold and conduct meetings, discussions and forums on contemporary issues concerning the use of computers and computer software; * to foster, promote and increase access to software systems available to the general public; * to solicit, collect and otherwise raise money and to expend such funds in furtherance of the goals and activities of the corporation; * to aid, assist, cooperate, co-sponsor and otherwise engage in concerted action with private, educational and governmental organisations and associations on all issues and matters concerning the use of computers and computer software and; * generally to endeavor to promote, foster and advance interest in computers and computer software by all available means and methods. SPI currently supports {Berlin}, {Debian}, {GNOME}, {LSB}, {Open Source}. {SPI Home (http://spi-inc.org/)}. (2002-04-14)
Sot'aesan. (K) (少太山) (1891-1943). Cognomen of the founder of the Korean new religion of WoNBULGYO. See PAK CHUNGBIN.
tangho. (堂號). In Korean, lit. "hall epithet"; a new cognomen given to an especially eminent monk, which is bestowed by his teacher some twenty to thirty years after his ordination, often in conjunction with transmitting the master's lineage to his pupil; this name subsequently serves as the monk's funerary name. The name is typically selected to reflect the designated monk's spiritual attainments and/or the specific practices with which he is identified. For example, the monk CH'oNGHo HYUJoNG (1520-1604) was given the hall epithet Ch'onghodang (Clear and Pure) in recognition of his enlightened understanding. The hall epithet of the monk HWANSoNG CHIAN (1664-1729), Hwansongdang (Calling [People] to Awake), refers to his efforts to disseminate the Buddhist teachings, while Nuram Sikhwal's (1725-1830) epithet Nuramdang (Reticent at the Hermitage) referred to the fact that he often meditated in seclusion deep in the mountains. The term originates from the designation of a person's dwelling and thus signifies the owner of a house. The term also is employed in both Confucian and secular contexts, but its usage in Buddhism seems to be unique to Korea, where it became customary to bestow such names from the late Koryo period onward. See also SIHO.
The element earth is not that which we call earth, which is a compound of all seven of the ancient elements and of all or most of the modern chemical elements. Rather, it is the Hindu prithivi-tattva, whose quality is smell and whose shape is mystically cubic as regards its paramanus. When a person has a predominance of the earth element in his constitution, the gnomes are said to be attracted to him and aid him in things which correspond to the earth principle; these include hidden treasures and wealth. Of course there is the antithetical side of the earth element which produces heaviness, grossness, etc.
There are four commonly recognized great classes of these unevolved beings, called by the medieval European mystics gnomes, undines, sylphs, and salamanders — elementals respectively of earth, water, air, and fire. These elementals are not only the inhabitants of and born from the respective elements, but really are the elements themselves. They are from one viewpoint simply nature forces, tools of the higher intelligences, and actually perform all the physical work of the world.
Troll (Scandinavian) In common usage, an evil gnome or spirit depicted in stories as an ugly and dangerous sprite. As a prefix, used in Scandinavian tongues to denote magical or extrasensory means (e.g., trollkonst magic art, trollkaring old woman, hag, who practices magic arts). In this context it has come to mean almost exclusively an evil influence but there remain tales where a troll is seen as a model of gratitude and faithfulness. This may be a case where the spiritual influences of one culture become regarded by succeeding peoples as demonic. It is also possible that the trolls exemplified less evolved characteristics which become the faithful servants of him who overcomes these weaknesses in himself.
Wang Wei. (J. o I; K. Wang Yu 王維) (701-761). Chinese poet, painter, and musician during the Tang dynasty and close associate of masters in the early CHAN school; his cognomen was Mojie. In 721, Wang Wei passed the imperial civil service examination and was appointed as assistant director of the Imperial Music Office. By 759, shortly after the An Lushan rebellion, he had risen to the high bureaucratic rank of right assistant director of the Department of State Affairs. Wang Wei is known to have maintained close relationships with several major figures in the thriving Chan tradition and wrote the funerary inscriptions for such monks as JINGJUE (683-c. 760), author of the LENGQIE SHIZI JI, and the sixth patriarch (LIUZU) HUINENG. Although there is no direct evidence of Buddhist influences in his writing, it is commonly asserted that his close relations with these Chan figures contributed to Wang Wei's subtle and reflective descriptions of nature in his landscape poetry.
Yongjia Xuanjue. (J. Yoka Genkaku; K. Yongga Hyon'gak 永嘉玄覺) (675-713). Chinese CHAN monk renowned for his writings on meditation, also known as Mingdao, Yishujue, and Great Master Zhenjue (True Awakening); Yongjia is his toponym, the name of his hometown in Zhejiang province. Yongjia made a name for himself at a young age as an expert on meditation and the TIANTAI practices of calmness and insight (see sAMATHA and VIPAsYANĀ). He is said to have later received a seal of approval (YINKE) from the sixth patriarch (LIUZU) of Chan, HUINENG, after studying under the master for only one day and a night; hence, his cognomen Yishujue (Single-Night Enlightened, or Overnight Guest). His teachings are primarily known through the influential works attributed to him, such as the ZHENGDAO GE and Yongjia ji. Yongjia was given the posthumous title Great Master Wuxiang (No Marks).
Zhengdao ge. (J. Shodoka; K. Chŭngdo ka 證道歌). In Chinese, "Song of the Attainment of the Way"; attributed to YONGJIA XUANJUE (675-713); also known as the Chanmen biyao jue ("Secret Essentials of the Chan Tradition"). Along with the XINXIN MING, the Zhengdao ge is cherished by the CHAN tradition as one of the classic verse expressions on the process of meditation and the experience of enlightenment. Its contents purport to convey Yongjia's awakening after only a single day and night of tutelage under the sixth patriarch (LIUZU) HUINENG, whence Yongjia's cognomen Ishujue ("Single-Night Enlightened," or "Overnight Guest"). The poem consists of fewer than two thousand Sinographs and follows a traditional regulated-verse style. The verse describes enlightenment as the realization that the true nature of all things is in fact the buddha-nature (FOXING), which is emptiness itself, transcending all the dichotomies of existence or nonexistence or truth and falsity. This enlightenment is said to occur suddenly, "in a snap of the fingers" (danzhi), the verse says, and it is this sudden enlightenment (DUNWU) that has been transmitted through the twenty-eight Indian and six Chinese patriarchs (ZUSHI) of the Chan tradition. Aspects of the style and vocabulary used in the poem, which seem to antedate the eighth century, have led to questions about the authenticity of its attribution to Yongjia. Several copies of this text were found at DUNHUANG, and numerous commentaries of this text are extant, dating from the Song dynasty. The Song-dynasty teacher DAHUI ZONGGAO claimed that the verse was held in such high esteem that it had even been back-translated into Sanskrit.
Zhengfayanzang. (J. Shobogenzo; K. Chongpobanjang 正法眼蔵). In Chinese, "Treasury of the Eye of the True Dharma," in three rolls, edited by the CHAN master DAHUI ZONGGAO and his lay disciples in 1147. The Zhengfayanzang is largely a collection of 661 cases or GONG'AN with Dahui's prose commentary (pingchang), annotations (C. zhuoyu/zhuyu; see J. JAKUGO), and instructions for the assembly. The zhengfayanzang of the title is a term used within Chan to indicate the school's special repository of the "eye" or "mind" of the BUDDHADHARMA, which is independent from the scriptural tradition. (See JIAOWAI BIECHUAN). The exchanges between masters and disciples that Daohui covers in his collection are described as being the transmission of this eye. His Zhengfayanzang thus records the exchanges of a number of renowned Tang and Northern Song Chan masters and their disciples, including ZHAOZHOU CONGSHEN, DESHAN XUANJIAN, and XUEFENG YICUN, as well as the sermons of masters associated especially with the LINJI ZONG, including LINJI YIXUAN, YANGQI FANGHUI, and HUANGLONG HUINAN. Dahui strings together typically between three and six exchanges or sermons and, at the end of each section, adds his own brief prose commentary, often about twenty Sinographs in length, most starting with "Miaoxi says." (Miaoxi is one of Daihui's cognomens.) The Zhengfayanzang seems to have exerted some influence on the compilation of the ZONGMEN LIANDENG HUIYAO, by Dahui's third-generation successor Huiweng Wuming (d.u.). The SHoBoGENZo, the magnum opus of the Japanese SoToSHu monk DoGEN KIGEN, bears the same title but in its Japanese pronunciation.
KEYS (10k)
NEW FULL DB (2.4M)
8 J K Rowling
4 Anonymous
3 Terry Pratchett
3 Emily Dickinson
3 Cassandra Clare
2 Soman Chainani
2 Rick Riordan
2 P G Wodehouse
2 Nat Friedman
2 Linus Torvalds
2 Libba Bray
2 Kresley Cole
2 John Keats
2 Ilona Andrews
2 Harold Wilson
2 Chloe Jacobs
2 Anthony Powell
*** WISDOM TROVE ***
1:Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb - or Dome of Worm - or Porch of Gnome - or some Elf's Catacomb? ~ emily-dickinson, @wisdomtrove *** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***
1:Aunty Em’s Garden Gnome Emporium. ~ Rick Riordan, #NFDB
2:Aunty Em’s Garden Gnome Emporium—the ~ Rick Riordan, #NFDB
3:You have the emotional capacity of a garden gnome. ~ Lex Martin, #NFDB
4:America is a crippled giant, England is a sick gnome. ~ David Hare, #NFDB
5:Your pretense does not fool me, gnome. My eye will be upon you. ~ Cassandra Clare, #NFDB
6:In short, you have all the social prospects of a garden gnome. ~ Stephen R Lawhead, #NFDB
7:If I ever wanted a gnome, I guess Id just stand out on my lawn for a while. ~ Johnny Christ, #NFDB
8:It’s like bats seeing with their ears. If a gnome sees a red hat, you’re a gnome. ~ Devon Monk, #NFDB
9:I'd just met a talking garden gnome and the nightmare version of My Little Pony. ~ Nicole Peeler, #NFDB
10:I'm LEP. A captain. No rent-a-cop gnome is going to stand in the way of my orders. ~ Eoin Colfer, #NFDB
11:In one of Biddeford’s coffee shops, Quentin sits on a stool too small for a gnome. ~ Jodi Picoult, #NFDB
12:You’re going to de-gnome the garden for me; they’re getting completely out of hand again ~ J K Rowling, #NFDB
13:OS X is sweet: it's simple and intuitive, and I think GNOME shares a lot of values with it. ~ Nat Friedman, #NFDB
14:I need gnome books. You know, because sorcerers just don’t get them.” He didn’t get the joke. ~ Chloe Neill, #NFDB
15:You don't even know the sequences to the Human-Gnome Project, you haven't come to terms with your God yet. ~ Canibus, #NFDB
16:Still,I knew when I was being lied to. And I was never taking the trash out for that ratty gnome again. ~ Kiersten White, #NFDB
17:We cannot choose one desktop over the other - Gnome or KDE - because there's users for both code bases. ~ Miguel de Icaza, #NFDB
18:Dan : "Greg was whistling. Whistling ! And giving their little gnome a bath. Cutest fucking baby I've ever seen. ~ Penny Reid, #NFDB
19:Drab Habitation of Whom? Tabernacle or Tomb - or Dome of Worm - or Porch of Gnome - or some Elf's Catacomb? ~ Emily Dickinson, #NFDB
20:There were three kingdoms of Mylena: the goblin kingdom, the gnome kingdom, and the mysterious faerie kingdom. ~ Chloe Jacobs, #NFDB
21:Let my hands cease to create if I’m lying to you!” the gnome uttered the most terrible oath of the masters’ guild. ~ Vasily Mahanenko, #NFDB
22:For a heartbeat, my resolve wavered. And then a pack of smooth-faced Gnome children tore by us, giggling as they played chase. ~ James A Hunter, #NFDB
23:There's a lot of foot stomping, clapping, and cheering. I just want to win some cash and find my yard gnome. It's not a lot to ask. ~ Libba Bray, #NFDB
24:I'm excellent at faking being okay with things, even when inside my brain there is a tiny screaming gnome who is definitely not okay. ~ Alice Oseman, #NFDB
25:Some women, Ava realizes, would crumple in a pile and feel sorry for themselves, but not Jennifer. Jennifer puts on her gnome sweater. ~ Elin Hilderbrand, #NFDB
26:The world's most bada** Viking yard gnome is on the counter by the cash register using a dinner plates as a shield and a steak knife as a sword ~ Libba Bray, #NFDB
27:This 'users are idiots, and are confused by functionality' mentality of Gnome is a disease. If you think your users are idiots, only idiots will use it. ~ Linus Torvalds, #NFDB
28:The gnome grinned manically in front of him. “You’re mocking me,” Merrick said to the statue. “But perhaps you should take a look at your outfit before you judge anyone else. ~ Kate Perry, #NFDB
29:To my amazement, I have heard that there are people who have never seen a gnome. I can’t help pitying these people. I am certain there must be something wrong with their eyesight. ~ Axel Munthe, #NFDB
30:Drab Habitation Of Whom?
893
Drab Habitation of Whom?
Tabernacle or Tomb—
Or Dome of Worm—
Or Porch of Gnome—
Or some Elf's Catacomb?
~ Emily Dickinson,#NFDB
31:Everyone called it losing Mother, but she wasn’t lost. She was gone, and no matter where I went — another town, another country, Fairyland, or Gnome Caverns — I wouldn’t find her ~ Gail Carson Levine, #NFDB
32:She sat in the dew-damp grass and ripped up clumps of it, tossing them in the air and feeling vaguely guilty about it. Some gnome ought to pop out of the tree and scold her for torturing the lawn. ~ Holly Black, #NFDB
33:The gnome held up some rather small handbells and waved them nervously. They went glingleglingleglingle, in a very sad way. ‘Good, eh? That was me. I’m the Glingleglingleglingle Fairy.’ ‘Get out. ~ Terry Pratchett, #NFDB
34:As Mono matures, people will begin to use it to write desktop components that take advantage of all the hard work thats gone into some of the meatier GNOME libraries, as well as the nifty language features of C#. ~ Nat Friedman, #NFDB
35:Why are you crying?" shivered the otter. "Because I am cold!" shouted the gnome. "Then why are you shouting?" chattered the otter. "Because," yelled the gnome, "when I shout it gets part of the cold from the inside out. ~ Stephen Cosgrove, #NFDB
36:So this is what it's about? This is your mature response to go off into the mountains rather than talking about it and have s'mores with a gnome and a mountain man."
"Yep"
"What's your plan for tomorrow? Brunch with a unicorn? ~ Ilona Andrews,#NFDB
37:A Spider sewed at Night
A Spider sewed at Night
Without a Light
Upon an Arc of White.
If Ruff it was of Dame
Or Shroud of Gnome
Himself himself inform.
Of Immortality
His Strategy
Was Physiognomy.
~ Emily Dickinson,#NFDB
38:As a composer and as a musician I'm a true believer - and this is not to be overly diplomatic - I'm a believer that there's artistry in everything from a lawn gnome to a desk chair to a symphony to an Andy Warhol painting. There's art in absolutely everything. ~ Darren Criss, #NFDB
39:Her expression was oafish, but it was on the whole this quality that gave her face a certain retentive efficacy. She had the look of a gnome or prematurely vicious child. But underneath the suggestion of peculiar knowingness an apparent and immense credulity lurked. ~ Anthony Powell, #NFDB
40:Whether you realize it or not, you are an underpants gnome! Any time you read an inspiring news story, watch a YouTube video of somebody doing something amazing, or read a book like this one that encourages you to make changes in your life, you are collecting underpants. In ~ Steve Kamb, #NFDB
41:This doesn't mean you're getting a discount."
Audrey heaved a mock sigh. "Oh well. I guess I'll have to ply you with sexual favors, then."
Gnome choked on the soup. "I'm old enough to be your grandfather!"
Audrey winked at him, gathering the empty bags. "But you're not. ~ Ilona Andrews,#NFDB
42:Often your 'fixes' are actually removing capabilities that you had, because they were 'too confusing to the user'. GNOME seems to be developed by interface Nazis, where consistently the excuse for not doing something is not 'it's too complicated to do', but 'it would confuse users'. ~ Linus Torvalds, #NFDB
43:Evil is as evil does, gnome. Judge a man by his actions. By what he does. What he accomplishes. What he fights for and against. By what he holds dear. Those things define him. They mean so much more than any words he might spout and a thousandfold more than appearances or perceptions. ~ Glenn G Thater, #NFDB
44:Now there are five rules that separate Good from Evil,” the gnome said, and wrote them in air with his smoking staff. 1. The Evil attack. The Good defend. 2. The Evil punish. The Good forgive. 3. The Evil hurt. The Good help. 4. The Evil take. The Good give. 5. The Evil hate. The Good love. ~ Soman Chainani, #NFDB
45:[Julian]"Remember, Mark is in charge.”
“Does he know that?” said Livvy.
Julian sought Mark in the crowd on the steps. He was standing with his hands behind his back, exchanging a mistrustful look with a carved stone gnome. “Your pretense does not fool me, gnome,” he muttered. “My eye will be upon you. ~ Cassandra Clare,#NFDB
46:You can use C++ if you want with GNOME, but we don't assume that you're going to write C++. It's to a large extent based on Scheme, which is a dialect of LISP. LISP being the most powerful and cleanest of languages, that's the language that's the GNU project always prefers. ~ Richard Stallman in: "GNU's Not Linux" Network World Fusion, 01/11/99., #NFDB
47:His woolly grey hair, short thick body, air of perpetual busyness, suggested an industrious gnome conscripted into the service of the army; a gnome who also liked to practise considerable malice against the race of men with whom he mingled, by making as complicated as possible every transaction they had to execute through himself. ~ Anthony Powell, #NFDB
48:If you were very, very small, smaller than a leprechaun, smaller than a gnome or a fairy, and you lived in a vagina, every time a penis came in there would be a natural disaster. Your dishes would fall out of the cupboards and break and the furniture slide all the way to the other side of the room. It would take a long time to clean up afterwards. ~ Mary Ruefle, #NFDB
49:The classic example of this is modeling sock gnome transactions. As we all know, sock gnomes take one of a pair of socks from clothes dryers worldwide. They use these socks to incubate their young. In return for this “gift”, sock gnomes protect your home from El Chupacabra. If you haven’t been visited by El Chupacabra lately, you have sock gnomes to thank. ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
50:Hi. I'm Thom. With an 'h'."
I tell him, "I'm Gnorah. With a 'g'. The 'g' is silent. Like 'gnome.'"
"Really?" Thom says.
"No, not really. I have an 'h' too. At the end. Used to be just N-O-R-A but when I had the H legally added to my name after my dad failed to sign up Norah Jones when he had the chance. I don't like him to forget these things easily. ~ David Levithan,#NFDB
51:If you hurt her, I will kill you.” She pointed her finger at me for emphasis. I was perfectly still, giving zero fucks about this five-foot-four gnome firing threats at me like she was Rambo. “Cock-blocking me first and threatening me? Should I remind you that the only reason you’re not living in a sewer with that rat who trains the Ninja Turtles is because of my generosity?” I ~ L J Shen, #NFDB
52:Gnomes live ten times faster than humans. They're harder to see than a high-speed mouse. That's one reason why most humans hardly ever see them. The other is that humans are very good at not seeing things they know aren't there. And, since sensible humans know that there are no such things as people four inches high, a gnome who doesn't want to be seen probably won't be seen... Wings. ~ Terry Pratchett, #NFDB
53:Fred, George, Harry, and Ron were the only ones who knew that the angel on top of the tree was actually a garden gnome that had bitten Fred on the ankle as he pulled up carrots for Christmas dinner. Stupefied, painted gold, stuffed into a miniature tutu and with small wings glued to its back, it glowered down at them all, the ugliest angel Harry had ever seen, with a large bald head like a potato and rather hairy feet. ~ J K Rowling, #NFDB
54:Contents 1 • I Accidentally Vaporize My Maths Teacher 2 • Three Old Ladies Knit the Socks of Death 3 • Grover Unexpectedly Loses His Trousers 4 • My Mother Teaches Me Bullfighting 5 • I Play Pinochle with a Horse 6 • I Become Supreme Lord of the Bathroom 7 • My Dinner Goes Up in Smoke 8 • We Capture a Flag 9 • I Am Offered a Quest 10 • I Ruin a Perfectly Good Bus 11 • We Visit the Garden Gnome Emporium 12 • We Get Advice from a Poodle ~ Rick Riordan, #NFDB
55:Driest displayed the intricate hand and facial combinations of the silent drow code, and he briefly entertained the notion of teaching the language to Belwar. The deep gnome promptly burst into loud and rolling laughter. His dark eyes looked incredulously at Drizzt, and he led the drow's gaze down to the ends of his arms. With a hammer and a pickaxe for hands, the svirfneblin could hardly muster enough gestures to make the effort worthwhile. ~ R A Salvatore, #NFDB
56:I’m nobody’s sidekick,” Annabeth growled. “And, Percy, his accent sounds familiar because he sounds like his mother. We killed her in New Jersey.”
Percy frowned. “I’m pretty sure that accent isn’t New Jersey. Who’s his—? Oh.”
It all fell into place. Aunty Em’s Garden Gnome Emporium—the lair of Medusa. She’d talked with that same accent, at least until Percy had cut off her head.
“Medusa is your mom?” he asked. “Dude, that sucks for you. ~ Rick Riordan,#NFDB
57:The gnome did indeed have a flag, but not an American one. Not even the Maine flag with the moose on it. The one the gnome was holding had a vertical blue stripe and two fat horizontal stripes, the top one white and the bottom one red. It also had a single star. I gave the gnome a pat on his pointy hat as I went past and mounted the front steps of Al’s little house on Vining Street, thinking about an amusing song by Ray Wylie Hubbard: “Screw You, We’re from Texas. ~ Stephen King, #NFDB
58:Martha spouted off a long message to the gnome, including all the details of my injuries, precisely where I was, and who Martha was and her son Helmut. When she asked the gnome to repeat the message, he got it all mixed up, and so she did it again and made it longer, but he still got it all mixed up, and so they went back and forth, and finally Martha lost patience and threw him out the window. The gnome scurried away chanting, “Red for message! Red for message! ~ Liesl Shurtliff, #NFDB
59:Belwar’s master, fearing for its god-thing, tried to follow, but the deep gnome’s strength had returned tenfold with his anger, and his wounded arm felt no pain as he smashed his enchanted hammer-hand into the squishy flesh of the illithid’s head. Sparks flew and scorched the illithid’s face, and the creature slammed back into the wall, its milky, pupil-less eyes staring at Belwar in disbelief. Then it slid, ever so slowly, to the floor, down into the darkness of death. ~ R A Salvatore, #NFDB
60:You want to get married? I'll marry you right now. Is the gnome a preacher, because I'll do it."
"That's a hell of a proposal."
"What did he say?" Astamur asked.
"He wants me to marry him."
Astamur relayed it. Atsany waved his pipe and Astamur translated back. Ha!
"What?" Curran Snarled.
"Atsany says you're not ready for marriage. You don't have the right temperament for it."
Curran struggled with that for a second
"Let me know if your head's going to explode, so I can duck. ~ Ilona Andrews,#NFDB
61:1989 played out a little differently in China, of course. When thousands of students converged upon Tiananmen Square in Beijing to demand a little democracy--Hey hey, hey ho, Maosim has got to go--they were greeted with a decidedly old school response. Deng Xiaoping, the chain-smoking gnome with the twinkling eyes who then ruled China, simply reached for his totalitarian rulebook, flipped toward the index--Democracy protesters, suitable response--and followed directions. He shot them. And that was that. Except, of course, it wasn't... ~ J Maarten Troost, #NFDB
62:Bidding the wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter, who held up her finger and said, “Daddy, look — one of the gnomes actually bit me!” “How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial!” said Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna’s outstretched finger and examining the bleeding puncture marks. “Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today — perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaim in Mermish — do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!” Ron, passing them in the opposite direction, let out a loud snort. ~ J K Rowling, #NFDB
63:The drab brown front of the house made it look as if it had been built from rusty spare parts. Someone always put lace curtains in the windows of dreary houses, and Nick was unsurprised to see the curtains making their attempts in every window of this place. There was a china garden gnome on the doorstep, wearing a desperate, crazy smile. "It's not so bad," Alan said. "You never take me nice places anymore, baby." said Nick, and was mildly gratified by Alan's ring of laughter, like a living bell that had been caught by surprise when it was struck. ~ Sarah Rees Brennan, #NFDB
64:Bidding the wizard farewell, he turned to his daughter, who held up her finger
and said, “Daddy, look — one of the gnomes actually bit me!”
“How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial!” said Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna’s outstretched finger and examining the bleeding puncture marks. “Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today — perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaim in Mermish — do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!”
Ron, passing them in the opposite direction, let out a loud snort. ~ J K Rowling,#NFDB
65:The drab brown front of the house made it look as if it had been built from rusty spare parts. Someone always put lace curtains in the windows of dreary houses, and Nick was unsurprised to see the curtains making their attempts in every window of this place. There was a china garden gnome on the doorstep, wearing a desperate, crazy smile.
"It's not so bad," Alan said.
"You never take me nice places anymore, baby." said Nick, and was mildly gratified by Alan's ring of laughter, like a living bell that had been caught by surprise when it was struck. ~ Sarah Rees Brennan,#NFDB
66:As a kid, I imagined lots of different scenarios for my life. I would be an astronaut. Maybe a cartoonist. A famous explorer or rock star. Never once did I see myself standing under the window of a house belonging to some druggie named Carbine, waiting for his yard gnome to steal his stash so I could get a cab back to a cheap motel where my friend, a neurotic, death-obsessed dwarf, was waiting for me so we could get on the road to an undefined place and a mysterious Dr. X, who would cure me of mad cow disease and stop a band of dark energy from destroying the universe. ~ Libba Bray, #NFDB
67:How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial!” said Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna’s outstretched finger and examining the bleeding puncture marks. “Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today--perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaim in Mermish--do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!”
Ron, passing them in the opposite direction, let out a loud snort.
“Ron can laugh,” said Luna serenely as Harry led her and Xenophilius toward their seats, “but my father has done a lot of research on Gernumbli magic.”
“Really?” said Harry, who had long since decided not to challenge Luna or her father’s peculiar views. ~ J K Rowling,#NFDB
68:Twinkle the Destroyer wasn't alone, it seemed. There were more gnomes than I thought. Pip the Bringer of Pain, Chauncey the Devourer of Souls, Cuddly the Inexplicable, Gnoman Polanski, Pith the Bitey, Gnome ChompSky, Gnomie Malone, Chuck the Norriser- the list went on.
'It's like a mishmash of violent imagery, TV, an political references'
'I told you they like TV. I'm not sure the understand everything they see, though, so they don't fully grasp what they're stealing their names from. Like, I think Gnome ChompSky just thought it sounded tough and Chuck the Norriser came from watching too many episodes of Walker, Texas Ranger. They believe Chuck Norris is a demigod'
'Who doesn't? ~ Lish McBride,#NFDB
69:Helga’s gray pupils glued to the ground, unable to look at her student for a long time. Slowly, her long white hair retracted into her skull, growing scratchy and short. The grooves of her face magically deepened and the skin hardened to a leathery tan beneath a growing white beard. Her cheeks hollowed, her nose fattened, her eyebrows bushied, her body burlying to a barrel shape . . . until at last Yuba the Gnome gazed up at his former students, in the same lavender dress and wobbly heels. “Do you mind if I change?” he asked quietly. Sophie gawped at her old Forest Group teacher, morphed from a girl into a boy. She twirled to Agatha, appalled. “That’s how you want us to get in the boys’ school? By turning us into . . . gnomes?” Agatha banged her head against the wall. ~ Soman Chainani, #NFDB
70:You ’ave been to much trouble,” he said in a deep voice. “Fleur tells us you ’ave been working very ’ard.”
“Oh, it’s been nothing, nothing!” trilled Mrs. Weasley. “No trouble at all!”
Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who was peering out from behind one of the new Flutterby bushes.
“Dear lady!” said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasley’s hand between his own two plump ones and beaming. “We are most honored at the approaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline.”
Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too.
“Enchantée,” she said. “Your ’usband ’as been telling us such amusing stories!”
Mr. Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs. Weasley threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend. ~ J K Rowling,#NFDB
71:We will simply say here that, as a means of contrast with the sublime, the grotesque is, in our view, the richest source that nature can offer art. Rubens so understood it, doubtless, when it pleased him to introduce the hideous features of a court dwarf amid his exhibitions of royal magnificence, coronations and splendid ceremonial.
The universal beauty which the ancients solemnly laid upon everything, is not without monotony; the same impression repeated again and again may prove fatiguing at last. Sublime upon sublime scarcely presents a contrast, and we need a little rest from everything, even the beautiful.
On the other hand, the grotesque seems to be a halting-place, a mean term, a starting-point whence one rises toward the beautiful with a fresher and keener perception. The salamander gives relief to the water-sprite; the gnome heightens the charm of the sylph. ~ Victor Hugo,#NFDB
72:Help me!” Elliot screamed. The gnomes rushed to the edge of the quagmire, holding him high. They pulled back their arms, ready to heave him in feetfirst. I twisted myself around. Gave myself a little room. Reached into my jeans pocket. And pulled out a light-stick. Before a gnome could grab it away, I raised it to my face — and blew on it as hard as I could. WHOOOOOSH. The light-stick exploded in a blinding flash of fiery light. The sky lit up bright as day. I held the light-stick high in front of me. And in its glowing light, I saw that my idea had worked. The gnomes stood stiffly, frozen. Hard and still — like lawn gnomes. Lifeless once again. “Yesss!” I raised my hands in a victory cry. My thinking was correct: The gnomes came to life at night. But they froze in daylight. And so, they froze in the bright light of my light-stick. “Yesss!” I did a little victory dance. My invention saved our lives. ~ R L Stine, #NFDB
73:My interview was mostly conducted by Hugo Dyson, an Oxford ‘character’, known for his wit. I always found him alarming. He was like a hyperactive gnome, and stumped around on a walking stick which, when he was seized by one of his paroxysms of laughter, he would beat up and down as if trying to drive it through the floor. It brought to mind Rumpelstiltskin driving his leg into the ground in the fairy tale. He had been one of the ‘Inklings’ – the group of dons, including Tolkien and C. S. Lewis, who met during the 1930s in the Bird and Baby pub opposite St John’s. It was he and Tolkien who, one summer night in 1931, had converted Lewis to Christianity during a stroll along Addison’s Walk. So he was, at least in part, responsible for the Narnia books. I never asked him if he liked them. But it was well known that Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings was not to his taste. Tolkien had been in the habit of favouring the Inklings with readings from it, but one day Dyson, driven to exasperation, interjected, ‘Oh not another fucking elf!’ and after that the readings stopped. On ~ John Carey, #NFDB
74:He got carried away as he developed his idea: 'The aesthetic quality of towns is essential. If, as has been said, every landscape is a frame of mind, then it is even more true of a townscape. The way the inhabitants think and feel corresponds to the town they live in. An analogous phenomenon can be observed in certain women who, during their pregnancy, surround themselves with harmonious objects, calm statues, bright gardens, delicate curios, so that their child-to-be, under their influence, will be beautiful. In the same way one cannot imagine a genius coming from other than a magnificent town. Goethe was born in Frankfurt, a noble city where the Main flows between venerable palaces, between walls where the ancient heart of Germany lives on. Hoffmann explains Nuremberg - his soul performs acrobatics on the gables like a gnome on the decorated face of an old German clock. In France there is Rouen, with its rich accumulation of architectural monuments, its. cathedral like an oasis of stone, which produced Corneille and then Flaubert, two pure geniuses shaking hands across the centuries. There is no doubt about it, beautiful towns make beautiful souls. ~ Georges Rodenbach, #NFDB
75:Do you understand?” Drizzt whispered to Guenhwyvar one day. Off to the side, Belwar was fast asleep, flat on his back on the stone, using a rock for a pillow. Drizzt shook his head in continued amazement when he studied the little figure. He was beginning to suspect that the deep gnomes carried their affinity with the earth a bit too far. “Go get him,” he prompted the cat Guenhwyvar lumbered over and plopped across the burrow-warden’s legs. Drizzt moved away into the shielding entrance of a tunnel to watch. Only a few minutes later, Belwar awoke with a snarl. “Magga cammara, panther!” the deep gnome growled. “Why must you always bed down on me, instead of beside me?” Guenhwyvar shifted slightly but let out only a deep sigh in response. “Magga cammara, cat!” Belwar roared again. He wiggled his toes frantically, trying futilely to keep the circulation going and dismiss the tingles that had already begun. “Away with you!” The burrow-warden propped himself up on one elbow and swung his hammer-hand at Guenhwyvar’s backside. Guenhwyvar sprang away in feigned flight, quicker than Belwar’s swat. But just as the burrow-warden relaxed, the panther cut back on its tracks, pivoted completely, and leaped ~ R A Salvatore, #NFDB
76:Do you understand?” Drizzt whispered to Guenhwyvar one day. Off to the side, Belwar was fast asleep, flat on his back on the stone, using a rock for a pillow. Drizzt shook his head in continued amazement when he studied the little figure. He was beginning to suspect that the deep gnomes carried their affinity with the earth a bit too far. “Go get him,” he prompted the cat Guenhwyvar lumbered over and plopped across the burrow-warden’s legs. Drizzt moved away into the shielding entrance of a tunnel to watch. Only a few minutes later, Belwar awoke with a snarl. “Magga cammara, panther!” the deep gnome growled. “Why must you always bed down on me, instead of beside me?” Guenhwyvar shifted slightly but let out only a deep sigh in response. “Magga cammara, cat!” Belwar roared again. He wiggled his toes frantically, trying futilely to keep the circulation going and dismiss the tingles that had already begun. “Away with you!” The burrow-warden propped himself up on one elbow and swung his hammer-hand at Guenhwyvar’s backside. Guenhwyvar sprang away in feigned flight, quicker than Belwar’s swat. But just as the burrow-warden relaxed, the panther cut back on its tracks, pivoted completely, and leaped atop Belwar, burying him and pinning him flat to the stone. ~ R A Salvatore, #NFDB
77:Kilmeny (A Song Of The Trawlers)
Dark, dark, lay the drifters, against the red west,
As they shot their long meshes of steel overside;
And the oily green waters were rocking to rest
When Kilmeny went out, at the turn of the tide.
And nobody knew where that lassie would roam,
For the magic that called her was tapping unseen.
It was well nigh a week ere Kilmeny came home,
And nobody knew hwere Kilmeny had been.
She'd a gun at her bow that was Newcastle's best,
And a gun at her stern that was fresh from the Clyde,
And a secret her skipper had never confessed,
Not even at dawn, to his newly wed bride;
And a wireless that whispered above like a gnome,
The laughter of London, the boasts of Berlin.
O, it may have been mermaids that lured her from home,
But nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
It was dark when Kilmeny came home from her quest,
With her bridge dabbled red where her skipper had died;
But she moved like a bride with a rose at her breast;
And "Well done,Kilmeny!" the admiral cried.
Now at sixty-four fathom a conger may come,
And nose at the bones of a drowned submarine;
But late in the evening Kilmeny came home,
And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
There's a wandering shadow that stares at the foam,
Though they sing all night to old England, their queen,
Late, late in the evening Kilmeny came home,
And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
~ Alfred Noyes,#NFDB
78:Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know,” Harry told Ron as they crossed the lawn. “Yeah, I’ve seen those things they think are gnomes,” said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, “like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods. . . .” There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up. “This is a gnome,” he said grimly. “Gerroff me! Gerroff me!” squealed the gnome. It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm’s length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down. “This is what you have to do,” he said. He raised the gnome above his head (“Gerroff me!”) and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry’s face, Ron added, “It doesn’t hurt them — you’ve just got to make them really dizzy so they can’t find their way back to the gnomeholes.” He let go of the gnome’s ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge. “Pitiful,” said Fred. “I bet I can get mine beyond that stump.” Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry’s finger and he had a hard job shaking it off — until — “Wow, Harry — that must’ve been fifty feet. . . .” The air was soon thick with flying gnomes. ~ J K Rowling, #NFDB
79:Silent Letters
Treacherous as trap door spiders,
they ambush children's innocence.
"Why is there g h in light? It isn't fair!"
Buddha declared the world illusory
as the p sound in psyche. Sartre
said the same of God from France,
Olympus of silent letters, n'est -ce pas?
Polite conceals an e in the same way
"How are you?" hides "I don't care."
Physics asserts the desk I lean on,
the brush that fluffs my hair,
are only dots that punctuate a nullity
complete as the g sound in gnome,
the c e in Worcestershire.
Passions lurk under the saint's bed,
mute as the end of love.
They glide toward us, yellow eyes
gleaming, hushed as the finality
of hate, malice, snake.
As easily predict the h in lichen,
choral, Lichtenstein,
as laws against throttling rats,
making U-turns on empty streets.
Such nonsense must be memorized.
"Imagine dropkicking a spud,"
Dad said. "If e breaks off
your toe, it spoils your potato."
Like compass needles
pointing north, silent letters
show the power of hidden things.
Voiced by our ancestors,
but heard no more, they nudge
our thoughts toward death,
infinity, our senses' inability
to see the earth as round,
circling the sun in a universe
implacable as "Might Makes Right,"
ineffable as tomorrow's second r,
incomprehensible as imbroglio's g,
the e that finishes inscrutable,
imponderable, immense,
the terrifying k in "I don't know."
~ Charles Harper Webb,#NFDB
80:I thought you said it didn’t matter either way?” said Harry, with a bitter laugh. “Not to you anyway.” “I shouldn’t have said that,” said Scrimgeour quickly. “It was tactless —” “No, it was honest,” said Harry. “One of the only honest things you’ve said to me. You don’t care whether I live or die, but you do care that I help you convince everyone you’re winning the war against Voldemort. I haven’t forgotten, Minister. . . .” He raised his right fist. There, shining white on the back of his cold hand, were the scars which Dolores Umbridge had forced him to carve into his own flesh: I must not tell lies. “I don’t remember you rushing to my defense when I was trying to tell everyone Voldemort was back. The Ministry wasn’t so keen to be pals last year.” They stood in silence as icy as the ground beneath their feet. The gnome had finally managed to extricate his worm and was now sucking on it happily, leaning against the bottommost branches of the rhododendron bush. “What is Dumbledore up to?” said Scrimgeour brusquely. “Where does he go when he is absent from Hogwarts?” “No idea,” said Harry. “And you wouldn’t tell me if you knew,” said Scrimgeour, “would you?” “No, I wouldn’t,” said Harry. “Well, then, I shall have to see whether I can’t find out by other means.” “You can try,” said Harry indifferently. “But you seem cleverer than Fudge, so I’d have thought you’d have learned from his mistakes. He tried interfering at Hogwarts. You might have noticed he’s not Minister anymore, but Dumbledore’s still headmaster. I’d leave Dumbledore alone, if I were you. ~ J K Rowling, #NFDB
81:As an anology, consider the word structure. In bacteria, the gene is embedded in the genome in precisely that format, structure, with no breaks, stuffers, interpositions, or interruptions. In the human genome, in contrast, the word is interrupted by intermediate stretches of DNA: s...tru...ct...ur...e.
The long stretches of DNA marked by the ellipses (...) do not contain any protein-encoding information. When such an interrupted gene is used to generate a message-i.e., when DNA is used to build RNA-the stuffer frragments are excised from the RNA message, and the RNA is stitched together again with the intervening pieces removed: s...tru...ct...ur...e became simplified to structure. Roberts and Sharp later coined a phrase for the process: gene splicing or RNA splicing (since the RNA message of the gene was "spliced" to removed the stuffer fragments).
At first, this split structure of genes seemed puzzling: Why would an animal genome waste such long stretches of DNA splitting genes into bits and pieces, only to stitch them back into a continuous message? But the inner logic of split genes soon became evident: by splitting genes into modules, a cell could generate bewildering combinations of messages out of a single gene. The word s...tru...c...t...ur...e can be spliced to yield cure and true and so forth, thereby creating vast numbers of variant messages-called isoforms-out of a single gene. From g...e...n...om...e you can use splicing to generate gene, gnome, and om. And modular genes also had an evolutionary advantage: the individual modules from different genes could be mixed and matched to build entirely new kinds of genes (c...om...e...t). Wally Gilbert, the Harvard geneticist, created a new word for these modules; he called them exons. The inbetween stuffer fragments were termed introns. ~ Siddhartha Mukherjee,#NFDB
82:Friendship: the word has come to mean many different things among the various races and cultures of both the Underdark and the surface of the Realms. In Menzoberranzan, friendship is generally born out of mutual profit. While both parties are better off for the union, it remains secure. But loyalty is not a tenet of drow life, and as soon as a friend believes that he will gain more without the other, the union - and likely the other's life - will come to a swift end.
I have had few friends in my life, and if I live a thousand years, I suspect that this will remain true. There is little to lament in this fact, though, for those who have called me friend have been persons of great character and have enriched my existence, given it worth. First there was Zaknafein, my father and mentor who showed me that I was not alone and that I was not incorrect in holding to my beliefs. Zaknafein saved me, from both the blade and the chaotic, evil, fanatic religion that damns my people.
Yet I was no less lost when a handless deep gnome came into my life, a svirfneblin that I had rescued from certain death, many years before, at my brother Dinin's merciless blade. My deed was repaid in full, for when the svirfneblin and I again met, this time in the clutches of his people, I would have been killed - truly would have preferred death - were it not for Belwar Dissengulp.
My time in Blingdenstone, the city of the deep gnomes, was such a short span in the measure of my years. I remember well Belwar's city and his people, and I always shall.
Theirs was the first society I came to know that was based on the strengths of community, not the paranoia of selfish individualism. Together the deep gnomes survive against the perils of the hostile Underdark, labor in their endless toils of mining the stone, and play games that are hardly distinguishable from every other aspect of their rich lives.
Greater indeed are pleasures that are shared.
- Drizzt Do'Urden ~ R A Salvatore,#NFDB
83:There are moments in every relationship that define when two people start to fall in love.
A first glance
A first smile
A first kiss
A first fall…
(I remove the Darth Vader house shoes from my satchel and look down at them.)
You were wearing these during one of those moments.
One of the moments I first started to fall in love with you.
The way you gave me butterflies that morning
Had absolutely nothing to do with anyone else,
and everything to do with you.
I was falling in love with you that morning
because of you.
(I take the next item out of the satchel. When I pull it out and look up, she brings her hands to her mouth in shock.)
This ugly little gnome
With his smug little grin…
He's the reason I had an excuse to invite you into my house.
Into my life.
You took a lot of aggression out on him over those next few months.
I would watch from my window as you would kick him over every time you walked by him.
Poor little guy.
You were so tenacious.
That feisty, aggressive, strong-willed side of you….
The side of you that refused to take crap from this concrete gnome?
The side of you that refused to take crap from me?
I fell in love with that side of you
because of you.
(I set the gnome down on the stage and grab the CD)
This is your favorite CD
‘Layken’s shit.’
Although now I know you intended for shit to be possessive, rather than descriptive.
The banjo started playing through the speakers of your car
and I immediately recognized my favorite band.
Then when I realized it was your favorite band, too?
The fact that these same lyrics inspired both of us?
I fell in love with that about you.
That had absolutely nothing to do with anyone else.
I fell in love with that about you
because of you.
(I take a slip of paper out of the satchel and hold it up. When I look at her, I see Eddie slide her a napkin. I can’t tell from up here, but that can only mean she’s crying.)
This is a receipt I kept.
Only because the item I purchased that night was on the verge of ridiculous.
Chocolate milk on the rocks? Who orders that?
You were different, and you didn’t care.
You were being you.
A piece of me fell in love with you at that moment,
because of you.
This? (I hold up another sheet of paper.)
This I didn’t really like so much.
It’s the poem you wrote about me.
The one you titled 'mean?'
I don’t think I ever told you…
but you made a zero.
And then I kept it
to remind myself of all the things I never want to be to you.
(I pull her shirt from my bag. When I hold it into the light, I sigh into the microphone.)
This is that ugly shirt you wear.
It doesn’t really have anything to do with why I fell in love with you.
I just saw it at your house and thought I’d steal it. ~ Colleen Hoover,#NFDB
84:My office is over here—”
He stopped. Frowned. Looked about. Had to backtrack to the kitchen in order to find the various parties.
Sola’s grandmother had her head in the Sub-Zero refrigerator, rather as if she were a gnome looking for a cool place in the summer.
“Madam?” Assail inquired.
She shut the door and moved on to the floor-to-ceiling cabinets. “There is nothing here. Nothing. What do you eat?”
“Ah . . .” Assail found himself looking at the cousins for aid. “Usually we take our meals in town.”
The scoffing sound certainly appeared like the old-lady equivalent of Fuck that.
“I need the staples.” She pivoted on her little shiny shoes and put her hands on her hips. “Who is taking me to supermarket.”
Not an inquiry. And as she stared up at the three of them, it appeared as though Ehric and his violent killer of a twin were as nonplussed as Assail was.
The evening had been planned out to the minute—and a trip to the local Hannaford was not on the list.
“You two are too thin,” she announced, flicking her hand in the direction of the twins. “You need to eat.”
Assail cleared his throat. “Madam, you have been brought here for your safety.”
He was not going to permit Benloise to up the stakes—and so he’d had to lock down potential collateral damage.
“Not to be a cook.”
“You have already refused the money. I no stay here for free. I earn my keep. That is the way it will be.”
Assail exhaled long and slow. Now he knew where Sola got her independent streak.
“Well?” she demanded. “I no drive. Who takes me.”
“Madam, would you not prefer to rest—”
“Your body rest when dead. Who.”
“We do have an hour,” Ehric hedged.
As Assail glared at the other vampire, the little old lady hitched her purse up on her forearm and nodded. “So he will take me.”
Assail met Sola’s grandmother’s gaze directly and dropped his tone a register just so that the line drawn would be respected. “I pay. Are we clear—you are not to spend a cent.”
She opened her mouth as if to argue, but she was headstrong—not foolish. “Then I do the darning.”
“Our clothes are in sufficient shape—”
Ehric cleared his throat. “Actually, I have a couple of loose buttons. And the Velcro strip on his flak jacket is—”
Assail looked over his shoulder and bared his fangs at the idiot—out of eyesight of Sola’s grandmother, of course. Remarshaling his expression, he turned back around and— Knew he’d lost.
The grandmother had one of those brows cocked, her dark eyes as steady as any foe’s he’d ever faced.
Assail shook his head. “I cannot believe I’m negotiating with you.”
“And you agree to terms.”
“Madam—”
“Then it is settled.”
Assail threw up his hands. “Fine. You have forty-five minutes. That is all.”
“We be back in thirty.” At that, she turned and headed for the door.
In her diminutive wake, the three vampires played ocular Ping-Pong.
“Go,” Assail gritted out. “Both of you.”
The cousins stalked for the garage door—but they didn’t make it.
Sola’s grandmother wheeled around and put her hands on her hips. “Where is your crucifix?”
Assail shook himself. “I beg your pardon?”
“Are you no Catholic?”
My dear sweet woman, we are not human, he thought.
“No, I fear not.”
Laser-beam eyes locked on him. Ehric. Ehric’s brother. “We change this. It is God’s will.”
And out she went, marching through the mudroom, ripping open the door, and disappearing into the garage.
As that heavy steel barrier closed automatically, all Assail could do was blink. ~ J R Ward,#NFDB
85:Dominions Of The Boundary
The Survival Of The Gods
1 Twilight
The gods of Nature abdicate
When man intrudes too far:
The Dryad leaves her woodland state,
And Jove his thunder-car:
No more Apollo reins the sun
Or Neptune rides the sea,
The race of Oread is run,
And Pan has ceased to be:
The formless Winds are roaming through
Druidic grove and vale:
Deserted Asgard and Meru
For Thor and Indra wail:
Majestic Forms oblivion 'scape
As kelpie, sylph, and gnome,
Astarte hides in gentler shape,
And Vestals hearthless roam:
Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers,
Fall from Their Mystic Tree,
And sacrilegious Time devours
Each Principality.
2 Sceptic:
Whatever dramas of the Vast
About our drama play,
Or necromancies from the past
Project their gloom to-day,
We seem to hear the Uncreate
Slowly let this be knownThat man has fashioned all his fate
And stands, on earth, alone:
17
That all he needs was in him stored,
Material and plan;
That ne'er was deity adored
But first was made by man.
3 The Abiding Gods:
But tho' we mumble sceptic saw,
Or sweet old prayers forget;
And tho' we dream of Higher Law,
The gods are living yet:
For they who will no Monitor,
Save One Unnamed, allow,
Allegiance deep to Love or War,
Or Chance or Wind avow:
Avow by no mere cult of names,
No pattering of creeds,
But by the sacrificial flames
Of lifelong thoughts and deeds.
When mediaeval hurricane
The gods in exile drove,
'Thrice-greatest' Hermes and his train
Usurped the seats of Jove:
Where still their Wisdom rules the spheres
Of yet uncharted Law,
By building in our nerves the fears
Our sires in Nature saw:
In other garments everywhere,
Behold, the prophetess,
Clairaudient interpreter,
Clairvoyant Pythoness!
Suburban Delphis for the rich,
The Gnosis for the staid!
Perennial by the road, the witch
Of Endor plies her trade!
18
4 Mystic:
All is not daylight in the day,
Or knowledge in the known;
The life we are, the prayer we pray,
From deep, to deep, is blown.
Though Reason claim omniscient worth
And lush her dogmas thrive:
Our present home is more than earth,
Our senses more than five.
And the mystic who sees the star-folk throng,
Where we but the noonday blue,
Knows no religion yet was wrong
And never a myth untrue.
The wrong road now was the old high way
Of young Truth's caravan;
To-morrow is not to-day, to-day,
Or the baby yet a man.
Though mountain watchmen daily see
Horizons widen far,
Dominions of the Boundary
Have ever ruled, and are.
5 Heracleitic:
The lines of godhood all converge
At last to unity:
And the images of all emerge
From every god we see.
So Hermes here and Venus there
Are Memory, are Fate;
And all are Winds; and the Sirens fair
Mute in the Wisdoms wait.
All life is a stream and mortals stand
On a heaving and passing earth:
And the land of gods is a changing land
As the land that gave it birth.
19
Life is a stream: through a gorge we go
'Tween a deep and a living deep:
Form is the gorge, and change is the flow,
And the source and the mouth are sleep.
6 Historic:
Torrential barbarisms need
Charioteers of Pain:
And wise gods sleep when men recede
To callow youth again.
But in that age-long sleep have waned
A myriad gods, or fled:
Olympic altars are disdained
And Gnostic Wisdom dead.
For what to Vandals or to Huns,
When Rome's red lips were ripe,
Were calm Hellenic Shining Ones,
Or Gnostic Archetype?
Yet Time matured to mellow wine
The Roman-Gothic must,
For Mercy and a Maid Divine
Subdued the hate and lust:
Till Hedonist and Stoic hold
Antique debates anew:
And hither return the virtues old
(Alas! and old vice too!).
Marooned no more, we sail the sea,
Ere sad gods were, we knew:
And from Platonic prows decree'The gods are Me, are You!'
7 Omni-Benevolence:
Yet, shaping slowly through the storm
And bidding darkness fade,
Evolving eyes discern a Form
No clay-creator made:
20
A Symbol Form that mirrors ours,
That is, yet is not, we,
That seems to hint of Higher Powers
Than Fate or Memory:
That takes the image as we gaze
Of the Holiest Ones that were:
For here It looks from Jesus' face,
And from Mohammed's, there:
'Tis Moses, yea, 'tis Krishna's form;
'Tis fire, 'tis star, 'tis sun:
A myriad now Its faces swarm,
Now, All and It are One:
The Chinese 'Way' one watcher sees,
And one a Brooding Dove,
One Baldur, Buddh or SocratesBut always It is Love.
~ Bernard O'Dowd,#NFDB
86:A Lyric Of The Dawn
Alone I list
In the leafy tryst;
Silent the woodlands in their starry sleep—
Silent the phantom wood in waters deep:
No footfall of a wind along the pass
Startles a harebell—stirs a blade of grass.
Yonder the wandering weeds,
Enchanted in the light,
Stand in the gusty hollows, still and white;
Yonder are plumy reeds,
Dusking the border of the clear lagoon;
Far off the silver clifts
Hang in ethereal light below the moon;
Far off the ocean lifts,
Tossing its billows in the misty beam,
And shore-lines whiten, silent as a dream:
I hark for the bird, and all the hushed hills harken:
This is the valley: here the branches darken
The silver-lighted stream.
Hark—
That rapture in the leafy dark!
Who is it shouts upon the bough aswing,
Waking the upland and the valley under?
What carols, like the blazon of a king,
Fill all the dawn with wonder?
Oh, hush,
It is the thrush,
In the deep and woody glen!
Ah, thus the gladness of the gods was sung,
When the old Earth was young;
That rapture rang,
When the first morning on the mountains sprang:
And now he shouts, and the world is young again!
Carol, my king,
On your bough aswing!
Thou art not of these evil days—
Thou art a voice of the world’s lost youth:
Oh, tell me what is duty—what is truth—
How to find God upon these hungry ways;
Tell of the golden prime,
When bird and beast could make a man their friend ;
When men beheld swift deities descend,
Before the race was left alone with Time,
Homesick on Earth, and homeless to the end;
Before great Pan was dead,
Before the naiads fled;
When maidens white with dark eyes shy and bold,
With peals of laughter on the peaks of gold,
Startled the still dawn—
Shone in upon the mountains and were gone,
Their voices fading silverly in depths of forests old.
Sing of the wonders of their woodland ways,
Before the weird earth-hunger of these days,
When there was rippling mirth,
When justice was on Earth,
And light and grandeur of the Golden Age;
When never a heart was sad,
When all from king to herdsman had
A penny for a wage.
Ah, that old time has faded to a dream—
The moon’s fair face is broken in the stream;
Yet shout and carol on, O bird, and let
The exiled race not utterly forget;
Publish thy revelation on the lawns—
Sing ever in the dark ethereal dawns;
Sometime, in some sweet year,
These stormy souls, these men of Earth may hear.
But hark again,
From the secret glen,
That voice of rapture and ethereal youth
Now laden with despair.
Forbear, O bird, forbear:
Is life not terrible enough forsooth?
Cease, cease the mystic song—
No more, no more, the passion and the pain:
It wakes my life to fret against the chain;
It makes me think of all the agéd wrong—
Of joy and the end of joy and the end of all—
Of souls on Earth, and souls beyond recall.
Ah, ah, that voice again!
It makes me think of all these restless men
Called into time—their progress and their goal;
And now, oh now, it sends into my soul
Dreams of a love that might have been for me—
That might have been—and now can never be.
Tell me no more of these—
Tell me of trancéd trees;
(The ghosts, the memories, in pity spare)
Show me the leafy home of the wild bees;
Show me the snowy summits dim in air;
Tell me of things afar
In valleys silent under moon and star:
Dim hollows hushed with night,
The lofty cedars misty in the light,
Wild clusters of the vine,
Wild odors of the pine,
The eagle’s eyrie lifted to the moon—
High places where on quiet afternoon
A shadow swiftens by, a thrilling scream
Startles the cliff, and dies across the woodland to a dream.
Ha, now
He springs from the bough,
It flickers—he is lost!
Out of the copse he sprang;
This is the floating briar where he tossed:
The leaves are yet atremble where he sang
Here a long vista opens—look!
This is the way he took,
Through the pale poplars by the pond:
Hark! he is shouting in the field beyond.
Ho, there he goes
Through the alder close!
He leaves me here behind him in his flight,
And yet my heart goes with him out of sight!
What whispered spell
Of Faëry calls me on from dell to dell?
I hear the voice—it wanders in a dream—
Now in the grove, now on the hill, now on
the fading stream.
Lead on—you know the way
Lead on to Arcady,
O’er fields asleep; by river bank abrim;
Down leafy ways, dewy and cool and dim;
By dripping rocks, dark dwellings of the gnome,
Where hurrying waters dash their crests to foam.
I follow where you lead,
Down winding paths, across the flowery mead,
Down silent hollows where the woodbine blows,
Up water-courses scented by the rose.
I follow the wandering voice—
I follow, I rejoice,
I fade away into the Age of Gold—
We two together lost in forest old.0 ferny and thymy paths, 0 fields of Aidenn,
Canyons and cliffs by mortal feet untrod!
O souls that are weary and are heavy laden,
Here is the peace of God !
Lo! now the clamoring hours are on the way:
Faintly the pine tops redden in the ray;
From vale to vale fleet-footed rumors run,
With sudden apprehension of the sun;
A light wind stirs
The filmy tops of delicate dim firs,
And on the river border blows,
Breaking the shy bud softly to a rose.
Sing out, O throstle, sing:
I follow on, my king:
Lead me forever through the crimson dawn—
Till the world ends, lead me on!
Ho there! he shouts again—he sways—and now,
Upspringing from the bough,
Flashing a glint of dew upon the ground,
Without a sound
He drops into a valley and is gone!
~ Edwin Markham,#NFDB
87:
Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos;
Sedjuvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis.
(Martial, Epigrams 12.84)
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,
I singThis verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If she inspire, and he approve my lays.
Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel
A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle?
O say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd,
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?
In tasks so bold, can little men engage,
And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage?
Sol thro' white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,
And op'd those eyes that must eclipse the day;
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake,
And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the ground,
And the press'd watch return'd a silver sound.
Belinda still her downy pillow press'd,
Her guardian sylph prolong'd the balmy rest:
'Twas he had summon'd to her silent bed
The morning dream that hover'd o'er her head;
A youth more glitt'ring than a birthnight beau,
(That ev'n in slumber caus'd her cheek to glow)
Seem'd to her ear his winning lips to lay,
And thus in whispers said, or seem'd to say.
"Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish'd care
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!
If e'er one vision touch'd thy infant thought,
Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught,
Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen,
The silver token, and the circled green,
Or virgins visited by angel pow'rs,
With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs,
Hear and believe! thy own importance know,
Nor bound thy narrow views to things below.
Some secret truths from learned pride conceal'd,
To maids alone and children are reveal'd:
What tho' no credit doubting wits may give?
The fair and innocent shall still believe.
Know then, unnumber'd spirits round thee fly,
The light militia of the lower sky;
These, though unseen, are ever on the wing,
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the Ring.
Think what an equipage thou hast in air,
And view with scorn two pages and a chair.
As now your own, our beings were of old,
And once inclos'd in woman's beauteous mould;
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair
From earthly vehicles to these of air.
Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled,
That all her vanities at once are dead;
Succeeding vanities she still regards,
And tho' she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards.
Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive,
And love of ombre, after death survive.
For when the fair in all their pride expire,
To their first elements their souls retire:
The sprites of fiery termagants in flame
Mount up, and take a Salamander's name.
Soft yielding minds to water glide away,
And sip with Nymphs, their elemental tea.
The graver prude sinks downward to a Gnome,
In search of mischief still on earth to roam.
The light coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair,
And sport and flutter in the fields of air.
Know further yet; whoever fair and chaste
Rejects mankind, is by some sylph embrac'd:
For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease
Assume what sexes and what shapes they please.
What guards the purity of melting maids,
In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades,
Safe from the treach'rous friend, the daring spark,
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark,
When kind occasion prompts their warm desires,
When music softens, and when dancing fires?
'Tis but their sylph, the wise celestials know,
Though honour is the word with men below.
Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their face,
For life predestin'd to the gnomes' embrace.
These swell their prospects and exalt their pride,
When offers are disdain'd, and love denied:
Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain,
While peers, and dukes, and all their sweeping train,
And garters, stars, and coronets appear,
And in soft sounds 'Your Grace' salutes their ear.
'Tis these that early taint the female soul,
Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll,
Teach infant cheeks a bidden blush to know,
And little hearts to flutter at a beau.
Oft, when the world imagine women stray,
The Sylphs through mystic mazes guide their way,
Thro' all the giddy circle they pursue,
And old impertinence expel by new.
What tender maid but must a victim fall
To one man's treat, but for another's ball?
When Florio speaks, what virgin could withstand,
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand?
With varying vanities, from ev'ry part,
They shift the moving toyshop of their heart;
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive,
Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive.
This erring mortals levity may call,
Oh blind to truth! the Sylphs contrive it all.
Of these am I, who thy protection claim,
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name.
Late, as I rang'd the crystal wilds of air,
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star
I saw, alas! some dread event impend,
Ere to the main this morning sun descend,
But Heav'n reveals not what, or how, or where:
Warn'd by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware!
This to disclose is all thy guardian can.
Beware of all, but most beware of man!"
He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too long,
Leap'd up, and wak'd his mistress with his tongue.
'Twas then, Belinda, if report say true,
Thy eyes first open'd on a billet-doux;
Wounds, charms, and ardors were no sooner read,
But all the vision vanish'd from thy head.
And now, unveil'd, the toilet stands display'd,
Each silver vase in mystic order laid.
First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores
With head uncover'd, the cosmetic pow'rs.
A heav'nly image in the glass appears,
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears;
Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side,
Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.
Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here
The various off'rings of the world appear;
From each she nicely culls with curious toil,
And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The tortoise here and elephant unite,
Transform'd to combs, the speckled and the white.
Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms;
The fair each moment rises in her charms,
Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face;
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The busy Sylphs surround their darling care;
These set the head, and those divide the hair,
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown;
And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own.
~ Alexander Pope, The Rape of the Lock
,#NFDB
88:The Rape Of The Lock: Canto 1
Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos;
Sedjuvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis.
(Martial, Epigrams 12.84)
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,
I sing--This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If she inspire, and he approve my lays.
Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel
A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle?
O say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd,
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?
In tasks so bold, can little men engage,
And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage?
Sol thro' white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,
And op'd those eyes that must eclipse the day;
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake,
And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the ground,
And the press'd watch return'd a silver sound.
Belinda still her downy pillow press'd,
Her guardian sylph prolong'd the balmy rest:
'Twas he had summon'd to her silent bed
The morning dream that hover'd o'er her head;
A youth more glitt'ring than a birthnight beau,
(That ev'n in slumber caus'd her cheek to glow)
Seem'd to her ear his winning lips to lay,
And thus in whispers said, or seem'd to say.
"Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish'd care
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!
If e'er one vision touch'd thy infant thought,
Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught,
Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen,
The silver token, and the circled green,
Or virgins visited by angel pow'rs,
With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs,
221
Hear and believe! thy own importance know,
Nor bound thy narrow views to things below.
Some secret truths from learned pride conceal'd,
To maids alone and children are reveal'd:
What tho' no credit doubting wits may give?
The fair and innocent shall still believe.
Know then, unnumber'd spirits round thee fly,
The light militia of the lower sky;
These, though unseen, are ever on theg,
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the Ring.
Think what an equipage thou hast in air,
And view with scorn two pages and a chair.
As now your own, our beings were of old,
And once inclos'd in woman's beauteous mould;
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair
From earthly vehicles to these of air.
Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled,
That all her vanities at once are dead;
Succeeding vanities she still regards,
And tho' she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards.
Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive,
And love of ombre, after death survive.
For when the fair in all their pride expire,
To their first elements their souls retire:
The sprites of fiery termagants in flame
Mount up, and take a Salamander's name.
Soft yielding minds to water glide away,
And sip with Nymphs, their elemental tea.
The graver prude sinks downward to a Gnome,
In search of mischief still on earth to roam.
The light coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair,
And sport and flutter in the fields of air.
Know further yet; whoever fair and chaste
Rejects mankind, is by some sylph embrac'd:
For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease
Assume what sexes and what shapes they please.
What guards the purity of melting maids,
In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades,
Safe from the treach'rous friend, the daring spark,
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark,
When kind occasion prompts their warm desires,
222
When music softens, and when dancing fires?
'Tis but their sylph, the wise celestials know,
Though honour is the word with men below.
Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their face,
For life predestin'd to the gnomes' embrace.
These swell their prospects and exalt their pride,
When offers are disdain'd, and love denied:
Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain,
While peers, and dukes, and all their sweeping train,
And garters, stars, and coronets appear,
And in soft sounds 'Your Grace' salutes their ear.
'Tis these that early taint the female soul,
Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll,
Teach infant cheeks a bidden blush to know,
And little hearts to flutter at a beau.
Oft, when the world imagine women stray,
The Sylphs through mystic mazes guide their way,
Thro' all the giddy circle they pursue,
And old impertinence expel by new.
What tender maid but must a victim fall
To one man's treat, but for another's ball?
When Florio speaks, what virgin could withstand,
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand?
With varying vanities, from ev'ry part,
They shift the moving toyshop of their heart;
Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword-knots strive,
Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive.
This erring mortals levity may call,
Oh blind to truth! the Sylphs contrive it all.
Of these am I, who thy protection claim,
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name.
Late, as I rang'd the crystal wilds of air,
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star
I saw, alas! some dread event impend,
Ere to the main this morning sun descend,
But Heav'n reveals not what, or how, or where:
Warn'd by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware!
This to disclose is all thy guardian can.
223
Beware of all, but most beware of man!"
He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too long,
Leap'd up, and wak'd his mistress with his tongue.
'Twas then, Belinda, if report say true,
Thy eyes first open'd on a billet-doux;
Wounds, charms, and ardors were no sooner read,
But all the vision vanish'd from thy head.
And now, unveil'd, the toilet stands display'd,
Each silver vase in mystic order laid.
First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores
With head uncover'd, the cosmetic pow'rs.
A heav'nly image in the glass appears,
To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears;
Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side,
Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.
Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here
The various off'rings of the world appear;
From each she nicely culls with curious toil,
And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
The tortoise here and elephant unite,
Transform'd to combs, the speckled and the white.
Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms;
The fair each moment rises in her charms,
Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face;
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The busy Sylphs surround their darling care;
These set the head, and those divide the hair,
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown;
And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own.
~ Alexander Pope,#NFDB
89:The Rape Of The Lock: Canto 4
But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppress'd,
And secret passions labour'd in her breast.
Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd alive,
Not scornful virgins who their charms survive,
Not ardent lovers robb'd of all their bliss,
Not ancient ladies when refus'd a kiss,
Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,
Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinn'd awry,
E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair,
As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravish'd hair.
For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew,
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew,
Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite,
As ever sullied the fair face of light,
Down to the central earth, his proper scene,
Repair'd to search the gloomy cave of Spleen.
Swift on his sooty pinions flits the Gnome,
And in a vapour reach'd the dismal dome.
No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows,
The dreaded East is all the wind that blows.
Here, in a grotto, shelter'd close from air,
And screen'd in shades from day's detested glare,
She sighs for ever on her pensive bed,
Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.
Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place,
But diff'ring far in figure and in face.
Here stood Ill Nature like an ancient maid,
Her wrinkled form in black and white array'd;
With store of pray'rs, for mornings, nights, and noons,
Her hand is fill'd; her bosom with lampoons.
There Affectation, with a sickly mien,
Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen,
Practis'd to lisp, and hang the head aside,
Faints into airs, and languishes with pride,
On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe,
234
Wrapp'd in a gown, for sickness, and for show.
The fair ones feel such maladies as these,
When each new night-dress gives a new disease.
A constant vapour o'er the palace flies;
Strange phantoms, rising as the mists arise;
Dreadful, as hermit's dreams in haunted shades,
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids.
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires:
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes,
And crystal domes, and angels in machines.
Unnumber'd throngs on ev'ry side are seen,
Of bodies chang'd to various forms by Spleen.
Here living teapots stand, one arm held out,
One bent; the handle this, and that the spout:
A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod walks;
Here sighs a jar, and there a goose pie talks;
Men prove with child, as pow'rful fancy works,
And maids turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks.
Safe pass'd the Gnome through this fantastic band,
A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand.
Then thus address'd the pow'r: "Hail, wayward Queen!
Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen:
Parent of vapours and of female wit,
Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit,
On various tempers act by various ways,
Make some take physic, others scribble plays;
Who cause the proud their visits to delay,
And send the godly in a pet to pray.
A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r disdains,
And thousands more in equal mirth maintains.
But oh! if e'er thy gnome could spoil a grace,
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face,
Like citron waters matrons' cheeks inflame,
Or change complexions at a losing game;
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,
Or caus'd suspicion when no soul was rude,
Or discompos'd the head-dress of a prude,
235
Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease,
Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease:
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin;
That single act gives half the world the spleen."
The goddess with a discontented air
Seems to reject him, though she grants his pray'r.
A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds,
Like that where once Ulysses held the winds;
There she collects the force of female lungs,
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues.
A vial next she fills with fainting fears,
Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.
The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away,
Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day.
Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found,
Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound.
Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent,
And all the Furies issu'd at the vent.
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire.
"Oh wretched maid!" she spread her hands, and cried,
(While Hampton's echoes, "Wretched maid!" replied,
"Was it for this you took such constant care
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare?
For this your locks in paper durance bound,
For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd around?
For this with fillets strain'd your tender head,
And bravely bore the double loads of lead?
Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair,
While the fops envy, and the ladies stare!
Honour forbid! at whose unrivall'd shrine
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all, our sex resign.
Methinks already I your tears survey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already see you a degraded toast,
And all your honour in a whisper lost!
How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend?
'Twill then be infamy to seem your friend!
And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize,
Expos'd through crystal to the gazing eyes,
236
And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays,
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?
Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park Circus grow,
And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow;
Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall,
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!"
She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
And bids her beau demand the precious hairs:
(Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane)
With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face,
He first the snuffbox open'd, then the case,
And thus broke out--"My Lord, why, what the devil?
Z{-}{-}{-}ds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you must be civil!
Plague on't! 'tis past a jest--nay prithee, pox!
Give her the hair"--he spoke, and rapp'd his box.
"It grieves me much," replied the peer again,
"Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain.
But by this lock, this sacred lock I swear,
(Which never more shall join its parted hair;
Which never more its honours shall renew,
Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew)
That while my nostrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear."
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread
The long-contended honours of her head.
But Umbriel, hateful gnome! forbears not so;
He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow.
Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears,
Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown'd in tears;
On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping head,
Which, with a sigh, she rais'd; and thus she said:
"For ever curs'd be this detested day,
Which snatch'd my best, my fav'rite curl away!
Happy! ah ten times happy, had I been,
If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen!
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid,
By love of courts to num'rous ills betray'd.
237
Oh had I rather unadmir'd remain'd
In some lone isle, or distant northern land;
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,
Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste bohea!
There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye,
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam?
Oh had I stay'd, and said my pray'rs at home!
'Twas this, the morning omens seem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tott'ring china shook without a wind,
Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind!
A Sylph too warn'd me of the threats of fate,
In mystic visions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs!
My hands shall rend what ev'n thy rapine spares:
These, in two sable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck.
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own;
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal shears demands
And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands.
Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these!"
~ Alexander Pope,#NFDB
90:Behind The Arras
I like the old house tolerably well,
Where I must dwell
Like a familiar gnome;
And yet I never shall feel quite at home.
I love to roam.
Day after day I loiter and explore
From door to door;
So many treasures lure
The curious mind. What histories obscure
They must immure!
I hardly know which room I care for best;
This fronting west,
With the strange hills in view,
Where the great sun goes,—where I may go too,
When my lease is through,—
Or this one for the morning and the east,
Where a man may feast
His eyes on looming sails,
And be the first to catch their foreign hails
Or spy their bales
Then the pale summer twilights towards the pole!
It thrills my soul
With wonder and delight,
When gold-green shadows walk the world at night,
So still, so bright.
There at the window many a time of year,
Strange faces peer,
Solemn though not unkind,
Their wits in search of something left behind
Time out of mind;
As if they once had lived here, and stole back
To the window crack
For a peep which seems to say,
'Good fortune, brother, in your house of clay!'
59
And then, 'Good day!'
I hear their footsteps on the gravel walk,
Their scraps of talk,
And hurrying after, reach
Only the crazy sea-drone of the beach
In endless speech.
And often when the autumn noons are still,
By swale and hill
I see their gipsy signs,
Trespassing somewhere on my border lines;
With what designs?
I forth afoot; but when I reach the place,
Hardly a trace,
Save the soft purple haze
Of smouldering camp-fires, any hint betrays
Who went these ways.
Or tatters of pale aster blue, descried
By the roadside,
Reveal whither they fled;
Or the swamp maples, here and there a shred
Of Indian red.
But most of all, the marvellous tapestry
Engrosses me,
Where such strange things are rife,
Fancies of beasts and flowers, and love and strife,
Woven to the life;
Degraded shapes and splendid seraph forms,
And teeming swarms
Of creatures gauzy dim
That cloud the dusk, and painted fish that swim,
At the weaver's whim;
And
And
And
And
wonderful birds that wheel and hang in the air;
beings with hair,
moving eyes in the face,
white bone teeth and hideous grins, who race
60
From place to place;
They build great temples to their John-a-nod,
And fume and plod
To deck themselves with gold,
And paint themselves like chattels to be sold,
Then turn to mould.
Sometimes they seem almost as real as I;
I hear them sigh;
I see them bow with grief,
Or dance for joy like any aspen leaf;
But that is brief.
They have mad wars and phantom marriages;
Nor seem to guess
There are dimensions still,
Beyond thought's reach, though not beyond love's will,
For soul to fill.
And some I call my friends, and make believe
Their spirits grieve,
Brood, and rejoice with mine;
I talk to them in phrases quaint and fine
Over the wine;
I tell them all my secrets; touch their hands;
One understands
Perhaps. How hard he tries
To speak! And yet those glorious mild eyes,
His best replies!
I even have my cronies, one or two,
My cherished few.
But ah, they do not stay!
For the sun fades them and they pass away,
As I grow gray.
Yet while they last how actual they seem!
Their faces beam;
I give them all their names,
61
Bertram and Gilbert, Louis, Frank and James,
Each with his aims;
One thinks he is a poet, and writes verse
His friends rehearse;
Another is full of law;
A third sees pictures which his hand can draw
Without a flaw.
Strangest of all, they never rest. Day long
They shift and throng,
Moved by invisible will,
Like a great breath which puffs across my sill,
And then is still;
It shakes my lovely manikins on the wall;
Squall after squall,
Gust upon crowding gust,
It sweeps them willy nilly like blown dust
With glory or lust.
It is the world-ghost, the time-spirit, come
None knows wherefrom,
The viewless draughty tide
And wash of being. I hear it yaw and glide,
And then subside,
Along these ghostly corridors and halls
Like faint footfalls;
The hangings stir in the air;
And when I start and challenge, 'Who goes there?'
It answers, 'Where?'
The wail and sob and moan of the sea's dirge,
Its plangor and surge;
The awful biting sough
62
Of drifted snows along some arctic bluff,
That veer and luff,
And have the vacant boding human cry,
As they go by;—
Is it a banished soul
Dredging the dark like a distracted mole
Under a knoll?
Like some invisible henchman old and gray,
Day after day
I hear it come and go,
With stealthy swift unmeaning to and fro,
Muttering low,
Ceaseless and daft and terrible and blind,
Like a lost mind.
I often chill with fear
When I bethink me, What if it should peer
At my shoulder here!
Perchance he drives the merry-go-rou nd whose track
Is the zodiac;
His name is No-man's-fri end;
And his gabbling parrot-talk has neither trend,
Beginning, nor end.
A prince of madness too, I'd cry, 'A rat!'
And lunge thereat,—
Let out at one swift thrust
The cunning arch-delusio n of the dust
I so mistrust,
But that I fear I should disclose a face
Wearing the trace
Of my own human guise,
63
Piteous, unharmful, loving, sad, and wise
With the speaking eyes.
I would the house were rid of his grim pranks,
Moaning from banks
Of pine trees in the moon,
Startling the silence like a demoniac loon
At dead of noon.
Or whispering his fool-talk to the leaves
About my eaves.
And yet how can I know
'T is not a happy Ariel masking so
In mocking woe?
Then with a little broken laugh I say,
Snatching away
The curtain where he grinned
(My feverish sight thought) like a sin unsinned,
'Only the wind!'
Yet often too he steals so softly by.
With half a sigh,
I deem he must be mild,
Fair as a woman, gentle as a child,
And forest wild.
Passing the door where an old wind-harp swings,
With its five strings,
Contrived long years ago
By my first predecessor bent to show
His handcraft so,
He lay his fingers on the aeolian wire,
As a core of fire
Is laid upon the blast
64
To kindle and glow and fill the purple vast
Of dark at last.
Weird wise, and low, piercing and keen and glad,
Or dim and sad
As a forgotten strain
Born when the broken legions of the rain
Swept through the plain—
He plays, like some dread veiled mysteriarch,
Lighting the dark,
Bidding the spring grow warm,
The gendering merge and loosing of spirit in form,
Peace out of storm.
For music is the sacrament of love;
He broods above
The virgin silence, till
She yields for rapture shuddering, yearning still
To his sweet will.
I hear him sing, 'Your harp is like a mesh,
Woven of flesh
And spread within the shoal
Of life, where runs the tide-race of the soul
In my control.
'Though my wild way may ruin what it bends,
It makes amends
To the frail downy clocks,
Telling their seed a secret that unlocks
The granite rocks.
'The womb of silence to the crave of sound
Is heaven unfound,
Till I, to soothe and slake
65
Being's most utter and imperious ache,
Bid rhythm awake.
'If with such agonies of bliss, my kin,
I enter in
Your prison house of sense,
With what a joyous freed intelligence
I shall go hence.'
I need no more to guess the weaver's name,
Nor ask his aim,
Who hung each hall and room
With swarthy-ting ed vermilion upon gloom;
I know that loom.
Give me a little space and time enough,
From ravelings rough
I could revive, reweave,
A fabric of beauty art might well believe
Were past retrieve.
O men and women in that rich design,
Sleep-soft, sun-fine,
Dew-tenuous and free,
A tone of the infinite wind-themes of the sea,
Borne in to me,
Reveals how you were woven to the might
Of shadow and light.
You are the dream of One
Who loves to haunt and yet appears to shun
My door in the sun;
As the white roving sea tern fleck and skim
The morning's rim;
Or the dark thrushes clear
66
Their flutes of music leisurely and sheer,
Then hush to hear.
I know him when the last red brands of day
Smoulder away,
And when the vernal showers
Bring back the heart to all my valley flowers
In the soft hours.
O hand of mine and brain of mine, be yours,
While time endures,
To acquiesce and learn!
For what we best may dare and drudge and yearn,
Let soul discern.
So, fellows, we shall reach the gusty gate,
Early or late,
And part without remorse,
A cadence dying down unto its source
In music's course;
You to the perfect rhythms of flowers and birds,
Colors and words,
The heart-beats of the earth,
To be remoulded always of one worth
From birth to birth;
I to the broken rhythm of thought and man,
The sweep and span
Of memory and hope
About the orbit where they still must grope
For wider scope,
To be through thousand springs restored, renewed,
With love imbrued,
With increments of will
67
Made strong, perceiving unattainment still
From each new skill.
Always the flawless beauty, always the chord
Of the Overword,
Dominant, pleading, sure,
No truth too small to save and make endure.
No good too poor!
And since no mortal can at last disdain
That sweet refrain,
But lets go strife and care,
Borne like a strain of bird notes on the air,
The wind knows where;
Some quiet April evening soft and strange,
When comes the change
No spirit can deplore,
I shall be one with all I was before,
In death once more.
~ Bliss William Carman,#NFDB
91:Bahaman
To T. B. M.
IN the crowd that thronged the pierhead, come to see their friends take ship
For new ventures in seafaring, when the hawsers were let slip
And we swung out in the current, with good-byes on every lip,
'Midst the waving caps and kisses, as we dropped down with the tide
And the faces blurred and faded, last of all your hand I spied
Signalling, Farewell, Good fortune! then my heart rose up and cried:
'While the world holds one such comrade, whose sweet durable regard
Would so speed my safe departure, lest home-leaving should be hard,
What care I who keeps the ferry, whether Charon or Cunard!'
Then we cleared the bar, and laid her on the course, the thousand miles
From the Hook to the Bahamas, from midwinter to the isles
Where frost never laid a finger, and eternal summer smiles.
Three days through the surly storm-beat, while the surf-heads threshed and
flew,
And the rolling mountains thundered to the trample of the screw,
The black liner heaved and scuffled and strained on, as if she knew.
On the fourth, the round blue morning sparkled there, all light and breeze,
Clean and tenuous as a bubble blown from two immensities,
Shot and coloured with sheer sunlight and the magic of those seas.
In that bright new world of wonder, it was life enough to laze
All day underneath the awnings, and through half-shut eyes to gaze
At the marvel of the sea-blue; and I faltered for a phrase
Should half give you the impression, tell you how the very tint
Justified your finest daring, as if Nature gave the hint,
'Plodders, see Imagination set his pallet without stint!'
Cobalt, gobelin, and azure, turquoise, sapphire, indigo,
Changing from the spectral bluish of a shadow upon snow
To the deep of Canton china,—one unfathomable glow.
And the flying-fish,—to see them in a scurry lift and flee,
Silvery as the foam they sprang from, fragile people of the sea,
Whom their heart's great aspiration for a moment had set free.
From the dim and cloudy ocean, thunder-centred, rosy-verged,
At the lord sun's Sursum Corda, as implicit impulse urged,
Frail as vapour, fine as music, these bright spirit-things emerged;
Like those flocks of small white snowbirds we have seen start up before
Our brisk walk in winter weather by the snowy Scituate shore;
And the tiny shining sea-folk brought you back to me once more.
So we ran down Abaco; and passing that tall sentinel
54
Black against the sundown, sighted, as the sudden twilight fell,
Nassau light; and the warm darkness breathed on us from breeze and swell.
Stand-by bell and stop of engine; clank of anchor going down;
And we're riding in the roadstead off a twinkling-lighted town,
Low dark shore with boom of breakers and white beach the palm-trees crown.
In the soft wash of the sea air, on the long swing of the tide,
Here for once the dream came true, the voyage ended close beside
The Hesperides in moonlight on mid-ocean where they ride!
And those Hesperidean joy-lands were not strange to you and me.
Just beyond the lost horizon, every time we looked to sea
From Testudo, there they floated, looming plain as plain could be.
Who believed us? 'Myth and fable are a science in our time.'
'Never saw the sea that colour. ''Never heard of such a rhyme.'
Well, we've proved it, prince of idlers,—knowledge wrong and faith sublime.
Right were you to follow fancy, give the vaguer instinct room
In a heaven of clear colour, where the spirit might assume
All her elemental beauty, past the fact of sky or bloom.
Paint the vision, not the view,—the touch that bids the sense good-bye,
Lifting spirit at a bound beyond the frontiers of the eye,
To suburb unguessed dominions of the soul's credulity.
Never yet was painter, poet, born content with things that are,—
Must divine from every beauty other beauties greater far,
Till the arc of truth be circled, and her lantern blaze, a star.
This alone is art's ambition, to arrest with form and hue
Dominant ungrasped ideals, known to credence, hid from view,
In a mimic of creation,—to the life, yet fairer too,—
Where the soul may take her pleasure, contemplate perfection's plan,
And returning bring the tidings of his heritage to man,—
News of continents uncharted she has stood tip-toe to scan.
So she fires his gorgeous fancy with a cadence, with a line,
Till the artist wakes within him, and the toiler grows divine,
Shaping the rough world about him nearer to some fair design.
Every heart must have its Indies,—an inheritance unclaimed
In the unsubstantial treasure of a province never named,
Loved and longed for through a lifetime, dull, laborious, and unfamed,
Never wholly disillusioned. Spiritus, read, haeres sit
Patriæ quæ tristia mescit. This alone the great king writ
O'er the tomb of her he cherished in this fair world she must quit.
Love in one farewell for ever, taking counsel to implore
Best of human benedictions on its dead, could ask no more.
The heart's country for a dwelling, this at last is all our lore.
But the fairies at your cradle gave you craft to build a home
55
In the wide bright world of colour, with the cunning of a gnome;
Blessed you so above your fellows of the tribe that still must roam.
Still across the world they go, tormented by a strange unrest,
And the unabiding spirit knocks for ever at their breast,
Bidding them away to fortune in some undiscovered West;
While at home you sit and call the Orient up at your command,
Master of the iris seas and Prospero of the purple land.
Listen, here was one world-corner matched the cunning of your hand.
Not, my friend, since we were children, and all wonder-tales were true,—
Jason, Hengest, Hiawatha, fairy prince or pirate crew—
Was there ever such a landing in a country strange and new?
Up the harbour where there gathered, fought and revelled many a year,
Swarthy Spaniard, lost Lucayan, Loyalist, and Buccaneer,
'Once upon a time' was now, and 'far across the sea' was here.
Tropic moonlight, in great floods and fathoms pouring through the trees
On a ground as white as sea-froth its fantastic traceries,
While the poincianas, rustling like the rain, moved in the breeze,
Showed a city, coral-streeted, melting in the mellow shine,
Built of creamstone and enchantment, fairy work in every line,
In a velvet atmosphere that bids the heart her haste resign.
Thanks to Julian Hospitator, saint of travellers by sea,
Roving minstrels and all boatmen,—just such vagabonds as we—
On the shaded wharf we landed, rich in leisure, hale and free.
What more would you for God's creatures, but the little tide of sleep?
In a clean white room I wakened, saw the careless sunlight peep
Through the roses at the window, lay and listened to the creep
Of the soft wind in the shutters, heard the palm-tops stirring high,
And that strange mysterious shuffle of the slipshod foot go by.
In a world all glad with colour, gladdest of all things was I;
In a quiet convent garden, tranquil as the day is long,
Here to sit without intrusion of the world or strife or wrong,—
Watch the lizards chase each other, and the green bird make his song;
Warmed and freshened, lulled yet quickened in that Paradisal air,
Motherly and uncapricious, healing every hurt or care,
Wooing body, mind, and spirit, firmly back to strong and fair;
By the Angelus reminded, silence waits the touch of sound,
As the soul waits her awaking to some Gloria profound;
Till the mighty Southern Cross is lighted at the day's last bound.
And if ever your fair fortune make you good Saint Vincent's guest,
At his door take leave of trouble, welcomed to his decent rest,
Of his ordered peace partaker, by his solace healed and blessed;
Where this flowered cloister garden, hidden from the passing view,
56
Lies behind its yellow walls in prayer the holy hours through:
And beyond, that fairy harbour, floored in malachite and blue.
In that old white-streeted city gladness has her way at last
Under burdens finely poised, and with a freedom unsurpassed,
Move the naked-footed bearers in the blue day deep and vast.
This is Bay Street broad and low-built, basking in its quiet trade;
Here the sponging fleet is anchored; here shell trinkets are displayed;
Here the cable news is posted daily; here the market's made,
With its oranges from Andros, heaps of yam and tamarind,
Red-juiced shadducks from the Current, ripened in the long trade-wind,
Gaudy fish from their sea-gardens, yellow-tailed and azure-tinned.
Here a group of diving boys in bronze and ivory, bright and slim,
Sparkling copper in the high noon, dripping loin-cloth, polished limb,
Poised a moment and then plunged in that deep daylight green and dim.
Here the great rich Spanish laurels spread across the public square
Their dense, solemn shade; and near by, half within the open glare,
Mannerly in their clean cottons, knots of blacks are waiting there
By the court-house, where a magistrate is hearing cases through,
Dealing justice prompt and level, as the sturdy English do,—
One more tent-peg of the Empire, holding that great shelter true.
Last the picture from the town's end, palmed and foam-fringed through the cane,
Where the gorgeous sunset yellows pour aloft and spill and stain
The pure amethystine sea and far faint islands of the main.
Loveliest of the Lucayas, peace be yours till time be done!
In the gray North I shall see you, with your white streets in the sun,
Old pink walls and purple gateways, where the lizards bask and run,
Where the great hibiscus blossoms in their scarlet loll and glow,
And the idling gay bandannas through the hot noons come and go,
While the ever-stirring sea-wind sways the palm-tops to and fro.
Far from stress and storm for ever, dream behind your jalousies,
While the long white lines of breakers crumble on your reefs and keys,
And the crimson oleanders burn against the peacock seas.
~ Bliss William Carman,#NFDB
92: III - THE STUDY
FAUST
(Entering, with the poodle.)
Behind me, field and meadow sleeping,
I leave in deep, prophetic night,
Within whose dread and holy keeping
The better soul awakes to light.
The wild desires no longer win us,
The deeds of passion cease to chain;
The love of Man revives within us,
The love of God revives again.
Be still, thou poodle; make not such racket and riot!
Why at the threshold wilt snuffing be?
Behind the stove repose thee in quiet!
My softest cushion I give to thee.
As thou, up yonder, with running and leaping
Amused us hast, on the mountain's crest,
So now I take thee into my keeping,
A welcome, but also a silent, guest.
Ah, when, within our narrow chamber
The lamp with friendly lustre glows,
Flames in the breast each faded ember,
And in the heart, itself that knows.
Then Hope again lends sweet assistance,
And Reason then resumes her speech:
One yearns, the rivers of existence,
The very founts of Life, to reach.
Snarl not, poodle! To the sound that rises,
The sacred tones that my soul embrace,
This bestial noise is out of place.
We are used to see, that Man despises
What he never comprehends,
And the Good and the Beautiful vilipends,
Finding them often hard to measure:
Will the dog, like man, snarl his displeasure?
But ah! I feel, though will thereto be stronger,
Contentment flows from out my breast no longer.
Why must the stream so soon run dry and fail us,
And burning thirst again assail us?
Therein I've borne so much probation!
And yet, this want may be supplied us;
We call the Supernatural to guide us;
We pine and thirst for Revelation,
Which nowhere worthier is, more nobly sent,
Than here, in our New Testament.
I feel impelled, its meaning to determine,
With honest purpose, once for all,
The hallowed Original
To change to my beloved German.
(He opens a volume, and commences.)
'Tis written: "In the Beginning was the Word."
Here am I balked: who, now can help afford?
The Word?impossible so high to rate it;
And otherwise must I translate it.
If by the Spirit I am truly taught.
Then thus: "In the Beginning was the Thought"
This first line let me weigh completely,
Lest my impatient pen proceed too fleetly.
Is it the Thought which works, creates, indeed?
"In the Beginning was the Power," I read.
Yet, as I write, a warning is suggested,
That I the sense may not have fairly tested.
The Spirit aids me: now I see the light!
"In the Beginning was the Act," I write.
If I must share my chamber with thee,
Poodle, stop that howling, prithee!
Cease to bark and bellow!
Such a noisy, disturbing fellow
I'll no longer suffer near me.
One of us, dost hear me!
Must leave, I fear me.
No longer guest-right I bestow;
The door is open, art free to go.
But what do I see in the creature?
Is that in the course of nature?
Is't actual fact? or Fancy's shows?
How long and broad my poodle grows!
He rises mightily:
A canine form that cannot be!
What a spectre I've harbored thus!
He resembles a hippopotamus,
With fiery eyes, teeth terrible to see:
O, now am I sure of thee!
For all of thy half-hellish brood
The Key of Solomon is good.
SPIRITS (in the corridor)
Some one, within, is caught!
Stay without, follow him not!
Like the fox in a snare,
Quakes the old hell-lynx there.
Take heedlook about!
Back and forth hover,
Under and over,
And he'll work himself out.
If your aid avail him,
Let it not fail him;
For he, without measure,
Has wrought for our pleasure.
FAUST
First, to encounter the beast,
The Words of the Four be addressed:
Salamander, shine glorious!
Wave, Undine, as bidden!
Sylph, be thou hidden!
Gnome, be laborious!
Who knows not their sense
(These elements),
Their properties
And power not sees,
No mastery he inherits
Over the Spirits.
Vanish in flaming ether,
Salamander!
Flow foamingly together,
Undine!
Shine in meteor-sheen,
Sylph!
Bring help to hearth and shelf.
Incubus! Incubus!
Step forward, and finish thus!
Of the Four, no feature
Lurks in the creature.
Quiet he lies, and grins disdain:
Not yet, it seems, have I given him pain.
Now, to undisguise thee,
Hear me exorcise thee!
Art thou, my gay one,
Hell's fugitive stray-one?
The sign witness now,
Before which they bow,
The cohorts of Hell!
With hair all bristling, it begins to swell.
Base Being, hearest thou?
Knowest and fearest thou
The One, unoriginate,
Named inexpressibly,
Through all Heaven impermeate,
Pierced irredressibly!
Behind the stove still banned,
See it, an elephant, expand!
It fills the space entire,
Mist-like melting, ever faster.
'Tis enough: ascend no higher,
Lay thyself at the feet of the Master!
Thou seest, not vain the threats I bring thee:
With holy fire I'll scorch and sting thee!
Wait not to know
The threefold dazzling glow!
Wait not to know
The strongest art within my hands!
MEPHISTOPHELES
(while the vapor is dissipating, steps forth from behind the
stove, in the costume of a Travelling Scholar.)
Why such a noise? What are my lord's commands?
FAUST
This was the poodle's real core,
A travelling scholar, then? The casus is diverting.
MEPHISTOPHELES
The learned gentleman I bow before:
You've made me roundly sweat, that's certain!
FAUST
What is thy name?
MEPHISTOPHELES
A question small, it seems,
For one whose mind the Word so much despises;
Who, scorning all external gleams,
The depths of being only prizes.
FAUST
With all you gentlemen, the name's a test,
Whereby the nature usually is expressed.
Clearly the latter it implies
In names like Beelzebub, Destroyer, Father of Lies.
Who art thou, then?
MEPHISTOPHELES
Part of that Power, not understood,
Which always wills the Bad, and always works the Good.
FAUST
What hidden sense in this enigma lies?
MEPHISTOPHELES
I am the Spirit that Denies!
And justly so: for all things, from the Void
Called forth, deserve to be destroyed:
'Twere better, then, were naught created.
Thus, all which you as Sin have rated,
Destruction,aught with Evil blent,
That is my proper element.
FAUST
Thou nam'st thyself a part, yet show'st complete to me?
MEPHISTOPHELES
The modest truth I speak to thee.
If Man, that microcosmic fool, can see
Himself a whole so frequently,
Part of the Part am I, once All, in primal Night,
Part of the Darkness which brought forth the Light,
The haughty Light, which now disputes the space,
And claims of Mother Night her ancient place.
And yet, the struggle fails; since Light, howe'er it weaves,
Still, fettered, unto bodies cleaves:
It flows from bodies, bodies beautifies;
By bodies is its course impeded;
And so, but little time is needed,
I hope, ere, as the bodies die, it dies!
FAUST
I see the plan thou art pursuing:
Thou canst not compass general ruin,
And hast on smaller scale begun.
MEPHISTOPHELES
And truly 'tis not much, when all is done.
That which to Naught is in resistance set,
The Something of this clumsy world,has yet,
With all that I have undertaken,
Not been by me disturbed or shaken:
From earthquake, tempest, wave, volcano's brand,
Back into quiet settle sea and land!
And that damned stuff, the bestial, human brood,
What use, in having that to play with?
How many have I made away with!
And ever circulates a newer, fresher blood.
It makes me furious, such things beholding:
From Water, Earth, and Air unfolding,
A thousand germs break forth and grow,
In dry, and wet, and warm, and chilly;
And had I not the Flame reserved, why, really,
There's nothing special of my own to show!
FAUST
So, to the actively eternal
Creative force, in cold disdain
You now oppose the fist infernal,
Whose wicked clench is all in vain!
Some other labor seek thou rather,
Queer Son of Chaos, to begin!
MEPHISTOPHELES
Well, we'll consider: thou canst gather
My views, when next I venture in.
Might I, perhaps, depart at present?
FAUST
Why thou shouldst ask, I don't perceive.
Though our acquaintance is so recent,
For further visits thou hast leave.
The window's here, the door is yonder;
A chimney, also, you behold.
MEPHISTOPHELES
I must confess that forth I may not wander,
My steps by one slight obstacle controlled,
The wizard's-foot, that on your threshold made is.
FAUST
The pentagram prohibits thee?
Why, tell me now, thou Son of Hades,
If that prevents, how cam'st thou in to me?
Could such a spirit be so cheated?
MEPHISTOPHELES
Inspect the thing: the drawing's not completed.
The outer angle, you may see,
Is open left the lines don't fit it.
FAUST
Well,Chance, this time, has fairly hit it!
And thus, thou'rt prisoner to me?
It seems the business has succeeded.
MEPHISTOPHELES
The poodle naught remarked, as after thee he speeded;
But other aspects now obtain:
The Devil can't get out again.
FAUST
Try, then, the open window-pane!
MEPHISTOPHELES
For Devils and for spectres this is law:
Where they have entered in, there also they withdraw.
The first is free to us; we're governed by the second.
FAUST
In Hell itself, then, laws are reckoned?
That's well! So might a compact be
Made with you gentlemen and binding,surely?
MEPHISTOPHELES
All that is promised shall delight thee purely;
No skinflint bargain shalt thou see.
But this is not of swift conclusion;
We'll talk about the matter soon.
And now, I do entreat this boon
Leave to withdraw from my intrusion.
FAUST
One moment more I ask thee to remain,
Some pleasant news, at least, to tell me.
MEPHISTOPHELES
Release me, now! I soon shall come again;
Then thou, at will, mayst question and compel me.
FAUST
I have not snares around thee cast;
Thyself hast led thyself into the meshes.
Who traps the Devil, hold him fast!
Not soon a second time he'll catch a prey so precious.
MEPHISTOPHELES
An't please thee, also I'm content to stay,
And serve thee in a social station;
But stipulating, that I may
With arts of mine afford thee recreation.
FAUST
Thereto I willingly agree,
If the diversion pleasant be.
MEPHISTOPHELES
My friend, thou'lt win, past all pretences,
More in this hour to soo the thy senses,
Than in the year's monotony.
That which the dainty spirits sing thee,
The lovely pictures they shall bring thee,
Are more than magic's empty show.
Thy scent will be to bliss invited;
Thy palate then with taste delighted,
Thy nerves of touch ecstatic glow!
All unprepared, the charm I spin:
We're here together, so begin!
SPIRITS
Vanish, ye darking
Arches above him!
Loveliest weather,
Born of blue ether,
Break from the sky!
O that the darkling
Clouds had departed!
Starlight is sparkling,
Tranquiller-hearted
Suns are on high.
Heaven's own children
In beauty bewildering,
Waveringly bending,
Pass as they hover;
Longing unending
Follows them over.
They, with their glowing
Garments, out-flowing,
Cover, in going,
Landscape and bower,
Where, in seclusion,
Lovers are plighted,
Lost in illusion.
Bower on bower!
Tendrils unblighted!
Lo! in a shower
Grapes that o'ercluster
Gush into must, or
Flow into rivers
Of foaming and flashing
Wine, that is dashing
Gems, as it boundeth
Down the high places,
And spreading, surroundeth
With crystalline spaces,
In happy embraces,
Blossoming forelands,
Emerald shore-lands!
And the winged races
Drink, and fly onward
Fly ever sunward
To the enticing
Islands, that flatter,
Dipping and rising
Light on the water!
Hark, the inspiring
Sound of their quiring!
See, the entrancing
Whirl of their dancing!
All in the air are
Freer and fairer.
Some of them scaling
Boldly the highlands,
Others are sailing,
Circling the islands;
Others are flying;
Life-ward all hieing,
All for the distant
Star of existent
Rapture and Love!
MEPHISTOPHELES
He sleeps! Enough, ye fays! your airy number
Have sung him truly into slumber:
For this performance I your debtor prove.
Not yet art thou the man, to catch the Fiend and hold him!
With fairest images of dreams infold him,
Plunge him in seas of sweet untruth!
Yet, for the threshold's magic which controlled him,
The Devil needs a rat's quick tooth.
I use no leng thened invocation:
Here rustles one that soon will work my liberation.
The lord of rats and eke of mice,
Of flies and bed-bugs, frogs and lice,
Summons thee hither to the door-sill,
To gnaw it where, with just a morsel
Of oil, he paints the spot for thee:
There com'st thou, hopping on to me!
To work, at once! The point which made me craven
Is forward, on the ledge, engraven.
Another bite makes free the door:
So, dream thy dreams, O Faust, until we meet once more!
FAUST (awaking)
Am I again so foully cheated?
Remains there naught of lofty spirit-sway,
But that a dream the Devil counterfeited,
And that a poodle ran away?
~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, THE STUDY (The Exorcism)
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93:The spider spreads her webs, whether she be
In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree;
The silk-worm in the dark green mulberry leaves
His winding sheet and cradle ever weaves;
So I, a thing whom moralists call worm,
Sit spinning still round this decaying form,
From the fine threads of rare and subtle thought
No net of words in garish colours wrought
To catch the idle buzzers of the day
But a soft cell, where when that fades away,
Memory may clothe in wings my living name
And feed it with the asphodels of fame,
Which in those hearts which must remember me
Grow, making love an immortality.
Whoever should behold me now, I wist,
Would think I were a mighty mechanist,
Bent with sublime Archimedean art
To breathe a soul into the iron heart
Of some machine portentous, or strange gin,
Which by the force of figured spells might win
Its way over the sea, and sport therein;
For round the walls are hung dread engines, such
As Vulcan never wrought for Jove to clutch
Ixion or the Titan:or the quick
Wit of that man of God, St. Dominic,
To convince Atheist, Turk, or Heretic,
Or those in philanthropic council met,
Who thought to pay some interest for the debt
They owed to Jesus Christ for their salvation,
By giving a faint foretaste of damnation
To Shakespeare, Sidney, Spenser, and the rest
Who made our land an island of the blest,
When lamp-like Spain, who now relumes her fire
On Freedom's hearth, grew dim with Empire:
With thumbscrews, wheels, with tooth and spike and jag,
Which fishers found under the utmost crag
Of Cornwall and the storm-encompassed isles,
Where to the sky the rude sea rarely smiles
Unless in treacherous wrath, as on the morn
When the exulting elements in scorn,
Satiated with destroyed destruction, lay
Sleeping in beauty on their mangled prey,
As panthers sleep;and other strange and dread
Magical forms the brick floor overspread,
Proteus transformed to metal did not make
More figures, or more strange; nor did he take
Such shapes of unintelligible brass,
Or heap himself in such a horrid mass
Of tin and iron not to be understood;
And forms of unimaginable wood,
To puzzle Tubal Cain and all his brood:
Great screws, and cones, and wheels, and groovd blocks,
The elements of what will stand the shocks
Of wave and wind and time.Upon the table
More knacks and quips there be than I am able
To catalogize in this verse of mine:
A pretty bowl of woodnot full of wine,
But quicksilver; that dew which the gnomes drink
When at their subterranean toil they swink,
Pledging the demons of the earthquake, who
Reply to them in lavacry halloo!
And call out to the cities o'er their head,
Roofs, towers, and shrines, the dying and the dead,
Crash through the chinks of earthand then all quaff
Another rouse, and hold their sides and laugh.
This quicksilver no gnome has drunkwithin
The walnut bowl it lies, veind and thin,
In colour like the wake of light that stains
The Tuscan deep, when from the moist moon rains
The inmost shower of its white firethe breeze
Is stillblue Heaven smiles over the pale seas.
And in this bowl of quicksilverfor I
Yield to the impulse of an infancy
Outlasting manhoodI have made to float
A rude idealism of a paper boat:
A hollow screw with cogsHenry will know
The thing I mean and laugh at me,if so
He fears not I should do more mischief.Next
Lie bills and calculations much perplexed,
With steam-boats, frigates, and machinery quaint
Traced over them in blue and yellow paint.
Then comes a range of mathematical
Instruments, for plans nautical and statical;
A heap of rosin, a queer broken glass
With ink in it;a china cup that was
What it will never be again, I think,
A thing from which sweet lips were wont to drink
The liquor doctors rail atand which I
Will quaff in spite of themand when we die
We'll toss up who died first of drinking tea,
And cry out,'Heads or tails?' where'er we be.
Near that a dusty paint-box, some odd hooks,
A half-burnt match, an ivory block, three books,
Where conic sections, spherics, logarithms,
To great Laplace, from Saunderson and Sims,
Lie heaped in their harmonious disarray
Of figures,disentangle them who may.
Baron de Tott's Memoirs beside them lie,
And some odd volumes of old chemistry.
Near those a most inexplicable thing,
With lead in the middleI'm conjecturing
How to make Henry understand; but no
I'll leave, as Spenser says, with many mo,
This secret in the pregnant womb of time,
Too vast a matter for so weak a rhyme.
And here like some weird Archimage sit I,
Plotting dark spells, and devilish enginery,
The self-impelling steam-wheels of the mind
Which pump up oaths from clergymen, and grind
The gentle spirit of our meek reviews
Into a powdery foam of salt abuse,
Ruffling the ocean of their self-content;
I sitand smile or sigh as is my bent,
But not for themLibeccio rushes round
With an inconstant and an idle sound,
I heed him more than themthe thunder-smoke
Is gathering on the mountains, like a cloak
Folded athwart their shoulders broad and bare;
The ripe corn under the undulating air
Undulates like an ocean;and the vines
Are trembling wide in all their trellised lines
The murmur of the awakening sea doth fill
The empty pauses of the blast;the hill
Looks hoary through the white electric rain,
And from the glens beyond, in sullen strain,
The interrupted thunder howls; above
One chasm of Heaven smiles, like the eye of Love
On the unquiet world;while such things are,
How could one worth your friendship heed the war
Of worms? the shriek of the world's carrion jays,
Their censure, or their wonder, or their praise?
You are not here! the quaint witch Memory sees,
In vacant chairs, your absent images,
And points where once you sat, and now should be
But are not.I demand if ever we
Shall meet as then we met;and she replies,
Veiling in awe her second-sighted eyes;
'I know the past alonebut summon home
My sister Hope,she speaks of all to come.'
But I, an old diviner, who knew well
Every false verse of that sweet oracle,
Turned to the sad enchantress once again,
And sought a respite from my gentle pain,
In citing every passage o'er and o'er
Of our communionhow on the sea-shore
We watched the ocean and the sky together,
Under the roof of blue Italian weather;
How I ran home through last year's thunder-storm,
And felt the transverse lightning linger warm
Upon my cheekand how we often made
Feasts for each other, where good will outweighed
The frugal luxury of our country cheer,
As well it might, were it less firm and clear
Than ours must ever be;and how we spun
A shroud of talk to hide us from the sun
Of this familiar life, which seems to be
But is not:or is but quaint mockery
Of all we would believe, and sadly blame
The jarring and inexplicable frame
Of this wrong world:and then anatomize
The purposes and thoughts of men whose eyes
Were closed in distant years;or widely guess
The issue of the earth's great business,
When we shall be as we no longer are
Like babbling gossips safe, who hear the war
Of winds, and sigh, but tremble not;or how
You listened to some interrupted flow
Of visionary rhyme,in joy and pain
Struck from the inmost fountains of my brain,
With little skill perhaps;or how we sought
Those deepest wells of passion or of thought
Wrought by wise poets in the waste of years,
Staining their sacred waters with our tears;
Quenching a thirst ever to be renewed!
Or how I, wisest lady! then endued
The language of a land which now is free,
And, winged with thoughts of truth and majesty,
Flits round the tyrant's sceptre like a cloud,
And bursts the peopled prisons, and cries aloud,
'My name is Legion!'that majestic tongue
Which Calderon over the desert flung
Of ages and of nations; and which found
An echo in our hearts, and with the sound
Startled oblivion;thou wert then to me
As is a nursewhen inarticulately
A child would talk as its grown parents do.
If living winds the rapid clouds pursue,
If hawks chase doves through the aethereal way,
Huntsmen the innocent deer, and beasts their prey,
Why should not we rouse with the spirit's blast
Out of the forest of the pathless past
These recollected pleasures?
You are now
In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow
At once is deaf and loud, and on the shore
Vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more.
Yet in its depth what treasures! You will see
That which was Godwin,greater none than he
Though fallenand fallen on evil timesto stand
Among the spirits of our age and land,
Before the dread tribunal of to come
The foremost,while Rebuke cowers pale and dumb.
You will see Coleridgehe who sits obscure
In the exceeding lustre and the pure
Intense irradiation of a mind,
Which, with its own internal lightning blind,
Flags wearily through darkness and despair
A cloud-encircled meteor of the air,
A hooded eagle among blinking owls.
You will see Huntone of those happy souls
Which are the salt of the earth, and without whom
This world would smell like what it isa tomb;
Who is, what others seem; his room no doubt
Is still adorned with many a cast from Shout,
With graceful flowers tastefully placed about;
And coronals of bay from ribbons hung,
And brighter wreaths in neat disorder flung;
The gifts of the most learned among some dozens
Of female friends, sisters-in-law, and cousins.
And there is he with his eternal puns,
Which beat the dullest brain for smiles, like duns
Thundering for money at a poet's door;
Alas! it is no use to say, 'I'm poor!'
Or oft in graver mood, when he will look
Things wiser than were ever read in book,
Except in Shakespeare's wisest tenderness.
You will see Hogg,and I cannot express
His virtues,though I know that they are great,
Because he locks, then barricades the gate
Within which they inhabit;of his wit
And wisdom, you'll cry out when you are bit.
He is a pearl within an oyster shell,
One of the richest of the deep;and there
Is English Peacock, with his mountain Fair,
Turned into a Flamingo;that shy bird
That gleams i' the Indian airhave you not heard
When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindoo,
His best friends hear no more of him?but you
Will see him, and will like him too, I hope,
With the milk-white Snowdonian Antelope
Matched with this cameleopardhis fine wit
Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it;
A strain too learnd for a shallow age,
Too wise for selfish bigots; let his page,
Which charms the chosen spirits of the time,
Fold itself up for the serener clime
Of years to come, and find its recompense
In that just expectation.Wit and sense,
Virtue and human knowledge; all that might
Make this dull world a business of delight,
Are all combined in Horace Smith.And these,
With some exceptions, which I need not tease
Your patience by descanting on,are all
You and I know in London.
I recall
My thoughts, and bid you look upon the night.
As water does a sponge, so the moonlight
Fills the void, hollow, universal air
What see you?unpavilioned Heaven is fair,
Whether the moon, into her chamber gone,
Leaves midnight to the golden stars, or wan
Climbs with diminished beams the azure steep;
Or whether clouds sail o'er the inverse deep,
Piloted by the many-wandering blast,
And the rare stars rush through them dim and fast:
All this is beautiful in every land.
But what see you beside?a shabby stand
Of Hackney coachesa brick house or wall
Fencing some lonely court, white with the scrawl
Of our unhappy politics;or worse
A wretched woman reeling by, whose curse
Mixed with the watchman's, partner of her trade,
You must accept in place of serenade
Or yellow-haired Pollonia murmuring
To Henry, some unutterable thing.
I see a chaos of green leaves and fruit
Built round dark caverns, even to the root
Of the living stems that feed themin whose bowers
There sleep in their dark dew the folded flowers;
Beyond, the surface of the unsickled corn
Trembles not in the slumbering air, and borne
In circles quaint, and ever-changing dance,
Like wingd stars the fire-flies flash and glance,
Pale in the open moonshine, but each one
Under the dark trees seems a little sun,
A meteor tamed; a fixed star gone astray
From the silver regions of the milky way;
Afar the Contadino's song is heard,
Rude, but made sweet by distanceand a bird
Which cannot be the Nightingale, and yet
I know none else that sings so sweet as it
At this late hour;and then all is still
NowItaly or London, which you will!
Next winter you must pass with me; I'll have
My house by that time turned into a grave
Of dead despondence and low-thoughted care,
And all the dreams which our tormentors are;
Oh! that Hunt, Hogg, Peacock, and Smith were there,
With everything belonging to them fair!
We will have books, Spanish, Italian, Greek;
And ask one week to make another week
As like his father, as I'm unlike mine,
Which is not his fault, as you may divine.
Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine,
Yet let's be merry: we'll have tea and toast;
Custards for supper, and an endless host
Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies,
And other such lady-like luxuries,
Feasting on which we will philosophize!
And we'll have fires out of the Grand Duke's wood,
To thaw the six weeks' winter in our blood.
And then we'll talk;what shall we talk about?
Oh! there are themes enough for many a bout
Of thought-entangled descant;as to nerves
With cones and parallelograms and curves
I've sworn to strangle them if once they dare
To bother mewhen you are with me there.
And they shall never more sip laudanum,
From Helicon or Himeros[1];well, come,
And in despite of God and of the devil,
We'll make our friendly philosophic revel
Outlast the leafless time; till buds and flowers
Warn the obscure inevitable hours,
Sweet meeting by sad parting to renew;
'To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.'
Composed during Shelley's occupation of the Gisbornes' house at Leghorn, July 1820; published in Posthumous Poems, 1824.
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Letter To Maria Gisborne
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94:Ii. The Quest Of Silence
Secreta Silvarum: Prelude
Oh yon, when Holda leaves her hill
of winter, on the quest of June,
black oaks with emerald lamplets thrill
that flicker forth to her magic tune.
At dawn the forest shivers whist
and all the hidden glades awake;
then sunshine gems the milk-white mist
and the soft-swaying branches make
along its edge a woven sound
of legends that allure and flit
and horns wound towards the enchanted ground
where, in the light moon-vapours lit,
all night, while the black woods in mass,
serried, forbid with goblin fear,
fay-revels gleam o'er the pale grass
till shrill-throats ring the matins near.
Oh there, oh there in the sweet o' the year,
adventurous in the witching green,
last feal of the errant spear,
to seek the eyes of lost Undine
clear blue above the blue cold stream
that lingers till her plaint be done,
oh, and perchance from that sad dream
to woo her, laughing, to the sun
and that glad blue that seems to flow
far up, where dipping branches lift
sidelong their soft-throng'd frondage slow
and slow the thin cloud-fleecelets drift.
Oh, there to drowse the summer thro'
deep in some odorous twilit lair,
swoon'd in delight of golden dew
within the sylvan witches hair;
the while on half-veil'd eyes to feel
the yellow sunshafts broken dim,
and seldom waftures moth-like steal
and settle, on the bare-flung limb:
or under royal autumn, pall'd
27
in smouldering magnificence,
to feel the olden heart enthrall'd
in wisdoms of forgotten sense,
and mad desire and pain that fill'd
red August's heart of throbbing bloom
in one grave hour of knowledge still'd
where glory ponders o'er its doom:
and, when the boughs are sombre lace
and silence chisels silver rime,
o'er some old hearth, with dim-lit face,
to dream the vanish'd forest prime,
the springtime's sweet and June's delight,
more precious now that hard winds chill
the dews that made their mornings bright,
and Holda sleeps beneath her hill.
What tho' the outer day be brazen rude
not here the innocence of morn is fled:
this green unbroken dusk attests it wed
with freshness, where the shadowy breasts are nude,
hers guess'd, whose looks, felt dewy-cool, elude —
save this reproach that smiles on foolish dread:
wood-word, grave gladness in its heart, unsaid,
knoweth the guarded name of Quietude.
Nor start, if satyr-shapes across the path
tumble; it is but children: lo, the wrath
couchant, heraldic, of her beasts that pierce
with ivory single horn whate'er misplaced
outrageous nears, or whinny of the fierce
Centaur, or mailed miscreant unchaste.
II
O friendly shades, where anciently I grew!
me entering at dawn a child ye knew,
all little welcoming leaves, and jealous wove
your roof of lucid emerald above,
that scarce therethro' the envious sun might stray,
save smiling dusk or, lure for idle play,
such glancing finger your chance whim allows,
all that long forenoon of the tuneful boughs;
which growing on, the myriad small noise
28
and flitting of the wood-life's busy joys,
thro' tenuous weft of sound, had left, divined,
the impending threat of silence, clear, behind:
and, noon now past, that hush descended large
in the wood's heart, and caught me in its marge
of luminous foreboding widely flung;
so hourlong I have stray'd, and tho' among
the glimpsing lures of all green aisles delays
that revelation of its wondrous gaze,
yet am I glad to wander, glad to seek
and find not, so the gather'd tufts bespeak,
naked, reclined, its friendly neighbourhood —
as in this hollow of the rarer wood
where, listening, in the cool glen-shade, with me,
white-bloom'd and quiet, stands a single tree;
rich spilth of gold is on the eastward rise;
westward the violet gloom eludes mine eyes.
This is the house of Pan, not whom blind craze
and babbling wood-wits tell, where bare flints blaze,
noon-tide terrific with the single shout,
but whom behind each bole sly-peering out
the traveller knows, but turning, disappear'd
with chuckle of laughter in his thicket-beard,
and rustle of scurrying faun-feet where the ground
each autumn deeper feels its yellow mound.
Onward: and lo, at length, the secret glade,
soft-gleaming grey, what time the grey trunks fade
in the white vapours o'er its further rim.
'Tis no more time to linger: now more dim
the woods are throng'd to ward the haunted spot
where, as I turn my homeward face, I wot
the nymphs of twilight have resumed, unheard,
their glimmering dance upon the glimmering sward.
III
The point of noon is past, outside: light is asleep;
brooding upon its perfect hour: the woods are deep
and solemn, fill'd with unseen presences of light
that glint, allure, and hide them; ever yet more bright
(it seems) the turn of a path will show them: nay, but rest;
seek not, and think not; dream, and know not; this is best:
the hour is full; be lost: whispering, the woods are bent,
29
This is the only revelation; be content.
IIII
The forest has its horrors, as the sea:
and ye that enter from the staling lea
into the early freshness kept around
the waiting trunks that watch its rarer bound,
after the glistening song that, sprinkled, leaves
an innocence upon the glancing leaves;
O ye that dream to find the morning yet
secret and chaste, beside her mirror set,
some glimmering source o'ershadow'd, where the light
is coolness felt, whom filter'd glints invite
thro' the slow-shifting green transparency;
O ye that hearken towards pale mystery
a rustle of hidden pinions, and obey
the beckoning of each little leaf asway:
return, return, or e'er to warn you back
the shadow bend along your rearward track
longer and longer from the brooding west;
return, and evening shall bosom your rest
in the warm gloom that wraps the blazing hearth:
there hear from wither'd lips long wean'd of mirth
the tale that lulls old watches; — How they rode,
brave-glittering once, where the brave morning glow'd
along the forest-edges, and were lost
for ever, where the crossing trunks are most;
and, far beyond the dim arcades of song,
where moon-mist weaves a dancing elfin throng,
and far beyond the luring glades that brood
around a maiden thought of Quietude,
the savage realm begins, of lonely dread,
black branches from the fetid marish bred
that lurks to trap the loyal careless foot,
and gaping trunks protrude a snaky root
o'er slinking paths that centre, where beneath
a sudden rock on the short blasted heath,
bare-set, a cavern lurks and holds within
its womb, obscene with some corroding sin,
coil'd on itself and stirring, a squat shade
before the entrance rusts a broken blade.
The forest hides its horrors, as the sea.
30
V
No emerald spring, no royal autumn-red,
no glint of morn or sullen vanquish'd day
might venture against this obscene horror's sway
blackly from the witch-blasted branches shed.
No silver bells around the bridle-head
ripple, and on no quest the pennons play:
the path's romance is shuddering disarray,
or eaten by the marsh: the knights are dead.
The Lady of the Forest was a tale:
of the white unicorns that round her sleep
gamboll'd, no turf retains a print; and man,
rare traveller, feels, athwart the knitted bale
watching, now lord of loathly deaths that creep,
maliciously the senile leer of Pan.
Fire in the heavens, and fire along the hills,
and fire made solid in the flinty stone,
thick-mass'd or scatter'd pebble, fire that fills
the breathless hour that lives in fire alone.
This valley, long ago the patient bed
of floods that carv'd its antient amplitude,
in stillness of the Egyptian crypt outspread,
endures to drown in noon-days tyrant mood.
Behind the veil of burning silence bound,
vast life's innumerous busy littleness
is hush'd in vague-conjectured blur of sound
that dulls the brain with slumbrous weight, unless
some dazzling puncture let the stridence throng
in the cicada's torture-point of song.
Peace dwells in blessing o'er a place
folded within the hills to keep
and under dark boughs seawind-frayd:
and the kind slopes where soothings creep,
in the gold light or the green shade,
wear evermore the ancient face
of silence, and the eyes of sleep;
because they are listening evermore
unto the seawinds what they tell
to the wise, nodding, indifferent trees
high on the ridge that guard the dell,
31
of wars on many a far grey shore
and how the shores decay and fade
before the obstinate old seas:
and all their triumphing is made
a tale that dwindles with the eves,
while the soft dusk lingers, delay'd,
and drifts between the indolent leaves.
A gray and dusty daylight flows
athwart the shatter'd traceries,
pale absence of the ruin'd rose.
Here once, on labour-harden'd knees,
beneath the kindly vaulted gloom
that gather'd them in quickening ease,
they saw the rose of heaven bloom,
alone, in heights of musky air,
with many an angel's painted plume.
So, shadowing forth their dim-felt prayer,
the daedal glass compell'd to grace
the outer days indifferent stare,
where now its disenhallow'd face
beholds the petal-ribs enclose
nought, in their web of shatter'd lace,
save this pale absence of the rose.
Breaking the desert's tawny level ring
three columns, an oasis; but no shade
falls from the curl'd acanthus-leaves; no spring
bubbles soft laughter for its leaning maid.
The cell is waste: where once the god abode
a burning desolation furls its wing:
enter, and lo! once more, the hopeless road
world-wide, the tawny desert's level ring.
Before she pass'd behind the glacier wall
that hides her white eternal sorceries
the northern witch, in clinging ermine pall,
cast one last look along the shallow seas,
a look that held them in its numbing thrall
and melted onward to the sandy leas
where our lorn city lives its lingering fall
and wistful summer shrinks in scant-clad trees.
32
Hence came one greyness over grass and stone:
the silent-lapping waters fade and tone
into the air and into them the land;
and all along our stagnant waterways
a drown'd and dusky gleaming sleeps, unbann'd,
the lurking twilight of her vanish'd gaze.
Out of no quarter of the charted sky
flung in the bitter wind intolerably,
abrupt, the trump that sings behind the end
exults alone. Here grass is none to bend:
the stony plain blackens with rapid night
that best reveals the land's inflicted blight
since in the smitten hero-hand the sword
broke, and the hope the long-dumb folk adored,
and over all the north a tragic flare
told Valhall perish'd and the void's despair
to dwell as erst, all disinhabited,
a vault above the heart its hungering led.
The strident clangour cuts; but space is whole,
inert, absorb'd in dead regret. Here, sole,
on the bare uplands, stands, vast thro' the gloom
staring, to mark an irretrievable doom,
the stranger stone, sphinx-couchant, thunder-hurl'd
from red star-ruin o'er the elder world.
This night is not of gentle draperies
or cluster'd banners where the star-breaths roam,
nor hangs above the torch a lurching dome
of purple shade that slips with phantom ease;
but, on our apathy encroaching, these,
stable, whose smooth defiance none hath clomb,
basalt and jade, a patience of the gnome,
polish'd and shadow-brimm'd transparencies.
Far, where our oubliette is shut, above,
we guess the ample lids that never move
beneath her brows, each massive arch inert
hung high-contemptuous o'er the blatant wars
we deem'd well waged for her, who may avert
some Janus-face that smiles on hidden stars.
Lightning: and, momently, the silhouette,
33
flat on the far horizon, comes and goes
of that night-haunting city; minaret,
dome, spire, all sharp while yet the levin glows.
Day knows it not; whether fierce noon-tide fuse
earth's rim with sky in throbbing haze, or clear
gray softness tinge afresh the enamell'd hues
of mead and stream, it shows no tipping spear.
Night builds it: now upon the marbled plain
a blur, discern'd lurking, ever more nigh;
now close against the walls that hem my reign
a leaguer-town, threatening my scope of sky.
So late I saw it; in a misty moon
it bulk'd, all dusky and transparent, dumb
as ever, fast in some prodigious swoon:
its battlements deserted — who might come?
— ay, one! his eyes, 'neath the high turban's plume,
watch'd mine, intent, behind the breast-high stone:
his face drew mine across the milky gloom:
a sudden moonbeam show'd it me, my own!
ONE! an iron core, shock'd and dispers'd
in throbs of sound that ebb across the bay:
I shudder: the one clang smites disarray
thro' all my sense, that starts awake, inhears'd
in the whole lifeless world: and some accurs'd
miasma steals, resumed from all decay,
where the dead tide lies flat round the green quay,
hinting what self-fordone despairs it nurs'd.
The corpse of time is stark upon the night:
my soul is coffin'd, staring, grave-bedight,
upon some dance of death that reels and feasts
around its living tomb, with vampire grin,
inverted sacraments of Satan's priests —
and, mask'd no more, the maniac face of sin.
There is a far-off thrill that troubles me:
a faint thin ripple of shadow, momently,
dies out across my lucid icy cell.
I am betrayed by winter to the spell
of morbid sleep, that somewhere rolls its waves
insidiously, gather'd from unblest graves,
to creep above each distant crumbled mole.
34
When that assault is full against my soul,
I must go down, thro' chapels black with mould,
past ruin'd doors, whose arches, ridged with gold,
catch, in their grooves, a gloom more blackly dript,
some stairway winding hours-long towards the crypt
where panic night lies stricken 'neath the curse
exuding from the dense enormous hearse
of some old vampire-god, whose bulk, within,
lies gross and festering in his shroud of sin.
~ Christopher John Brennan,#NFDB
95: V - AUERBACH'S CELLAR IN LEIPZIG
CAROUSAL OF JOLLY COMPANIONS
FROSCH
Is no one laughing? no one drinking?
I'll teach you how to grin, I'm thinking.
To-day you're like wet straw, so tame;
And usually you're all aflame.
BRANDER
Now that's your fault; from you we nothing see,
No beastliness and no stupidity.
FROSCH
(Pours a glass of wine over BRANDER'S head.)
There's both together!
BRANDER
Twice a swine!
FROSCH
You wanted them: I've given you mine.
SIEBEL
Turn out who quarrelsout the door!
With open throat sing chorus, drink and roar!
Up! holla! ho!
ALTMAYER
Woe's me, the fearful bellow!
Bring cotton, quick! He's split my ears, that fellow.
SIEBEL
When the vault echoes to the song,
One first perceives the bass is deep and strong.
FROSCH
Well said! and out with him that takes the least offence!
Ah, tara, lara da!
ALTMAYER
Ah, tara, lara, da!
FROSCH
The throats are tuned, commence!
(Sings.)
The dear old holy Roman realm,
How does it hold together?
BRANDER
A nasty song! Fie! a political song
A most offensive song! Thank God, each morning, therefore,
That you have not the Roman realm to care for!
At least, I hold it so much gain for me,
That I nor Chancellor nor Kaiser be.
Yet also we must have a ruling head, I hope,
And so we'll choose ourselves a Pope.
You know the quality that can
Decide the choice, and elevate the man.
FROSCH
(sings)
Soar up, soar up, Dame Nightingale!
Ten thousand times my sweetheart hail!
SIEBEL
No, greet my sweetheart not! I tell you, I'll resent it.
FROSCH
My sweetheart greet and kiss! I dare you to prevent it!
(Sings.)
Draw the latch! the darkness makes:
Draw the latch! the lover wakes.
Shut the latch! the morning breaks
SIEBEL
Yes, sing away, sing on, and praise, and brag of her!
I'll wait my proper time for laughter:
Me by the nose she led, and now she'll lead you after.
Her paramour should be an ugly gnome,
Where four roads cross, in wanton play to meet her:
An old he-goat, from Blocksberg coming home,
Should his good-night in lustful gallop bleat her!
A fellow made of genuine flesh and blood
Is for the wench a deal too good.
Greet her? Not I: unless, when meeting,
To smash her windows be a greeting!
BRANDER (pounding on the table)
Attention! Hearken now to me!
Confess, Sirs, I know how to live.
Enamored persons here have we,
And I, as suits their quality,
Must something fresh for their advantage give.
Take heed! 'Tis of the latest cut, my strain,
And all strike in at each refrain!
(He sings.)
There was a rat in the cellar-nest,
Whom fat and butter made smoother:
He had a paunch beneath his vest
Like that of Doctor Luther.
The cook laid poison cunningly,
And then as sore oppressed was he
As if he had love in his bosom.
CHORUS (shouting)
As if he had love in his bosom!
BRANDER
He ran around, he ran about,
His thirst in puddles laving;
He gnawed and scratched the house throughout.
But nothing cured his raving.
He whirled and jumped, with torment mad,
And soon enough the poor beast had,
As if he had love in his bosom.
CHORUS
As if he had love in his bosom!
BRANDER
And driven at last, in open day,
He ran into the kitchen,
Fell on the hearth, and squirming lay,
In the last convulsion twitching.
Then laughed the murderess in her glee:
"Ha! ha! he's at his last gasp," said she,
"As if he had love in his bosom!"
CHORUS
As if he had love in his bosom!
SIEBEL
How the dull fools enjoy the matter!
To me it is a proper art
Poison for such poor rats to scatter.
BRANDER
Perhaps you'll warmly take their part?
ALTMAYER
The bald-pate pot-belly I have noted:
Misfortune tames him by degrees;
For in the rat by poison bloated
His own most natural form he sees.
FAUST AND MEPHISTOPHELES
MEPHISTOPHELES
Before all else, I bring thee hither
Where boon companions meet together,
To let thee see how smooth life runs away.
Here, for the folk, each day's a holiday:
With little wit, and ease to suit them,
They whirl in narrow, circling trails,
Like kittens playing with their tails?
And if no headache persecute them,
So long the host may credit give,
They merrily and careless live.
BRANDER
The fact is easy to unravel,
Their air's so odd, they've just returned from travel:
A single hour they've not been here.
FROSCH
You've verily hit the truth! Leipzig to me is dear:
Paris in miniature, how it refines its people!
SIEBEL
Who are the strangers, should you guess?
FROSCH
Let me alone! I'll set them first to drinking,
And then, as one a child's tooth draws, with cleverness,
I'll worm their secret out, I'm thinking.
They're of a noble house, that's very clear:
Haughty and discontented they appear.
BRANDER
They're mountebanks, upon a revel.
ALTMAYER
Perhaps.
FROSCH
Look out, I'll smoke them now!
MEPHISTOPHELES (to FAUST)
Not if he had them by the neck, I vow,
Would e'er these people scent the Devil!
FAUST Fair greeting, gentlemen!
SIEBEL
Our thanks: we give the same.
(Murmurs, inspecting MEPHISTOPHELES from the side.)
In one foot is the fellow lame?
MEPHISTOPHELES
Is it permitted that we share your leisure?
In place of cheering drink, which one seeks vainly here,
Your company shall give us pleasure.
ALTMAYER
A most fastidious person you appear.
FROSCH
No doubt 'twas late when you from Rippach started?
And supping there with Hans occasioned your delay?
MEPHISTOPHELES
We passed, without a call, to-day.
At our last interview, before we parted
Much of his cousins did he speak, entreating
That we should give to each his kindly greeting.
(He bows to FROSCH.)
ALTMAYER (aside)
You have it now! he understands.
SIEBEL
A knave sharp-set!
FROSCH
Just wait awhile: I'll have him yet.
MEPHISTOPHELES
If I am right, we heard the sound
Of well-trained voices, singing chorus;
And truly, song must here rebound
Superbly from the arches o'er us.
FROSCH
Are you, perhaps, a virtuoso?
MEPHISTOPHELES
O no! my wish is great, my power is only so-so.
ALTMAYER
Give us a song!
MEPHISTOPHELES
If you desire, a number.
SIEBEL
So that it be a bran-new strain!
MEPHISTOPHELES
We've just retraced our way from. Spain,
The lovely land of wine, and song, and slumber.
(Sings.)
There was a king once reigning,
Who had a big black flea
FROSCH
Hear, hear! A flea! D'ye rightly take the jest?
I call a flea a tidy guest.
MEPHISTOPHELES (sings)
There was a king once reigning,
Who had a big black flea,
And loved him past explaining,
As his own son were he.
He called his man of stitches;
The tailor came straightway:
Here, measure the lad for breeches.
And measure his coat, I say!
BRANDER
But mind, allow the tailor no caprices:
Enjoin upon him, as his head is dear,
To most exactly measure, sew and shear,
So that the breeches have no creases!
MEPHISTOPHELES
In silk and velvet gleaming
He now was wholly drest
Had a coat with ribbons streaming,
A cross upon his breast.
He had the first of stations,
A minister's star and name;
And also all his relations
Great lords at court became.
And the lords and ladies of honor
Were plagued, awake and in bed;
The queen she got them upon her,
The maids were bitten and bled.
And they did not dare to brush them,
Or scratch them, day or night:
We crack them and we crush them,
At once, whene'er they bite.
CHORUS (shouting)
We crack them and we crush them,
At once, whene'er they bite!
FROSCH Bravo! bravo! that was fine.
SIEBEL
Every flea may it so befall!
BRANDER
Point your fingers and nip them all!
ALTMAYER
Hurrah for Freedom! Hurrah for wine!
MEPHISTOPHELES
I fain would drink with you, my glass to Freedom clinking,
If 'twere a better wine that here I see you drinking.
SIEBEL
Don't let us hear that speech again!
MEPHISTOPHELES
Did I not fear the landlord might complain,
I'd treat these worthy guests, with pleasure,
To some from out our cellar's treasure.
SIEBEL
Just treat, and let the landlord me arraign!
FROSCH
And if the wine be good, our praises shall be ample.
But do not give too very small a sample;
For, if its quality I decide,
With a good mouthful I must be supplied.
ALTMAYER (aside)
They're from the Rhine! I guessed as much, before.
MEPHISTOPHELES
Bring me a gimlet here!
BRANDER
What shall therewith be done?
You've not the casks already at the door?
ALTMAYER
Yonder, within the landlord's box of tools, there's one!
MEPHISTOPHELES (takes the gimlet)
(To FROSCH.)
Now, give me of your taste some intimation.
FROSCH
How do you mean? Have you so many kinds?
MEPHISTOPHELES
The choice is free: make up your minds.
ALTMAYER (to FROSCH)
Aha! you lick your chops, from sheer anticipation.
FROSCH
Good! if I have the choice, so let the wine be Rhenish!
Our Fatherl and can best the sparkling cup replenish.
MEPHISTOPHELES
(boring a hole in the edge of the table, at the place where
FROSCH sits)
Get me a little wax, to make the stoppers, quick!
ALTMAYER
Ah! I perceive a juggler's trick.
MEPHISTOPHELES (to BRANDER)
And you?
BRANDER
Champagne shall be my wine,
And let it sparkle fresh and fine!
MEPHISTOPHELES
(bores: in the meantime one has made the wax stoppers, and
plugged the holes with them.)
BRANDER
What's foreign one can't always keep quite clear of,
For good things, oft, are not so near;
A German can't endure the French to see or hear of,
Yet drinks their wines with hearty cheer.
SIEBEL
(as MEPHISTOPHELES approaches his seat)
For me, I grant, sour wine is out of place;
Fill up my glass with sweetest, will you?
MEPHISTOPHELES (boring)
Tokay shall flow at once, to fill you!
ALTMAYER
Nolook me, Sirs, straight in the face!
I see you have your fun at our expense.
MEPHISTOPHELES
O no! with gentlemen of such pretence,
That were to venture far, indeed.
Speak out, and make your choice with speed! With what a vintage can I serve you?
ALTMAYER
With anyonly satisfy our need.
(After the holes have been bored and plugged)
MEPHISTOPHELES (with singular gestures)
Grapes the vine-stem bears,
Horns the he-goat wears!
The grapes are juicy, the vines are wood,
The wooden table gives wine as good!
Into the depths of Nature peer,
Only believe there's a miracle here!
Now draw the stoppers, and drink your fill!
ALL
(as they draw out the stoppers, and the wine which has been
desired flows into the glass of each)
O beautiful fountain, that flows at will!
MEPHISTOPHELES
But have a care that you nothing spill!
(They drink repeatedly.)
ALL (sing)
As 'twere five hundred hogs, we feel
So cannibalic jolly!
MEPHISTOPHELES
See, now, the race is happyit is free!
FAUST
To leave them is my inclination.
MEPHISTOPHELES
Take notice, first! their bestiality
Will make a brilliant demonstration.
SIEBEL
(drinks carelessly: the wine spills upon the earth, and turns to
flame)
Help! Fire! Help! Hell-fire is sent!
MEPHISTOPHELES (charming away the flame)
Be quiet, friendly element!
(To the revellers)
A bit of purgatory 'twas for this time, merely.
SIEBEL
What mean you? Wait!you'll pay for't dearly!
You'll know us, to your detriment.
FROSCH
Don't try that game a second time upon us!
ALTMAYER
I think we'd better send him packing quietly.
SIEBEL
What, Sir! you dare to make so free,
And play your hocus-pocus on us!
MEPHISTOPHELES
Be still, old wine-tub.
SIEBEL
Broomstick, you!
You face it out, impertinent and heady?
BRANDER
Just wait! a shower of blows is ready.
ALTMAYER
(draws a stopper out of the table: fire flies in his face.)
I burn! I burn!
SIEBEL
'Tis magic! Strike
The knave is outlawed! Cut him as you like!
(They draw their knives, and rush upon MEPHISTOPHELES.)
MEPHISTOPHELES (with solemn gestures)
False word and form of air,
Change place, and sense ensnare!
Be here and there!
(They stand amazed and look at each other.)
ALTMAYER
Where am I? What a lovely land!
FROSCH
Vines? Can I trust my eyes?
SIEBEL
And purple grapes at hand!
BRANDER
Here, over this green arbor bending,
See what a vine! what grapes depending!
(He takes SIEBEL by the nose: the others do the same reciprocally,
and raise their knives.)
MEPHISTOPHELES (as above)
Loose, Error, from their eyes the band,
And how the Devil jests, be now enlightened!
(He disappears with FAUST: the revellers start and separate.)
SIEBEL
What happened?
ALTMAYER
How?
FROSCH
Was that your nose I tightened?
BRANDER (to SIEBEL)
And yours that still I have in hand?
ALTMAYER
It was a blow that went through every limb!
Give me a chair! I sink! my senses swim.
FROSCH
But what has happened, tell me now?
SIEBEL
Where is he? If I catch the scoundrel hiding,
He shall not leave alive, I vow.
ALTMAYER
I saw him with these eyes upon a wine-cask riding
Out of the cellar-door, just now.
Still in my feet the fright like lead is weighing.
(He turns towards the table.)
Why! If the fount of wine should still be playing?
SIEBEL
'Twas all deceit, and lying, false design!
FROSCH
And yet it seemed as I were drinking wine.
BRANDER
But with the grapes how was it, pray?
ALTMAYER
Shall one believe no miracles, just say!
~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, AUERBACHS CELLAR
,#NFDB
96:The Botanic Garden (Part Viii)
THE LOVES OF THE PLANTS
CANTO IV.
Now the broad Sun his golden orb unshrouds,
Flames in the west, and paints the parted clouds;
O'er heaven's wide arch refracted lustres flow,
And bend in air the many-colour'd bow.-The tuneful Goddess on the glowing sky
Fix'd in mute extacy her glistening eye;
And then her lute to sweeter tones she strung,
And swell'd with softer chords the Paphian song.
Long ailes of Oaks return'd the silver sound,
And amorous Echoes talk'd along the ground;
Pleas'd Lichfield listen'd from her sacred bowers,
Bow'd her tall groves, and shook her stately towers.
'Nymph! not for thee the radiant day returns,
Nymph! not for thee the golden solstice burns,
Refulgent CEREA!-at the dusky hour
She seeks with pensive step the mountain-bower,
Bright as the blush of rising morn, and warms
The dull cold eye of Midnight with her charms.
There to the skies she lifts her pencill'd brows,
Opes her fair lips, and breathes her virgin vows;
Eyes the white zenyth; counts the suns, that roll
Their distant fires, and blaze around the Pole;
Or marks where Jove directs his glittering car
O'er Heaven's blue vault,-Herself a brighter star.
-There as soft Zephyrs sweep with pausing airs
Thy snowy neck, and part thy shadowy hairs,
Sweet Maid of Night! to Cynthia's sober beams
Glows thy warm cheek, thy polish'd bosom gleams.
In crowds
around thee gaze the admiring swains,
And guard in silence the enchanted plains;
Drop the still tear, or breathe the impassion'd sigh,
And drink inebriate rapture from thine eye.
Thus, when old Needwood's hoary scenes the Night
66
Paints with blue shadow, and with milky light;
Where MUNDY pour'd, the listening nymphs among,
Loud to the echoing vales his parting song;
With measured step the Fairy Sovereign treads,
Shakes her high plume, and glitters o'er the meads;
Round each green holly leads her sportive train,
And little footsteps mark the circled plain;
Each haunted rill with silver voices rings,
And Night's sweet bird in livelier accents sings.
Ere the bright star, which leads the morning sky,
Hangs o'er the blushing east his diamond eye,
The chaste TROPAEO leaves her secret bed;
A saint-like glory trembles round her head;
Eight
watchful swains along the lawns of night
With amorous steps pursue the virgin light;
O'er her fair form the electric lustre plays,
And cold she moves amid the lambent blaze.
So shines the glow-fly, when the sun retires,
And gems the night-air with phosphoric fires;
Thus o'er the marsh aërial lights betray,
And charm the unwary wanderer from his way.
So when thy King, Assyria, fierce and proud,
Three human victims to his idol vow'd;
Rear'd a vast pyre before the golden shrine
Of sulphurous coal, and pitch-exsuding pine;-Loud roar the flames, the iron nostrils breathe,
And the huge bellows pant and heave beneath;
Bright and more bright the blazing deluge flows,
And white with seven-fold heat the furnace glows.
And now the Monarch fix'd with dread surprize
Deep in the burning vault his dazzled eyes.
'Lo! Three unbound amid the frightful glare,
Unscorch'd their sandals, and unsing'd their hair!
And now a fourth with seraph-beauty bright
Descends, accosts them, and outshines the light!
Fierce flames innocuous, as they step, retire!
And slow they move amid a world of fire!'
He spoke,-to Heaven his arms repentant spread,
And kneeling bow'd his gem-incircled head.
67
Two
Sister-Nymphs, the fair AVENAS, lead
Their fleecy squadrons on the lawns of Tweed;
Pass with light step his wave-worn banks along,
And wake his Echoes with their silver tongue;
Or touch the reed, as gentle Love inspires,
In notes accordant to their chaste desires.
I.
'Sweet ECHO! sleeps thy vocal shell,
'Where this high arch o'erhangs the dell;
'While Tweed with sun-reflecting streams
'Chequers thy rocks with dancing beams?-
II.
'Here may no clamours harsh intrude,
No brawling hound or clarion rude;
Here no fell beast of midnight prowl,
And teach thy tortured cliffs to howl!
III.
'Be thine to pour these vales along
Some artless Shepherd's evening song;
While Night's sweet bird, from yon high spray
Responsive, listens to his lay.
IV.
'And if, like me, some love-lorn maid
'Should sing her sorrows to thy shade,
'Oh, sooth her breast, ye rocks around!
'With softest sympathy of sound.'
From ozier bowers the brooding Halcyons peep,
The Swans pursuing cleave the glassy deep,
On hovering wings the wondering Reed-larks play,
And silent Bitterns listen to the lay.-
68
Three
shepherd-swains beneath the beechen shades
Twine rival garlands for the tuneful maids;
On each smooth bark the mystic love-knot frame,
Or on white sands inscribe the favour'd name.
From Time's remotest dawn where China brings
In proud succession all her Patriot-Kings;
O'er desert-sands, deep gulfs, and hills sublime,
Extends her massy wall from clime to clime;
With bells and dragons crests her Pagod-bowers,
Her silken palaces, and porcelain towers;
With long canals a thousand nations laves;
Plants all her wilds, and peoples all her waves;
Slow treads fair CANNABIS the breezy strand,
The distaff streams dishevell'd in her hand;
Now to the left her ivory neck inclines,
And leads in Paphian curves its azure lines;
Dark waves the fringed lid, the warm cheek glows,
And the fair ear the parting locks disclose;
Now to the right with airy sweep she bends,
Quick join the threads, the dancing spole depends.
Five
Swains attracted guard the Nymph, by turns
Her grace inchants them, and her beauty burns;
To each She bows with sweet assuasive smile,
Hears his soft vows, and turns her spole the while.
So when with light and shade, concordant strife!
Stern CLOTHO weaves the chequer'd thread of life;
Hour after hour the growing line extends,
The cradle and the coffin bound its ends;
Soft cords of silk the whirling spoles reveal,
If smiling Fortune turn the giddy wheel;
But if sweet Love with baby-fingers twines,
And wets with dewy lips the lengthening lines,
Skein after skein celestial tints unfold,
And all the silken tissue shines with gold.
Warm with sweet blushes bright GALANTHA glows,
And prints with frolic step the melting snows;
O'er silent floods, white hills, and glittering meads
Six
69
rival swains the playful beauty leads,
Chides with her dulcet voice the tardy Spring,
Bids slumbering Zephyr stretch his folded wing,
Wakes the hoarse Cuckoo in his gloomy cave,
And calls the wondering Dormouse from his grave,
Bids the mute Redbreast cheer the budding grove,
And plaintive Ringdove tune her notes to love.
Spring! with thy own sweet smile, and tuneful tongue,
Delighted BELLIS calls her infant throng.
Each on his reed astride, the Cherub-train
Watch her kind looks, and circle o'er the plain;
Now with young wonder touch the siding snail,
Admire his eye-tipp'd horns, and painted mail;
Chase with quick step, and eager arms outspread,
The pausing Butterfly from mead to mead;
Or twine green oziers with the fragrant gale,
The azure harebel, and the primrose pale,
Join hand in hand, and in procession gay
Adorn with votive wreaths the shrine of May.
-So moves the Goddess to the Idalian groves,
And leads her gold-hair'd family of Loves.
These, from the flaming furnace, strong and bold
Pour the red steel into the sandy mould;
On tinkling anvils (with Vulcanian art),
Turn with hot tongs, and forge the dreadful dart;
The barbed head on whirling jaspers grind,
And dip the point in poison for the mind;
Each polish'd shaft with snow-white plumage wing,
Or strain the bow reluctant to its string.
Those on light pinion twine with busy hands,
Or stretch from bough to bough the flowery bands;
Scare the dark beetle, as he wheels on high,
Or catch in silken nets the gilded fly;
Call the young Zephyrs to their fragrant bowers,
And stay with kisses sweet the Vernal Hours.
Where, as proud Maffon rises rude and bleak,
And with mishapen turrets crests the Peak,
Old Matlock gapes with marble jaws, beneath,
And o'er fear'd Derwent bends his flinty teeth;
Deep in wide caves below the dangerous soil
Blue sulphurs flame, imprison'd waters boil.
Impetuous steams in spiral colums rise
70
Through rifted rocks, impatient for the skies;
Or o'er bright seas of bubbling lavas blow,
As heave and toss the billowy fires below;
Condensed on high, in wandering rills they glide
From Maffon's dome, and burst his sparry side;
Round his grey towers, and down his fringed walls,
From cliff to cliff, the liquid treasure falls;
In beds of stalactite, bright ores among,
O'er corals, shells, and crystals, winds along;
Crusts the green mosses, and the tangled wood,
And sparkling plunges to its parent flood.
-O'er the warm wave a smiling youth presides,
Attunes its murmurs, its meanders guides,
(The blooming FUCUS), in her sparry coves
To amorous Echo sings his
secret
loves,
Bathes his fair forehead in the misty stream,
And with sweet breath perfumes the rising steam.
-So, erst, an Angel o'er Bethesda's springs,
Each morn descending, shook his dewy wings;
And as his bright translucent form He laves,
Salubrious powers enrich the troubled waves.
Amphibious Nymph, from Nile's prolific bed
Emerging TRAPA lifts her pearly head;
Fair glows her virgin cheek and modest breast,
A panoply of scales deforms the rest;
Her quivering fins and panting gills she hides
But spreads her silver arms upon the tides;
Slow as she sails, her ivory neck she laves,
And shakes her golden tresses o'er the waves.
Charm'd round the Nymph, in circling gambols glide
Four
Nereid-forms, or shoot along the tide;
Now all as one they rise with frolic spring,
And beat the wondering air on humid wing;
Now all descending plunge beneath the main,
And lash the foam with undulating train;
Above, below, they wheel, retreat, advance,
In air and ocean weave the mazy dance;
Bow their quick heads, and point their diamond eyes,
71
And twinkle to the sun with ever-changing dyes.
Where Andes, crested with volcanic beams,
Sheds a long line of light on Plata's streams;
Opes all his springs, unlocks his golden caves,
And feeds and freights the immeasurable waves;
Delighted OCYMA at twilight hours
Calls her light car, and leaves the sultry bowers;Love's rising ray, and Youth's seductive dye,
Bloom'd on her cheek, and brighten'd in her eye;
Chaste, pure, and white, a zone of silver graced
Her tender breast, as white, as pure, as chaste;-By
four
fond swains in playful circles drawn,
On glowing wheels she tracks the moon-bright lawn,
Mounts the rude cliff, unveils her blushing charms,
And calls the panting zephyrs to her arms.
Emerged from ocean springs the vaporous air,
Bathes her light limbs, uncurls her amber hair,
Incrusts her beamy form with films saline,
And Beauty blazes through the crystal shrine.So with pellucid studs the ice-flower gems
Her rimy foliage, and her candied stems.
So from his glassy horns, and pearly eyes,
The diamond-beetle darts a thousand dyes;
Mounts with enamel'd wings the vesper gale,
And wheeling shines in adamantine mail.
Thus when loud thunders o'er Gomorrah burst,
And heaving earthquakes shook his realms accurst,
An Angel-guest led forth the trembling Fair
With shadowy hand, and warn'd the guiltless pair;
'Haste from these lands of sin, ye Righteous! fly,
Speed the quick step, nor turn the lingering eye!'-Such the command, as fabling Bards indite,
When Orpheus charm'd the grisly King of Night;
Sooth'd the pale phantoms with his plaintive lay,
And led the fair Assurgent into day.Wide yawn'd the earth, the fiery tempest flash'd,
And towns and towers in one vast ruin crash'd;Onward they move,--loud horror roars behind,
And shrieks of Anguish bellow in the wind.
With many a sob, amid a thousand fears,
72
The beauteous wanderer pours her gushing tears;
Each soft connection rends her troubled breast,
-She turns, unconscious of the stern behest!'I faint!-I fall!-ah, me!-sensations chill
Shoot through my bones, my shuddering bosom thrill!
I freeze! I freeze! just Heaven regards my fault,
Numbs my cold limbs, and hardens into salt!Not yet, not yet, your dying Love resign!This last, last kiss receive!-no longer thine!'She said, and ceased,-her stiffen'd form He press'd,
And strain'd the briny column to his breast;
Printed with quivering lips the lifeless snow,
And wept, and gazed the monument of woe.So when Aeneas through the flames of Troy
Bore his pale fire, and led his lovely boy;
With loitering step the fair Creusa stay'd,
And Death involved her in eternal shade.Oft the lone Pilgrim that his road forsakes,
Marks the wide ruins, and the sulphur'd lakes;
On mouldering piles amid asphaltic mud
Hears the hoarse bittern, where Gomorrah stood;
Recalls the unhappy Pair with lifted eye,
Leans on the crystal tomb, and breathes the silent sigh..
With net-wove sash and glittering gorget dress'd,
And scarlet robe lapell'd upon her breast,
Stern ARA frowns, the measured march assumes,
Trails her long lance, and nods her shadowy plumes;
While Love's soft beams illume her treacherous eyes,
And Beauty lightens through the thin disguise.
So erst, when HERCULES, untamed by toil,
Own'd the soft power of DEJANIRA'S smile;His lion-spoils the laughing Fair demands,
And gives the distaff to his awkward hands;
O'er her white neck the bristly mane she throws,
And binds the gaping whiskers on her brows;
Plaits round her slender waist the shaggy vest,
And clasps the velvet paws across her breast.
Next with soft hands the knotted club she rears,
Heaves up from earth, and on her shoulder bears.
Onward with loftier step the Beauty treads,
And trails the brinded ermine o'er the meads;
Wolves, bears, and bards, forsake the affrighted groves,
73
And grinning Satyrs tremble, as she moves.
CARYO'S sweet smile DIANTHUS proud admires,
And gazing burns with unallow'd desires;
With sighs and sorrows her compassion moves,
And wins the damsel to illicit loves.
The Monster-offspring heirs the father's pride,
Mask'd in the damask beauties of the bride.
So, when the Nightingale in eastern bowers
On quivering pinion woos the Queen of flowers;
Inhales her fragrance, as he hangs in air,
And melts with melody the blushing fair;
Half-rose, half-bird, a beauteous Monster springs,
Waves his thin leaves, and claps his glossy wings;
Long horrent thorns his mossy legs surround,
And tendril-talons root him to the ground;
Green films of rind his wrinkled neck o'espread,
And crimson petals crest his curled head;
Soft-warbling beaks in each bright blossom move,
And vocal Rosebuds thrill the enchanted grove!Admiring Evening stays her beamy star,
And still Night listens from his ebon ear;
While on white wings descending Houries throng,
And drink the floods of odour and of song.
When from his golden urn the Solstice pours
O'er Afric's sable sons the sultry hours;
When not a gale flits o'er her tawny hills,
Save where the dry Harmattan breathes and kills;
-Fair CHUNDA smiles amid the burning waste,
Her brow unturban'd, and her zone unbrac'd;
Ten
brother-youths with light umbrella's shade,
Or fan with busy hands the panting maid;
Loose wave her locks, disclosing, as they break,
The rising bosom and averted cheek;
Clasp'd round her ivory neck with studs of gold
Flows her thin vest in many a gauzy fold;
O'er her light limbs the dim transparence plays,
And the fair form, it seems to hide, betrays.
Where leads the northern Star his lucid train
High o'er the snow-clad earth, and icy main,
With milky light the white horizon streams,
74
And to the moon each sparkling mountain gleams.Slow o'er the printed snows with silent walk
Huge shaggy forms across the twilight stalk;
And ever and anon with hideous sound
Burst the thick ribs of ice, and thunder round.There, as old Winter slaps his hoary wing,
And lingering leaves his empire to the Spring,
Pierced with quick shafts of silver-shooting light
Fly in dark troops the dazzled imps of night'Awake, my Love!' enamour'd MUSCHUS cries,
'Stretch thy fair limbs, resulgent Maid! arise;
Ope thy sweet eye-lids to the rising ray,
And hail with ruby lips returning day.
Down the white hills dissolving torrents pour,
Green springs the turf, and purple blows the flower;
His torpid wing the Rail exulting tries,
Mounts the soft gale, and wantons in the skies;
Rise, let us mark how bloom the awaken'd groves,
And 'mid the banks of roses
hide
our loves.'
Night's tinsel beams on smooth Lock-lomond dance,
Impatient ÆGA views the bright expanse;In vain her eyes the parting floods explore,
Wave after wave rolls freightless to the shore.
-Now dim amid the distant foam she spies
A rising speck,-''tis he! 'tis he!' She cries;
As with firm arms he beats the streams aside,
And cleaves with rising chest the tossing tide,
With bended knee she prints the humid sands,
Up-turns her glistening eyes, and spreads her hands;
-''Tis he, 'tis he!-My Lord, my life, my love!Slumber, ye winds; ye billows, cease to move!
beneath his arms your buoyant plumage spread,
Ye Swans! ye Halcyons! hover round his head!'-With eager step the boiling surf she braves,
And meets her refluent lover in the waves;
Loose o'er the flood her azure mantle swims,
And the clear stream betrays her snowy limbs.
So on her sea-girt tower fair HERO stood
At parting day, and mark'd the dashing flood;
While high in air, the glimmering rocks above,
75
Shone the bright lamp, the pilot-star of Love.
-With robe outspread the wavering flame behind
She kneels, and guards it from the shifting wind;
Breathes to her Goddess all her vows, and guides
Her bold LEANDER o'er the dusky tides;
Wrings his wet hair, his briny bosom warms,
And clasps her panting lover in her arms.
Deep, in wide caverns and their shadowy ailes,
Daughter of Earth, the chaste TRUFFELIA smiles;
On silvery beds, of soft asbestus wove,
Meets her Gnome-husband, and avows her love.
High
o'er her couch impending diamonds blaze,
And branching gold the crystal roof inlays;
With verdant light the modest emeralds glow,
Blue sapphires glare, and rubies blush,
below
Light piers of lazuli the dome surround,
And pictured mochoes tesselate the ground;
In glittering threads along reflective walls
The warm rill murmuring twinkles, as it falls;
Now sink the Eolian strings, and now they swell,
And Echoes woo in every vaulted cell;
While on white wings delighted Cupids play,
Shake their bright lamps, and shed celestial day.
Closed in an azure fig by fairy spells,
Bosom'd in down, fair CAPRI-FICA dwells;So sleeps in silence the Curculio, shut
In the dark chambers of the cavern'd nut,
Erodes with ivory beak the vaulted shell,
And quits on filmy wings its narrow cell.
So the pleased Linnet in the moss-wove nest,
Waked into life beneath its parent's breast,
Chirps in the gaping shell, bursts forth erelong,
Shakes its new plumes, and tries its tender song.-And now the talisman she strikes, that charms
Her husband-Sylph,-and calls him to her arms.Quick, the light Gnat her airy Lord bestrides,
With cobweb reins the flying courser guides,
From crystal steeps of viewless ether springs,
76
Cleaves the soft air on still expanded wings;
Darts like a sunbeam o'er the boundless wave,
And seeks the beauty in her
secret
cave.
So with quick impulse through all nature's frame
Shoots the electric air its subtle flame.
So turns the impatient needle to the pole,
Tho' mountains rise between, and oceans roll.
Where round the Orcades white torrents roar,
Scooping with ceaseless rage the incumbent shore,
Wide o'er the deep a dusky cavern bends
Its marble arms, and high in air impends;
Basaltic piers the ponderous roof sustain,
And steep their massy sandals in the main;
Round the dim walls, and through the whispering ailes
Hoarse breathes the wind, the glittering water boils.
Here the charm'd BYSSUS with his blooming bride
Spreads his green sails, and braves the foaming tide;
The star of Venus gilds the twilight wave,
And lights her votaries to the
secret
cave;
Light Cupids flutter round the nuptial bed,
And each coy sea-maid hides her blushing head.
Where cool'd by rills, and curtain'd round by woods,
Slopes the green dell to meet the briny floods,
The sparkling noon-beams trembling on the tide,
The PROTEUS-LOVER woos his playful bride,
To win the fair he tries a thousand forms,
Basks on the sands, or gambols in the storms.
A Dolphin now, his scaly sides he laves,
And bears the sportive damsel on the waves;
She strikes the cymbal as he moves along,
And wondering Ocean listens to the song.
-And now a spotted Pard the lover stalks,
Plays round her steps, and guards her favour'd walks;
As with white teeth he prints her hand, caress'd,
And lays his velvet paw upon her breast,
O'er his round face her snowy fingers strain
The silken knots, and fit the ribbon-rein.
-And now a Swan, he spreads his plumy sails,
77
And proudly glides before the fanning gales;
Pleas'd on the flowery brink with graceful hand
She waves her floating lover to the land;
Bright shines his sinuous neck, with crimson beak
He prints fond kisses on her glowing cheek,
Spreads his broad wings, elates his ebon crest,
And clasps the beauty to his downy breast.
hundred
virgins join a
hundred
swains,
And fond ADONIS leads the sprightly trains;
Pair after pair, along his sacred groves
To Hymen's fane the bright procession moves;
Each smiling youth a myrtle garland shades,
And wreaths of roses veil the blushing maids;
Light joys on twinkling feet attend the throng,
Weave the gay dance, or raise the frolic song;
-Thick, as they pass, exulting Cupids fling
Promiscuous arrows from the sounding string;
On wings of gossamer soft Whispers fly,
And the sly Glance steals side-long from the eye.
-As round his shrine the gaudy circles bow,
And seal with muttering lips the faithless vow,
Licentious Hymen joins their mingled hands,
And loosely twines the meretricious bands.Thus where pleased VENUS, in the southern main,
Sheds all her smiles on Otaheite's plain,
Wide o'er the isle her silken net she draws,
And the Loves laugh at all, but Nature's laws.'
Here ceased the Goddess,-o'er the silent strings
Applauding Zephyrs swept their fluttering wings;
Enraptur'd Sylphs arose in murmuring crowds
To air-wove canopies and pillowy clouds;
Each Gnome reluctant sought his earthy cell,
And each bright Floret clos'd her velvet bell.
Then, on soft tiptoe, NIGHT approaching near
Hung o'er the tuneless lyre his sable ear;
Gem'd with bright stars the still etherial plain,
And bad his Nightingales repeat the strain.
78
~ Erasmus Darwin,#NFDB
97:The woods were long austere with snow: at last
Pink leaflets budded on the beech, and fast
Larches, scattered through pine-tree solitudes,
Brightened, "as in the slumbrous heart o' the woods
"Our buried year, a witch, grew young again
"To placid incantations, and that stain
"About were from her cauldron, green smoke blent
"With those black pines"so Eglamor gave vent
To a chance fancy. Whence a just rebuke
From his companion; brother Naddo shook
The solemnest of brows: "Beware," he said,
"Of setting up conceits in nature's stead!"
Forth wandered our Sordello. Nought so sure
As that to-day's adventure will secure
Palma, the visioned ladyonly pass
O'er you damp mound and its exhausted grass,
Under that brake where sundawn feeds the stalks
Of withered fern with gold, into those walks
Of pine and take her! Buoyantly he went.
Again his stooping forehead was besprent
With dew-drops from the skirting ferns. Then wide
Opened the great morass, shot every side
With flashing water through and through; a-shine,
Thick-steaming, all-alive. Whose shape divine,
Quivered i' the farthest rainbow-vapour, glanced
Athwart the flying herons? He advanced,
But warily; though Mincio leaped no more,
Each foot-fall burst up in the marish-floor
A diamond jet: and if he stopped to pick
Rose-lichen, or molest the leeches quick,
And circling blood-worms, minnow, newt or loach,
A sudden pond would silently encroach
This way and that. On Palma passed. The verge
Of a new wood was gained. She will emerge
Flushed, now, and panting,crowds to see,will own
She loves himBoniface to hear, to groan,
To leave his suit! One screen of pine-trees still
Opposes: butthe startling spectacle
Mantua, this time! Under the wallsa crowd
Indeed, real men and women, gay and loud
Round a pavilion. How he stood!
In truth
No prophecy had come to pass: his youth
In its prime nowand where was homage poured
Upon Sordello?born to be adored,
And suddenly discovered weak, scarce made
To cope with any, cast into the shade
By this and this. Yet something seemed to prick
And tingle in his blood; a sleighta trick
And much would be explained. It went for nought
The best of their endowments were ill bought
With his identity: nay, the conceit,
That this day's roving led to Palma's feet
Was not so vainlist! The word, "Palma!" Steal
Aside, and die, Sordello; this is real,
And thisabjure!
What next? The curtains see
Dividing! She is there; and presently
He will be therethe proper You, at length
In your own cherished dress of grace and strength:
Most like, the very Boniface!
Not so.
It was a showy man advanced; but though
A glad cry welcomed him, then every sound
Sank and the crowd disposed themselves around,
"This is not he," Sordello felt; while, "Place
"For the best Troubadour of Boniface!"
Hollaed the Jongleurs,"Eglamor, whose lay
"Concludes his patron's Court of Love to-day!"
Obsequious Naddo strung the master's lute
With the new lute-string, "Elys," named to suit
The song: he stealthily at watch, the while,
Biting his lip to keep down a great smile
Of pride: then up he struck. Sordello's brain
Swam; for he knew a sometime deed again;
So, could supply each foolish gap and chasm
The minstrel left in his enthusiasm,
Mistaking its true versionwas the tale
Not of Apollo? Only, what avail
Luring her down, that Elys an he pleased,
If the man dared no further? Has he ceased
And, lo, the people's frank applause half done,
Sordello was beside him, had begun
(Spite of indignant twitchings from his friend
The Trouvere) the true lay with the true end,
Taking the other's names and time and place
For his. On flew the song, a giddy race,
After the flying story; word made leap
Out word, rhymerhyme; the lay could barely keep
Pace with the action visibly rushing past:
Both ended. Back fell Naddo more aghast
Than some Egyptian from the harassed bull
That wheeled abrupt and, bellowing, fronted full
His plague, who spied a scarab 'neath the tongue,
And found 't was Apis' flank his hasty prong
Insulted. But the peoplebut the cries,
The crowding round, and proffering the prize!
For he had gained some prize. He seemed to shrink
Into a sleepy cloud, just at whose brink
One sight withheld him. There sat Adelaide,
Silent; but at her knees the very maid
Of the North Chamber, her red lips as rich,
The same pure fleecy hair; one weft of which,
Golden and great, quite touched his cheek as o'er
She leant, speaking some six words and no more.
He answered something, anything; and she
Unbound a scarf and laid it heavily
Upon him, her neck's warmth and all. Again
Moved the arrested magic; in his brain
Noises grew, and a light that turned to glare,
And greater glare, until the intense flare
Engulfed him, shut the whole scene from his sense.
And when he woke 't was many a furlong thence,
At home; the sun shining his ruddy wont;
The customary birds'-chirp; but his front
Was crownedwas crowned! Her scented scarf around
His neck! Whose gorgeous vesture heaps the ground?
A prize? He turned, and peeringly on him
Brooded the women-faces, kind and dim,
Ready to talk"The Jongleurs in a troop
"Had brought him back, Naddo and Squarcialupe
"And Tagliafer; how strange! a childhood spent
"In taking, well for him, so brave a bent!
"Since Eglamor," they heard, "was dead with spite,
"And Palma chose him for her minstrel."
Light
Sordello roseto think, now; hitherto
He had perceived. Sure, a discovery grew
Out of it all! Best live from first to last
The transport o'er again. A week he passed,
Sucking the sweet out of each circumstance,
From the bard's outbreak to the luscious trance
Bounding his own achievement. Strange! A man
Recounted an adventure, but began
Imperfectly; his own task was to fill
The frame-work up, sing well what he sung ill,
Supply the necessary points, set loose
As many incidents of little use
More imbecile the other, not to see
Their relative importance clear as he!
But, for a special pleasure in the act
Of singinghad he ever turned, in fact,
From Elys, to sing Elys?from each fit
Of rapture to contrive a song of it?
True, this snatch or the other seemed to wind
Into a treasure, helped himself to find
A beauty in himself; for, see, he soared
By means of that mere snatch, to many a hoard
Of fancies; as some falling cone bears soft
The eye along the fir-tree-spire, aloft
To a dove's nest. Then, how divine the cause
Why such performance should exact applause
From men, if they had fancies too? Did fate
Decree they found a beauty separate
In the poor snatch itself?"Take Elys, there,
"'Her head that 's sharp and perfect like a pear,
"'So close and smooth are laid the few fine locks
"'Coloured like honey oozed from topmost rocks
"'Sun-blanched the livelong summer'if they heard
"Just those two rhymes, assented at my word,
"And loved them as I love them who have run
"These fingers through those pale locks, let the sun
"Into the white cool skinwho first could clutch,
"Then praiseI needs must be a god to such.
"Or what if some, above themselves, and yet
"Beneath me, like their Eglamor, have set
"An impress on our gift? So, men believe
"And worship what they know not, nor receive
"Delight from. Have they fanciesslow, perchance,
"Not at their beck, which indistinctly glance
"Until, by song, each floating part be linked
"To each, and all grow palpable, distinct?"
He pondered this.
Meanwhile, sounds low and drear
Stole on him, and a noise of footsteps, near
And nearer, while the underwood was pushed
Aside, the larches grazed, the dead leaves crushed
At the approach of men. The wind seemed laid;
Only, the trees shrunk slightly and a shade
Came o'er the sky although 't was midday yet:
You saw each half-shut downcast floweret
Flutter"a Roman bride, when they 'd dispart
"Her unbound tresses with the Sabine dart,
"Holding that famous rape in memory still,
"Felt creep into her curls the iron chill,
"And looked thus," Eglamor would sayindeed
'T is Eglamor, no other, these precede
Home hither in the woods. "'T were surely sweet
"Far from the scene of one's forlorn defeat
"To sleep!" judged Naddo, who in person led
Jongleurs and Trouveres, chanting at their head,
A scanty company; for, sooth to say,
Our beaten Troubadour had seen his day.
Old worshippers were something shamed, old friends
Nigh weary; still the death proposed amends.
"Let us but get them safely through my song
"And home again!" quoth Naddo.
All along,
This man (they rest the bier upon the sand)
This calm corpse with the loose flowers in his hand,
Eglamor, lived Sordello's opposite.
For him indeed was Naddo's notion right,
And verse a temple-worship vague and vast,
A ceremony that withdrew the last
Opposing bolt, looped back the lingering veil
Which hid the holy place: should one so frail
Stand there without such effort? or repine
If much was blank, uncertain at the shrine
He knelt before, till, soothed by many a rite,
The power responded, and some sound or sight
Grew up, his own forever, to be fixed,
In rhyme, the beautiful, forever!mixed
With his own life, unloosed when he should please,
Having it safe at hand, ready to ease
All pain, remove all trouble; every time
He loosed that fancy from its bonds of rhyme,
(Like Perseus when he loosed his naked love)
Faltering; so distinct and far above
Himself, these fancies! He, no genius rare,
Transfiguring in fire or wave or air
At will, but a poor gnome that, cloistered up
In some rock-chamber with his agate cup,
His topaz rod, his seed-pearl, in these few
And their arrangement finds enough to do
For his best art. Then, how he loved that art!
The calling marking him a man apart
From menone not to care, take counsel for
Cold hearts, comfortless faces(Eglamor
Was neediest of his tribe)since verse, the gift,
Was his, and men, the whole of them, must shift
Without it, e'en content themselves with wealth
And pomp and power, snatching a life by stealth.
So, Eglamor was not without his pride!
The sorriest bat which cowers throughout noontide
While other birds are jocund, has one time
When moon and stars are blinded, and the prime
Of earth is his to claim, nor find a peer;
And Eglamor was noblest poet here
He well knew, 'mid those April woods he cast
Conceits upon in plenty as he passed,
That Naddo might suppose him not to think
Entirely on the coming triumph: wink
At the one weakness! 'T was a fervid child,
That song of his; no brother of the guild
Had e'er conceived its like. The rest you know,
The exaltation and the overthrow:
Our poet lost his purpose, lost his rank,
His lifeto that it came. Yet envy sank
Within him, as he heard Sordello out,
And, for the first time, shoutedtried to shout
Like others, not from any zeal to show
Pleasure that way: the common sort did so,
What else was Eglamor? who, bending down
As they, placed his beneath Sordello's crown,
Printed a kiss on his successor's hand,
Left one great tear on it, then joined his band
In time; for some were watching at the door:
Who knows what envy may effect? "Give o'er,
"Nor charm his lips, nor craze him!" (here one spied
And disengaged the withered crown)"Beside
"His crown? How prompt and clear those verses rang
"To answer yours! nay, sing them!" And he sang
Them calmly. Home he went; friends used to wait
His coming, zealous to congratulate;
But, to a manso quickly runs report
Could do no less than leave him, and escort
His rival. That eve, then, bred many a thought:
What must his future life be? was he brought
So low, who stood so lofty this Spring morn?
At length he said, "Best sleep now with my scorn,
"And by to-morrow I devise some plain
"Expedient!" So, he slept, nor woke again.
They found as much, those friends, when they returned
O'erflowing with the marvels they had learned
About Sordello's paradise, his roves
Among the hills and vales and plains and groves,
Wherein, no doubt, this lay was roughly cast,
Polished by slow degrees, completed last
To Eglamor's discomfiture and death.
Such form the chanters now, and, out of breath,
They lay the beaten man in his abode,
Naddo reciting that same luckless ode,
Doleful to hear. Sordello could explore
By means of it, however, one step more
In joy; and, mastering the round at length,
Learnt how to live in weakness as in strength,
When from his covert forth he stood, addressed
Eglamor, bade the tender ferns invest,
Primval pines o'ercanopy his couch,
And, most of all, his fame(shall I avouch
Eglamor heard it, dead though he might look,
And laughed as from his brow Sordello took
The crown, and laid on the bard's breast, and said
It was a crown, now, fit for poet's head?)
Continue. Nor the prayer quite fruitless fell.
A plant they have, yielding a three-leaved bell
Which whitens at the heart ere noon, and ails
Till evening; evening gives it to her gales
To clear away with such forgotten things
As are an eyesore to the morn: this brings
Him to their mind, and bears his very name.
So much for Eglamor. My own month came;
'T was a sunrise of blossoming and May.
Beneath a flowering laurel thicket lay
Sordello; each new sprinkle of white stars
That smell fainter of wine than Massic jars
Dug up at Bai, when the south wind shed
The ripest, made him happier; filleted
And robed the same, only a lute beside
Lay on the turf. Before him far and wide
The country stretched: Goito slept behind
The castle and its covert, which confined
Him with his hopes and fears; so fain of old
To leave the story of his birth untold.
At intervals, 'spite the fantastic glow
Of his Apollo-life, a certain low
And wretched whisper, winding through the bliss,
Admonished, no such fortune could be his,
All was quite false and sure to fade one day:
The closelier drew he round him his array
Of brilliance to expel the truth. But when
A reason for his difference from men
Surprised him at the grave, he took no rest
While aught of that old life, superbly dressed
Down to its meanest incident, remained
A mystery: alas, they soon explained
Away Apollo! and the tale amounts
To this: when at Vicenza both her counts
Banished the Vivaresi kith and kin,
Those Maltraversi hung on Ecelin,
Reviled him as he followed; he for spite
Must fire their quarter, though that self-same night
Among the flames young Ecelin was born
Of Adelaide, there too, and barely torn
From the roused populace hard on the rear,
By a poor archer when his chieftain's fear
Grew high; into the thick Elcorte leapt,
Saved her, and died; no creature left except
His child to thank. And when the full escape
Was knownhow men impaled from chine to nape
Unlucky Prata, all to pieces spurned
Bishop Pistore's concubines, and burned
Taurello's entire household, flesh and fell,
Missing the sweeter preysuch courage well
Might claim reward. The orphan, ever since,
Sordello, had been nurtured by his prince
Within a blind retreat where Adelaide
(For, once this notable discovery made,
The past at every point was understood)
Might harbour easily when times were rude,
When Azzo schemed for Palma, to retrieve
That pledge of Agnes Esteloth to leave
Mantua unguarded with a vigilant eye,
While there Taurello bode ambiguously
He who could have no motive now to moil
For his own fortunes since their utter spoil
As it were worth while yet (went the report)
To disengage himself from her. In short,
Apollo vanished; a mean youth, just named
His lady's minstrel, was to be proclaimed
How shall I phrase it?Monarch of the World!
For, on the day when that array was furled
Forever, and in place of one a slave
To longings, wild indeed, but longings save
In dreams as wild, suppressedone daring not
Assume the mastery such dreams allot,
Until a magical equipment, strength,
Grace, wisdom, decked him too,he chose at length,
Content with unproved wits and failing frame,
In virtue of his simple will, to claim
That mastery, no lessto do his best
With means so limited, and let the rest
Go by,the seal was set: never again
Sordello could in his own sight remain
One of the many, one with hopes and cares
And interests nowise distinct from theirs,
Only peculiar in a thriveless store
Of fancies, which were fancies and no more;
Never again for him and for the crowd
A common law was challenged and allowed
If calmly reasoned of, howe'er denied
By a mad impulse nothing justified
Short of Apollo's presence. The divorce
Is clear: why needs Sordello square his course
By any known example? Men no more
Compete with him than tree and flower before.
Himself, inactive, yet is greater far
Than such as act, each stooping to his star,
Acquiring thence his function; he has gained
The same result with meaner mortals trained
To strength or beauty, moulded to express
Each the idea that rules him; since no less
He comprehends that function, but can still
Embrace the others, take of might his fill
With Richard as of grace with Palma, mix
Their qualities, or for a moment fix
On one; abiding free meantime, uncramped
By any partial organ, never stamped
Strong, and to strength turning all energies
Wise, and restricted to becoming wise
That is, he loves not, nor possesses One
Idea that, star-like over, lures him on
To its exclusive purpose. "Fortunate!
"This flesh of mine ne'er strove to emulate
"A soul so varioustook no casual mould
"Of the first fancy and, contracted, cold,
"Clogged her foreversoul averse to change
"As flesh: whereas flesh leaves soul free to range,
"Remains itself a blank, cast into shade,
"Encumbers little, if it cannot aid.
"So, range, free soul!who, by self-consciousness,
"The last drop of all beauty dost express
"The grace of seeing grace, a quintessence
"For thee: while for the world, that can dispense
"Wonder on men who, themselves, wondermake
"A shift to love at second-hand, and take
"For idols those who do but idolize,
"Themselves,the world that counts men strong or wise,
"Who, themselves, court strength, wisdom,it shall bow
"Surely in unexampled worship now,
"Discerning me!"
(Dear monarch, I beseech,
Notice how lamentably wide a breach
Is here: discovering this, discover too
What our poor world has possibly to do
With it! As pigmy natures as you please
So much the better for you; take your ease,
Look on, and laugh; style yourself God alone;
Strangle some day with a cross olive-stone!
All that is right enough: but why want us
To know that you yourself know thus and thus?)
"The world shall bow to me conceiving all
"Man's life, who see its blisses, great and small,
"Afarnot tasting any; no machine
"To exercise my utmost will is mine:
"Be mine mere consciousness! Let men perceive
"What I could do, a mastery believe,
"Asserted and established to the throng
"By their selected evidence of song
"Which now shall prove, whate'er they are, or seek
"To be, I amwhose words, not actions speak,
"Who change no standards of perfection, vex
"With no strange forms created to perplex,
"But just perform their bidding and no more,
"At their own satiating-point give o'er,
"While each shall love in me the love that leads
"His soul to power's perfection." Song, not deeds,
(For we get tired) was chosen. Fate would brook
Mankind no other organ; he would look
For not another channel to dispense
His own volition by, receive men's sense
Of its supremacywould live content,
Obstructed else, with merely verse for vent.
Nor should, for instance, strength an outlet seek
And, striving, be admired: nor grace bespeak
Wonder, displayed in gracious attitudes:
Nor wisdom, poured forth, change unseemly moods;
But he would give and take on song's one point.
Like some huge throbbing stone that, poised a-joint,
Sounds, to affect on its basaltic bed,
Must sue in just one accent; tempests shed
Thunder, and raves the windstorm: only let
That key by any little noise be set
The far benighted hunter's halloo pitch
On that, the hungry curlew chance to scritch
Or serpent hiss it, rustling through the rift,
However loud, however lowall lift
The groaning monster, stricken to the heart.
Lo ye, the world's concernment, for its part,
And this, for his, will hardly interfere!
Its businesses in blood and blaze this year
But wile the hour awaya pastime slight
Till he shall step upon the platform: right!
And, now thus much is settled, cast in rough,
Proved feasible, be counselled! thought enough,
Slumber, Sordello! any day will serve:
Were it a less digested plan! how swerve
To-morrow? Meanwhile eat these sun-dried grapes,
And watch the soaring hawk there! Life escapes
Merrily thus.
He thoroughly read o'er
His truchman Naddo's missive six times more,
Praying him visit Mantua and supply
A famished world.
The evening star was high
When he reached Mantua, but his fame arrived
Before him: friends applauded, foes connived,
And Naddo looked an angel, and the rest
Angels, and all these angels would be blest
Supremely by a songthe thrice-renowned
Goito-manufacture. Then he found
(Casting about to satisfy the crowd)
That happy vehicle, so late allowed,
A sore annoyance; 't was the song's effect
He cared for, scarce the song itself: reflect!
In the past life, what might be singing's use?
Just to delight his Delians, whose profuse
Praise, not the toilsome process which procured
That praise, enticed Apollo: dreams abjured,
No overleaping means for endstake both
For granted or take neither! I am loth
To say the rhymes at last were Eglamor's;
But Naddo, chuckling, bade competitors
Go pine; "the master certes meant to waste
"No effort, cautiously had probed the taste
"He 'd please anon: true bard, in short,disturb
"His title if they could; nor spur nor curb,
"Fancy nor reason, wanting in him; whence
"The staple of his verses, common sense:
"He built on man's broad naturegift of gifts,
"That power to build! The world contented shifts
"With counterfeits enough, a dreary sort
"Of warriors, statesmen, ere it can extort
"Its poet-soulthat 's, after all, a freak
"(The having eyes to see and tongue to speak)
"With our herd's stupid sterling happiness
"So plainly incompatible thatyes
"Yesshould a son of his improve the breed
"And turn out poet, he were cursed indeed!"
"Well, there 's Goito and its woods anon,
"If the worst happen; best go stoutly on
"Now!" thought Sordello.
Ay, and goes on yet!
You pother with your glossaries to get
A notion of the Troubadour's intent
In rondel, tenzon, virlai or sirvent
Much as you study arras how to twirl
His angelot, plaything of page and girl
Once; but you surely reach, at last,or, no!
Never quite reach what struck the people so,
As from the welter of their time he drew
Its elements successively to view,
Followed all actions backward on their course,
And catching up, unmingled at the source,
Such a strength, such a weakness, added then
A touch or two, and turned them into men.
Virtue took form, nor vice refused a shape;
Here heaven opened, there was hell agape,
As Saint this simpered past in sanctity,
Sinner the other flared portentous by
A greedy people. Then why stop, surprised
At his success? The scheme was realized
Too suddenly in one respect: a crowd
Praising, eyes quick to see, and lips as loud
To speak, delicious homage to receive,
The woman's breath to feel upon his sleeve,
Who said, "But Anafestwhy asks he less
"Than Lucio, in your verses? how confess,
"It seemed too much but yestereve!"the youth,
Who bade him earnestly, "Avow the truth!
"You love Bianca, surely, from your song;
"I knew I was unworthy!"soft or strong,
In poured such tributes ere he had arranged
Ethereal ways to take them, sorted, changed,
Digested. Courted thus at unawares,
In spite of his pretensions and his cares,
He caught himself shamefully hankering
After the obvious petty joys that spring
From true life, fain relinquish pedestal
And condescend with pleasuresone and all
To be renounced, no doubt; for, thus to chain
Himself to single joys and so refrain
From tasting their quintessence, frustrates, sure,
His prime design; each joy must he abjure
Even for love of it.
He laughed: what sage
But perishes if from his magic page
He look because, at the first line, a proof
'T was heard salutes him from the cavern roof?
"On! Give yourself, excluding aught beside,
"To the day's task; compel your slave provide
"Its utmost at the soonest; turn the leaf
"Thoroughly conned. These lays of yours, in brief
"Cannot men bear, now, something better?fly
"A pitch beyond this unreal pageantry
"Of essences? the period sure has ceased
"For such: present us with ourselves, at least,
"Not portions of ourselves, mere loves and hates
"Made flesh: wait not!"
Awhile the poet waits
However. The first trial was enough:
He left imagining, to try the stuff
That held the imaged thing, and, let it writhe
Never so fiercely, scarce allowed a tithe
To reach the lighthis Language. How he sought
The cause, conceived a cure, and slow re-wrought
That Language,welding words into the crude
Mass from the new speech round him, till a rude
Armour was hammered out, in time to be
Approved beyond the Roman panoply
Melted to make it,boots not. This obtained
With some ado, no obstacle remained
To using it; accordingly he took
An action with its actors, quite forsook
Himself to live in each, returned anon
With the resulta creature, and, by one
And one, proceeded leisurely to equip
Its limbs in harness of his workmanship.
"Accomplished! Listen, Mantuans!" Fond essay!
Piece after piece that armour broke away,
Because perceptions whole, like that he sought
To clothe, reject so pure a work of thought
As language: thought may take perception's place
But hardly co-exist in any case,
Being its mere presentmentof the whole
By parts, the simultaneous and the sole
By the successive and the many. Lacks
The crowd perception? painfully it tacks
Thought to thought, which Sordello, needing such,
Has rent perception into: it's to clutch
And reconstructhis office to diffuse,
Destroy: as hard, then, to obtain a Muse
As to become Apollo. "For the rest,
"E'en if some wondrous vehicle expressed
"The whole dream, what impertinence in me
"So to express it, who myself can be
"The dream! nor, on the other hand, are those
"I sing to, over-likely to suppose
"A higher than the highest I present
"Now, which they praise already: be content
"Both parties, ratherthey with the old verse,
"And I with the old praisefar go, fare worse!"
A few adhering rivets loosed, upsprings
The angel, sparkles off his mail, which rings
Whirled from each delicatest limb it warps;
So might Apollo from the sudden corpse
Of Hyacinth have cast his luckless quoits.
He set to celebrating the exploits
Of Montfort o'er the Mountaineers.
Then came
The world's revenge: their pleasure, now his aim
Merely,what was it? "Not to play the fool
"So much as learn our lesson in your school!"
Replied the world. He found that, every time
He gained applause by any ballad-rhyme,
His auditory recognized no jot
As he intended, and, mistaking not
Him for his meanest hero, ne'er was dunce
Sufficient to believe himall, at once.
His will . . . conceive it caring for his will!
Mantuans, the main of them, admiring still
How a mere singer, ugly, stunted, weak,
Had Montfort at completely (so to speak)
His fingers' ends; while past the praise-tide swept
To Montfort, either's share distinctly kept:
The true meed for true merit!his abates
Into a sort he most repudiates,
And on them angrily he turns. Who were
The Mantuans, after all, that he should care
About their recognition, ay or no?
In spite of the convention months ago,
(Why blink the truth?) was not he forced to help
This same ungrateful audience, every whelp
Of Naddo's litter, make them pass for peers
With the bright band of old Goito years,
As erst he toiled for flower or tree? Why, there
Sat Palma! Adelaide's funereal hair
Ennobled the next corner. Ay, he strewed
A fairy dust upon that multitude,
Although he feigned to take them by themselves;
His giants dignified those puny elves,
Sublimed their faint applause. In short, he found
Himself still footing a delusive round,
Remote as ever from the self-display
He meant to compass, hampered every way
By what he hoped assistance. Wherefore then
Continue, make believe to find in men
A use he found not?
Weeks, months, years went by
And lo, Sordello vanished utterly,
Sundered in twain; each spectral part at strife
With each; one jarred against another life;
The Poet thwarting hopelessly the Man
Who, fooled no longer, free in fancy ran
Here, there: let slip no opportunities
As pitiful, forsooth, beside the prize
To drop on him some no-time and acquit
His constant faith (the Poet-half's to wit
That waiving any compromise between
No joy and all joy kept the hunger keen
Beyond most methods)of incurring scoff
From the Man-portionnot to be put off
With self-reflectings by the Poet's scheme,
Though ne'er so bright. Who sauntered forth in dream,
Dressed any how, nor waited mystic frames,
Immeasurable gifts, astounding claims,
But just his sorry self?who yet might be
Sorrier for aught he in reality
Achieved, so pinioned Man's the Poet-part,
Fondling, in turn of fancy, verse; the Art
Developing his soul a thousand ways
Potent, by its assistance, to amaze
The multitude with majesties, convince
Each sort of nature that the nature's prince
Accosted it. Language, the makeshift, grew
Into a bravest of expedients, too;
Apollo, seemed it now, perverse had thrown
Quiver and bow away, the lyre alone
Sufficed. While, out of dream, his day's work went
To tune a crazy tenzon or sirvent
So hampered him the Man-part, thrust to judge
Between the bard and the bard's audience, grudge
A minute's toil that missed its due reward!
But the complete Sordello, Man and Bard,
John's cloud-girt angel, this foot on the land,
That on the sea, with, open in his hand,
A bitter-sweetling of a bookwas gone.
Then, if internal struggles to be one,
Which frittered him incessantly piecemeal,
Referred, ne'er so obliquely, to the real
Intruding Mantuans! ever with some call
To action while he pondered, once for all,
Which looked the easier effortto pursue
This course, still leap o'er paltry joys, yearn through
The present ill-appreciated stage
Of self-revealment, and compel the age
Know himor else, forswearing bard-craft, wake
From out his lethargy and nobly shake
Off timid habits of denial, mix
With men, enjoy like men. Ere he could fix
On aught, in rushed the Mantuans; much they cared
For his perplexity! Thus unprepared,
The obvious if not only shelter lay
In deeds, the dull conventions of his day
Prescribed the like of him: why not be glad
'T is settled Palma's minstrel, good or bad,
Submits to this and that established rule?
Let Vidal change, or any other fool,
His murrey-coloured robe for filamot,
And crop his hair; too skin-deep, is it not,
Such vigour? Then, a sorrow to the heart,
His talk! Whatever topics they might start
Had to be groped for in his consciousness
Straight, and as straight delivered them by guess.
Only obliged to ask himself, "What was,"
A speedy answer followed; but, alas,
One of God's large ones, tardy to condense
Itself into a period; answers whence
A tangle of conclusions must be stripped
At any risk ere, trim to pattern clipped,
They matched rare specimens the Mantuan flock
Regaled him with, each talker from his stock
Of sorted-o'er opinions, every stage,
Juicy in youth or desiccate with age,
Fruits like the fig-tree's, rathe-ripe, rotten-rich,
Sweet-sour, all tastes to take: a practice which
He too had not impossibly attained,
Once either of those fancy-flights restrained;
(For, at conjecture how might words appear
To others, playing there what happened here,
And occupied abroad by what he spurned
At home, 't was slipped, the occasion he returned
To seize he 'd strike that lyre adroitlyspeech,
Would but a twenty-cubit plectre reach;
A clever hand, consummate instrument,
Were both brought close; each excellency went
For nothing, else. The question Naddo asked,
Had just a lifetime moderately tasked
To answer, Naddo's fashion. More disgust
And more: why move his soul, since move it must
At minute's notice or as good it failed
To move at all? The end was, he retailed
Some ready-made opinion, put to use
This quip, that maxim, ventured reproduce
Gestures and tonesat any folly caught
Serving to finish with, nor too much sought
If false or true 't was spoken; praise and blame
Of what he said grew pretty nigh the same
Meantime awards to meantime acts: his soul,
Unequal to the compassing a whole,
Saw, in a tenth part, less and less to strive
About. And as for men in turn . . . contrive
Who could to take eternal interest
In them, so hate the worst, so love the best,
Though, in pursuance of his passive plan,
He hailed, decried, the proper way.
As Man
So figured he; and how as Poet? Verse
Came only not to a stand-still. The worse,
That his poor piece of daily work to do
Wasnot sink under any rivals; who
Loudly and long enough, without these qualms,
Turned, from Bocafoli's stark-naked psalms,
To Plara's sonnets spoilt by toying with,
"As knops that stud some almug to the pith
"Prickd for gum, wry thence, and crinkld worse
"Than pursd eyelids of a river-horse
"Sunning himself o' the slime when whirrs the breese"
Gad-fly, that is. He might compete with these!
Butbut
"Observe a pompion-twine afloat;
"Pluck me one cup from off the castle-moat!
"Along with cup you raise leaf, stalk and root,
"The entire surface of the pool to boot.
"So could I pluck a cup, put in one song
"A single sight, did not my hand, too strong,
"Twitch in the least the root-strings of the whole.
"How should externals satisfy my soul?"
"Why that's precise the error Squarcialupe"
(Hazarded Naddo) "finds; 'the man can't stoop
"'To sing us out,' quoth he, 'a mere romance;
"'He'd fain do better than the best, enhance
"'The subjects' rarity, work problems out
"'Therewith.' Now, you 're a bard, a bard past doubt,
"And no philosopher; why introduce
"Crotchets like these? fine, surely, but no use
"In poetrywhich still must be, to strike,
"Based upon common sense; there's nothing like
"Appealing to our nature! what beside
"Was your first poetry? No tricks were tried
"In that, no hollow thrills, affected throes!
"'The man,' said we, 'tells his own joys and woes:
"'We'll trust him.' Would you have your songs endure?
"Build on the human heart!why, to be sure
"Yours is one sort of heartbut I mean theirs,
"Ours, every one's, the healthy heart one cares
"To build on! Central peace, mother of strength,
"That's father of . . . nay, go yourself that length,
"Ask those calm-hearted doers what they do
"When they have got their calm! And is it true,
"Fire rankles at the heart of every globe?
"Perhaps. But these are matters one may probe
"Too deeply for poetic purposes:
"Rather select a theory that . . . yes,
"Laugh! what does that prove?stations you midway
"And saves some little o'er-refining. Nay,
"That's rank injustice done me! I restrict
"The poet? Don't I hold the poet picked
"Out of a host of warriors, statesmen . . . did
"I tell you? Very like! As well you hid
"That sense of power, you have! True bards believe
"All able to achieve what they achieve
"That is, just nothingin one point abide
"Profounder simpletons than all beside.
"Oh, ay! The knowledge that you are a bard
"Must constitute your prime, nay sole, reward!"
So prattled Naddo, busiest of the tribe
Of genius-hauntershow shall I describe
What grubs or nips or rubs or ripsyour louse
For love, your flea for hate, magnanimous,
Malignant, Pappacoda, Tagliafer,
Picking a sustenance from wear and tear
By implements it sedulous employs
To undertake, lay down, mete out, o'er-toise
Sordello? Fifty creepers to elude
At once! They settled staunchly; shame ensued:
Behold the monarch of mankind succumb
To the last fool who turned him round his thumb,
As Naddo styled it! 'T was not worth oppose
The matter of a moment, gainsay those
He aimed at getting rid of; better think
Their thoughts and speak their speech, secure to slink
Back expeditiously to his safe place,
And chew the cudwhat he and what his race
Were really, each of them. Yet even this
Conformity was partial. He would miss
Some point, brought into contact with them ere
Assured in what small segment of the sphere
Of his existence they attended him;
Whence blunders, falsehoods rectifieda grim
Listslur it over! How? If dreams were tried,
His will swayed sicklily from side to side,
Nor merely neutralized his waking act
But tended e'en in fancy to distract
The intermediate will, the choice of means.
He lost the art of dreaming: Mantuan scenes
Supplied a baron, say, he sang before,
Handsomely reckless, full to running-o'er
Of gallantries; "abjure the soul, content
"With body, therefore!" Scarcely had he bent
Himself in dream thus low, when matter fast
Cried out, he found, for spirit to contrast
And task it duly; by advances slight,
The simple stuff becoming composite,
Count Lori grew Apollo: best recall
His fancy! Then would some rough peasant-Paul,
Like those old Ecelin confers with, glance
His gay apparel o'er; that countenance
Gathered his shattered fancies into one,
And, body clean abolished, soul alone
Sufficed the grey Paulician: by and by,
To balance the ethereality,
Passions were needed; foiled he sank again.
Meanwhile the world rejoiced ('t is time explain)
Because a sudden sickness set it free
From Adelaide. Missing the mother-bee,
Her mountain-hive Romano swarmed; at once
A rustle-forth of daughters and of sons
Blackened the valley. "I am sick too, old,
"Half-crazed I think; what good's the Kaiser's gold
"To such an one? God help me! for I catch
"My children's greedy sparkling eyes at watch
"'He bears that double breastplate on,' they say,
"'So many minutes less than yesterday!'
"Beside, Monk Hilary is on his knees
"Now, sworn to kneel and pray till God shall please
"Exact a punishment for many things
"You know, and some you never knew; which brings
"To memory, Azzo's sister Beatrix
"And Richard's Giglia are my Alberic's
"And Ecelin's betrothed; the Count himself
"Must get my Palma: Ghibellin and Guelf
"Mean to embrace each other." So began
Romano's missive to his fighting man
Taurelloon the Tuscan's death, away
With Friedrich sworn to sail from Naples' bay
Next month for Syria. Never thunder-clap
Out of Vesuvius' throat, like this mishap
Startled him. "That accursed Vicenza! I
"Absent, and she selects this time to die!
"Ho, fellows, for Vicenza!" Half a score
Of horses ridden dead, he stood before
Romano in his reeking spurs: too late
"Boniface urged me, Este could not wait,"
The chieftain stammered; "let me die in peace
"Forget me! Was it I who craved increase
"Of rule? Do you and Friedrich plot your worst
"Against the Father: as you found me first
"So leave me now. Forgive me! Palma, sure,
"Is at Goito still. Retain that lure
"Only be pacified!"
The country rung
With such a piece of news: on every tongue,
How Ecelin's great servant, congeed off,
Had done a long day's service, so, might doff
The green and yellow, and recover breath
At Mantua, whither,since Retrude's death,
(The girlish slip of a Sicilian bride
From Otho's house, he carried to reside
At Mantua till the Ferrarese should pile
A structure worthy her imperial style,
The gardens raise, the statues there enshrine,
She never lived to see)although his line
Was ancient in her archives and she took
A pride in him, that city, nor forsook
Her child when he forsook himself and spent
A prowess on Romano surely meant
For his own growthwhither he ne'er resorts
If wholly satisfied (to trust reports)
With Ecelin. So, forward in a trice
Were shows to greet him. "Take a friend's advice,"
Quoth Naddo to Sordello, "nor be rash
"Because your rivals (nothing can abash
"Some folks) demur that we pronounced you best
"To sound the great man's welcome; 't is a test,
"Remember! Strojavacca looks asquint,
"The rough fat sloven; and there 's plenty hint
"Your pinions have received of late a shock
"Outsoar them, cobswan of the silver flock!
"Sing well!" A signal wonder, song 's no whit
Facilitated.
Fast the minutes flit;
Another day, Sordello finds, will bring
The soldier, and he cannot choose but sing;
So, a last shift, quits Mantuaslow, alone:
Out of that aching brain, a very stone,
Song must be struck. What occupies that front?
Just how he was more awkward than his wont
The night before, when Naddo, who had seen
Taurello on his progress, praised the mien
For dignity no crosses could affect
Such was a joy, and might not he detect
A satisfaction if established joys
Were proved imposture? Poetry annoys
Its utmost: wherefore fret? Verses may come
Or keep away! And thus he wandered, dumb
Till evening, when he paused, thoroughly spent,
On a blind hill-top: down the gorge he went,
Yielding himself up as to an embrace.
The moon came out; like features of a face,
A querulous fraternity of pines,
Sad blackthorn clumps, leafless and grovelling vines
Also came out, made gradually up
The picture; 't was Goito's mountain-cup
And castle. He had dropped through one defile
He never dared explore, the Chief erewhile
Had vanished by. Back rushed the dream, enwrapped
Him wholly. 'T was Apollo now they lapped,
Those mountains, not a pettish minstrel meant
To wear his soul away in discontent,
Brooding on fortune's malice. Heart and brain
Swelled; he expanded to himself again,
As some thin seedling spice-tree starved and frail,
Pushing between cat's head and ibis' tail
Crusted into the porphyry pavement smooth,
Suffered remain just as it sprung, to soothe
The Soldan's pining daughter, never yet
Well in her chilly green-glazed minaret,
When rooted up, the sunny day she died,
And flung into the common court beside
Its parent tree. Come home, Sordello! Soon
Was he low muttering, beneath the moon,
Of sorrow saved, of quiet evermore,
Since from the purpose, he maintained before,
Only resulted wailing and hot tears.
Ah, the slim castle! dwindled of late years,
But more mysterious; gone to ruintrails
Of vine through every loop-hole. Nought avails
The night as, torch in hand, he must explore
The maple chamber: did I say, its floor
Was made of intersecting cedar beams?
Worn now with gaps so large, there blew cold streams
Of air quite from the dungeon; lay your ear
Close and 't is like, one after one, you hear
In the blind darkness water drop. The nests
And nooks retain their long ranged vesture-chests
Empty and smelling of the iris root
The Tuscan grated o'er them to recruit
Her wasted wits. Palma was gone that day,
Said the remaining women. Last, he lay
Beside the Carian group reserved and still.
The Body, the Machine for Acting Will,
Had been at the commencement proved unfit;
That for Demonstrating, Reflecting it,
Mankindno fitter: was the Will Itself
In fault?
His forehead pressed the moonlit shelf
Beside the youngest marble maid awhile;
Then, raising it, he thought, with a long smile,
"I shall be king again!" as he withdrew
The envied scarf; into the font he threw
His crown
Next day, no poet! "Wherefore?" asked
Taurello, when the dance of Jongleurs, masked
As devils, ended; "don't a song come next?"
The master of the pageant looked perplexed
Till Naddo's whisper came to his relief.
"His Highness knew what poets were: in brief,
"Had not the tetchy race prescriptive right
"To peevishness, caprice? or, call it spite,
"One must receive their nature in its length
"And breadth, expect the weakness with the strength!"
So phrasing, till, his stock of phrases spent,
The easy-natured soldier smiled assent,
Settled his portly person, smoothed his chin,
And nodded that the bull-bait might begin.
~ Robert Browning, Sordello - Book the Second
,#NFDB
14 Integral Yoga
6 Poetry
4 Occultism
2 Psychology
1 Theosophy
1 Philosophy
1 Fiction
1 Alchemy
10 Satprem
5 The Mother
2 Sri Aurobindo
2 Nolini Kanta Gupta
2 John Keats
2 Franz Bardon
4 Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness
3 The Secret Doctrine
2 Savitri
2 On the Way to Supermanhood
2 Keats - Poems
0 1961-02-04, #Agenda Vol 02, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
Someone had wanted to plant pine treesScotch firs, I think and by mistake Norway spruce were sent instead. And it began to snow! It had never snowed there before, as you can imagineit was only a few kilometers from the Sahara and boiling hot: 113 in the shade and 130 in the sun in summer. Well, one night Madame Theon, asleep in her bed, was awakened by a little Gnome-like beinga Norwegian Gnome with a pointed cap and pointed slippers turned up at the toes! From head to foot he was covered with snow, and it began melting onto the floor of her room, so she glared at him and said:
What are You doing here? Youre dripping wet! Youre making a mess of my floor!
--
So the little Gnome left.
But when she awoke, there was a puddle of water on the floor, so it couldnt have been a dream. And when she looked out the window, all the hills were snow-covered!
0 1966-01-14, #Agenda Vol 07, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
Yes, the continuation of the same story. You know the impression I had when I heard of Shastris death? I had the impression it was a symbol, and that it was the death of the Gnome.8 The death of the Dwarfs. That it was the bottom of the pit and the end of the Age of Gnomes. And that maybe we were now going to climb up again.
Lets hope so. For the moment, everything is in suspense.
0 1970-10-21, #Agenda Vol 11, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
I dont know but he suffers, you understand! Hes unhappy, poor man. On the one hand he is pulled by the good side, and on the other by his little Gnome. I didnt cut off my relations with him for personal reasons I dont take offense at all but because I saw it didnt help him, thats all. Otherwise I have nothing against himhe suffers, poor man.
As for me, I have never spoken to him.
0 1971-12-11, #Agenda Vol 12, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
For the problem is fundamental. It is not a question of bringing a new philosophy to the world or new ideas or illuminations, as they are called. The question is not of making the Prison of our lives more habitable, or of endowing man with ever more fantastic powers. Armed with his microscopes and telescopes, the human Gnome remains a Gnome, pain-ridden and helpless. We send rockets to the moon, but we know nothing of our own hearts. It is a question, says Sri Aurobindo, of creating a new physical nature which is to be the habitation of the Supramental being in a new evolution.3 For, in actuality, he says, the imperfection of Man is not the last word of Nature, but his perfection too is not the last peak of the Spirit.4 Beyond the mental man we are, there exists the possibility of another being who will be the spearhead of evolution as man was once the spearhead of evolution among the great apes. If, says Sri Aurobindo, the animal is a living laboratory in which Nature has, it is said, worked out man, man himself may well be a thinking and living laboratory in whom and with whose conscious co-operation she wills to work out the superman, the god.5 Sri Aurobindo has come to tell us how to create this other being, this supramental being, and not only to tell us but actually to create this other being and open the path of the future, to hasten upon earth the rhythm of evolution, the new vibration that will replace the mental vibrationexactly as a thought one day disturbed the slow routine of the beastsand will give us the power to shatter the walls of our human prison.
Indeed, the prison is already starting to collapse. The end of a stage of evolution, announced by Sri Aurobindo, is usually marked by a powerful recrudescence of all that has to go out of the evolution.6 Everywhere about us we see this paroxysmal shattering of all the old forms: our borders, our churches, our laws, our morals are collapsing on all sides. They are not collapsing because we are bad, immoral, irreligious, or because we are not sufficiently rational, scientific or human, but because we have come to the end of the human! To the end of the old mechanism for we are on our way to SOMETHING ELSE. The world is not going through a moral crisis but through an evolutionary crisis. We are not going towards a better worldnor, for that matter, towards a worse onewe are in the midst of a MUTATION to a radically different world, as different as the human world was from the ape world of the Tertiary Era. We are entering a new era, a supramental Quinary. We leave our countries, wander aimlessly, we go looking for drugs, for adventure, we go on strike here, enact reforms there, foment revolutions and counterrevolutions. But all this is only an appearance; in fact, unwittingly, we are looking for the new being. We are in the midst of human evolution.
02.02 - Lines of the Descent of Consciousness, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 03, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
Further down in the scale where life-force touches Matter, where Life is about to precipitate as Matter, appear beings of a still lower order, of smaller dimensions and magnitudes Imps, elfs, pixies, goblins, Gnomes, fairies or dryads and naiads. There are even creatures or entities so close to Matter that they come into being and pass away with the building up and breaking of a definite pattern of material organisation. This individualisation of consciousness as beings or persons seems to disappear altogether when we enter the strictly material plane. There is here only an agglomeration of uniform dead particles.
We have thus far followed the course of the break-up of Personality, from the original one supreme Person, through a continuous process of multiplication and disintegration, of parcellation and crystallisation into more and more small self-centred units, until we reach the final pulverisation as purely material physico-chemical atoms. Now with the reversal of consciousness, in its return movement, we have again a process of growth and building up of individuality and personality, with the awakening and ascension of consciousness from level to level on the physical plane and in the material embodiment, there occurs too an evolution of the personal aspect of the reality.
07.03 - The Entry into the Inner Countries, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
And trolls and Gnomes and goblins scowled and stared
And wild beast roarings thrilled the blood with fear
10.03 - The Debate of Love and Death, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
It shares the faeries' dance, dines with the Gnome:
It basks in the light and heat of many suns,
1.01 - The Mental Fortress, #On the Way to Supermanhood, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
That is where we are. The illusion is not dead; it even rages with unprecedented violence, equipped with all the arms we have so obligingly polished up for it. But these are the last convulsions of a colossus with feet of clay which is actually a Gnome, an oversized, overoutfitted Gnome. The ancient sages of India knew it well. They divided human evolution into four concentric circles: that of the men of knowledge (Brahmins), who lived at the beginning of humanity, in the age of truth; that of the nobles and warriors (Kshatriya), when only three fourths of the truth was left; that of the merchants and middle class (Vaishya), who had only half of the truth; and finally ours, the age of the little men, the Shudra, the servants (of the machine, of the ego, of desire), the great proletariat of regimented liberties the Dark Age, Kali Yuga, when no truth is left at all. But because this circle is the most extreme, because all the truths have been tried and exhausted, and all possible roads explored, we are nearing the right solution, the true solution, the emergence of a new age of truth, the supramental age Sri Aurobindo spoke of, like the buttercup breaking its last envelope to free its golden fruit. If the parallel holds true between the collective body and our human body, we could say that the center governing the age of the sages was located at the level of the forehead, while that of the age of the nobles was at the level of the heart, that of the age of the merchants, at the stomach, and the one governing our age is at the level of sex and matter. The descent is complete. But that descent has a meaning a meaning for matter. Had we stayed forever at the forehead level of the divine truths of the mind, this earth and body would never have been changed, and we would have probably ended up escaping into some spiritual heaven or nirvana. Now, everything must be transformed, even the body and matter, since we are right in it. Ironically, this is the greatest service this dark, materialistic and scientific age may have rendered us: to compel such a plunge of the spirit into matter that it had either to lose itself in it or to be transformed with it. Absolute darkness is but the shadow of a greater Sun, which digs its abysses in order to raise up a more stable beauty, founded on the purified base of our earthly subconscious and seated erect in truth down to the very cells of our bodies.
O Force-compelled, Fate-driven earth-born race,
1.01 - The Rape of the Lock, #The Rape of the Lock, #unset, #Zen
The graver prude sinks downward to a Gnome,
In search of mischief still on earth to roam.
--
For life predestin'd to the Gnomes' embrace.
These swell their prospects and exalt their pride,
1.02 - MAPS OF MEANING - THREE LEVELS OF ANALYSIS, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
the way, over the boulders and through the brushes, when he saw a little shiny Gnome with big white teeth
and a black toupee sitting by the side of the road. He was drumming on a log with two white bones, and
humming oddly to himself. The little Gnome said,
John why work so hard? Why walk so fast? Who knows if youll ever get there anyway? Come over
--
stones at him. The little Gnome said,
I have a shiny red jewel I would like to sell you. Cheap. Here it is, and from beneath his cloak he
--
The Gnome said, do you like it? It is an enchanted stone. What will you offer me for it? and the man
said, I dont have much much money. But I will give you everything I have. The Gnome looked
displeased, so John added: I could pay some more monthly.
So the Gnome accepted: Fair enough! Buy now pay later. Sounds good to me. Im all for the
installment plan.
So the man gave the Gnome all his money, and promised to pay the rest later. And the Gnome walked
back into the bush by the road, clacking his teeth and giggling and twitching.
--
mistaken. I am the one with the jewel. I met a little Gnome by the side of the road, and he sold it to me. I am
still paying for it although not so very much! You are carrying a rock!
--
mister. You have a rock. I have a jewel. The little Gnome you described sold it to me and he said it was
the only one! I have been carrying it for twenty years, and I will never let it go!and John said, but I have
--
Suddenly out stepped the little Gnome as if he had never left! Only this time he wasnt so little. He
was bigger, and redder, and menacing, and his laugh sounded like the rattling of chains.
--
Soon, nothing was left except a leg bone from each. The little Gnome picked them up, and walked off
the road. He sat down by a hollow log, and started to drum.
1.04 - The Silent Mind, #Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
an oversized Gnome intruding into everything, obscuring everything,
hearing and seeing only himself, knowing only himself (if even that!),
1.05 - AUERBACHS CELLAR, #Faust, #Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #Poetry
Her paramour should be an ugly Gnome,
Where four roads cross, in wanton play to meet her:
1.11 - The Change of Power, #On the Way to Supermanhood, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
For there is an even greater Secret. We face this enormous universe bristling with difficulties and problems and negations and obstacles everything is a sort of constant impossibility to be overcome by dint of intelligence, willpower, material or spiritual muscles. But, by so doing, we are on equal terms with the caterpillar, on equal terms with the fear-stricken Gnome in its death hole. And, because we believe in difficulty, we are compelled to believe in our muscles of steel or not which always collapse. And we believe in death, we believe in evil, we believe in suffering, as the mole believes in the virtues of its tunnels. But by our morbid belief, our age-old belief, our gray elf-look, we have hardened the difficulty, armed it with a host of instruments and remedies that inflated it even more, planted it more firmly in its implacable groove. The world is enveloped in a formidable elfin illusion. It is in the grip a of formidable Death, which is but our fear of immortality. It is being torn apart by a formidable suffering, which is our refusal of joy and sunshine. Yet everything is here, every possible miracle, in the great open sunlight, every dreamed and undreamed possibility, every simple, spontaneous and natural mastery, every simple power of the Great Harmony. It asks only to pour over the world, flow through our channels and our bodies. All it asks is that we open the passageway. If we let that lightness, that divine ease, that solar smile, flood for a second our little aggregate of flesh, everything melts, obstacles dissolve, illnesses vanish, circumstances are straightened out as if by miracle, the darkness is illumined, the wall collapses as though they never existed. And once again, it is not even a miracle; it is simplicity reestablished, reality restored. It is the point of harmony here contacting Harmony everywhere and spontaneously, automatically, instantly bringing (or restoring) harmony there, in that gesture, that circumstance, that word, that particular conjunction of events and everything is a marvel of conjunction because everything flows from the Law. The walls never were; the obstacles never were; evil, suffering and death never were. But we had that look of evil, that look of suffering and death, that look of the imprisoned elf. The world is as we see it, as we want it. There is another Look within us which can transfigure everything. My children, said She who continued Sri Aurobindo's work, you all live in an enormous sea of vibrations and you don't even realize it! Because you are not receptive. There is such a resistance in you that if something manages to penetrate, three quarters of what enters is violently thrown out because of an incapacity to contain it.... Take simply the example of the consciousness of Forces, such as the force of love, the force of comprehension, the force of creation (it is the same for all of them: the force of protection, the force of growth, the force of progress, all of them), just take Consciousness, the consciousness that covers everything, permeates everything, that is everywhere and in everything it is almost felt as something trying to impose itself violently on the being, which balks!... Whereas if you were open and simply breathed that's all, just breathed you would brea the in Consciousness, Light, Comprehension, Force, Love and all the rest.29 Everything is there under our eyes, the total marvel of the world, just waiting for our consent, our look of faith in beauty, in freedom, in the supreme possibility that is knocking at our doors, pounding on the walls of our intelligence, suffering and pettiness. This is the supreme change of power, which is knocking at the world's doors and hammering away at nations, churches and Sorbonnes, hammering at human consciousness and all our geometric and well-thought-out certainties. And if once, only once, man's consciousness opens up to one ray of that living miracle, if the consciousness of a single nation among all our blind nations opens up to one spark of that Grace, then this implacable civilization walled up in its science and laws, in an elf of terror and suffering this enormous structure in which we have been born and which seems so inescapable, so indestructible and triumphant in its heavy miracles of steel and uranium, this clever prison in which we go in circles will crumble as rust. Then we will be man at last, or superman rather. We will have joy, natural oneness, freedom without walls and power without tricks. Then we will realize that all this suffering, these walls and difficulties which besiege our life were only the spur of the Sun of Truth, an original restriction to increase our strength, our need for space and our power of truth, a veil of illusion to protect our eyes from too strong a light, a dark passage from the instinctive spontaneity of the animal to the conscious spontaneity of the superman and that in the end everything is simple, unbelievably simple, like Truth itself, and unbelievably easy, like the very Joy that conceived these worlds. For, in truth, the path of the gods is a sunlit path on which difficulties lose all reality.30
1.12 - The Astral Plane, #Initiation Into Hermetics, #Franz Bardon, #Occultism
Another kind of being the adept often has to deal with in the astral plane must not be overlooked, namely the beings of the four pure elements. In the element of fire, their name is salamander; in the air element they are the sylphs, in the water element, they are called mermaids or undines, and in the element of earth there are the Gnomes or goblins. These beings represent, as it were, the connection between the astral plane and the earthly elements. How to establish the connection with these beings, how to control them, what can be achieved with their help, all will be reserved to the practical part of the present book to which I shall dedicate the special chapter, Magic of the
Elements.
1.15 - In the Domain of the Spirit Beings, #The Practice of Magical Evocation, #Franz Bardon, #Occultism
In the astral world of the zone girdling the earth the same powers exist and are at work as in the physical world; they are, however, more subtle. Also there dominates the element of the fire with its salamanders or spirits of fire, the element of water with its water-spirits and undines, the element of the air with its fairies and sylphs or spirits of the air, and the element of the earth with its Gnomes or spirits of the earth. All the beings in the astral sphere of the earth-zone move about in their respective elements just as the fish in the waters of the earth moves about correspondingly in its element. Each element has positive and negative beings so that we may talk of good as well as of evil salamanders.
The same is true of the beings of the other elements. In reality, however, there exists neither good nor evil, for Divine Providence created nothing bad or inharmonious, it is only a human comprehension to assume this. From the hermetic point of view the one kind of beings have good the other bad influences, thus have its good and bad effects respectively. These beings are, in the astral world, the tools for the things that happen in our physical world. They are the cause of all effects in the astral body of each being, no matter whether initiate or non-initiate.
1.15 - The Supramental Consciousness, #Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
surrounded by a jungle of present facts and phenomena but from above, not from outside and judged by their surfaces, but from within and viewed from the truth of their centre.260 Therefore, we cannot understand anything about the Supramental if we do not constantly refer it to another dimension. But we can understand that it is the very vision of Wisdom, because each thing, each being, each force on the earth moves toward a special absolute, expressing it more or less accurately and often perversely, but despite all the flaws and perversions it obeys an intimate law that impels it towards the one truth of its being even the leaves on the same tree are all unique. If it were not for that absolute and unique truth at the center of each one of us, we would crumble. This is also why we are so attached to our own smallness and stumblings, because we do sense the truth that is behind them, growing behind them, as if protected,261 Sri Aurobindo said, by that very smallness and all those stumblings. If we got hold of the whole truth at once, we would turn it into some Gnome in our own present image! Truth has nothing to do with thought or good deeds,
though these may be steps on the way; it has to do with a vastness of being. And the growth process is slow and difficult. Errors,
1.16 - Man, A Transitional Being, #Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
including those that seem to be the very contradiction of the eternal Player. Force is cast in an ever more passionate movement, as if it wanted to burst forth to its utmost frontiers, to meet itself always farther in order to replace the One by an impossible sum. Then consciousness scatters. It breaks up into smaller and smaller fragments, becoming increasingly heavy and obscure, forming layers or worlds inhabited by their own beings and forces, each with its particular life; all the traditions have described them; we too, can see them in our sleep, or with our eyes open once our vision has become unsealed. From the gods to the symbolic Gnomes, consciousness shrinks, crumbles, and falls to dust overmind, intuitive mind,
illumined mind, higher mind, then vital, and subtle physical. It becomes more and more ensnared and mired in its force, scattered into microscopic instincts or survival-oriented tropisms, until its final dispersion in Matter, in which everything becomes fragmented. "In the 317
1.17 - The Transformation, #Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
and true wisdom with dogmas. This is the reign of the Gnomes, on every plane. And it will become more and more a reign of Gnomes,
unless we relinquish these mortifying half-truths, from above or below, and immerse ourselves in the true Source, within, to recover the practical secret of the Spirit in Matter. "That which is immortal in mortals . . . is a god and established inwardly as an energy working out in our divine powers." (Rig Veda IV.2.1) Because they knew this Secret, neither the rishis nor the sages of the ancient Mysteries ever created the monumental schism that presently undermines our lives:
--
Sri Aurobindo brings us a message of hope. Ultimately, our present reign of Gnomes is the sign of a new emergence. Our darkness and declines always signal the advent of a greater light, which had to descend to break the prevailing limits. There are only two ways of breaking the limits: through an excess of light or an excess of darkness, but while one draws our darkness up into the light and dissolves it, the other precipitates the light into our darkness and transmutes it. One way liberates a few individuals, while the other liberates the whole earth. Ten thousand years ago, a few giants among men had wrestled out the Secret of the world, but this was the privilege of a few initiates, while now we must all become initiates.
Ten thousand years ago reigned the Golden Age, while today everything seems to have been swallowed up in darkness. In truth,
12.01 - This Great Earth Our Mother, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 04, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
All other beings or creatures within the frame of this material heaven do not brea the air; all other heavens lack precisely this earth-atmosphere: and they do not grow or change. Take for instance the legendary beings of the subtle worldsfairies, elves, spirits, Gnomes, goblinsall are types, definite species, they do not change, alter their character or nature: they remain themselves, true to themselves throughout from beginning to end, they come up to us today with the same features that they had to the eyes of the men of prehistoric ages. Even the gods belong to the same category of immutability: they are each an eternal reality, an unchangeable norm, an ideal petrified so to say. They are not inconstant and fickle and ever-changing as mortals are. Asuras also have the same character. All these typal beings have to be broken before they can be moulded into another pattern. If any of them wishes to change or evolve into something else he has to come down on earth, enter into a human mould or take birth as a human being.
II
1.57 - Beings I have Seen with my Physical Eye, #Magick Without Tears, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
Then, to my amazement, I saw of the slopes below me, two little fellows hopping playfully about on the scree. (A moment while I remind you that all my romance was Celtic; I had never ever read Teutonic myths and fables.) But these little men were exactly the traditional Gnome of German fold-tales; the Heinzelmnner that one sees sometimes on German beer-mugs (I have never drunk beer in my life) and in friezes on the walls of a Conditorei.
I hailed them cheerfully at first I thought they were some of the local nobility and gentry of a type I had not yet encountered; but they took no notice, just went on playing about. They were still at it when I reached my cousin, sheltering behind some boulders at the foot of the slope; and I saw no more of them.
1957-03-15 - Reminiscences of Tlemcen, #Questions And Answers 1957-1958, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
As I was telling you, Tlemcen is very near the Sahara and it has a desert climate except that in the valley a river flows which never dries up and makes the whole country very fertile. But the mountains were absolutely arid. Only in the part occupied by farmers did something grow. Now, Monsieur Xs parka large estatewas, as I said, a marvellous place everything grew there, everything one could imagine and to a magnificent size. Now, she told methey had been there a very long time that about five or six years before, I think, they had felt that these barren mountains might one day cause the river to dry up and that it would be better to plant trees there; and the administrator of Tlemcen ordered trees to be planted on all the neighbouring hills; a wide amphitheatre, you know. He said that pine trees should be planted, for in Algeria the sea-pine grows very well. And they wanted to try it. Well, for some reason or otherforgetfulness or fantasy, heaven knows!instead of ordering pine trees they ordered fir trees! Fir trees belong to Scandinavian countries, not at all to desert lands. And very conscientiously all these fir trees were planted. Now Madame X saw this and I believe she felt like making an experiment. So it happened that four or five years later these fir trees had not only grown but had become magnificent and when I went to Tlemcen the mountains all around were absolutely green, magnificent with trees. She said to me, You see, these are not pine trees, they are fir trees, and indeed they wereyou know fir trees are Christmas trees, dont you?they were fir trees. Then she told me how after three years when the fir trees had grown, suddenly one day or rather one December night, as she had just gone to bed and put out her light, she was awakened by a tiny little noiseshe was very sensitive to noise; she opened her eyes and saw something like a moonbeam there was no moon that nightlighting up a corner of her room. And she noticed that a little Gnome was there, like the ones you see in the fairy-tales of Norway and Sweden, Scandinavian fairy-tales. He was a tiny little fellow with a big head, a pointed cap, pointed shoes of dark green, a long white beard, and all covered with snow.
So she looked at himher eyes were openshe looked at him and said, But Eh! what are you doing here?she was a little worried, for in the warmth of her room the snow was melting and making a little pool on the floor of her room. But what are you doing here!
1.jk - Lamia. Part II, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
Empty the haunted air, and Gnomed mine
Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
1.jk - The Cap And Bells; Or, The Jealousies - A Faery Tale .. Unfinished, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
Then black Gnomes scattering sixpences like rain;
Then pages three and three; and next, slave-held,
1.pbs - Letter To Maria Gisborne, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
But quicksilver; that dew which the Gnomes drink
When at their subterranean toil they swink,
--
This quicksilver no Gnome has drunkwithin
The walnut bowl it lies, veind and thin,
1.rb - Sordello - Book the Second, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
At will, but a poor Gnome that, cloistered up
In some rock-chamber with his agate cup,
2.15 - On the Gods and Asuras, #Evening Talks With Sri Aurobindo, #unset, #Zen
Sri Aurobindo: There are two kinds of elementals: one mischievous and the other innocent. What Europeans call Gnomes come under this category.
Disciple: You said some time back that some forces of diseases are individualised while others are not.
3.05 - The Physical World and its Connection with the Soul and Spirit-Lands, #Theosophy, #Alice Bailey, #Occultism
Spirit remains merely a shadowy conception of the mind without being or life, an empty abstraction, to him who does not picture it in this way. And the same may be said in reference to what one calls the Spirit of the Age (Zeitgeist). The spiritual outlook, in fact, is through this, extended over a variety of other beings, both lower and higher, who live in the environment of man without his being able to perceive them with his bodily senses. But those who have powers of spiritual sight perceive such beings and can describe them. To the lower kinds belong those designated by the spiritual investigator, as salamanders, sylphs, undines, and Gnomes. It is quite to be understood that anyone who is inclined to admit the validity of physical vision only, regards such beings as the offspring of a wild hallucination and superstition. They can of course never become visible to the physical eye for they have no physical bodies. The superstition does not consist in regarding such beings as real, but in believing that they appear in a way perceptible to the physical senses. Beings with such forms cooperate in the building of the world, and one comes into connection with
p. 177
5 - The Phenomenology of the Spirit in Fairytales, #The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
dead, or, more rarely, by grotesque Gnomelike figures or talking
animals. The dwarf forms are found, at least in my experience,
--
Barlach's play Der tote Tag (1912), the Gnomelike figure of
Steissbart ("Rumpbeard") is associated with the mother, just as
Appendix 4 - Priest Spells, #Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 2E, #unset, #Zen
This spell affects any single person or mammal it is cast upon. The creature then regards the caster as a trusted friend and ally to be heeded and protected. The term person includes any bipedal human, demihuman or humanoid of man size or smaller, including brownies, dryads, dwarves, elves, gnolls, Gnomes, goblins, half-elves, halflings, half-orcs, hobgoblins, humans, kobolds, lizard men, nixies, orcs, pixies, sprites, troglodytes, and others. Thus, a 10th-level fighter is included, while an ogre is not.
The spell does not enable the caster to control the charmed creature as if it were an automaton, but any word or action of the caster is viewed in the most favorable way.
--
The hold person spell affects any bipedal human, demihuman, or humanoid of man size or smaller, including brownies, dryads, dwarves, elves, gnolls, Gnomes, goblins, halfelves, halflings, half-orcs, hobgoblins, humans, kobolds, lizard men, nixies, orcs, pixies, sprites, troglodytes, and others. Thus, a 10th-level fighter could be held, while an ogre could not.
The effect is centered on a point selected by the caster, and it affects persons selected by the caster within the area of effect. If the spell is cast at three persons, each gets a normal saving throw; if only two persons are being enspelled, each rolls his saving throw with a -1 penalty; if the spell is cast at only one person, the saving throw die roll suffers a
--
When the priest casts a raise dead spell, he can restore life to a dwarf, Gnome, half-elf, halfling, or human (other creatures may be allowed, at the DM's option). The length of time that the person has been dead is of importance, as the priest can raise persons dead only up to a limit of one day for each experience level of the priest (i.e., a 9th-level priest can raise a person who has been dead for up to nine days).
Note that the body of the person must be whole, or otherwise missing parts are still missing when the person is brought back to life. Likewise, other ills, such as poison and disease, are not negated. The raised person must roll a successful resurrection survival check to survive the ordeal (see Table 3: Constitution) and loses 1 point of Constitution.
--
Gnome
Hawk
BOOK II. -- PART I. ANTHROPOGENESIS., #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
have to descend with her. The nether Lords of the Fires (the Gnomes and fire Elementals) are
preparing their magic Agneyastra (fire-weapons worked by magic). But the Lords of the Dark Eye
BOOK I. -- PART I. COSMIC EVOLUTION, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
element, the Gnomes will lead him towards assimilating metals -- money and wealth, and so on.
"Animal man is the son of the animal elements out of which his Soul (life) was born, and animals are
BOOK I. -- PART III. SCIENCE AND THE SECRET DOCTRINE CONTRASTED, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
"Educated people," so-called, deride the idea of Sylphs, Salamanders, Undines, and Gnomes; the men
of science regard as an insult any mention of such superstitions; and with a contempt of logic and
Book of Imaginary Beings (text), #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
The Gnomes
The Golem
--
The Gnomes
The Gnomes are older than their name, which is Greek but
which was unknown to the ancients, since it dates from the
--
and the dragons of Germanic lore, the Gnomes watch over
hidden treasure.
--
have called them Gnomes because they know the exact
places where precious metals are to be found.
--
and physician, gave them their names: the Gnomes of earth,
the Nymphs of water, the Salamanders of fire, and the Sylphs,
Cratylus, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
(motion); Gnome (judgment), again, certainly implies the ponderation
or consideration (nomesis) of generation, for to ponder is the same as
The Dwellings of the Philosophers, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
The two Gnomes (1) facing each other translate the reader will have guessed our two
metallic principles, first bodies or natures with whose help the Work is started, perfected and
--
revealers of mineral mysteries. The Gnome, fictitious creature, deformed but active, is the
esoteric expression of metallic life, of the occult dynamism of raw bodies which the art can
condense into a pure substance. The rabbinical tradition reports in the Talmud that a Gnome
cooperated with the building of the Temple of Solomon, which means that the philosophers
--
the hare-lipped monster the other wingless the Gnome with the hairy torso.
"Contemplate these two dragons carefully", says the Adept (3) , "for they are the true principles
--
the shape of a harelipped Gnome, equipped with breasts, head covered with a scaly helmet.
We already knew from the descriptions left by classical authors that this mineral substance as
--
inexplicable yet necessary for the cabalistic expression which stamps the face of our Gnome
with its typical physiognomy.
--
composition has been taught to us by the two stephanophore Gnomes. By dissolving
philosophical gold which nothing indicates here or elsewhere (21) , we obtain philosophical
--
(1) The Greek word [*218-1 ( gnoma), phonetic equivalent to the French word Gnome, means clue, which is used
to make a thing known, to classify it, to identify it. It is its distinctive sign. [*218-2] ( gnomon ) is also the sign
indicating the movement of the sun, the hand of sundials and our Gnome. Meditate upon this; an important secret
is hidden beneath this cabala.
--
Gnome, meaning mind, spirit, intelligence. Now the Gnomes, subterranean genii, appointed to
guarding the mineral treasures, constantly watching the gold, silver and precious stone mines,
--
easily understand the hidden reason for the legendary tales where the friendship of a Gnome
opens wide the doors of earthly riches.
--
familiar obliging Gnome, friend of the good artists, who allows men to access the supreme
knowledge of the ancient Gnosis.
--- Overview of noun gnome
The noun gnome has 2 senses (first 1 from tagged texts)
1. (1) gnome, dwarf ::: (a legendary creature resembling a tiny old man; lives in the depths of the earth and guards buried treasure)
2. gnome ::: (a short pithy saying expressing a general truth)
--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun gnome
2 senses of gnome
Sense 1
gnome, dwarf
=> fairy, faery, faerie, fay, sprite
=> spiritual being, supernatural being
=> belief
=> content, cognitive content, mental object
=> cognition, knowledge, noesis
=> psychological feature
=> abstraction, abstract entity
=> entity
Sense 2
gnome
=> maxim, axiom
=> saying, expression, locution
=> speech, speech communication, spoken communication, spoken language, language, voice communication, oral communication
=> auditory communication
=> communication
=> abstraction, abstract entity
=> entity
--- Hyponyms of noun gnome
2 senses of gnome
Sense 1
gnome, dwarf
=> Nibelung
=> Andvari
Sense 2
gnome
=> Murphy's Law, Sod's Law
--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun gnome
2 senses of gnome
Sense 1
gnome, dwarf
=> fairy, faery, faerie, fay, sprite
Sense 2
gnome
=> maxim, axiom
--- Coordinate Terms (sisters) of noun gnome
2 senses of gnome
Sense 1
gnome, dwarf
-> fairy, faery, faerie, fay, sprite
=> elf, hob, gremlin, pixie, pixy, brownie, imp
=> fairy godmother
=> gnome, dwarf
=> Morgan le Fay
=> Puck, Robin Goodfellow
=> Oberson
=> Titania
=> tooth fairy
=> water sprite, water nymph, water spirit
Sense 2
gnome
-> maxim, axiom
=> aphorism, apothegm, apophthegm
=> gnome
=> moralism
--- Grep of noun gnome
gnome
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https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1025287.The_Woodland_Folk_Meet_the_Gnomes
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1030515.Gnome_from_Nome
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/10807970-the-spider-gnomes
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16651.The_Gnome_s_Engine
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22012145-three-little-gnomes-and-a-boy-named-orion
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22047239-gnomes-funbook
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23116078-charlie-bumpers-vs-the-really-nice-gnome
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25619370-calamity-jayne-and-the-sisterhood-of-the-traveling-lawn-gnome
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26221442-gnome-a-geddon
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/268503.Shroud_of_the_Gnome
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31130829-three-little-gnomes-and-the-one-bite-mystery
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33833132-irreconcilable-gnomes
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40654616-grendel-the-grinning-gnome
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/44785526-lethbridge-stewart---the-laughing-gnome
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4608787-cat-gnome
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/469531.The_Riddle_of_the_Gnome
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7304437-and-then-there-were-gnomes
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7743139-how-to-survive-a-garden-gnome-attack
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:AFFINITA_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:AFFINITO_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:BARBIERI_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:BARBIERO_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:BARBI_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:BONAURO_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:BRANCACCIO_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:BRANCA_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:BUFALINO_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:COVERI_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:COVOLAN_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:GATTAVECCHI_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:GILARDINO_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:INZAGHI_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:MANGIAVACCHI_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:MERCANZIN_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:RANAURO_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:VANNESCHI_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:VANNINI_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:VANNI_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://familypedia.wikia.org/wiki/File:VELOTTI_(ORIGINE_COGNOME).gif
https://esotericotherworlds.blogspot.com/2013/06/gnomes.html
wiki.auroville - Gnome
Occultopedia - gnomes
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Film/AGnomeNamedGnorm
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/Gnomes
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/GnomeSaga
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Literature/Gnomesaga
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/OurGnomesAreDifferent
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/OurGnomesAreWeirder
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/VideoGame/GardenGnomeCarnage
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/WesternAnimation/GnomeAlone
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/WesternAnimation/GnomeoAndJuliet
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/WesternAnimation/SherlockGnomes
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/WesternAnimation/TheWorldOfDavidTheGnome
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Tropers/EvilBloodGnome
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Tropers/Gangstagnome
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Tropers/GardenGnome
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Tropers/GnomeTitan
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/File:Gnome-text-x-generic.svg
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Gnomeo_&_Juliet
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Gnomes
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Sherlock_Gnomes
David the Gnome (1987 - 1988) - The World of David the Gnome was based on the world famous children's books The Gnomes and The Secret of the Gnomes by Dutch authors Rien Poortvliet and Wil Huygen.
Wisdom of the Gnomes (1987 - 1987) - Wisdom of the Gnomes, a sequel to the World of David the Gnome, is based on the world famous children's books The Gnomes and The Secret of the Gnomes by Dutch authors Rien Poortvliet and Wil Huygen.
Leprechaun in the Hood(2000) - Everyone's favorite bloodthirsty Irish gnome invades the world of hip-hop in the fifth film in the Leprechaun series. Stray Bullet, Butch, and Postmaster P are three young rappers trying to raise money for their first record. They break into the studio of powerful producer Mack Daddy (Ice-T), hoping...
Gnomeo & Juliet(2011) - The animated tale Gnomeo & Juliet knowingly follows the quintessential star-crossed lovers tragedy Romeo and Juliet, with the unexpected twist of making the characters garden gnomes that can move when human beings aren't watching. Though Gnomeo and Juliet belong to feuding garden-gnome families, the...
Tom and Jerry: Back to Oz(2016) - Dorothy, Tom and Jerry get sent back to Oz when an evil gnome king takes over Emerald City and sends the flying monkeys to Kansas to steal the ruby slippers.
Sherlock Gnomes(2018) - After a string of garden gnome disappearances in London, Gnomeo & Juliet look to legendary detective Sherlock Gnomes to solve the case of their missing friends and family.
Gnomeo & Juliet(2011) - The animated tale Gnomeo & Juliet knowingly follows the quintessential star-crossed lovers tragedy Romeo and Juliet, with the unexpected twist of making the characters garden gnomes that can move when human beings aren't watching. Though Gnomeo and Juliet belong to feuding garden-gnome families, the...
Sherlock Gnomes(2018) - Garden gnomes Gnomeo and Juliet recruit renowned detective Sherlock Gnomes to investigate the mysterious disappearance of other garden ornaments. This is a sequel to the animated film "Gnomeo & Juliet".
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https://oz.fandom.com/wiki/The_Gnome_King_of_Oz
https://sawfish.fandom.com/wiki/Sawfish_gnome_dm_setup
https://scratchpad.fandom.com/wiki/Scratchpad:WikiGnomes
https://scratchpad.fandom.com/wiki/Thomas/Gnomeo_and_Juliet
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Acidinus (cognomen)
A Gnome Named Gnorm
Among Gnomes and Trolls
Astra-Gnome
Avitus (cognomen)
Balbus (cognomen)
Bonobo (GNOME)
Cognomen
Crassus (cognomen)
Dropline GNOME
Eye of GNOME
Garden gnome
GNOME
Gnome
GNOME Activity Journal
GNOME Archive Manager
GNOME Boxes
GNOME Builder
GNOME Calculator
GNOME Character Map
GNOME Chess
GNOME Commander
GNOME Core Applications
GNOME-DB
Gnome Delta
GNOME Devhelp
Gnomedex
GNOME Dictionary
GNOME Disks
GNOME Display Manager
GNOME Do
Gnome (Dungeons & Dragons)
Gnome et Rhne
GNOME Evolution
GNOME Files
Gnomefish
GNOME Foundation
GNOME Fractal
Gnome fruit-eating bat
GNOME Games Collection
Gnome Gamma
GNOME Keyring
Gnome King Kyri
Gnome Lambda
GNOME LaTeX
GNOME Mines
Gnome Monosoupape
Gnomeo & Juliet
Gnome Omega
GNOME Panel
Gnome Reserve
Gnome-Rhne 14M
Gnome-Rhne 14N
Gnome-Rhne 18L
Gnome-Rhne 7K
Gnome-Rhne 9K
Gnome-Rhne Mistral Major
Gnomes and Trolls: The Secret Chamber
GNOME Screensaver
GNOME Screenshot
Gnomes (film)
GNOME Shell
Gnome Sigma
GNOME Software
Gnomes of Zrich
GNOME SoundConverter
Gnomes (South Park)
Gnome Subtitles
GNOME sushi
GNOME System Tools
GNOME Terminal
GNOME Terminator
GnomeVFS
GNOME Videos
GNOME Web
Gordon the Garden Gnome
Gravity Falls: Legend of the Gnome Gemulets
Java-gnome
List of The World of David the Gnome episodes
Mr. Gnome
Paulus the woodgnome
Philippus (cognomen)
Project Gnome
Rolls-Royce Gnome
Scipio (cognomen)
Sherlock Gnomes
The Gates of Gnomeria
The Gnome-Mobile
The GNOME Project
The Gnomes' Great Adventure
The Ideal Gnome Expedition
The Secret Book of Gnomes
The World of David the Gnome
Travelling gnome
Ubuntu GNOME
Where Is My Gnome?
Wisdom of the Gnomes
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