--- DICTIONARIES (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

leviathan :::

leviathan ::: n. --> An aquatic animal, described in the book of Job, ch. xli., and mentioned in other passages of Scripture.
The whale, or a great whale.

leviathan ::: n. --> An aquatic animal, described in the book of Job, ch. xli., and mentioned in other passages of Scripture.
The whale, or a great whale.

Leviathan (Hebrew) Liwĕyāthān Foldings, turnings, windings, hence whatever is infolded or wound. Mystically time as the great serpent of cyclic or circling time, likewise space and the various phenomena that happen in space such as the turnings and windings of forces as manifested by electricity in lightning or thunderbolt. Ancient Hebrew Biblical esotericism made of Leviathan a great sea monster, with particular reference to the waters of space. In its exalted sense it means the cycling and everlasting motion of divinity in duration and in abstract space; its concrete or lowest aspect signifies the apparently unregulated, winding, turbulent forces of the material worlds — also inimical forces which seem antagonistic to the spiritual and intellectual balance of him who strives upwards. One significance was that of a great serpent or crocodile — it is sometimes compared to the Hindu Makara; another is “Deity in its double manifestation of good and evil” (TG 188).

Leviathans. In the dismissal, each angel’s name

Leviathan (Hebrew, “that which gathers itself

Leviathan is the primitive female sea-dragon and

Leviathan and Behemoth are said to have been

Leviathan is called “that crooked serpent,” an

Leviathan :::

Leviathan is the name of an archetypal sea-creature, which is destined to wage battle against the Behemoth, only to be consumed by the righteous at the end of days; an animal of &

leviathan :::

--- QUOTES [6 / 6 - 181 / 181] (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

KEYS (10k)

   5 James S A Corey
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   5 Mark R Levin

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   3 Dean Koontz

   2 Tony Horwitz

   2 Ron Paul

   2 Michael Shermer

   2 Michael Chabon

   2 Llewellyn Rockwell

   2 Laini Taylor

   2 Karen Armstrong

   2 John Eckhardt

   2 Jeff VanderMeer

   2 Dan Simmons

   2 Arthur Rimbaud

   2 Andrew Marvell

1:The ship creaked and gravity shifted a degree to Miller's right. Course correction. Nothing interesting. Miller closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. His mind was full of dead men and Julie and love and sex. There was something Holden had said about the war that was important, but he couldn't make the pieces fit. They kept changing. Miller sighed, shifted his weight so that he blocked one of his drainage tubes and had to shift back to stop the alarm. When the blood pressure cuff fired off again, it was Julie holding him, pulling herself so close her lips brushed his ear. His eyes opened, his mind seeing both the imaginary girl and the monitors that she would have blocked if she'd really been there. I love you too, she said, and I will take care of you. He smiled at seeing the numbers change as his heart raced. ~ James S A Corey, Leviathan Wakes ,

2:"Oi, Pampaw," Diogo said as the door to the public hall slid open. "You hear that Eros started talking?"Miller lifted himself to one elbow."Sí," Diogo said. "Whatever that shit is, it started broadcasting. There's even words and shit. I've got a feed. You want a listen?"No, Miller thought. No, I have seen those corridors. What's happened to those people almost happened to me. I don't want anything to do with that abomination."Sure," he said.Diogo scooped up his own hand terminal and keyed in something. Miller's terminal chimed that it had received the new feed route. "Chica perdída in ops been mixing a bunch of it to bhangra," Diogo said, making a shifting dance move with his hips. "Hard-core, eh?"Diogo and the other OPA irregulars had breached a high-value research station, faced down one of the most powerful and evil corporations in a history of power and evil. And now they were making music from the screams of the dying. Of the dead. They were dancing to it in the low-rent clubs. What it must be like, Miller thought, to be young and soulless. ~ James S A Corey, Leviathan Wakes ,

3:"So," she said. "I've been thinking of it as a computing problem. If the virus or nanomachine or protomolecule or whatever was designed, it has a purpose, right?" "Definitely," Holden said. "And it seems like it's trying to do something-something complex. It doesn't make sense to go to all that trouble just to kill people. Those changes it makes look intentional, just... not complete, to me." "I can see that," Holden said. Alex and Amos nodded along with him but stayed quiet. "So maybe the issue is that the protomolecule isn't smart enough yet. You can compress a lot of data down pretty small, but unless it's a quantum computer, processing takes space. The easiest way to get that processing in tiny machines is through distribution. Maybe the protomolecule isn't finishing its job because it just isn't smart enough to. Yet." "Not enough of them," Alex said. "Right," Naomi said, dropping the towel into a bin under the sink. "So you give them a lot of biomass to work with, and see what it is they are ultimately made to do." "According to that guy in the video, they were made to hijack life on Earth and wipe us out," Miller said. "And that," Holden said, "is why Eros is perfect. Lots of biomass in a vacuum-sealed test tube. And if it gets out of hand, there's already a war going on. A lot of ships and missiles can be used for nuking Eros into glass if the threat seems real. Nothing to make us forget our differences like a new player butting in." ~ James S A Corey, Leviathan Wakes ,

4:More often, he listened to the voice of Eros. Sometimes he watched the video feeds too, but usually, he just listened. Over the hours and days, he began to hear, if not patterns, at least common structures. Some of the voices spooling out of the dying station were consistent-broadcasters and entertainers who were overrepresented in the audio files archives, he guessed. There seemed to be some specific tendencies in, for want of a better term, the music of it too. Hours of random, fluting static and snatched bits of phrases would give way, and Eros would latch on to some word or phrase, fixating on it with greater and greater intensity until it broke apart and the randomness poured back in. "... are, are, are, ARE, ARE, ARE... " Aren't, Miller thought, and the ship suddenly shoved itself up, leaving Miller's stomach about half a foot from where it had been. A series of loud clanks followed, and then the brief wail of a Klaxon. "Dieu! Dieu!" someone shouted. "Bombs son vamen roja! Going to fry it! Fry us toda!" There was the usual polite chuckle that the same joke had occasioned over the course of the trip, and the boy who'd made it-a pimply Belter no more than fifteen years old-grinned with pleasure at his own wit. If he didn't stop that shit, someone was going to beat him with a crowbar before they got back to Tycho. But Miller figured that someone wasn't him. A massive jolt forward pushed him hard into the couch, and then gravity was back, the familiar 0.3 g. Maybe a little more. Except that with the airlocks pointing toward ship's down, the pilot had to grapple the spinning skin of Eros' belly first. The spin gravity made what had been the ceiling the new floor; the lowest rank of couches was now the top; and while they rigged the fusion bombs to the docks, they were all going to have to climb up onto a cold, dark rock that was trying to fling them off into the vacuum. Such were the joys of sabotage. ~ James S A Corey, Leviathan Wakes ,

5:Reading list (1972 edition)[edit]1. Homer - Iliad, Odyssey2. The Old Testament3. Aeschylus - Tragedies4. Sophocles - Tragedies5. Herodotus - Histories6. Euripides - Tragedies7. Thucydides - History of the Peloponnesian War8. Hippocrates - Medical Writings9. Aristophanes - Comedies10. Plato - Dialogues11. Aristotle - Works12. Epicurus - Letter to Herodotus; Letter to Menoecus13. Euclid - Elements14.Archimedes - Works15. Apollonius of Perga - Conic Sections16. Cicero - Works17. Lucretius - On the Nature of Things18. Virgil - Works19. Horace - Works20. Livy - History of Rome21. Ovid - Works22. Plutarch - Parallel Lives; Moralia23. Tacitus - Histories; Annals; Agricola Germania24. Nicomachus of Gerasa - Introduction to Arithmetic25. Epictetus - Discourses; Encheiridion26. Ptolemy - Almagest27. Lucian - Works28. Marcus Aurelius - Meditations29. Galen - On the Natural Faculties30. The New Testament31. Plotinus - The Enneads32. St. Augustine - On the Teacher; Confessions; City of God; On Christian Doctrine33. The Song of Roland34. The Nibelungenlied35. The Saga of Burnt Njal36. St. Thomas Aquinas - Summa Theologica37. Dante Alighieri - The Divine Comedy;The New Life; On Monarchy38. Geoffrey Chaucer - Troilus and Criseyde; The Canterbury Tales39. Leonardo da Vinci - Notebooks40. Niccolò Machiavelli - The Prince; Discourses on the First Ten Books of Livy41. Desiderius Erasmus - The Praise of Folly42. Nicolaus Copernicus - On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres43. Thomas More - Utopia44. Martin Luther - Table Talk; Three Treatises45. François Rabelais - Gargantua and Pantagruel46. John Calvin - Institutes of the Christian Religion47. Michel de Montaigne - Essays48. William Gilbert - On the Loadstone and Magnetic Bodies49. Miguel de Cervantes - Don Quixote50. Edmund Spenser - Prothalamion; The Faerie Queene51. Francis Bacon - Essays; Advancement of Learning; Novum Organum, New Atlantis52. William Shakespeare - Poetry and Plays53. Galileo Galilei - Starry Messenger; Dialogues Concerning Two New Sciences54. Johannes Kepler - Epitome of Copernican Astronomy; Concerning the Harmonies of the World55. William Harvey - On the Motion of the Heart and Blood in Animals; On the Circulation of the Blood; On the Generation of Animals56. Thomas Hobbes - Leviathan57. René Descartes - Rules for the Direction of the Mind; Discourse on the Method; Geometry; Meditations on First Philosophy58. John Milton - Works59. Molière - Comedies60. Blaise Pascal - The Provincial Letters; Pensees; Scientific Treatises61. Christiaan Huygens - Treatise on Light62. Benedict de Spinoza - Ethics63. John Locke - Letter Concerning Toleration; Of Civil Government; Essay Concerning Human Understanding;Thoughts Concerning Education64. Jean Baptiste Racine - Tragedies65. Isaac Newton - Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy; Optics66. Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz - Discourse on Metaphysics; New Essays Concerning Human Understanding;Monadology67.Daniel Defoe - Robinson Crusoe68. Jonathan Swift - A Tale of a Tub; Journal to Stella; Gulliver's Travels; A Modest Proposal69. William Congreve - The Way of the World70. George Berkeley - Principles of Human Knowledge71. Alexander Pope - Essay on Criticism; Rape of the Lock; Essay on Man72. Charles de Secondat, baron de Montesquieu - Persian Letters; Spirit of Laws73. Voltaire - Letters on the English; Candide; Philosophical Dictionary74. Henry Fielding - Joseph Andrews; Tom Jones75. Samuel Johnson - The Vanity of Human Wishes; Dictionary; Rasselas; The Lives of the Poets ~ Mortimer J Adler,

6:Of course we do." Dresden's voice was cutting. "But you're thinking too small. Building humanity's greatest empire is like building the world's largest anthill. Insignificant. There is a civilization out there that built the protomolecule and hurled it at us over two billion years ago. They were already gods at that point. What have they become since then? With another two billion years to advance?" With a growing dread, Holden listened to Dresden speak. This speech had the air of something spoken before. Perhaps many times. And it had worked. It had convinced powerful people. It was why Protogen had stealth ships from the Earth shipyards and seemingly limitless behind-the-scenes support. "We have a terrifying amount of catching up to do, gentlemen," Dresden was saying. "But fortunately we have the tool of our enemy to use in doing it." "Catching up?" a soldier to Holden's left said. Dresden nodded at the man and smiled. "The protomolecule can alter the host organism at the molecular level; it can create genetic change on the fly. Not just DNA, but any stable replicatoR But it is only a machine. It doesn't think. It follows instructions. If we learn how to alter that programming, then we become the architects of that change." Holden interrupted. "If it was supposed to wipe out life on Earth and replace it with whatever the protomolecule's creators wanted, why turn it loose?" "Excellent question," Dresden said, holding up one finger like a college professor about to deliver a lecture. "The protomolecule doesn't come with a user's manual. In fact, we've never before been able to actually watch it carry out its program. The molecule requires significant mass before it develops enough processing power to fulfill its directives. Whatever they are." Dresden pointed at the screens covered with data around them. "We are going to watch it at work. See what it intends to do. How it goes about doing it. And, hopefully, learn how to change that program in the process." "You could do that with a vat of bacteria," Holden said. "I'm not interested in remaking bacteria," Dresden said. "You're fucking insane," Amos said, and took another step toward Dresden. Holden put a hand on the big mechanic's shoulder. "So," Holden said. "You figure out how the bug works, and then what?" "Then everything. Belters who can work outside a ship without wearing a suit. Humans capable of sleeping for hundreds of years at a time flying colony ships to the stars. No longer being bound to the millions of years of evolution inside one atmosphere of pressure at one g, slaves to oxygen and water. We decide what we want to be, and we reprogram ourselves to be that. That's what the protomolecule gives us." Dresden had stood back up as he'd delivered this speech, his face shining with the zeal of a prophet. "What we are doing is the best and only hope of humanity's survival. When we go out there, we will be facing gods." "And if we don't go out?" Fred asked. He sounded thoughtful. "They've already fired a doomsday weapon at us once," Dresden said. The room was silent for a moment. Holden felt his certainty slip. He hated everything about Dresden's argument, but he couldn't quite see his way past it. He knew in his bones that something about it was dead wrong, but he couldn't find the words. Naomi's voice startled him. "Did it convince them?" she asked. "Excuse me?" Dresden said. "The scientists. The technicians. Everyone you needed to make it happen. They actually had to do this. They had to watch the video of people dying all over Eros. They had to design those radioactive murder chambers. So unless you managed to round up every serial killer in the solar system and send them through a postgraduate program, how did you do this?" "We modified our science team to remove ethical restraints." Half a dozen clues clicked into place in Holden's head. ~ James S A Corey, Leviathan Wakes ,

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1:God, Smith just as surely defenestrated Leviathan. ~ Matt Ridley

2:This is a leviathan I am about to ship out to sea... ~ Victor Hugo

3:Leviathan is not the biggest fish; — I have heard of Krakens. ~ Herman Melville

4:Hobbes’s Leviathan. Life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short. ~ Dan Simmons

5:I know the fucking Bible, and there ain't no fucking Book of Leviathan. ~ Dan Simmons

6:He believed in it, as certain good women believe in the leviathan-by faith, not by reason. ~ Jules Verne

7:In the belly of Leviathan ... one can either despair and perish, or be cheerful and persevere. ~ Dean Koontz

8:There are holes,” Myron admitted. “There are chasms of leviathan proportions,” Win corrected. ~ Harlan Coben

9:For between true science and erroneous doctrines, ignorance is in the middle. —HOBBES, Leviathan ~ Neal Stephenson

10:In the belly of Leviathan, Mr Thomas, one can either despair and perish, or be cheerful and persevere. ~ Dean Koontz

11:THE ALMOST-INCORPOREAL VASTNESS PUZZLES, LISTENING AS LEVIATHAN MIGHT PUZZLE OVER THE PROBLEMS OF AN ATOM. ~ James Tiptree Jr

12:In the belly of Leviathan, Mr. Thomas, one can either despair and perish, or be cheerful and persevere.” He smiled brightly. ~ Dean Koontz

13:Lucifer — Pride Mammon — Avarice Asmodeus — Lechery Satan — Anger Beelzebub — Gluttony Leviathan — Envy Belphegor — Sloth ~ Robert Masello

14:Thomas Hobbes in his 1651 masterwork Leviathan. I strongly recommend that you read part III, chapter 38, and part IV, chapter 44, ~ Anonymous

15:and though a sworn foe to human bloodshed, yet had he in his straight-bodied coat, spilled tuns upon tuns of leviathan gore. ~ Herman Melville

16:I couldn't think of another city in the world that lined its streets with stone leviathans honoring failed rebels against the state. ~ Tony Horwitz

17:My early exposure to all the leviathans of the Saturday matinee creature features inspired me, when I grew up, to make 'Jurassic Park.' ~ Steven Spielberg

18:["Love is the love of one {singularly,} with desire to be singularly beloved."—Hobbes{Leviathan, (1651), Part I, Chapter VI}.] ~ Fran ois de La Rochefoucauld

19:Sandel hankers for the muscular debates of yesteryear, when government was not big but had bigger ambitions than today's bland Leviathan has. ~ George F Will

20:s eye view of what has been promiscuously said, thought, fancied, and sung of Leviathan, by many nations and generations, including our own. ~ Herman Melville

21:Mingling their mumblings with his own mastications, thousands on thousands of sharks, swarming round the dead leviathan, smackingly feasted on its fatness. ~ Herman Melville

22:It had moved in the midnight waters of space like a pale sea leviathan; it had passed the ancient moon and thrown itself onward into one nothingness following another. ~ Ray Bradbury

23:Directly above the starboard engine room, it was also in a state of almost constant vibration, the noise juddering away below their feet with an awesome, leviathan constancy. ~ Jojo Moyes

24:Tiamat, Mot and Leviathan are not evil, but are simply fulfilling their cosmic role. They have to die and endure dismemberment before an ordered cosmos can emerge from chaos. ~ Karen Armstrong

25:For the boy on the bridge. And for all the boys for a hundred generations who drop their lines into the swift dark water to catch the leviathans lurking in the deep: These are the secrets. ~ Rick Yancey

26:Income taxes are responsible for the transformation of the Federal government from one of limited powers into a vast leviathan whose tentacles reach into almost every aspect of American life. ~ Ron Paul

27:To prolong itself, the Protectorate needed Cromwell to be more of a Leviathan, more of a ruthless sovereign, than he could ever manage to stomach. This is both his exoneration and his failure. ~ Simon Schama

28:If we look at the black record of mass murder, exploitation, and tyranny levied on society by governments over the ages, we need not be loath to abandon the Leviathan State and . . . try freedom. ~ Murray Rothbard

29:His brother Asmodeus, vice of choice lust, was active among humans until the time of Noah when his, um, lustful wings were clipped. He moved in with Mammon after that incident, as did Leviathan, the demon of envy. ~ G P Ching

30:I would have killed him to save the Leviathan. To save you.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “It was the only thing in my mind, when it came time to choose – that I couldn’t lose you. That’s when I knew. ~ Scott Westerfeld

31:Night and day, wind and storm, tide and earthquake, impeded man no longer. He had harnessed Leviathan. All the old literature, with its praise of Nature, and its fear of Nature, rang false as the prattle of a child. ~ E M Forster

32:Probably Hobbes got it right when he said that a leviathan, a third party with a monopoly on the use of legitimate use of force in a territory, might be among the biggest violence reduction techniques ever invented. ~ Steven Pinker

33:But rather than disentangle from the federal Leviathan, the recent imposition of Obamacare demonstrates that ideology trumps rationality and the statists’ impulse for even more coercive and disastrous designs are never quenched. ~ Mark R Levin

34:the Leviathan, a monarchy or other government authority that embodies the will of the people and has a monopoly on the use of force. By inflicting penalties on aggressors, the Leviathan can eliminate their incentive for aggression, ~ Anonymous

35:But after they had prayed they could not eat anything because the sea water had spoiled their food. The Holy One, blessed be He, salted the Leviathan for the end of days when it will be eaten, and the sea has been left full of salt. ~ S Y Agnon

36:On Earth, Discord! A gloomy Heaven above, opening her jealous gates to the nineteen thousandth part of the tithe of mankind! And below, an inescapable & inexorable Hell, expanding its leviathan jaws for the vast residue of Mortals! ~ Robert Burns

37:Moon couldn’t think of anything reassuring to say. They were trapped inside a leviathan, standing in a tunnel gnawed out by giant parasites. Going blank with terror was a perfectly rational way to react, especially for a groundling. ~ Martha Wells

38:This understanding floats on the surface of Jija's mind for the rest of the day after Renthree leaves. The truth is beneath the surface, a Leviathan waiting to uncurl, but the waters of his thoughts are placid for now. Denial is powerful. ~ N K Jemisin

39:An individualism which has got beyond the stage of hedonism tends to yield to the lure of the grandiose. It was not man, the individual, nor even the Supreme Being, that Robespierre set up against Christ; it was that Leviathan, the Nation. ~ Andre Malraux

40:English first swarmed a continent that rose from the ocean overnight, seeking masts for their leviathan frigates and ships of the line, masts that no place in all stripped Europe, not even the farthest boreal north, could any longer provide. ~ Richard Powers

41:Since I have undertaken to manhandle this Leviathan, it behoves me to approve myself omnisciently exhaustive in the enterprise; not overlooking the minutest seminal germs of his blood, and spinning him out to the uttermost coil of his bowels. ~ Herman Melville

42:The scene felt all the more surreal when I considered that in their real life, when not selling trinkets at a flea market, they sailed a deep space leviathan between the stars. It sounded romantic, but it wasn’t exciting. It was just their job. ~ Nathan Lowell

43:A colleague once described political theorists as people who were obsessed with two dozen books; after half a century of grappling with Mill's essay On Liberty, or Hobbes's Leviathan, I have sometimes thought two dozen might be a little on the high side. ~ Alan Ryan

44:There is no denying that Snowden's dramatic disclosures, despite the damage they did to U.S. intelligence, accomplished a salutary service in alerting both the public and the government to the potential danger of a surveillance leviathan." (p.299) ~ Edward Jay Epstein

45:But there is a limit to thinking about even a small piece of something monumental. You still see the shadow of the whole rearing up behind you, and you become lost in your thoughts in part from the panic of realizing the size of that imagined leviathan. ~ Jeff VanderMeer

46:(Economist Robert Higgs wrote a book about this phenomenon titled Crisis and Leviathan, in which he argues that government intervention inevitably creates future problems, which results in the government’s intervening even more in an attempt to correct them.) ~ Glenn Beck

47:But there is a limit to thinking about even a small piece of something monumental. You still see the shadow of the whole rearing up behind you, and you become lost in your thoughts in part from the panic of realizing the size of that imagined leviathan. ~ Jeff VanderMeer

48:Nevertheless, Leviathan is of so mighty a magnitude, all his proportions are so stately, that the same deficiency which in the sculptured Jove were hideous, in him is no blemish at all. Nay, it is an added grandeur. A nose to the whale would have been impertinent. ~ Herman Melville

49:That's a big trunk," James said, as we jammed in the leathery old case that looked so much like the black heart of some leviathan. "It fits a tuba, three suitcases, a dead dog, and a garment bag almost perfectly." "That's just what they used to say in the ads," I said. ~ Michael Chabon

50:If the sky, by sinister alchemy, or diabolical prestidigitation, transformed into a mirror of the mother sea, the primordial cradle; and if leviathans swam that breadth and hovered, softly undulating over the teaming habitations of the globe, feasting; what should you wear? ~ Laird Barron

51:That's a big trunk," James said, as we jammed in the leathery old case that looked so much like the black heart of some leviathan. "It fits a tuba, three suitcases, a dead dog, and a garment bag almost perfectly." "That's just what they used to say in the ads," I said... ~ Michael Chabon

52:There are monsters and leviathans and chimeras in the human mind; they are psychic facts. Dragons are one of the truths about us. We have no other way of expressing that particular truth about us. People who deny the existence of dragons are often eaten by dragons. From within. ~ Ursula K Le Guin

53:Welcome to the age of paper money, where governments and central banks can manufacture as much money as they want without limit. Gold was the last limit. Its banishment as a standard unleashed the inflation monster and leviathan itself, which has swelled beyond comprehension. ~ Llewellyn Rockwell

54:I askt the seas and all the deeps below  My God to know,  I askt the reptiles, and whatever is  In the abyss;  Even from the shrimps to the leviathan  Enquiry ran;  But in those deserts that no line can sound  The God I sought for was not to be found. ~ Thomas Heywood, Searching after God

55:There is something mournful and uneasy about waking up late at night on a moving train. The wheels clicked a bony rhythm, the engine growled like a distant Leviathan, and from time to time the whistle sounded a cry so lonesome it seemed to speak for the whole wide moonless night. ~ Robert Charles Wilson

56:Leviathan laughs at the javelin, but he trembles at prayer. Sword and spear need furbishing, but prayer never rusts, and when we think it most blunt it cuts the best. Prayer is an open door which none can shut. Devils may surround you on all sides, but the way upward is always open. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon

57:Shur, the Land of: The mountainous country to the east of Elon. Its ruler is Shur. It is also known as the Ten Tribes of Shur.   Silver horn: A horn used to call and direct leviathans.   Singer: A teller of tales.   Skarpaler; Lord Skarpaler: An ancient warrior of the Bloodspillers.   slith: ~ Vaughn Heppner

58:And the only mode in which you can derive even a tolerable idea of his living contour, is by going a whaling yourself; but by so doing, you run no small risk of being eternally stove and sunk by him. Wherefore, it seems to me you had best not be too fastidious in your curiosity touching this Leviathan. ~ Herman Melville

59:One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, though it may seem but an ordinary one. How, then, with me, writing of this leviathan? Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals. Give me a condor’s quill! Give me Vesuvius’ crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms! ~ Herman Melville

60:London - beautiful, immortal London - has never been a 'city' in the simplest sense of the word. It was, and is, a living, breathing thing, a stone leviathan that harbours secrets underneath its scales. It guards them covetously, hiding them deep within its body; only the mad or the worthy can find them. ~ Samantha Shannon

61:In bony, ribby regions of the earth, where at the base of high broken cliffs masses of rock lie strewn in fantastic groupings upon the plain, you will often discover images as of the petrified forms of the Leviathan partly merged in grass, which of a windy day breaks against them in a surf of green surges. ~ Herman Melville

62:The Leviathan reduces violence by asserting a monopoly on the legitimate use of force, thereby replacing what criminologists call “self-help justice”—in which individuals settle their own scores and disputes, often violently (such as the Mafia)—with criminal justice, leading overall to a decrease in violence. ~ Michael Shermer

63:This gigantic figure grew effortlessly in his dream, emerging from the deceptively eternal expanse of the horizon; it was like a truth that would make everything different. A crater opened up towards heaven, a mouth or a gorge. Perhaps the whole thing was a leviathan, perhaps a dance of millions of tiny creatures. ~ Sten Nadolny

64:For the scientist, at exactly the moment of discovery—that most unstable existential moment—the external world, nature itself, deeply confirms his innermost fantastic convictions. Anchored abruptly in the world, Leviathan gasping on his hook, he is saved from extreme mental disorder by the most profound affirmation of the real. ~ Richard Rhodes

65:Hither, and thither, on high, gilded the snow-white wings of small, unspeckled birds; these were the gentle thoughts of the feminine air; but to and fro in the deeps, far down in the bottomless blue, rushed mighty leviathans, sword-fish, and sharks; and these were the strong, troubled, murderous thinkings of the masculine sea. ~ Herman Melville

66:In old Norse times, the thrones of the sea-loving Danish kings were fabricated, saith tradition, of the tusks of the narwhale. How could one look at Ahab then, seated on that tripod of bones, without bethinking him of the royalty it symbolized? For a Khan of the plank, and a king of the sea and a great lord of Leviathans was Ahab. ~ Herman Melville

67:For by Art is created that great LEVIATHAN called a COMMON-WEALTH, or STATE, (in latine CIVITAS) which is but an Artificiall Man; though of greater stature and strength than the Naturall, for whose protection and defence it was intended; and in which, the Soveraignty is an Artificiall Soul, as giving life and motion to the whole body; ~ Thomas Hobbes

68:The Passions of men,” Hobbes writes, “are commonly more potent than their Reason.” Reason cannot bring happiness, nor can it be used as the goal of a philosophical life. There is no happiness. There is only striving and security and passion. Reason cannot save us from the war of all against all; only the Leviathan, the power of the state, can.21 ~ Ben Shapiro

69:The Ache Of Marriage The ache of marriage: thigh and tongue, beloved, are heavy with it, it throbs in the teeth We look for communion and are turned away, beloved, each and each It is leviathan and we in its belly looking for joy, some joy not to be known outside it two by two in the ark of the ache of it. ~ Denise Levertov

70:Satan rose to his feet and stood massive and malevolent, his head almost lost in the reeking clouds. Behind him, the floor shivered and shattered as his generals, princes and barons rose behind him: Balberith, Beelzebub and Carreau; Melmoroth, Shakarl and Mr Runcible; Olivier, Leviathan and Yog-Sothoth who just happened to be there because he couldn’t help it. ~ Jonathan L Howard

71:I will like it,' said I; 'I dare like it;' and" (he subjoined moodily) "I will keep my word; I will break obstacles to happiness, to goodness — yes, goodness. I wish to be a better man than I have been, than I am; as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and the habergeon, hindrances which others count as iron and brass, I will esteem but straw and rotten wood. ~ Charlotte Bront

72:Moreover, it is difficult to reconcile Hobbes’s distrust for the individual with his confidence in the altruistic nature of the individual or individuals who will oversee and control the Leviathan. Are not the latter also of flesh and blood? Hobbes seems to be saying that man’s nature cannot be trusted but the nature of a ruler or a ruling assembly of men can be trusted. How so? ~ Mark Levin

73:Moreover, it is difficult to reconcile Hobbes’s distrust for the individual with his confidence in the altruistic nature of the individual or individuals who will oversee and control the Leviathan. Are not the latter also of flesh and blood? Hobbes seems to be saying that man’s nature cannot be trusted but the nature of a ruler or a ruling assembly of men can be trusted. How so? ~ Mark R Levin

74:as he made Job, and though Job has probably never in his life even considered Behemoth and Leviathan, they are as ingredient in the complex weave of God’s providence as is Job. The overall point of God’s speech seems to be this: the suffering of any one person must be seen within the context of the infinitely subtle working out of God’s purposes throughout the whole of space and time. ~ Robert E Barron

75:understanding Leviathan in its ancient Near Eastern (ANE) and Biblical covenantal background. In ANE religious mythologies, the sea and the sea dragon were symbols of chaos that had to be overcome to bring order to the universe, or more exactly, the political world order of the myth’s originating culture. Some scholars call this battle Chaoskampf—the divine struggle to create order out of chaos. ~ Brian Godawa

76:For all these reasons, then, any way you may look at it, you must needs conclude that the great Leviathan is that one creature in the world which must remain unpainted to the last. True, one portrait may hit the mark much nearer than another, but none can hit it with any very considerable degree of exactness. So there is no earthly way of finding out precisely what the whale really looks like. ~ Herman Melville

77:We will enter into a new phase in which the Leviathan, so to speak, will become the body formed to make possible the incarnation and the manifestation of a principle and a higher order: with that, the collectivistic and irrational aspect of the principle of totalitarianism and authority will be surpassed and will again implement a type of truly spiritual and traditional hierarchical organization. ~ Julius Evola

78:Love wasn’t perfection. It wasn’t always roses and candy. Hell, it wasn’t even mostly roses and candy. Sometimes it was battling back fear that loomed like a leviathan, trying to find a way through misery, being grateful to have a companion who knew your strengths and weaknesses, and loved you not just in spite of them, but because of them. Love was acceptance. Love was bravery. Love was sticking it out. ~ Chloe Neill

79:She had witnessed the world's most beautiful things, and allowed herself to grow old and unlovely. She had felt the heat of a leviathan's roar, and the warmth within a cat's paw. She had conversed with the wind and had wiped soldier's tears. She had made people see, she'd seen herself in the sea. Butterflies had landed on her wrists, she had planted trees. She had loved, and let love go. So she smiled. ~ Sonya Hartnett

80:In modern America, the unraveling of the civil society had been subtly persistent but is now intensifying. Evidence of rising utopian statism—the allure of political demagogues and self-appointed masterminds peddling abstractions and fantasies in pursuit of a nonexistent paradisiacal society, and the concomitant accretion of governmental power in an increasingly authoritarian and centralized federal Leviathan—abounds. ~ Mark R Levin

81:There was a low growling sound and the Munstermobile came gliding up out of the parking garage, dripping water from its gleaming surface like some lantern-eyed leviathan rising from the depths. There were still a few dents and dings in it, but the broken glass had all been replaced, and the engine sounded fine. Okay, I'm not like a car fanatic or anything - but the guitar riff from "Bad to the Bone" started playing in my head. ~ Jim Butcher

82:A good sailboat (and skipper) works with the sea and therefore reaps the benefits of kinship with the world that no amount of money can buy. When you live in such a pristine environment as the ocean, there is a great deal of pleasure to be derived from feeling like a part of her, rather than her enemy. The rich boater, consuming all in his path (like some kind of marine Pac-Man) to feed his power-hungry leviathan will never know this feeling. The ~ Rick Page

83:I said so little. Days were short. Short days. Short nights. Short years. I said so little. I couldn't keep up. My heart grew weary From joy, Despair, Ardor, Hope. The jaws of Leviathan Were closing upon me. Naked, I lay on the shores Of desert islands. The white whale of the world Hauled me down to its pit. And now I don't know What in all that was real. ~ Czes aw Mi osz

84:The terror-the terror, the terror-lingered, and there was something else. It came with the dream, every time, and didn't recede with it but stayed like something a tide had washed in. Something awful-a rank leviathan corpse left to rot on the shore of her mind. It was remorse. But god, that was too bloodless a word for it,. This feeling the dream left her with, it was knives of panic and horror resting bright atop a red and meaty wound-fester of guilt. ~ Laini Taylor

85:Our federal government, which was intended to operate as a very limited constitutional republic, has instead become a virtually socialist leviathan that redistributes trillions of dollars. We can hardly be surprised when countless special interests fight for the money. The only true solution to the campaign money problem is a return to a proper constitutional government that does not control the economy. Big government and big campaign money go hand-in-hand. ~ Ron Paul

86:I think it's likely that the civilizing effect of literature has done most of the work, and still continues to do. Look at Steven Pinker's book, The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined. It proves beyond any shadow of doubt that violence has declined dramatically throughout the centuries. There are various reasons for it: the rise of the state, Leviathan, the monopoly of violence, children's rights, animal rights. They're all positive signs. ~ Martin Amis

87:They would herd the large whale into shallow waters close to a whaling vessel, allowing the whalers to harpoon the harassed leviathan. Once the whale was killed, the orcas would be given one day to consume their preferred delicacy—its tongue and lips—after which the whalers would collect their prize. Here too humans gave names to their preferred orca partners and recognized the tit-for-tat that is the foundation of all cooperation, human as well as animal.45 ~ Frans de Waal

88:Primitive man's life in Hobbes' famous words, was short, brutish, and nasty; and this very savagery and anxiety became the justification for an absolute order established, like Descartes' ideal world, by a single providential mind and will: that of the absolute ruler or monarch. Until men were incorporated into Leviathan, that is, the all-powerful state through which the king's will was carried out, they were dangerous to their fellows and a burden to themselves. ~ Lewis Mumford

89:Since ancient days there has been a name for Senatorial recommendations that carry the force, not of law, but of the Will of the Leviathan, but the name is Latin, and we cannot say Senatus Consultum without implying that the Latin-speaking Masons somehow own this, much as we half believe they own all Romanova, built for us by MASONS past. So we instead say 'Senatorial Consult,' which translates to 'Let's pretend we aren't thinking about Masons right now.' Of course we are. ~ Ada Palmer

90:poetry rose in Noah’s heart: The pillars of heaven tremble and are astounded at his rebuke. By his power he stilled the sea; by his understanding he shattered Leviathan. By his wind the heavens were made fair; his hand pierced the fleeing serpent. Behold, these are but the outskirts of his ways, and how small a whisper do we hear of him! But the thunder of his power who can understand? And Noah knew that Elohim was his guardian who controlled even the sea dragon of chaos. ~ Brian Godawa

91:The leviathan state, that monster devouring civilization in this century, is in the throes of death. This is not a wish or a prediction, but a conclusion drawn from a broad look at the trends of the last decade and a half, which, if we take the right steps, can continue on into the next century. What has happened around the world - nations states collapsing, markets outwitting planners, citizens rising up against government masters - can and is happening here at home. ~ Llewellyn Rockwell

92:I can imagine the second part of the verse as perhaps once mistranscribed, or misunderstood—maybe even out of fear. Change it ever so slightly, just a couple of words, and it becomes something very different.” He closed his eyes, and quoted the changed verse. “But unto Leviathan thou gavest the seventh part, namely the moist; and hast kept him to devour whom thou wilt, and when.” He paused again. “Now we have something that appears to describe our alien ship quite well.” I ~ Richard Paul Russo

93:I wanted a metamorphosis, a change to fish, to leviathan, to destroyer. I wanted the earth to open up, to swallow everything in one engulfing yawn. I wanted to see the city buried fathoms deep in the bosom of the sea. I wanted to sit in a cave and read by candlelight. I wanted that eye extinguished so that I might have a chance to know my own body, my own desires. I wanted to be alone for a thousand years in order to reflect on what I had seen and heard - and in order to forget. ~ Henry Miller

94:In their infinite wisdom, the Admiralty approved Alek's medal for bravery in the air on the very same day the United States entered the war. The timing seemed suspicious to Deryn, and of course the medal wasn't for anything useful, like shutting down Tesla's weapon to save the Leviathan. Instead Alek was to be decorated for blundering about on the ship's topside during a storm, and for his great skill in falling over and knocking himself silly. That was the Admiralty for you. ~ Scott Westerfeld

95:It’s like humping Leviathan: a fucking war of all against all, a shag of attrition. Eventually she goes off and I shoot my load and, save for a shaving of egotism, am completely unmoved by the experience. […] Contemplating the girl beneath me, I know that she could never be my friend. Her gasps as she came sounded like mocking laughter, as empty and pointless as I feel inside. Not only have I forgotten her name, I can’t remember if I ever asked it or if she bothered telling me. Prabaly not. ~ Irvine Welsh

96:Out of the sea will rise Behemoth and Leviathan, and sail 'round the high-pooped galleys... Dragons will wander about the waste places, and the phoenix will soar from her nest of fire into the air. We shall lay our hands upon the basilisk, and see the jewel in the toad's head. Champing his gilded oats, the Hippogriff will stand in our stalls, and over our heads will float the Blue Bird singing of beautiful and impossible things, of things that are lovely and that never happen, of things that are not and that should be. ~ Oscar Wilde

97:The greatest threat to a robust, autonomous civil society is the ever-growing Leviathan state and those like Obama who see it as the ultimate expression of the collective. Obama compounds the fallacy by declaring the state to be the font of entrepreneurial success. How so? It created the infrastructure - roads, bridges, schools, Internet - off which we all thrive. Absurd. We don't credit the Swiss postal service with the Special Theory of Relativity because it transmitted Einstein's manuscript to the Annalen der Physik. ~ Charles Krauthammer

98:For example, when I was writing Leviathan, which was written both in New York and in Vermont - I think there were two summers in Vermont, in that house I wrote about in Winter Journal, that broken-down house... I was working in an out-building, a kind of shack, a tumble-down, broken-down mess of a place, and I had a green table. I just thought, "Well, is there a way to bring my life into the fiction I'm writing, will it make a difference?" And the fact is, it doesn't make any difference. It was a kind of experiment which couldn't fail. ~ Paul Auster

99:Is it necessary to read Leviathan to know that “because the major part hath by consenting voices declared a sovereign, he that dissented must now consent with the rest, that is, be contented to avow all the actions he shall do, or else justly be destroyed by the rest. [...] And whether he be of the congregation or not, and whether his consent be asked or not, he must either submit to their decrees or be left in the condition of war he was in before, wherein he might without injustice be destroyed by any man whatsoever. ~ Tiqqun

100:Half of the biggest American companies of 1980 have now disappeared by take-over or bankruptcy; half of today’s biggest companies did not even exist in 1980. The same is not true of government monopolies: the Internal Revenue Service and the National Health Service will not die, however much incompetence they might display. Yet most anti-corporate activists have faith in the good will of the leviathans that can force you to do business with them, but are suspicious of the behemoths that have to beg for your business. I find that odd. Moreover, ~ Matt Ridley

101:The scale of Monument Avenue also amplified the weirdness of the whole enterprise. After all, Davis and Lee and Jackson and Stuart weren't national heroes. In the view of many Americans, they were precisely the opposite; leaders of a rebellion against the nation - separatists at best, traitors at worst. None of those honored were native Richmonders. And their mission failed. They didn't call it the Lost Cause for nothing. I couldn't think of another city in the world that lined its streets with stone leviathans honoring failed rebels against the state. ~ Tony Horwitz

102:The appellation of the path as Draconian also indicates its direction; the light esotericism leads to a unity with male gods of the light, like Yahweh or Marduk. The dark esotericism, on the other hand, leads out towards primordial dragon entities such as Leviathan, Tehom or Tiamat, who existed long before the gods of light and who exist in the infinity beyond the divine light. To the initiated adept on the Qliphotic path, the darkness of infinity is a hidden light, so infinitely brighter than the light of the gods that it is thus perceived as darkness. ~ Thomas Karlsson

103:As bad as the dream was - and it was bad - the aftermath was worse, because she was conscious but still powerless. The terror - the terror, the terror - lingered, and there was something else. It came with the dream, every time, and did't recede with it but stayed like something a tide had washed in. Something awful - a rank leviathan corpse left to rot on the shore of her mind. It was remorse. But god, that was too bloodless a word for it. This feeling the dream left her with, it was knives of panic and horror resting bright atop a red and meaty wound-fester of guilt. ~ Laini Taylor

104:Sprinkled across the black waters below were at least a hundred small boats set out to greet the Leviathan, their navigation lights like shifting stars. Among them loomed a glittering cruise liner, her fog horn bellowing in the night. The low groan grew into a chorus as the other great ships in the harbor joined in. Perched on Volger's desk, Bovril attempted to imitate the horns, but wound up sounding like a badly blown tuba. Alek smiled. "But they're already singing our praises!" "They are Americans," Volger said. "They toot their horns for anything. ~ Scott Westerfeld

105:The twenty foot statue loomed over them. Jesus saw his goat-like hairy legs with hooves, and his muscular human torso covered with the fine scales of a serpentine Shining One. Along with Semjaza, he had led the original rebellion of the Sons of God from heaven. Though he was bound in Tartarus, his powers were still felt throughout history, in the worship given him by foolish idolaters seeking power. The wilderness was called “the wilderness of Azazel” and it embodied the chaos of disorder as much as Leviathan had embodied the chaos of the sea. Jesus was here for Azazel’s successors. ~ Brian Godawa

106:Listening (had there been any one to listen) from the upper rooms of the empty house only gigantic chaos streaked with lightning could have been heard tumbling and tossing, as the winds and waves disported themselves like the amorphous bulks of leviathans whose brows are pierced by no light of reason, and mounted one on top of another, and lunged and plunged in the darkness or the daylight (for night and day, month and year ran shapelessly together) in idiot games, until it seemed as if the universe were battling and tumbling, in brute confusion and wanton lust aimlessly by itself. ~ Virginia Woolf

107:Leviathan" Truth also is the pursuit of it: Like happiness, and it will not stand. Even the verse begins to eat away In the acid. Pursuit, pursuit; A wind moves a little, Moving in a circle, very cold. How shall we say? In ordinary discourse— We must talk now. I am no longer sure of the words, The clockwork of the world. What is inexplicable Is the ‘preponderance of objects.’ The sky lights Daily with that predominance And we have become the present. We must talk now. Fear Is fear. But we abandon one another. ~ George Oppen

108:The desert to us is tohu wabohu, a place of chaos that is unformed and unfilled. When we crossed the Red Sea, Yahweh had promised us that he would crush the heads of Leviathan and Rahab and create the heavens and the earth out of the chaos.” This was another way of saying that Yahweh would establish his kingdom covenant order out of the disorder and lawlessness that was Canaan. Sending the goat out into the desert to Azazel, was not an offering to the damnable goat demon, but rather it was a banishment of Israel’s sin to the realm of chaos outside Yahweh’s kingdom—the same realm of Azazel. ~ Brian Godawa

109:Modern states with democratic forms of government dispense with hereditary leviathans, but they have not found a way to dispense with inequalities of wealth and power backed up by an enormously complex system of criminal justice. Yet for 30,000 years after takeoff, life went on without kings, queens, prime ministers, presidents, parliaments, congresses, cabinets, governors, mayors, police officers, sheriffs, marshals, generals, lawyers, bailiffs, judges, district attorneys, court clerks, patrol cars, paddy wagons, jails, and penitentiaries. How did our ancestors manage to leave home without them? ~ John Zerzan

110:Nevertheless, the first states were a new phenomenon in human history. They all assumed the right to mobilize wealth from farming communities, towns, and cities in return for some degree of protection. As the English political theorist Thomas Hobbes wrote in Leviathan (1651), the right to distribute resources “belongeth in all kinds of Common-wealth, to the Soveraign power. For where there is no Common-wealth, there is… a perpetual warre of every man against his neighbor.” Traditional elites owed their power, in part, to the intrinsic weakness and isolation of traditional farming communities. ~ David Christian

111:We must tell stories the way God does, stories in which a sister must float her little brother on a river with nothing but a basket between him and the crocodiles. Stories in which a king is a coward, and a shepherd boy steps forward to face the giant. Stories with fiery serpents and leviathans and sermons in whirlwinds. Stories in which murderers are blinded on donkeys and become heroes. Stories with dens of lions and fiery furnaces and lone prophets laughing at kings and priests and demons. Stories with heads on platters. Stories with courage and crosses and redemption. Stories with resurrections. ~ N D Wilson

112:Rowing is, in a number of ways, a sport of fundamental paradoxes. For one thing, an eight-oared racing shell—powered by unusually large and physically powerful men or women—is commanded, controlled, and directed by the smallest and least powerful person in the boat. The coxswain (nowadays often a female even in an otherwise male crew) must have the force of character to look men or women twice his or her size in the face, bark orders at them, and be confident that the leviathans will respond instantly and unquestioningly to those orders. It is perhaps the most incongruous relationship in sports. ~ Daniel James Brown

113:A theology for our time should help us to know that Being is indeed the theater of God's glory, and that, within it, we have a terrible privilege, a capacity for profound error and grave harm. We might venture an answer to God's question, Where were you when I created—? We were there, potential and implicit and by the grace of God inevitable, more unstoppable than the sea, impervious than Leviathan, in that deep womb of time almost hearing the sons of God when they shouted for joy. And we are here, your still-forming child, still opening our eyes on a reality whose astonishments we can never exhaust. ~ Marilynne Robinson

114:When we come under the spell of the deeper domain of technology, its economic character and even its power aspect fascinate us less than its playful side. Then we realize we that we are involved in a play, a dance of the spirit, which cannot be grasped by calculation. What is ultimately left for science is intuition alone - a call of destiny. This playful feature manifests itself more clearly in small things than in the gigantic works of our world. The crude observer can only be impressed by large quantities - chiefly when they are in motion - and yet there are as many organs in a fly as in a leviathan. ~ Ernst J nger

115:Until the first petroleum well was drilled in Pennsylvania in 1859, whale oil *was* oil. In Leviathan, a fine history of whaling, Eric Jay Dolin enumerates whale Phil's manifold applications: 'It was used in the production of soap, textiles, leather, paints, and varnishes, and it lubricated the tools and machines that drove the Industrial Revolution.' In fact, its use as a lubricant impervious to extremes in temperature persisted well into the space age -- NASA lubed its moon landers and other remotely operated vehicles with sperm whale oil until the International Whaling Commission banned commercial whaling in 1986. ~ Sarah Vowell

116:The doctrine of Right and Wrong, is perpetually disputed, both by Pen and the Sword: Whereas the doctrine of Lines, and Figures, is not so; because men care not, in that subject what be truth, as a thing that crosses no mans ambition, profit, or lust. For I doubt not, but if it had been a thing contrary to any mans right of dominion, or to the interest of men that have dominion, That the three Angles of a Triangle, should be equall to two Angles of a Square; that doctrine should have been, if not disputed, yet by the burning of all books of Geometry, suppressed, as far as he whom it concerned was able. ~ Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan (1651).

117:We are motionless. The sea is polished. There is no sky but only a hot whiteness that descends like a curtain in every side, dropping, as it were, even below the horizon and so diminishing the circle of the ocean that is visible to us. The circle itself is of a light an luminescent blue. Now and then some sea creature will shatter the surface and the silence by leaping through it. Yet even when nothing leaps there is a constant shuddering, random twitches and vibrations of the surface, as if the water were not only the home and haunt of all sea creatures but the skin of a living thing, a creature vaster than Leviathan. ~ William Golding

118:If the characters are not wicked, the book is." We must tell stories the way God does, stories in which a sister must float her little brother on a river with nothing but a basket between him and the crocodiles. Stories in which a king is a coward, and a shepherd boy steps forward to face the giant. Stories with fiery serpents and leviathans and sermons in whirlwinds. Stories in which murderers are blinded on donkeys and become heroes. Stories with dens of lions and fiery furnaces and lone prophets laughing at kings and priests and demons. Stories with heads on platters. Stories with courage and crosses and redemption. Stories with resurrections. ~ G K Chesterton

119:As long ago as 1795, in an essay titled Perpetual Peace, Immanuel Kant worked out what such deterrence ultimately leads to: “A war, therefore, which might cause the destruction of both parties at once … would permit the conclusion of a perpetual peace only upon the vast burial-ground of the human species.”22 (Kant’s book title came from an innkeeper’s sign featuring a cemetery—not the type of perpetual peace most of us strive for.) Deterrence acts as only a temporary solution to the Hobbesian temptation to strike first, allowing both Leviathans to go about their business in relative peace, settling for small proxy wars in swampy Third World countries. ~ Michael Shermer

120:Uriel had seen Behemoth. Uriel was there at the creation and was privileged to be a part of the morning stars who sang praises to Elohim when he laid the foundation of the earth, struck its line, determined the measurements and sunk its bases. He had gloried when Elohim created a firmament in the midst of the waters to separate the waters above from the waters below. He watched with awe as Elohim made the waters swarm with great sea monsters like Rahab and Leviathan, and let the earth bring forth living creatures according to their kind, creeping things and beasts of the earth, including Behemoth. The irony was not lost on him that creation was both wonderful and fearsome. ~ Brian Godawa

121:Genesis 1 and 2 are not the only passages of Scripture that refer to creation. Though evangelicals often overlook them, there are in fact a number of other creation passages in the Bible. Interestingly enough, many of these depict God doing battle with hostile forces (e.g., “waters,” “the deep,” “Leviathan”) in order to bring the world into being (Ps. 74:12–17; 89:8–18; 104:1–9). Ancient Near Eastern people generally believed that a war of some sort preceded the creation of the world. These biblical passages appear to express this perspective but attribute the victory over hostile forces to Yahweh rather than to the pagan gods in whom other Near Eastern people believed. The ~ Gregory A Boyd

122:periods of explosive expansion across Asia and North Africa, such as in the extraordinary first decades of the spread of Islam or during the time of the Mongol conquests, were followed by long periods of stability, peace and prosperity. The frequency and rhythm of warfare was different in Europe to other parts of the world: no sooner would one conflict be resolved than another would flare up. Competition was brutal and relentless. In that sense, seminal works like Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan were quintessential texts that explained the rise of the west. Only a European author could have concluded that the natural state of man was to be in a constant state of violence; and only a European author would have been right.70 ~ Peter Frankopan

123:The enemy is typically depicted as a dangerous octopus, a vicious dragon, a multiheaded hydra, a giant venomous tarantula, or an engulfing Leviathan. Other frequently used symbols include vicious predatory felines or birds, monstrous sharks, and ominous snakes, particularly vipers and boa constrictors. Scenes depicting strangulation or crushing, ominous whirlpools, and treacherous quicksands also abound in pictures from the time of wars, revolutions, and political crises. The juxtaposition of paintings from non-ordinary states of consciousness that depict perinatal experiences with the historical pictorial documentation collected by Lloyd de Mause and Sam Keen offer strong evidence for the perinatal roots of human violence. ~ Stanislav Grof

124:It became clear to Simon what had just happened. Jesus had shown mastery not merely over the storm, as Ba’al might, but over the forces of chaos. He tamed the untamable Leviathan. He walked upon its back as would a conqueror upon the neck of his defeated foe. When Yahweh had divided the Red Sea in the exodus, he crushed the heads of Leviathan. He pushed back the chaos of the waters to establish is covenantal order with Moses and the people of Israel. He created order out of the disorder of the cosmos, like creating the heavens and the earth. What was this amazing event but a sign of Jesus’s power to vanquish the chaos and establish a new covenantal order, a new heavens and earth? This rabbi was no mere human Messiah, he was a god-man. ~ Brian Godawa

125:Against the new leviathan, whether in the guise of universal suffrage, democracy, or of an equally fraudulent triumphant proletariat, he (Kierkegaard) pitted the individual human soul made in the image of a God who was concerned about the fate of every living creature. In contrast with the notion of salvation through power, he held out the hope of salvation through suffering. The Cross against the ballot box or clenched fist; the solitary pilgrim against the slogan-shouting mob; the crucified Christ against the demagogue-dictators promising a kingdom of heaven on earth, whether achieved through endlessly expanding wealth and material well-being, or through the ever greater concentration of power and its ever more ruthless exercise. ~ Malcolm Muggeridge

126:I wonder how many people I know are out there, battling demons and leviathans alone on this cold night. How many people I know who tell me they are fine, and know how to expertly hide the cry for help behind their eyes. How many are just a helping hand away from a moment that could better their entire life. And how many will never ask, instead ball up these terrible things inside themselves thinking they are all alone in their fight. It is a sobering thought: Everyone we love and know and hate are all suffering in some great or small way. This is why we must be swift with our kindness. make greater efforts at compassion when we ask someone if they are okay. ~ Nikita Gill

127:On the fifth night of our search, I see a plesiosaur. It is a megawatt behemoth, bronze and blue-white, streaking across the sea floor like a torpid comet. Watching it, I get this primordial deja vu, like I'm watching a dream return to my body. It wings towards me with a slow, avian grace. Its long neck is arced in an S-shaped curve; its lizard body is the size of Granana's carport. Each of its ghost flippers pinwheels colored light. I try to swim out of its path, but the thing's too big to avoid. That Leviathan fin, it shivers right through me. It's a light in my belly, cold and familiar. And I flash back to a snippet from school, a line from a poem or a science book, I can't remember which: 'There are certain prehistoric things that swim beyond extinction'. ~ Karen Russell

128:Never again will I allow pride (Leviathan) to control my life (Job 41). Never again will I allow my heart to become hardened (Job 41:24). Never again will I allow the Holy Spirit’s power to not flow in my life. The scales of Leviathan have been ripped from my life (Job 41:15). Never again will I allow stubbornness to control my life, for stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry, and I am not stiff-necked (1 Sam. 15:23). Never again will I walk in vanity and vain glory (Gal. 5:26, KJV). Never again will I walk in selfish ambition (James 3:14). Never again will I speak in a boastful way (James 4:16). Never again will I cause another person to stumble (Mal. 2:8). Never again will I walk in offense (Ps. 119:165, KJV). Never again will I give myself to drunkenness (Eph. 5:18). ~ John Eckhardt

129:Had these Leviathans been but a flock of simple sheep, pursued over the pasture by three fierce wolves, they could not possibly have evinced such excessive dismay. But this occasional timidity is characteristic of almost all herding creatures. Though banding together in tens of thousands, the lion-maned buffaloes of the West have fled before a solitary horseman. Witness, too, all human beings, how when herded together in the sheepfold of a theatre's pit, they will, at the slightest alarm of fire, rush helter-skelter for the outlets, crowding, trampling, jamming, and remorselessly dashing each other to death. Best, therefore, withhold any amazement at the strangely gallied whales before us, for there is no folly of the beasts of the earth which is not infinitely outdone by the madness of men. ~ Herman Melville

130:Ultimately, a vigorous civil society and a well-functioning republic are only possible if the people are virtuous and will them. Therefore, what parents and the ruling generation owe their children and generations afar are the rebirth of a vibrant civil society and restoration of a vigorous constitutional republic, along with the essential and simultaneous diminution of the federal government’s sweeping and expanding scope of power and its subsequent containment. If the ruling generation fails this admittedly complicated but central task, which grows ever more difficult and urgent with the passage of time and the federal Leviathan’s hard-line entrenchment, then the very essence of the American experiment will not survive. As such, it can and will be rightly said that the ruling generation betrayed its posterity. ~ Mark R Levin

131:Can it be that ugly and easy? We crawled primordial from the water, our grand-ancestors times a million generations; we escaped the tides, the sharks, and the leviathans of the deep, only to find ourselves on land -- where we became the things we'd sought to escape, and we invented gods to blame. Not gods of the ocean, for we'd been to the ocean, and seen that the water was empty of the divine. Not gods of the earth, for we have walked up on the dirt, and we are alone here. So we installed gods in the sky, because we haven't yet eliminated the firmament as a possibility. Next, I suppose we'll send them into space ... Over and over, we lift God out of our reach. Over and over, push Him beyond our grasp, yet still we stretch out our fingers and seek to touch Him. But find nothing. ~ Cherie Priest

132:For example, at the very end of Leviathan, their discussion of "making" leads Shapin and Schaffer to express their overall conclusions in a way that involves a real confusion. They say: "It is ourselves and not reality that is responsible for what we know" (1985, 344)• This is a classic example of a false dichotomy. Neither we alone nor reality alone is "responsible" for human knowledge. The rough answer is that both are responsible for it; knowledge involves an interaction between the two. Even this formulation is imperfect; human knowledge is part of reality, not something separate from or outside it. But, speaking roughly, in order to understand knowledge, we need both a theory of human thought, language, and social interaction, and a theory of how these human capacities are connected to the world outside us. ~ Peter Godfrey Smith

133:Outside of the Priori, they would say that these bodies of atomized matter were not alive, that sentience could only exist at an organic level. But in his dream, he knew they were alive — they were more alive that he would ever be. The roar of atoms colliding into each other screamed over a theatre of scorching gases, a space opera that could vaporize a planet clean out of its orbit. From a distance, maybe a hundred light years away, he could hear the Nebula breathing. He could still make out the clash of each hydrogen atom against another. It would not matter if he was a human, The Leviathan, or even a planet. It would not matter if he was any creature or object he may have considered significant. The light was so bright, so alive, that if he got too close, even in his dream, the Nebula would burn off the face of his soul like ether. ~ M U Riyadad

134:The ship creaked and gravity shifted a degree to Miller's right. Course correction. Nothing interesting. Miller closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. His mind was full of dead men and Julie and love and sex. There was something Holden had said about the war that was important, but he couldn't make the pieces fit. They kept changing. Miller sighed, shifted his weight so that he blocked one of his drainage tubes and had to shift back to stop the alarm. When the blood pressure cuff fired off again, it was Julie holding him, pulling herself so close her lips brushed his ear. His eyes opened, his mind seeing both the imaginary girl and the monitors that she would have blocked if she'd really been there. I love you too, she said, and I will take care of you. He smiled at seeing the numbers change as his heart raced. ~ James S A Corey, Leviathan Wakes,

135:Forget the buildings and the monuments. Let the softness of dark come in, all those light-years between stars and planets. Cities were the works of men but the earth before and after those cities, outside and beneath and around them, was the dream of a sleeping leviathan--it was god sleeping there and dreaming, the same god that was time and transfiguration. From whatever dreamed the dream at the source, atom or energy, flowed all the miracles of evolution--tiger, tiger burning bright, the massive whales in the deep, luminescent specters in their mystery. The pearls that were their eyes, their tongues that were wet leaves, their bodies that were the bodies of the fantastic. Spectacular bestiaries of heaven, the limbs and tails of the gentle and the fearsome, silent or raging at will . . . they could never be known in every detail and they never should be. ~ Lydia Millet

136:One often hears of writers that rise and swell with their subject, though it may seem but an ordinary one. How, then, with me, writing of this Leviathan? Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals. Give me a condor's quill! Give me Vesuvius' crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms! For in the mere act of penning my thoughts of this Leviathan, they weary me, and make me faint with their out-reaching comprehensiveness of sweep, as if to include the whole circle of the sciences, and all the generations of whales, and men, and mastodons, past, present, and to come, with all the revolving panoramas of empire on earth, and throughout the whole universe, not excluding its suburbs. Such, and so magnifying, is the virtue of a large and liberal theme! We expand to its bulk. To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme. No great and enduring volume can ever be written on the flea, though many there be who have tried it. ~ Herman Melville

137:You are only able really to refuse and flee, though, when you recognize your power. Those living under the weight of a security regime tend to think of themselves as powerless, dwarfed by against its overarching might. Those in a prison society think of themselves as living in the belly of a Leviathan, consumed by its power. How can we possibly match its firepower, how can we escape its all-seeing eyes and its all-knowing information systems? To find a way out all you have to do is remember the basic recognition of the nature of power explained by Foucault and, before him, Niccolò Machiavelli: power is not a thing but a relation. No matter how mighty and arrogant seems that power standing above you, know that it depends on you, feeds on your fear, and survives only because of your willingness to participate in the relationship. Look for an escape door. One is always there. Desertion and disobedience are reliable weapons against voluntary servitude. ~ Michael Hardt

138:Luther’s room at the Wartburg contained a tiled oven for warmth, a simple desk and chair, of which he made ample use, and one especially curious object, likely a gift from Frederick, via Spalatin, though any letter in which it is referenced has been lost. It was the gargantuan vertebra of a whale, doubtless from the remains of a cetacean that had beached or washed up someplace very far away, probably on the coast of the North Sea. Whale bones were at that time prized for their healing powers, and one assumes that because Luther complained so regularly of the various maladies affecting him, Spalatin had found it and sent it along as a happy surprise and encouragement. And how could Luther help to have been cheered by something as outrageous and singular as this colossal white bone from a leviathan that once swam endless miles beneath the waves of a distant sea? Luther had never seen the ocean, and never would in his life, so the exotic quality of the object must have been all the greater. ~ Eric Metaxas

139:One reason might be that if I hadn't tripped, I'd have been hamburger. When this sort of thing occurs, people often say that there was some power greater than themselves at work. This sounds reasonable. I am just suggesting that it is not necessary to equate "greater than ourselves" with "stretched across the heavenly vault." It could mean "just slightly greater." A cocoon of energy that we carry with us, that is capable, under some conditions, of affecting physicality. Furthermore, I conjecture that the totality of all these souls is what constitutes the Godhead. I mean this in the same sense as the "Leviathan" of Thomas Hobbes, whereby man, that is everyone together, creates "that great Leviathan called a Commonwealth or State, which is but an artificial man, though of greater statute and strength than the natural, for whose protection and defense it was created." And that leads me to my Insight: God was not there at the beginning of evolution; God is what lies at the end of it. ~ Paul Quarrington

140:As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New Bedford has of late been gradually monopolizing the business of whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original— the Tyre of this Carthage;—the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones—so goes the story— to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit? ~ Herman Melville

141:"Oi, Pampaw," Diogo said as the door to the public hall slid open. "You hear that Eros started talking?" Miller lifted himself to one elbow. "Sí," Diogo said. "Whatever that shit is, it started broadcasting. There's even words and shit. I've got a feed. You want a listen?" No, Miller thought. No, I have seen those corridors. What's happened to those people almost happened to me. I don't want anything to do with that abomination. "Sure," he said. Diogo scooped up his own hand terminal and keyed in something. Miller's terminal chimed that it had received the new feed route. "Chica perdída in ops been mixing a bunch of it to bhangra," Diogo said, making a shifting dance move with his hips. "Hard-core, eh?" Diogo and the other OPA irregulars had breached a high-value research station, faced down one of the most powerful and evil corporations in a history of power and evil. And now they were making music from the screams of the dying. Of the dead. They were dancing to it in the low-rent clubs. What it must be like, Miller thought, to be young and soulless. ~ James S A Corey, Leviathan Wakes,

142:The growth of international bureaucracies with power to determine many aspects of people’s lives is a dominant feature of our age. Even the European Union is increasingly powerless, as it merely transmits to its member states rules set at higher levels. Food standards, for example, are decided by a United Nations body called the Codex Alimentarius. The rules of the banking industry are set by a committee based in Basel in Switzerland. Financial regulation is set by the Financial Stability Board in Paris. I bet you have not heard of the World Forum for the Harmonisation of Vehicle Regulations, a subsidiary of the UN. Even the weather is to be controlled by Leviathan in the future. In an interview in 2012, Christiana Figueres, head of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, said she and her colleagues were inspiring government, private sector and civil society to make the biggest transformation that they have ever undertaken: ‘The Industrial Revolution was also a transformation, but it wasn’t a guided transformation from a centralized policy perspective. This is a centralized transformation.’ Yet ~ Matt Ridley

143:Again and again, the goal of the progressives is to unmoor the individual and society from America’s heritage with populist tirades, prodding, and indoctrination, the purpose of which is to build popular support for a muscular centralized government ruled by a self-aggrandizing intellectual elite through an extraconstitutional and autocratic administrative Leviathan. Moreover, the individual is to be denuded of his personal traits, “primitive nature,” and “old beliefs,” since his true liberty, satisfaction, and realization are said to be tied to the universality of the state. The government, through “science” and administration—unencumbered by ancient and archaic eternal truths—can alter society in ways that supposedly modernize and improve it. Furthermore, the individual’s focus on self rather than community, and his old habits, beliefs, and traditions, must be altered through socializing education and training, thereby making him the kind of person and citizen whose behavior better conforms to the egalitarian purposes and general welfare of the overall society. Of course, this is the death of individualism and republicanism. ~ Mark R Levin

144:MAY 6 I HAVE BROKEN LEVIATHAN’S POWER FROM YOUR LIFE MY CHILD, I have broken the demonic power of the sea serpent from your life. I have caused all his demonic little demon fish to stick to his scales as I brought him up out of the midst of the sea and cast him into the wilderness to lie on the open field as food for all the beasts of the field and the birds of the heavens. The rivers and seas belong to Me, and I will make utterly waste and desolate the places where his evil power has dwelt. I am the one who commands the sea and its streams to run dry, and I have broken the power of the evils of the sea from bringing destruction to your life. EZEKIEL 29:3–5; ISAIAH 44:27 Prayer Declaration Father, in the name of Jesus I bind every sea monster that would attack my life or region. You have raised a watch against Leviathan, and You will not let the demonic powers of the sea oppress me. You have stripped him of his power and have taken away his armor. You have caused the places of his domain to become utterly waste and desolate and have thrown him and his demonic spirits into the wilderness to be food for the beasts and birds who dwell there. ~ John Eckhardt

145:That Bright Chimeric Beast That bright chimeric beast Conceived yet never born, Save in the poet's breast, The white-flanked unicorn, Never may be shaken From his solitude; Never may be taken In any earthly wood. That bird forever feathered, Of its new self the sire, After aeons weathered, Reincarnate by fire, Falcon may not nor eagle Swerve from his eyrie, Nor any crumb inveigle Down to an earthly tree. That fish of the dread regime Invented to become The fable and the dream Of the Lord's aquarium, Leviathan, the jointed Harpoon was never wrought By which the Lord's anointed Will suffer to be caught. Bird of the deathless breast, Fish of the frantic fin, That bright chimeric beast Flashing the argent skin,-If beasts like these you'd harry, Plumb then the poet's dream; Make it your aviary, Make it your wood and stream. There only shall the swish Be heard of the regal fish; There like a golden knife 24 Dart the feet of the unicorn, And there, death brought to life, The dead bird be reborn. ~ Countee Cullen

146:I am a conservative in large part because I believe that politics should intrude on life as little as possible. Conservatives surely believe that there are times when the government should meddle in the daily affairs of the people, but they normally reserve those times for large questions of right and wrong, good and evil. Most conservatives, for instance, may want to restrict abortion on grounds rooted in the Decalogue, but few want the government to stop you from drinking raw milk. So much of liberalism is about unleashing the Joy Police on us, politicizing our prosaic wants and desires because some expert somewhere thinks he or she knows better how to live your life than you do. The result is to scrub the Hobbit warrens of our daily lives of the simple pleasures and to make many of those simple pleasures “political” even when properly speaking they are not. . . . In today’s health-obsessed culture, where progressives see themselves as masters of a sin-eating Leviathan determined to tell you how to live “for your own good,” cigar smoking — smoking of any kind, really, save for the incense of cannabis — is seen as sacrilegious, like using a church as a stable. ~ Jonah Goldberg

147:The state does not take a merely temporal regulatory role and leave salvation in the hands of the church; rather, the modern state seeks to replace the church by itself becoming a soteriological institution.16 It is in this sense, then, that the modern state is a parody of the church: “The body of the state is a simulacrum, a false copy, of the Body of Christ” (RONT, 182). As a result, while political rhetoric may suggest that the state is confined to a “public” sphere or that the reign of the secular is circumscribed, in fact the modern state demands complete allegiance, and the reign of the secular does not tolerate territories of resistance.17 The state is happy to absorb all kinds of private pursuits under the umbrella of civil society, but it cannot tolerate a religious community that claims to be the only authentic polis and proclaims a king who is a rival to both Caesar and Leviathan. In such a case, this community’s allegiance to its king ultimately trumps its allegiance to the state or empire, and its understanding of the nature of human persons does not fit the normative picture of liberalism. This the state cannot tolerate. It is in this sense that “every worship service is a challenge to Caesar. ~ James K A Smith

148:Herman Melville ‘My towers at last!’— What meant the word from what acknowledged circuit sprung and in the heart and on the tongue at sight of few familiar birds when seaward his last sail unfurled to leeward from the wheel once more bloomed the pale crags of haunted shore that once-more-visited notch of world: and straight he knew as known before the Logos in Leviathan’s roar he deepest sounding with his lead who all had fathomed all had said. Much-loving hero—towers indeed were those that overhung your log with entries of typhoon and fog and thunderstone for Adam’s breed: man’s warm Sargasso Sea of faith dislimned in light by luck or fate you for mankind set sail by hate and weathered it, and with it death. And now at world’s end coasting late in dolphined calms beyond the gate which Hercules flung down, you come to the grim rocks that nod you home. Depth below depth this love of man: among unnumbered and unknown to mark and make his cryptic own one landfall of all time began: of all life’s hurts to treasure one and hug it to the wounded breast, in this to dedicate the rest, all injuries received or done. Your towers again but towers now blest your haven in a shoreless west o mariner of the human soul who in the landmark notched the Pole 50 and in the Item loved the Whole. ~ Conrad Potter Aiken

149:"So," she said. "I've been thinking of it as a computing problem. If the virus or nanomachine or protomolecule or whatever was designed, it has a purpose, right?" "Definitely," Holden said. "And it seems like it's trying to do something-something complex. It doesn't make sense to go to all that trouble just to kill people. Those changes it makes look intentional, just... not complete, to me." "I can see that," Holden said. Alex and Amos nodded along with him but stayed quiet. "So maybe the issue is that the protomolecule isn't smart enough yet. You can compress a lot of data down pretty small, but unless it's a quantum computer, processing takes space. The easiest way to get that processing in tiny machines is through distribution. Maybe the protomolecule isn't finishing its job because it just isn't smart enough to. Yet." "Not enough of them," Alex said. "Right," Naomi said, dropping the towel into a bin under the sink. "So you give them a lot of biomass to work with, and see what it is they are ultimately made to do." "According to that guy in the video, they were made to hijack life on Earth and wipe us out," Miller said. "And that," Holden said, "is why Eros is perfect. Lots of biomass in a vacuum-sealed test tube. And if it gets out of hand, there's already a war going on. A lot of ships and missiles can be used for nuking Eros into glass if the threat seems real. Nothing to make us forget our differences like a new player butting in." ~ James S A Corey, Leviathan Wakes,

150:The gods were on the cusp of completing their ritual when the archangels hit them. They had swum across the wharf area and slipped up the rocks to assault the gods from behind. All seven burst in through the pillared open-air sanctuary, swords flashing. The gods drew their weapons. Dagon stuck his sword into his lower fishy half and cut it off with a swipe. He would not be hampered in battle. Everyone paused for a moment. The four gods stood facing off against the seven archangels, each waiting for the other to make a move. The mightiest of Yahweh’s heavenly host were here to bind the Watcher gods who would be fighting for their eternities. This was going to be brutal. An earthquake rattled the foundation of the temple. Everyone had to catch their balance. Dust and debris fell from the cracks in the stone above their heads. Asherah and the gods smiled. The archangels realized it had been no earthquake. That was an announcement of the arrival of something. Something very huge. Something from the depths of the sea. The water behind the gods suddenly exploded upward with the form of the seven headed sea dragon of chaos: Leviathan. It burst out of the water and leapt over the manmade jetty that housed the temple. Mikael, now healed, joined his fellow archangels for the fight. He saw the huge four hundred foot long serpentine body fly past them through the air. It landed on the wharf side with a huge splash that drenched everyone in the temple. Its double tail followed, with a swipe at the architecture. It smashed half the structure, wiping it into the water with the force. Gods and angels fell beneath the debris of the other half collapsing on top of them. ~ Brian Godawa

151:If I longed for destruction it was merely that this eye might be extinguished. I longed for an earthquake, for some cataclysm of nature which would plunge the lighthouse into the sea. I wanted a metamorphosis, a change to fish, to leviathan, to destroyer. I wanted the earth to open up, to swallow everything in one engulfing yawn. I wanted to see the city buried fathoms deep in the bosom of the sea. I wanted to sit in a cave and read by candlelight. (I wanted that eye extinguished so that I might have a change to know my own body, my own desires. I wanted to be alone for a thousand years in order to reflect on what I had seen and heard - and in order to forget. I wanted something of the earth which was not of man's doing, something absolutely divorced from the human of which I was surfeited. I wanted something purely terrestrial and absolutely divested of idea. I wanted to feel the blood running back into my veins, even at the cost of annihilation. I wanted to shake the stone and the light out of my system. I wanted the dark fecundity of nature, the deep well of the womb, silence, or else the lapping of the black waters of death. I wanted to be that night which the remorseless eye illuminated, a night diapered with stars and trailing comets. To be of night, so frighteningly silent, so utterly incomprehensible and eloquent at the same time. Never more to speak or to listen or to think. To be englobed and encompassed and to encompass and to englobe at the same time. No more pity, no more tenderness. To be human only terrestrially, like a plant or a worm or a brook. To be decomposed, divested of light and stone, variable as the molecule, durable as the atom, heartless as the earth itself. ~ Henry Miller

152:Back during the McCarthy years, institutions like UMass — and outside academia as well; in Hollywood and other parts of the culture industry, and throughout the economy as a whole — were run by nervous administrators and managers and CEOs who wanted to be in compliance with the government. I’m not talking about the true believer anticommunists; just run-of-the-mill, apolitical or even liberal, apparatchiks whose first duty, they felt, was to their job and their institution. Uncertain about the law and the rules, fearful that if they broke them their institutions would suffer, these administrators turned to outside consultants — often, lawyers — for “advice.” Except that the advice industry was itself stacked with two types: either true-believing anticommunists, who had a vested interest in purging the country of reds and leftists and liberals and more, or bottom-liners (and bottom-feeders) whose livelihood depended upon institutions like UMass needing their “advice.” The combination of this advice industry and nervous administrators was lethal: through some elaborate dance of advice and consent, repressive policies were propounded. Not by force, not by threat, but voluntarily, consensually. It wasn’t simply the state that was the problem; it was the relay system of coercion that private actors in civil society set up, that radiated power far beyond what it was capable of, that made the whole system of repression as widespread as it was. This, incidentally, was precisely the kind of society Hobbes envisioned in Leviathan: not simply an all-powerful sovereign, but an army of preachers and teachers, working in churches and — wait for it: universities — who would extend the power of the sovereign far beyond what it could muster. ~ Anonymous

153:On one side hung a very large oil-painting so thoroughly besmoked, and every way defaced, that in the unequal cross-lights by which you viewed it, it was only by diligent study and a series of systematic visits to it, and careful inquiry of the neighbors, that you could any way arrive at an understanding of its purpose. such unaccountable masses of shades and shadows, that at first you almost thought some ambitious young artist, in the time of the New England hags, had endeavored to delineate chaos bewitched. But by dint of much and earnest contemplation, and oft repeated ponderings, and especially by throwing open the little window towards the back of the entry, you at last come to the conclusion that such an idea, however wild, might not be altogether unwarranted. But what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber, portentous, black mass of something hovering in the centre of the picture over three blue, dim, perpendicular lines floating in a nameless yeast. A boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive a nervous man distracted. Yet was there a sort of indefinite, half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you to it, till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what that marvellous painting meant. Ever and anon a bright, but, alas, deceptive idea would dart you through. - It's the Black Sea in a midnight gale. - It's the unnatural combat of the four primal elements. - It's a blasted heath. - It's a Hyperborean winter scene. - It's the breaking- up of the ice-bound stream of Time. But at last all these fancies yielded to that one portentous something in the picture's midst. That once found out, and all the rest were plain. But stop; does it not bear a faint resemblance to a gigantic fish? even the great Leviathan himself? ~ Herman Melville

154:The Coal Picker He perches in the slime, inert, Bedaubed with iridescent dirt. The oil upon the puddles dries To colours like a peacock's eyes, And half-submerged tomato-cans Shine scaly, as leviathans Oozily crawling through the mud. The ground is here and there bestud With lumps of only part-burned coal. His duty is to glean the whole, To pick them from the filth, each one, To hoard them for the hidden sun Which glows within each fiery core And waits to be made free once more. Their sharp and glistening edges cut His stiffened fingers. Through the smut Gleam red the wounds which will not shut. Wet through and shivering he kneels And digs the slippery coals; like eels They slide about. His force all spent, He counts his small accomplishment. A half-a-dozen clinker-coals Which still have fire in their souls. Fire! And in his thought there burns The topaz fire of votive urns. He sees it fling from hill to hill, And still consumed, is burning still. Higher and higher leaps the flame, The smoke an ever-shifting frame. He sees a Spanish Castle old, With silver steps and paths of gold. From myrtle bowers comes the plash Of fountains, and the emerald flash Of parrots in the orange trees, Whose blossoms pasture humming bees. He knows he feeds the urns whose smoke Bears visions, that his master-stroke Is out of dirt and misery To light the fire of poesy. 267 He sees the glory, yet he knows That others cannot see his shows. To them his smoke is sightless, black, His votive vessels but a pack Of old discarded shards, his fire A peddler's; still to him the pyre Is incensed, an enduring goal! He sighs and grubs another coal. ~ Amy Lowell

155:How yet resolves the governor of the town? This is the latest parle we will admit; Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves; Or like to men proud of destruction Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur Till in her ashes she lie buried. The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand shall range With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. What is it then to me, if impious war, Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats Enlink'd to waste and desolation? What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation? What rein can hold licentious wickedness When down the hill he holds his fierce career? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil As send precepts to the leviathan To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town and of your people, Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of heady murder, spoil and villany. If not, why, in a moment look to see The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls, Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? will you yield, and this avoid, Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? ~ William Shakespeare

156:More often, he listened to the voice of Eros. Sometimes he watched the video feeds too, but usually, he just listened. Over the hours and days, he began to hear, if not patterns, at least common structures. Some of the voices spooling out of the dying station were consistent-broadcasters and entertainers who were overrepresented in the audio files archives, he guessed. There seemed to be some specific tendencies in, for want of a better term, the music of it too. Hours of random, fluting static and snatched bits of phrases would give way, and Eros would latch on to some word or phrase, fixating on it with greater and greater intensity until it broke apart and the randomness poured back in. "... are, are, are, ARE, ARE, ARE... " Aren't, Miller thought, and the ship suddenly shoved itself up, leaving Miller's stomach about half a foot from where it had been. A series of loud clanks followed, and then the brief wail of a Klaxon. "Dieu! Dieu!" someone shouted. "Bombs son vamen roja! Going to fry it! Fry us toda!" There was the usual polite chuckle that the same joke had occasioned over the course of the trip, and the boy who'd made it-a pimply Belter no more than fifteen years old-grinned with pleasure at his own wit. If he didn't stop that shit, someone was going to beat him with a crowbar before they got back to Tycho. But Miller figured that someone wasn't him. A massive jolt forward pushed him hard into the couch, and then gravity was back, the familiar 0.3 g. Maybe a little more. Except that with the airlocks pointing toward ship's down, the pilot had to grapple the spinning skin of Eros' belly first. The spin gravity made what had been the ceiling the new floor; the lowest rank of couches was now the top; and while they rigged the fusion bombs to the docks, they were all going to have to climb up onto a cold, dark rock that was trying to fling them off into the vacuum. Such were the joys of sabotage. ~ James S A Corey, Leviathan Wakes,

157:All about her she saw that two thousand out of the horde had made it across the water. They were on the frontier of Eden. A mere two thousand combatants for the invasion of an impregnable fortress. Five out of six Nephilim had perished at the mercy of Rahab and her brood of Leviathan and the tentacled one. The devastation was inestimable. It could lose her the war. Still, she had two thousand warriors with her. They were on the shores of the entrance to the Garden that hid the Tree of Life deep in its midst. Thanks to the Cursed One, she knew exactly where that tree was. She looked for her Rephaim generals but could not find them. They had all been lost to the denizens of the deep. An earthquake rocked the land. It was deep, the precursor of something much bigger. “Now what?” Inanna complained. She looked onto the horizon of her destination. Black smoke billowing out of the mountaintops of not only Mount Sahand, but the more distant northern Mount Savalan. The earth rumbled again. She realized she did not have much time. She signaled for her Anzu bird, and called out to Utu, flying above them at a safe height. “SOUND THE CRY OF WAR!” she bellowed. Utu put the trumpet to his lips and blew with all his might. The war cry of Inanna echoed throughout the land. Her Nephilim gathered their arms and dashed toward the heart of Eden. Inanna mounted her thunderbird. She glanced out at the Lake. Rahab glided on the surface, its eyes watching her. It would not forget this day, nor the Watcher, who for one moment bested the sea dragon of the Abyss.               • • • • • At the top of the Mount Sahand ridge, six thousand Nephilim prepared their sail-chutes. They waited for the call of war. When it came, they jumped off the cliff edge by the dozens. They opened up their sails to float down into the Garden. Handfuls of them failed and Nephilim plummeted to their deaths a thousand feet below. But most of them worked. The Nephilim drifted from the heavens into the pristine paradise. Right into the flaming whirling swords of the Cherubim. ~ Brian Godawa

158:You make springs gush forth in the valleys;         they flow between the hills;     11 they give drink to every beast of the field;         the wild donkeys quench their thirst.     12 Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell;         they sing among the branches.     13 From your lofty abode you water the mountains;         the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your work.     14 You cause the grass to grow for the livestock         and plants for man to cultivate,     that he may bring forth food from the earth         15 and wine to gladden the heart of man,     oil to make his face shine         and bread to strengthen man's heart.     16 The trees of the LORD are watered abundantly,         the cedars of Lebanon that he planted.     17 In them the birds build their nests;         the stork has her home in the fir trees.     18 The high mountains are for the wild goats;         the rocks are a refuge for the rock badgers.     19 He made the moon to mark the seasons; [1]         the sun knows its time for setting.     20 You make darkness, and it is night,         when all the beasts of the forest creep about.     21 The young lions roar for their prey,         seeking their food from God.     22 When the sun rises, they steal away         and lie down in their dens.     23 Man goes out to his work         and to his labor until the evening.     24 O LORD, how manifold are your works!         In wisdom have you made them all;         the earth is full of your creatures.     25 Here is the sea, great and wide,         which teems with creatures innumerable,         living things both small and great.     26 There go the ships,         and Leviathan, which you formed to play in it. [2]     27 These all look to you,         to give them their food in due season.     28 When you give it to them, they gather it up;         when you open your hand, they are filled with good things.     29 When you hide your face, they are dismayed;         when you take away their breath, they die         and return to their dust.     30 When you send forth your Spirit, [3] they are created,         and you renew the face of the ground.     31 May the glory of the LORD endure forever; ~ Anonymous

159:Six express tracks and twelve locals pass through Palimpsest. The six Greater Lines are: Stylus, Sgraffito, Decretal, Foolscap, Bookhand, and Missal. Collectively, in the prayers of those gathered prostrate in the brass turnstiles of its hidden, voluptuous shrines, these are referred to as the Marginalia Line. They do not run on time: rather, the commuters of Palimpsest have learned their habits, the times of day and night when they prefer to eat and drink, their mating seasons, their gathering places. In days of old, great safaris were held to catch the great trains in their inexorable passage from place to place, and women grappled with them with hooks and tridents in order to arrive punctually at a desk in the depth, of the city. As if to impress a distracted parent on their birthday, the folk of Palimpsest built great edifices where the trains liked to congregate to drink oil from the earth and exchange gossip. They laid black track along the carriages’ migratory patterns. Trains are creatures of routine, though they are also peevish and curmudgeonly. Thus the transit system of Palimpsest was raised up around the huffing behemoths that traversed its heart, and the trains have not yet expressed displeasure. To ride them is still an exercise in hunterly passion and exactitude, for they are unpredictable, and must be observed for many weeks before patterns can be discerned. The sport of commuting is attempted by only the bravest and the wildest of Palimpsest. Many have achieved such a level of aptitude that they are able to catch a train more mornings than they do not. The wise arrive early with a neat coil of hooked rope at their waist, so that if a train is in a very great hurry, they may catch it still, and ride behind on the pauper’s terrace with the rest of those who were not favored, or fast enough, or precise in their calculations. Woe betide them in the infrequent mating seasons! No train may be asked to make its regular stops when she is in heat! A man was once caught on board when an express caught the scent of a local. The poor banker was released to a platform only eight months later, when the two white leviathans had relinquished each other with regret and tears. ~ Catherynne M Valente

160:Six heads erupted from the water with fangs flashing and mouths roaring. On the neck of one of them was Asherah, riding it like a steed. She pointed down at the approaching form of Mikael. The monster focused on the angel as a target. The sound of gurgling from deep within its bowels warned Mikael. He had been caught by this attack before, at the beach of Mount Sapan. He was not going to let it happen again. He dove behind a huge boulder as a stream of fire poured out from the dragon head and blackened the entire area of stone. Another head reached down and Dagon leapt onto it, pulled away before Uriel and Gabriel could reach him. Ba’alzebul and Molech dashed headlong at the seven heads. Ba’alzebul’s muscular form launched an amazing thirty feet to catch one of the gaping jaws as it swung past the rocks of the beach. Molech was not so glorious. He could only make a good twenty feet. It was not enough to reach his target. He landed in the water in a belly flop. Uriel and Gabriel could not help but look at each other, smirking. One of the dragon heads reached down and picked Molech out of the water with its teeth and placed him on the back of another neck. The head that Ba’alzebul had caught had a sword stuck in the roof of its mouth, the hilt sticking out of its head. It was Gabriel’s sword, from their confrontation at Sapan generations earlier. Ba’alzebul pulled it from the creature’s mouth and swung around to mount its neck. He raised the sword high in victory, as all seven heads plunged back into the deep, carrying its four riders away from the grasp of the angels. Mikael stepped down to the shoreline to stand by Uriel and Gabriel as Raphael and Raguel helped the trapped angels get free from the rocks. They looked out onto the frothing, swirling waters left behind by the exit of the gargantuan and its riders. There was no way the archangels could ever chase that chaos monster. “You have to hand it to that Asherah,” said Uriel. “She is one goddess with chutzpah, taking her chances with enchanting Leviathan.” Gabriel added, “And I thought Ashtart was gutsy.” “Ashtart cut your gut in half back at Mount Hermon,” said Uriel wryly. “If I had not found your legs in the waters of the Abyss you would have been a paraplegic until the Resurrection. ~ Brian Godawa

161:There are six canons of conservative thought: 1) Belief in a transcendent order, or body of natural law, which rules society as well as conscience. Political problems, at bottom, are religious and moral problems. A narrow rationality, what Coleridge called the Understanding, cannot of itself satisfy human needs. "Every Tory is a realist," says Keith Feiling: "he knows that there are great forces in heaven and earth that man's philosophy cannot plumb or fathom." True politics is the art of apprehending and applying the Justice which ought to prevail in a community of souls. 2) Affection for the proliferating variety and mystery of human existence, as opposed to the narrowing uniformity, egalitarianism, and utilitarian aims of most radical systems; conservatives resist what Robert Graves calls "Logicalism" in society. This prejudice has been called "the conservatism of enjoyment"--a sense that life is worth living, according to Walter Bagehot "the proper source of an animated Conservatism." 3) Conviction that civilized society requires orders and classes, as against the notion of a "classless society." With reason, conservatives have been called "the party of order." If natural distinctions are effaced among men, oligarchs fill the vacuum. Ultimate equality in the judgment of God, and equality before courts of law, are recognized by conservatives; but equality of condition, they think, means equality in servitude and boredom. 4) Persuasion that freedom and property are closely linked: separate property from private possession, and Leviathan becomes master of all. Economic levelling, they maintain, is not economic progress. 5) Faith in prescription and distrust of "sophisters, calculators, and economists" who would reconstruct society upon abstract designs. Custom, convention, and old prescription are checks both upon man's anarchic impulse and upon the innovator's lust for power. 6) Recognition that change may not be salutary reform: hasty innovation may be a devouring conflagration, rather than a torch of progress. Society must alter, for prudent change is the means of social preservation; but a statesman must take Providence into his calculations, and a statesman's chief virtue, according to Plato and Burke, is prudence. ~ Russell Kirk

162:The book of Job, based on an ancient folktale, may have been written during the exile. One day, Yahweh made an interesting wager in the divine assembly with Satan, who was not yet a figure of towering evil but simply one of the “sons of God,” the legal “adversary” of the council.19 Satan pointed out that Job, Yahweh’s favorite human being, had never been truly tested but was good only because Yahweh had protected him and allowed him to prosper. If he lost all his possessions, he would soon curse Yahweh to his face. “Very well,” Yahweh replied, “all that he has is in your power.”20 Satan promptly destroyed Job’s oxen, sheep, camels, servants, and children, and Job was struck down by a series of foul diseases. He did indeed turn against God, and Satan won his bet. At this point, however, in a series of long poems and discourses, the author tried to square the suffering of humanity with the notion of a just, benevolent, and omnipotent god. Four of Job’s friends attempted to console him, using all the traditional arguments: Yahweh only ever punished the wicked; we could not fathom his plans; he was utterly righteous, and Job must therefore be guilty of some misdemeanor. These glib, facile platitudes simply enraged Job, who accused his comforters of behaving like God and persecuting him cruelly. As for Yahweh, it was impossible to have a sensible dialogue with a deity who was invisible, omnipotent, arbitrary, and unjust—at one and the same time prosecutor, judge, and executioner. When Yahweh finally deigned to respond to Job, he showed no compassion for the man he had treated so cruelly, but simply uttered a long speech about his own splendid accomplishments. Where had Job been while he laid the earth’s foundations, and pent up the sea behind closed doors? Could Job catch Leviathan with a fishhook, make a horse leap like a grasshopper, or guide the constellations on their course? The poetry was magnificent, but irrelevant. This long, boastful tirade did not even touch upon the real issue: Why did innocent people suffer at the hands of a supposedly loving God? And unlike Job, the reader knows that Job’s pain had nothing to do with the transcendent wisdom of Yahweh, but was simply the result of a frivolous bet. At the end of the poem, when Job—utterly defeated by Yahweh’s bombastic display of power—retracted all his complaints and repented in dust and ashes, God restored Job’s health and fortune. But he did not bring to life the children and servants who had been killed in the first chapter. There was no justice or recompense for them. ~ Karen Armstrong

163:In the final analysis, the relation of the individual to society must not be conceived after the atomistic and mechanistic pattern of bourgeois individualism which destroys the organic social totality, or after the biological and animal pattern of the statist or racist totalitarian conception which swallows up the person, here reduced to a mere histological element of Behemoth or Leviathan, in the body of the state, or after the biological and industrial pattern of the Communistic conception which ordains the entire person, like a worker in the great human hive, to the proper work of the social whole. The relation of the individual to society must be conceived after an irreducibly human and specifically ethicosocial pattern, that is, personalist and communalist at the same time; the organization to be accomplished is one of liberties. But an organization of liberty is is unthinkable apart from the amoral realities of justice and civil amity, which, on the natural and temporal plane, correspond to what the Gospel calls brotherly love on the spiritual and supernatural plane. This brings us back to our considerations of the manner in which the paradox of social life is resolved in a progressive movement that will never be terminated here-below. There is a common work to be accomplished by the social whole as such. This whole, of which human person are the parts, is not ‘neutral’ but is itself committed and bound by a temporal vocation. Thus the persons are subordinated to this common work. Nevertheless, not only in the political order, is it essential to the common good to flow back upon the persons, but also in another order where that which is most profound in the person, its supra-temporal vocation and the goods connected with it, is a transcendent end, it is essential that society itself and its common work are indirectly subordinated. This follows from the fact that the principal value of the common work of society is the freedom of expansion of the person together with all the guarantees which this freedom implies and the diffusion of good that flows from it. In short, the political common good is a common good of human persons. And thus it turns out that, in subordinating oneself to this common work, by the grace of justice and amity, each one of us is trill subordinated to the good of persons, to the accomplishment of the personal life of others an, at the same time, to the interior dignity of ones own person. But for this solution to be practical, there must be full recognition in the city of the true nature of the common work and, at the same time, recognition also of the importance and political worth--so nicely perceived by Aristotle--of the virtue of amity. ~ Jacques Maritain

164:Rahab could swim the waters above and below the firmament. It was all her territory. But her special domain was the Abyss. From there, she could access every body of water that ultimately connected to this underwater abode. Her birth waters were Lake Urimiya, where Elohim created her and held her at bay when he established the heavens and the earth. She was in the Lake again at that moment. She had returned to this sacred ground to give birth to her own spawn. The Nephilim paddled on the surface of the water. They were unaware of the nemesis below, a protective mother sea dragon and her very hungry newborn offspring, Leviathan. Leviathan was every bit the armored sea serpent as its parent. Even so young, it was already about half the size of Rahab. But it had something its progenitor did not: seven heads. Seven dragon heads on seven snakelike necks with seven times the predator’s snapping jaws, and seven times the rows of razor teeth. Leviathan’s strike zone was wide and it was more agile and speedier than Rahab. And it had seven times the fury. The Nephilim were oblivious to the shadowy forms approaching them from the darkness below. They filled the waters with their crafts The lead skiffs were only two thirds of the way across. The first casualties came at the front of the line. A huge explosion of water erupted. Pontoons snapped in two, throwing Nephilim into the water. Yahipan screamed, “RAHAB!!” The Nephilim stopped rowing and looked about the water. The huge serpentine armor broke the surface again, crushing a slew of the flatboats and dragging Nephilim into the depths. The spiny back cut through the water and disappeared. The Rephaim yelled orders. The Nephilim rowed for their lives. But it was an easy feast for the monsters of the deep. Rahab simply opened her mouth and scooped up dozens of Nephilim like so many minnows. Leviathan came next, with the seven dragon heads snapping up Nephilim faster than they could get out of the way. Leviathan might be a newborn and smaller than its mother, but already armor covered it. It was even able to launch small pillars of fire from its nostrils. Its youth and speed made up for its size as it darted and dodged around, all of its heads coordinated in a bloodbath of feeding. Inanna wondered where all that food went. Some Nephilim tried to fight back But it was futile and the smart ones made for the shoreline. They hoped they might get lucky and be overlooked by their serpentine predators. That was only the beginning. The sorry paddlers were no match for the worst of all Elohim’s creatures. Another creature came up from the depths. Its body could not be seen, only tentacles bursting from the water and crushing demigods in its grip. Yahipan and Thamaq were in the middle of the mayhem and counted eight of these snakelike appendages grabbing hapless soldiers. ~ Brian Godawa

165:Themes of descent often turn on the struggle between the titanic and the demonic within the same person or group. In Moby Dick, Ahab’s quest for the whale may be mad and “monomaniacal,” as it is frequently called, or even evil so far as he sacrifices his crew and ship to it, but evil or revenge are not the point of the quest. The whale itself may be only a “dumb brute,” as the mate says, and even if it were malignantly determined to kill Ahab, such an attitude, in a whale hunted to the death, would certainly be understandable if it were there. What obsesses Ahab is in a dimension of reality much further down than any whale, in an amoral and alienating world that nothing normal in the human psyche can directly confront. The professed quest is to kill Moby Dick, but as the portents of disaster pile up it becomes clear that a will to identify with (not adjust to) what Conrad calls the destructive element is what is really driving Ahab. Ahab has, Melville says, become a “Prometheus” with a vulture feeding on him. The axis image appears in the maelstrom or descending spiral (“vortex”) of the last few pages, and perhaps in a remark by one of Ahab’s crew: “The skewer seems loosening out of the middle of the world.” But the descent is not purely demonic, or simply destructive: like other creative descents, it is partly a quest for wisdom, however fatal the attaining of such wisdom may be. A relation reminiscent of Lear and the fool develops at the end between Ahab and the little black cabin boy Pip, who has been left so long to swim in the sea that he has gone insane. Of him it is said that he has been “carried down alive to wondrous depths, where strange shapes of the unwarped primal world glided to and fro . . . and the miser-merman, Wisdom, revealed his hoarded heaps.” Moby Dick is as profound a treatment as modern literature affords of the leviathan symbolism of the Bible, the titanic-demonic force that raises Egypt and Babylon to greatness and then hurls them into nothingness; that is both an enemy of God outside the creation, and, as notably in Job, a creature within it of whom God is rather proud. The leviathan is revealed to Job as the ultimate mystery of God’s ways, the “king over all the children of pride” (41:34), of whom Satan himself is merely an instrument. What this power looks like depends on how it is approached. Approached by Conrad’s Kurtz through his Antichrist psychosis, it is an unimaginable horror: but it may also be a source of energy that man can put to his own use. There are naturally considerable risks in trying to do so: risks that Rimbaud spoke of in his celebrated lettre du voyant as a “dérèglement de tous les sens.” The phrase indicates the close connection between the titanic and the demonic that Verlaine expressed in his phrase poète maudit, the attitude of poets who feel, like Ahab, that the right worship of the powers they invoke is defiance. ~ Northrop Frye

166:No more peeping through keyholes! No more mas turbating in the dark! No more public confessions! Unscrew the doors from their jambs! I want a world where the vagina is represented by a crude, honest slit, a world that has feeling for bone and contour, for raw, primary colors, a world that has fear and respect for its animal origins. I’m sick of looking at cunts all tickled up, disguised, deformed, idealized. Cunts with nerve ends exposed. I don’t want to watch young virgins masturbating in the privacy of their boudoirs or biting their nails or tearing their hair or lying on a bed full of bread crumbs for a whole chapter. I want Madagascan funeral poles, with animal upon animal and at the top Adam and Eve, and Eve with a crude, honest slit between the legs. I want hermaphrodites who are real hermaphrodites, and not make-believes walking around with an atrophied penis or a dried-up cunt. I want a classic purity, where dung is dung and angels are angels. The Bible a la King James, for example. Not the Bible of Wycliffe, not the Vulgate, not the Greek, not the Hebrew, but the glorious, death-dealing Bible that was created when the English language was in flower, when a vocabulary of twenty thousand words sufficed to build a monument for all time. A Bible written in Svenska or Tegalic, a Bible for the Hottentots or the Chinese, a Bible that has to meander through the trickling sands of French is no Bible-it is a counterfeit and a fraud. The King James Version was created by a race of bone-crushers. It revives the primitive mysteries, revives rape, murder, incest, revives epilepsy, sadism, megalomania, revives demons, angels, dragons, leviathans, revives magic, exorcism, contagion, incantation, revives fratricide, regicide, patricide, suicide, revives hypnotism, anarchism, somnambulism, revives the song, the dance, the act, revives the mantic, the chthonian, the arcane, the mysterious, revives the power, the evil, and the glory that is God. All brought into the open on a colossal scale, and so salted and spiced that it will last until the next Ice Age. A classic purity, then-and to hell with the Post Office authorities! For what is it enables the classics to live at all, if indeed they be living on and not dying as we and all about us are dying? What preserves them against the ravages of time if it be not the salt that is in them? When I read Petronius or Apuleius or Rabelais, how close they seem! That salty tang! That odor of the menagerie! The smell of horse piss and lion’s dung, of tiger’s breath and elephant’s hide. Obscenity, lust, cruelty, boredom, wit. Real eunuchs. Real hermaphrodites. Real pricks. Real cunts. Real banquets! Rabelais rebuilds the walls of Paris with human cunts. Trimalchio tickles his own throat, pukes up his own guts, wallows in his own swill. In the amphitheater, where a big, sleepy pervert of a Caesar lolls dejectedly, the lions and the jackals, the hyenas, the tigers, the spotted leopards are crunching real human boneswhilst the coming men, the martyrs and imbeciles, are walking up the golden stairs shouting Hallelujah! ~ Henry Miller

167:To The Queen As those who pass the Alps do say, The Rocks which first oppose their way, And so amazing-High do show, By fresh Ascents appear but low, And when they come unto the last, They scorn the dwarfish Hills th' ave past. So though my Muse at her first flight, Thought she had chose the greatest height, And (imp'd with Alexander's Name) Believ'd there was no further Fame: Behold an Eye wholly Divine Vouchsaf'd upon my Verse to Shine! And from that time I'gan to treat With Pitty him the World call'd Great; To smile at his exalted Fate, Unequal (though Gigantick) State. I saw that Pitch was not sublime, Compar'd with this which now I climb; His Glories sunk, and were unseen, When once appear'd the Heav'n-born Queen: Victories, Laurels, Conquer'd Kings, Took place among inferiour things. Now surely I shall reach the Clouds, For none besides such Vertue shrouds: Having scal'd this with holy Strains, Nought higher but the Heaven remains! No more I'll Praise on them bestow, Who to ill Deeds their Glories owe; Who build their Babels of Renown, Upon the poor oppressed Crown, Whole Kingdoms do depopulate, To raise a Proud and short-Liv'd State: I prize no more such Frantick Might, Than his that did with Wind-Mills Fight: No, give me Prowess, that with Charms Of Grace and Goodness, not with Harms, 60 Erects a Throne i'th' inward Parts, And Rules mens Wills, but with their Hearts; Who with Piety and Vertue thus Propitiates God, and Conquers us. O that now like Araunah here, Altars of Praises I could rear, Suiting her worth, which might be seen Like a Queens Present, to a Queen! ‘Alone she stands for Vertues Cause, ‘When all decry, upholds her Laws: ‘When to Banish her is the Strife, ‘Keeps her unexil'd in her Life; ‘Guarding her matchless Innocence ‘From Storms of boldest Impudence; ‘In spight of all the Scoffs and Rage, ‘And Persecutions of the Age, ‘Owns Vertues Altar, feeds the Flame, ‘Adores her much-derided Name; ‘While impiously her hands they tie, ‘Loves her in her Captivity; ‘Like Perseus saves her, when she stands ‘Expos'd to the Leviathans. ‘So did bright Lamps once live in Urns, ‘So Camphire in the water burns, ‘So Ætna's Flames do ne'er go out, ‘Though Snows do freeze its head without. How dares bold Vice unmasked walk, And like a Giant proudly stalk? When Vertue's so exalted seen, Arm'd and Triumphant in the Queen? How dares its Ulcerous Face appear, When Heavenly Beauty is so near? But so when God was close at hand, And the bright Cloud did threatning stand (In fight of Israel) on the Tent, They on in their Rebellion went. O that I once so happy were, 61 To find a nearer Shelter there! Till then poor Dove, I wandering fly Between the Deluge and the Skie: Till then I Mourn, but do not sing, And oft shall plunge my wearied wing: If her bless'd hand vouchsafe the Grace, I'th' Ark with her to give a place, I safe from danger shall be found, When Vice and Folly others drown'd. ~ Anne Killigrew

168:Reading list (1972 edition)[edit] 1. Homer – Iliad, Odyssey 2. The Old Testament 3. Aeschylus – Tragedies 4. Sophocles – Tragedies 5. Herodotus – Histories 6. Euripides – Tragedies 7. Thucydides – History of the Peloponnesian War 8. Hippocrates – Medical Writings 9. Aristophanes – Comedies 10. Plato – Dialogues 11. Aristotle – Works 12. Epicurus – Letter to Herodotus; Letter to Menoecus 13. Euclid – Elements 14. Archimedes – Works 15. Apollonius of Perga – Conic Sections 16. Cicero – Works 17. Lucretius – On the Nature of Things 18. Virgil – Works 19. Horace – Works 20. Livy – History of Rome 21. Ovid – Works 22. Plutarch – Parallel Lives; Moralia 23. Tacitus – Histories; Annals; Agricola Germania 24. Nicomachus of Gerasa – Introduction to Arithmetic 25. Epictetus – Discourses; Encheiridion 26. Ptolemy – Almagest 27. Lucian – Works 28. Marcus Aurelius – Meditations 29. Galen – On the Natural Faculties 30. The New Testament 31. Plotinus – The Enneads 32. St. Augustine – On the Teacher; Confessions; City of God; On Christian Doctrine 33. The Song of Roland 34. The Nibelungenlied 35. The Saga of Burnt Njál 36. St. Thomas Aquinas – Summa Theologica 37. Dante Alighieri – The Divine Comedy;The New Life; On Monarchy 38. Geoffrey Chaucer – Troilus and Criseyde; The Canterbury Tales 39. Leonardo da Vinci – Notebooks 40. Niccolò Machiavelli – The Prince; Discourses on the First Ten Books of Livy 41. Desiderius Erasmus – The Praise of Folly 42. Nicolaus Copernicus – On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres 43. Thomas More – Utopia 44. Martin Luther – Table Talk; Three Treatises 45. François Rabelais – Gargantua and Pantagruel 46. John Calvin – Institutes of the Christian Religion 47. Michel de Montaigne – Essays 48. William Gilbert – On the Loadstone and Magnetic Bodies 49. Miguel de Cervantes – Don Quixote 50. Edmund Spenser – Prothalamion; The Faerie Queene 51. Francis Bacon – Essays; Advancement of Learning; Novum Organum, New Atlantis 52. William Shakespeare – Poetry and Plays 53. Galileo Galilei – Starry Messenger; Dialogues Concerning Two New Sciences 54. Johannes Kepler – Epitome of Copernican Astronomy; Concerning the Harmonies of the World 55. William Harvey – On the Motion of the Heart and Blood in Animals; On the Circulation of the Blood; On the Generation of Animals 56. Thomas Hobbes – Leviathan 57. René Descartes – Rules for the Direction of the Mind; Discourse on the Method; Geometry; Meditations on First Philosophy 58. John Milton – Works 59. Molière – Comedies 60. Blaise Pascal – The Provincial Letters; Pensees; Scientific Treatises 61. Christiaan Huygens – Treatise on Light 62. Benedict de Spinoza – Ethics 63. John Locke – Letter Concerning Toleration; Of Civil Government; Essay Concerning Human Understanding;Thoughts Concerning Education 64. Jean Baptiste Racine – Tragedies 65. Isaac Newton – Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy; Optics 66. Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz – Discourse on Metaphysics; New Essays Concerning Human Understanding;Monadology 67. Daniel Defoe – Robinson Crusoe 68. Jonathan Swift – A Tale of a Tub; Journal to Stella; Gulliver's Travels; A Modest Proposal 69. William Congreve – The Way of the World 70. George Berkeley – Principles of Human Knowledge 71. Alexander Pope – Essay on Criticism; Rape of the Lock; Essay on Man 72. Charles de Secondat, baron de Montesquieu – Persian Letters; Spirit of Laws 73. Voltaire – Letters on the English; Candide; Philosophical Dictionary 74. Henry Fielding – Joseph Andrews; Tom Jones 75. Samuel Johnson – The Vanity of Human Wishes; Dictionary; Rasselas; The Lives of the Poets ~ Mortimer J Adler

169:Reading list (1972 edition)[edit] 1. Homer - Iliad, Odyssey 2. The Old Testament 3. Aeschylus - Tragedies 4. Sophocles - Tragedies 5. Herodotus - Histories 6. Euripides - Tragedies 7. Thucydides - History of the Peloponnesian War 8. Hippocrates - Medical Writings 9. Aristophanes - Comedies 10. Plato - Dialogues 11. Aristotle - Works 12. Epicurus - Letter to Herodotus; Letter to Menoecus 13. Euclid - Elements 14.Archimedes - Works 15. Apollonius of Perga - Conic Sections 16. Cicero - Works 17. Lucretius - On the Nature of Things 18. Virgil - Works 19. Horace - Works 20. Livy - History of Rome 21. Ovid - Works 22. Plutarch - Parallel Lives; Moralia 23. Tacitus - Histories; Annals; Agricola Germania 24. Nicomachus of Gerasa - Introduction to Arithmetic 25. Epictetus - Discourses; Encheiridion 26. Ptolemy - Almagest 27. Lucian - Works 28. Marcus Aurelius - Meditations 29. Galen - On the Natural Faculties 30. The New Testament 31. Plotinus - The Enneads 32. St. Augustine - On the Teacher; Confessions; City of God; On Christian Doctrine 33. The Song of Roland 34. The Nibelungenlied 35. The Saga of Burnt Njal 36. St. Thomas Aquinas - Summa Theologica 37. Dante Alighieri - The Divine Comedy;The New Life; On Monarchy 38. Geoffrey Chaucer - Troilus and Criseyde; The Canterbury Tales 39. Leonardo da Vinci - Notebooks 40. Niccolò Machiavelli - The Prince; Discourses on the First Ten Books of Livy 41. Desiderius Erasmus - The Praise of Folly 42. Nicolaus Copernicus - On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres 43. Thomas More - Utopia 44. Martin Luther - Table Talk; Three Treatises 45. François Rabelais - Gargantua and Pantagruel 46. John Calvin - Institutes of the Christian Religion 47. Michel de Montaigne - Essays 48. William Gilbert - On the Loadstone and Magnetic Bodies 49. Miguel de Cervantes - Don Quixote 50. Edmund Spenser - Prothalamion; The Faerie Queene 51. Francis Bacon - Essays; Advancement of Learning; Novum Organum, New Atlantis 52. William Shakespeare - Poetry and Plays 53. Galileo Galilei - Starry Messenger; Dialogues Concerning Two New Sciences 54. Johannes Kepler - Epitome of Copernican Astronomy; Concerning the Harmonies of the World 55. William Harvey - On the Motion of the Heart and Blood in Animals; On the Circulation of the Blood; On the Generation of Animals 56. Thomas Hobbes - Leviathan 57. René Descartes - Rules for the Direction of the Mind; Discourse on the Method; Geometry; Meditations on First Philosophy 58. John Milton - Works 59. Molière - Comedies 60. Blaise Pascal - The Provincial Letters; Pensees; Scientific Treatises 61. Christiaan Huygens - Treatise on Light 62. Benedict de Spinoza - Ethics 63. John Locke - Letter Concerning Toleration; Of Civil Government; Essay Concerning Human Understanding;Thoughts Concerning Education 64. Jean Baptiste Racine - Tragedies 65. Isaac Newton - Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy; Optics 66. Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz - Discourse on Metaphysics; New Essays Concerning Human Understanding;Monadology 67.Daniel Defoe - Robinson Crusoe 68. Jonathan Swift - A Tale of a Tub; Journal to Stella; Gulliver's Travels; A Modest Proposal 69. William Congreve - The Way of the World 70. George Berkeley - Principles of Human Knowledge 71. Alexander Pope - Essay on Criticism; Rape of the Lock; Essay on Man 72. Charles de Secondat, baron de Montesquieu - Persian Letters; Spirit of Laws 73. Voltaire - Letters on the English; Candide; Philosophical Dictionary 74. Henry Fielding - Joseph Andrews; Tom Jones 75. Samuel Johnson - The Vanity of Human Wishes; Dictionary; Rasselas; The Lives of the Poets    ~ Mortimer J Adler,

170:Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 9-11 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 06:46:13 andere erklärungen stellen die friedenserhaltenden effekte der europäischen Union und der ausbreitung der Demokratie auf dem ganzen Kontinent in den Mittelpunkt. ========== Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 37-39 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 07:00:39 Die großen entwicklungslinien der europäischen geschichte unterscheiden sich ganz deutlich von dem, was wir nach dem Mauerfall in den letzen beiden Jahrzehnten erlebt haben. ========== Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 40-41 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 07:02:34 Manche werden dies für eine wenig interessante Frage halten, weil sie davon ausgehen, dass die gefahr eines Krieges in europa ein für allemal beseitigt sei. ========== Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 44-45 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 07:04:49 Die sowjetunion ist kollabiert, und da es diese ========== Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 45-46 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 07:05:11 bedrohliche supermacht nicht mehr gibt, brau- chen sich die übrigen staaten in europa um ihre wechselseitige sicherheit nicht mehr zu sorgen. ========== Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 48-49 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 07:05:59 Die größeren Mächte haben wieder- holt Möglichkeiten gefunden, miteinander zu konkurrieren und manchmal auch sich zu bekriegen. ========== Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 50-50 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 07:08:29 der Zusammenbruch der sowjetunion europas friedfertigkeit erklären kann. ========== Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 54-58 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 08:34:30 Dieses Verhältnis hat in Bezug auf die friedensförderung zwei Dimensionen. Zum einen ist amerika der friedensbewahrer europas geblieben, indem es auf dem Kontinent weiterhin in bedeutendem Maße militärisch präsent bleibt und die nato intakt hält. Zum anderen haben die meisten europäer nicht nur amerikas fortwährende Präsenz begrüßt, sondern auch die idee weitgehend akzeptiert, dass die Vereinigten staaten die moralische und strategische Verantwortung haben, die geschicke der Welt zu lenken. ========== Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 66-68 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 08:37:07 die Vereinigten staaten verließen europa nicht und lie- ßen nicht zu, dass sich die NATO auflöste. Stattdessen behielten sie weiterhin ihre Streit- kräfte in europa, wenngleich auf einem zahlenmäßig niedrigeren niveau als während des Kalten Krieges. ========== Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 96-98 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 20:55:07 sogar die russen haben es begrüßt, dass die Vereinigten staaten in europa bleiben und die nato beibehalten, weil sie nicht möchten, dass Deutschland für seine eigene sicherheit sorgt. Was die russen verständlicherweise allerdings nicht wollen, ist, dass sich die nato bis zu ihren grenzen ausdehnt. ========== Mearsheimer 2009 Warum herrscht Frieden in Europa Leviathan (Mearsheimer 2009) - Tu subrayado en la posición 105-107 | Añadido el jueves, 5 de junio de 2014 20:57:42 Die meisten amerikaner glauben, ihr Land habe sowohl eine moralische als auch eine strategische Pfl ~ Anonymous

171:Of course we do." Dresden's voice was cutting. "But you're thinking too small. Building humanity's greatest empire is like building the world's largest anthill. Insignificant. There is a civilization out there that built the protomolecule and hurled it at us over two billion years ago. They were already gods at that point. What have they become since then? With another two billion years to advance?" With a growing dread, Holden listened to Dresden speak. This speech had the air of something spoken before. Perhaps many times. And it had worked. It had convinced powerful people. It was why Protogen had stealth ships from the Earth shipyards and seemingly limitless behind-the-scenes support. "We have a terrifying amount of catching up to do, gentlemen," Dresden was saying. "But fortunately we have the tool of our enemy to use in doing it." "Catching up?" a soldier to Holden's left said. Dresden nodded at the man and smiled. "The protomolecule can alter the host organism at the molecular level; it can create genetic change on the fly. Not just DNA, but any stable replicatoR But it is only a machine. It doesn't think. It follows instructions. If we learn how to alter that programming, then we become the architects of that change." Holden interrupted. "If it was supposed to wipe out life on Earth and replace it with whatever the protomolecule's creators wanted, why turn it loose?" "Excellent question," Dresden said, holding up one finger like a college professor about to deliver a lecture. "The protomolecule doesn't come with a user's manual. In fact, we've never before been able to actually watch it carry out its program. The molecule requires significant mass before it develops enough processing power to fulfill its directives. Whatever they are." Dresden pointed at the screens covered with data around them. "We are going to watch it at work. See what it intends to do. How it goes about doing it. And, hopefully, learn how to change that program in the process." "You could do that with a vat of bacteria," Holden said. "I'm not interested in remaking bacteria," Dresden said. "You're fucking insane," Amos said, and took another step toward Dresden. Holden put a hand on the big mechanic's shoulder. "So," Holden said. "You figure out how the bug works, and then what?" "Then everything. Belters who can work outside a ship without wearing a suit. Humans capable of sleeping for hundreds of years at a time flying colony ships to the stars. No longer being bound to the millions of years of evolution inside one atmosphere of pressure at one g, slaves to oxygen and water. We decide what we want to be, and we reprogram ourselves to be that. That's what the protomolecule gives us." Dresden had stood back up as he'd delivered this speech, his face shining with the zeal of a prophet. "What we are doing is the best and only hope of humanity's survival. When we go out there, we will be facing gods." "And if we don't go out?" Fred asked. He sounded thoughtful. "They've already fired a doomsday weapon at us once," Dresden said. The room was silent for a moment. Holden felt his certainty slip. He hated everything about Dresden's argument, but he couldn't quite see his way past it. He knew in his bones that something about it was dead wrong, but he couldn't find the words. Naomi's voice startled him. "Did it convince them?" she asked. "Excuse me?" Dresden said. "The scientists. The technicians. Everyone you needed to make it happen. They actually had to do this. They had to watch the video of people dying all over Eros. They had to design those radioactive murder chambers. So unless you managed to round up every serial killer in the solar system and send them through a postgraduate program, how did you do this?" "We modified our science team to remove ethical restraints." Half a dozen clues clicked into place in Holden's head. ~ James S A Corey, Leviathan Wakes,

172:Saltbush Bill On The Patriarchs Come all you little rouseabouts and climb upon my knee; To-day, you see, is Christmas Day, and so it’s up to me To give you some instruction like—a kind of Christmas tale— So name your yarn, and off she goes. What, “Jonah and the Whale”? Well, whales is sheep I’ve never shore; I’ve never been to sea, So all them great Leviathans is mysteries to me; But there’s a tale the Bible tells I fully understand, About the time the Patriarchs were settling on the land. Those Patriarchs of olden time, when all is said and done, They lived the same as far-out men on many a Queensland run— A lot of roving, droving men who drifted to and fro, The same we did out Queensland way a score of years ago. Now Isaac was a squatter man, and Jacob was his son, And when the boy grew up, you see, he wearied of the run. You know the way that boys grow up—there’s some that stick at home; But any boy that’s worth his salt will roll his swag and roam. So Jacob caught the roving fit and took the drovers’ track To where his uncle had a run, beyond the outer back; You see they made for out-back runs for room to stretch and grow, The same we did out Queensland way a score of years ago. Now, Jacob knew the ways of stock—that’s most uncommon clear— For when he got to Laban’s Run, they made him overseer; He didn’t ask a pound a week, but bargained for his pay To take the roan and strawberry calves—the same we’d take to-day. The duns and blacks and “Goulburn roans” (that’s brindles), coarse and hard, He branded them with Laban’s brand, in Old Man Laban’s yard; So, when he’d done the station work for close on seven year, Why, all the choicest stock belonged to Laban’s overseer. It’s often so with overseers—I’ve seen the same thing done By many a Queensland overseer on many a Queensland run. But when the mustering time came on old Laban acted straight, And gave him country of his own outside the boundary gate. 242 He gave him stock, and offered him his daughter’s hand in troth; And Jacob first he married one, and then he married both; You see, they weren’t particular about a wife or so— No more were we up Queensland way a score of years ago. But when the stock were strong and fat with grass and lots of rain, Then Jacob felt the call to take the homeward road again. It’s strange in every creed and clime, no matter where you roam, There comes a day when every man would like to make for home. So off he set with sheep and goats, a mighty moving band, To battle down the homeward track along the Overland— It’s droving mixed-up mobs like that that makes men cut their throats. I’ve travelled rams, which Lord forget, but never travelled goats. But Jacob knew the ways of stock, for (so the story goes) When battling through the Philistines—selectors, I suppose— He thought he’d have to fight his way, an awkward sort of job; So what did Old Man Jacob do? of course, he split the mob. He sent the strong stock on ahead to battle out the way; He couldn’t hurry lambing ewes—no more you could to-day— And down the road, from run to run, his hand ’gainst every hand, He moved that mighty mob of stock across the Overland. The thing is made so clear and plain, so solid in and out, There isn’t any room at all for any kind of doubt. It’s just a plain straightforward tale—a tale that lets you know The way they lived in Palestine three thousand years ago. It’s strange to read it all to-day, the shifting of the stock; You’d think you see the caravans that loaf behind the flock, The little donkeys and the mules, the sheep that slowly spread, And maybe Dan or Naphthali a-ridin’ on ahead. The long, dry, dusty summer days, the smouldering fires at night; The stir and bustle of the camp at break of morning light; The little kids that skipped about, the camels’ dead-slow tramp— I wish I’d done a week or two in Old Man Jacob’s camp! But if I keep the narrer path, some day, perhaps, I’ll know How Jacob bred them strawberry calves three thousand years ago. 243 ~ Banjo Paterson

173:A Treatise On Poetry: Iv Natura Pennsylvania, 1948-1949 The garden of Nature opens. The grass at the threshold is green. And an almond tree begins to bloom. Sunt mihi Dei Acherontis propitii! Valeat numen triplex Jehovae! Ignis, aeris, aquae, terrae spiritus, Salvete!—says the entering guest. Ariel lives in the palace of an apple tree, But will not appear, vibrating like a wasp’s wing, And Mephistopheles, disguised as an abbot Of the Dominicans or the Franciscans, Will not descend from a mulberry bush Onto a pentagram drawn in the black loam of the path. But a rhododendron walks among the rocks Shod in leathery leaves and ringing a pink bell. A hummingbird, a child’s top in the air, Hovers in one spot, the beating heart of motion. Impaled on the nail of a black thorn, a grasshopper Leaks brown fluid from its twitching snout. And what can he do, the phantom-in-chief, As he’s been called, more than a magician, The Socrates of snails, as he’s been called, Musician of pears, arbiter of orioles, man? In sculptures and canvases our individuality Manages to survive. In Nature it perishes. Let him accompany the coffin of the woodsman Pushed from a cliff by a mountain demon, The he-goat with its jutting curl of horn. Let him visit the graveyard of the whalers Who drove spears into the flesh of leviathan And looked for the secret in guts and blubber. The thrashing subsided, quieted to waves. Let him unroll the textbooks of alchemists 14 Who almost found the cipher, thus the scepter. Then passed away without hands, eyes, or elixir. Here there is sun. And whoever, as a child, Believed he could break the repeatable pattern Of things, if only he understood the pattern, Is cast down, rots in the skin of others, Looks with wonder at the colors of the butterfly, Inexpressible wonder, formless, hostile to art. To keep the oars from squeaking in their locks, He binds them with a handkerchief. The dark Had rushed east from the Rocky Mountains And settled in the forests of the continent: Sky full of embers reflected in a cloud, Flight of herons, trees above a marsh, The dry stalks in water, livid, black. My boat Divides the aerial utopias of the mosquitoes Which rebuild their glowing castles instantly. A water lily sinks, fizzing, under the boat’s bow. Now it is night only. The water is ash-gray. Play, music, but inaudibly! I wait an hour In the silence, senses tuned to a beaver’s lodge. Then suddenly, a crease in the water, a beast’s black moon, rounded, ploughing up quickly from the pond-dark, from the bubbling methanes. I am not immaterial and never will be. My scent in the air, my animal smell, Spreads, rainbow-like, scares the beaver: A sudden splat. I remained where I was In the high, soft coffer of the night’s velvet, Mastering what had come to my senses: How the four-toed paws worked, how the hair Shook off water in the muddy tunnel. It does not know time, hasn’t heard of death, Is submitted to me because I know I’ll die. 15 I remember everything. That wedding in Basel, A touch to the strings of a viola and fruit In silver bowls. As was the custom in Savoy, An overturned cup for three pairs of lips, And the wine spilled. The flames of the candles Wavery and frail in a breeze from the Rhine. Her fingers, bones shining through the skin, Felt out the hooks and clasps of the silk And the dress opened like a nutshell, Fell from the turned graininess of the belly. A chain for the neck rustled without epoch, In pits where the arms of various creeds Mingle with bird cries and the red hair of caesars. Perhaps this is only my own love speaking Beyond the seventh river. Grit of subjectivity, Obsession, bar the way to it. Until a window shutter, dogs in the cold garden, The whistle of a train, an owl in the firs Are spared the distortions of memory. And the grass says: how it was I don’t know. Splash of a beaver in the American night. The memory grows larger than my life. A tin plate, dropped on the irregular red bricks Of a floor, rattles tinnily forever. Belinda of the big foot, Julia, Thaïs, The tufts of their sex shadowed by ribbon. Peace to the princesses under the tamarisks. Desert winds beat against their painted eyelids. Before the body was wrapped in bandelettes, Before wheat fell asleep in the tomb, Before stone fell silent, and there was only pity. Yesterday a snake crossed the road at dusk. Crushed by a tire, it writhed on the asphalt. 16 We are both the snake and the wheel. There are two dimensions. Here is the unattainable Truth of being, here, at the edge of lasting and not lasting. Where the parallel lines intersect, Time lifted above time by time. Before the butterfly and its color, he, numb, Formless, feels his fear, he, unattainable. For what is a butterfly without Julia and Thaïs? And what is Julia without a butterfly’s down In her eyes, her hair, the smooth grain of her belly? The kingdom, you say. We do not belong to it, And still, in the same instant, we belong. For how long will a nonsensical Poland Where poets write of their emotions as if They had a contract of limited liability Suffice? I want not poetry, but a new diction, Because only it might allow us to express A new tenderness and save us from a law That is not our law, from necessity Which is not ours, even if we take its name. From broken armor, from eyes stricken By the command of time and taken back Into the jurisdiction of mold and fermentation, We draw our hope. Yes, to gather in an image The furriness of the beaver, the smell of rushes, And the wrinkles of a hand holding a pitcher From which wine trickles. Why cry out That a sense of history destroys our substance If it, precisely, is offered to our powers, A muse of our gray-haired father, Herodotus, As our arm and our instrument, though It is not easy to use it, to strengthen it So that, like a plumb with a pure gold center, It will serve again to rescue human beings. With such reflections I pushed a rowboat, In the middle of the continent, through tangled stalks, 17 In my mind an image of the waves of two oceans And the slow rocking of a guard-ship’s lantern. Aware that at this moment I—and not only I— Keep, as in a seed, the unnamed future. And then a rhythmic appeal composed itself, Alien to the moth with its whirring of silk: O City, O Society, O Capital, We have seen your steaming entrails. You will no longer be what you have been. Your songs no longer gratify our hearts. Steel, cement, lime, law, ordinance, We have worshipped you too long, You were for us a goal and a defense, Ours was your glory and your shame. And where was the covenant broken? Was it in the fires of war, the incandescent sky? Or at twilight, as the towers fly past, when one looked From the train across a desert of tracks To a window out past the maneuvering locomotives Where a girl examines her narrow, moody face In a mirror and ties a ribbon to her hair Pierced by the sparks of curling papers? Those walls of yours are shadows of walls, And your light disappeared forever. Not the world's monument anymore, an oeuvre of your own Stands beneath the sun in an altered space. From stucco and mirrors, glass and paintings, Tearing aside curtains of silver and cotton, Comes man, naked and mortal, Ready for truth, for speech, for wings. 18 Lament, Republic! Fall to your knees! The loudspeaker’s spell is discontinued. Listen! You can hear the clocks ticking. Your death approaches by his hand. An oar over my shoulder, I walked from the woods. A porcupine scolded from the fork of a tree, A horned owl, not changed by the century, Not changed by place or time, looked down. Bubo maximus, from the work of Linnaeus. America for me has the pelt of a raccoon, Its eyes are a raccoon’s black binoculars. A chipmunk flickers in a litter of dry bark Where ivy and vines tangle in the red soil At the roots of an arcade of tulip trees. America’s wings are the color of a cardinal, Its beak is half-open and a mockingbird trills From a leafy bush in the sweat-bath of the air. Its line is the wavy body of a water moccasin Crossing a river with a grass-like motion, A rattlesnake, a rubble of dots and speckles, Coiling under the bloom of a yucca plant. America is for me the illustrated version Of childhood tales about the heart of tanglewood, Told in the evening to the spinning wheel’s hum. And a violin, shivvying up a square dance, Plays the fiddles of Lithuania or Flanders. My dancing partner’s name is Birute Swenson. She married a Swede, but was born in Kaunas. Then from the night window a moth flies in As big as the joined palms of the hands, With a hue like the transparency of emeralds. Why not establish a home in the neon heat Of Nature? Is it not enough, the labor of autumn, 19 Of winter and spring and withering summer? You will hear not one word spoken of the court of Sigismund Augustus on the banks of the Delaware River. The Dismissal of the Greek Envoys is not needed. Herodotus will repose on his shelf, uncut. And the rose only, a sexual symbol, Symbol of love and superterrestrial beauty, Will open a chasm deeper than your knowledge. About it we find a song in a dream: Inside the rose Are houses of gold, black isobars, streams of cold. Dawn touches her finger to the edge of the Alps And evening streams down to the bays of the sea. If anyone dies inside the rose, They carry him down the purple-red road In a procession of clocks all wrapped in folds. They light up the petals of grottoes with torches. They bury him there where color begins, At the source of the sighing, Inside the rose. Let names of months mean only what they mean. Let the Aurora’s cannons be heard in none Of them, or the tread of young rebels marching. We might, at best, keep some kind of souvenir, Preserved like a fan in a garret. Why not Sit down at a rough country table and compose An ode in the old manner, as in the old times Chasing a beetle with the nib of our pen? ~ Czeslaw Milosz

174:was therefore under the complete governance of his mother, a strict Catholic, who raised him and his older brother and younger sisters in a stern and religious household. After her husband's departure, Mme Rimbaud became known as "Widow Rimbaud". Schooling and teen years (1862–1871) Fearing that her children were spending too much time with and being overinfluenced by neighbouring children of the poor, Mme Rimbaud moved her family to the Cours d'Orléans in 1862. This was a better neighborhood, and whereas the boys were previously taught at home by their mother, they were then sent, at the ages of nine and eight, to the Pension Rossat. For the five years that they attended school, however, their formidable mother still imposed her will upon them, pushing for scholastic success. She would punish her sons by making them learn a hundred lines of Latin verse by heart and if they gave an inaccurate recitation, she would deprive them of meals. When Arthur was nine, he wrote a 700-word essay objecting to his having to learn Latin in school. Vigorously condemning a classical education as a mere gateway to a salaried position, Rimbaud wrote repeatedly, "I will be a rentier (one who lives off his assets)". He disliked schoolwork and his mother's continued control and constant supervision; the children were not allowed to leave their mother's sight, and, until the boys were sixteen and fifteen respectively, she would walk them home from the school grounds. As a boy, Arthur was small, brown-haired and pale with what a childhood friend called "eyes of pale blue irradiated with dark blue—the loveliest eyes I've seen". When he was eleven, Arthur had his First Communion; despite his intellectual and individualistic nature, he was an ardent Catholic like his mother. For this reason he was called "sale petit Cagot" ("snotty little prig") by his fellow schoolboys. He and his brother were sent to the Collège de Charleville for school that same year. Until this time, his reading was confined almost entirely to the Bible, but he also enjoyed fairy tales and stories of adventure such as the novels of James Fenimore Cooper and Gustave Aimard. He became a highly successful student and was head of his class in all subjects but sciences and mathematics. Many of his schoolmasters remarked upon the young student's ability to absorb great quantities of material. In 1869 he won eight first prizes in the school, including the prize for Religious Education, and in 1870 he won seven firsts. When he had reached the third class, Mme Rimbaud, hoping for a brilliant scholastic future for her second son, hired a tutor, Father Ariste L'héritier, for private lessons. Lhéritier succeeded in sparking the young scholar's love of Greek and Latin as well as French classical literature. He was also the first person to encourage the boy to write original verse in both French and Latin Rimbaud's first poem to appear in print was "Les Étrennes des orphelins" ("The Orphans' New Year's Gift"), which was published in the 2 January 1870 issue of Revue pour tous. Two weeks after his poem was printed, a new teacher named Georges Izambard arrived at the Collège de Charleville. Izambard became Rimbaud's literary mentor and soon a close accord formed between professor and student and Rimbaud for a short time saw Izambard as a kind of older brother figure. At the age of fifteen, Rimbaud was showing maturity as a poet; the first poem he showed Izambard, "Ophélie", would later be included in anthologies as one of Rimbaud's three or four best poems. When the Franco-Prussian War broke out, Izambard left Charleville and Rimbaud became despondent. He ran away to Paris with no money for his ticket and was subsequently arrested and imprisoned for a week. After returning home, Rimbaud ran away to escape his mother's wrath. From late October 1870, Rimbaud's behaviour became outwardly provocative; he drank alcohol, spoke rudely, composed scatological poems, stole books from local shops, and abandoned his hitherto characteristically neat appearance by allowing his hair to grow long. At the same time he wrote to Izambard about his method for attaining poetical transcendence or visionary power through a "long, intimidating, immense and rational derangement of all the senses. The sufferings are enormous, but one must be strong, be born a poet, and I have recognized myself as a poet." It is rumoured that he briefly joined the Paris Commune of 1871, which he portrayed in his poem L'orgie parisienne (ou : Paris se repeuple), ("The Parisian Orgy" or "Paris Repopulates"). Another poem, Le cœur volé ("The Stolen Heart"), is often interpreted as a description of him being raped by drunken Communard soldiers, but this is unlikely since Rimbaud continued to support the Communards and wrote poems sympathetic to their aims. Life with Verlaine (1871–1875) Rimbaud was encouraged by friend and office employee Charles Auguste Bretagne to write to relationship between the two poets grew increasingly bitter. By late June 1873, Verlaine grew frustrated with the relationship and returned to Paris, where he quickly began to mourn Rimbaud's absence. On 8 July, he telegraphed Rimbaud, instructing him to come to the Hotel Liège in Brussels; Rimbaud complied at once. The Brussels reunion went badly: they argued continuously and Verlaine took refuge in heavy drinking. On the morning of 10 July, Verlaine bought a revolver and ammunition. That afternoon, "in a drunken rage," Verlaine fired two shots at Rimbaud, one of them wounding the 18-yearold in the left wrist. Rimbaud dismissed the wound as superficial, and did not initially seek to file charges against Verlaine. But shortly after the shooting, Verlaine (and his mother) accompanied Rimbaud to a Brussels railway station, where Verlaine "behaved as if he were insane." His bizarre behavior induced Rimbaud to "fear that he might give himself over to new excesses," so he turned and ran away. In his words, "it was then I [Rimbaud] begged a police officer to arrest him [Verlaine]." Verlaine was arrested for attempted murder and subjected to a humiliating medico-legal examination. He was also interrogated with regard to both his intimate correspondence with Rimbaud and his wife's accusations about the nature of his relationship with Rimbaud. Rimbaud eventually withdrew the complaint, but the judge nonetheless sentenced Verlaine to two years in prison. Rimbaud returned home to Charleville and completed his prose work Une Saison en Enfer ("A Season in Hell")—still widely regarded as one of the pioneering examples of modern Symbolist writing—which made various allusions to his life with Verlaine, described as a drôle de ménage ("domestic farce") with his frère pitoyable ("pitiful brother") and vierge folle ("mad virgin") to whom he was l'époux infernal ("the infernal groom"). In 1874 he returned to London with the poet friend Paul Demeny, the letter expounded his revolutionary theories about poetry and life, while also denouncing most poets that preceded him. Wishing for new poetic forms and ideas, he wrote: I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet makes himself a seer by a long, prodigious, and rational disordering of all the senses. Every form of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he consumes all the poisons in him, and keeps only their quintessences. This is an unspeakable torture during which he needs all his faith and superhuman strength, and during which he becomes the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed – and the great learned one! – among men. – For he arrives at the unknown! Because he has cultivated his own soul – which was rich to begin with – more than any other man! He reaches the unknown; and even if, crazed, he ends up by losing the understanding of his visions, at least he has seen them! Let him die charging through those unutterable, unnameable things: other horrible workers will come; they will begin from the horizons where he has succumbed! Rimbaud expounded the same ideas in his poem, "Le bateau ivre" ("The Drunken Boat"). This hundred-line poem tells the tale of a boat that breaks free of human society when its handlers are killed by "Redskins" (Peaux-Rouges). At first thinking that it drifts where it pleases, it soon realizes that it is being guided by and to the "poem of the sea". It sees visions both magnificent ("the blue and yellow of singing phosphorescence", "l'éveil jaune et bleu des phosphores chanteurs",) and disgusting ("nets where a whole Leviathan was rotting" "nasses / Où pourrit dans les joncs tout un Léviathan). It ends floating and washed clean, wishing only to sink and become one with the sea. Archibald MacLeish has commented on this poem: "Anyone who doubts that poetry can say what prose cannot has only to read the so-called Lettres du Voyant and 'Bateau Ivre' together. What is pretentious and adolescent in the Lettres is true in the poem—unanswerably true." Rimbaud's poetry influenced the Symbolists, Dadaists and Surrealists, and later writers adopted not only some of his themes, but also his inventive use of form and language. French poet A Winter Dream In winter we’ll travel in a little pink carriage With cushions of blue. We’ll be fine. A nest of mad kisses waits In each corner too. You’ll shut your eyes, not to see, through the glass, Grimacing shadows of evening, Those snarling monsters, a crowd going past Of black wolves and black demons. Then you’ll feel your cheek tickled quite hard… A little kiss, like a maddened spider, Will run over your neck… And you’ll say: “Catch it!” bowing your head, – And we’ll take our time finding that creature – Who travels so far… ~ Arthur Rimbaud

175:First Anniversary Like the vain curlings of the watery maze, Which in smooth streams a sinking weight does raise, So Man, declining always, disappears In the weak circles of increasing years; And his short tumults of themselves compose, While flowing Time above his head does close. Cromwell alone with greater vigour runs, (Sun-like) the stages of succeeding suns: And still the day which he doth next restore, Is the just wonder of the day before. Cromwell alone doth with new lustre spring, And shines the jewel of the yearly ring. 'Tis he the force of scattered time contracts, And in one year the work of ages acts: While heavy monarchs make a wide return, Longer, and more malignant than Saturn: And though they all Platonic years should reign, In the same posture would be found again. Their earthy projects under ground they lay, More slow and brittle than the China clay: Well may they strive to leave them to their son, For one thing never was by one king done. Yet some more active for a frontier town, Taken by proxy, beg a false renown; Another triumphs at the public cost, And will have won, if he no more have lost; They fight by others, but in person wrong, And only are against their subjects strong; Their other wars seem but a feigned contèst, This common enemy is still oppressed; If conquerors, on them they turn their might; If conquered, on them they wreak their spite: They neither build the temple in their days, Nor matter for succeeding founders raise; Nor sacred prophecies consult within, Much less themself to pèfect them begin; No other care they bear of things above, 57 But with astrologers divine of Jove To know how long their planet yet reprieves From the deservéd fate their guilty lives: Thus (image-like) an useless time they tell, And with vain sceptre strike the hourly bell, Nor more contribute to the state of things, Than wooden heads unto the viol's strings. While indefatigable Cromwell hies, And cuts his way still nearer to the skies, Learning a music in the region clear, To tune this lower to that higher sphere. So when Amphion did the lute command, Which the god gave him, with his gentle hand, The rougher stones, unto his measures hewed, Danced up in order from the quarries rude; This took a lower, that an higher place, As he the treble altered, or the bass: No note he struck, but a new stone was laid, And the great work ascended while he played. The listening structures he with wonder eyed, And still new stops to various time applied: Now through the strings a martial rage he throws, And joining straight the Theban tower arose; Then as he strokes them with a touch more sweet, The flocking marbles in a palace meet; But for the most the graver notes did try, Therefore the temples reared their columns high: Thus, ere he ceased, his sacred lute creates Th' harmonious city of the seven gates. Such was that wondrous order and consent, When Cromwell tuned the ruling Instrument, While tedious statesmen many years did hack, Framing a liberty that still went back, Whose numerous gorge could swallow in an hour That island, which the sea cannot devour: Then our Amphion issued out and sings, And once he struck, and twice, the powerful strings. 58 The Commonwealth then first together came, And each one entered in the willing frame; All other matter yields, and may be ruled; But who the minds of stubborn men can build? No quarry bears a stone so hardly wrought, Nor with such labour from its centre brought; None to be sunk in the foundation bends, Each in the house the highest place contends, And each the hand that lays him will direct, And some fall back upon the architect; Yet all composed by his attractive song, Into the animated city throng. The Commonwealth does through their centres all Draw the circumference of the public wall; The crossest spirits here do take their part, Fastening the contignation which they thwart; And they, whose nature leads them to divide, Uphold this one, and that the other side; But the most equal still sustain the height, And they as pillars keep the work upright, While the resistance of opposèd minds, The fabric (as with arches) stronger binds, Which on the basis of a senate free, Knit by the roof's protecting weight, agree. When for his foot he thus a place had found, He hurls e'er since the world about him round, And in his several aspects, like a star, Here shines in peace, and thither shoots in war, While by his beams observing princes steer, And wisely court the influence they fear. O would they rather by his pattern won Kiss the approaching, not yet angry Son; And in their numbered footsteps humbly tread The path where holy oracles do lead; How might they under such a captain raise The great designs kept for the latter days! But mad with reason (so miscalled) of state They know them not, and what they know not, hate. Hence still they sing hosanna to the whore, And her, whom they should massacre, adore: 59 But Indians, whom they would convert, subdue; Nor teach, but traffic with, or burn the Jew. Unhappy princes, ignorantly bred, By malice some, by error more misled, If gracious heaven to my life give length, Leisure to time, and to my weaknes strength, Then shall I once with graver accents shake Your regal sloth, and your long slumbers wake: Like the shrill huntsman that prevents the east, Winding his horn to kings that chase the beast. Till then my muse shall hollo far behind Angelic Cromwell who outwings the wind, And in dark nights, and in cold days alone Pursues the monster through every throne: Which shrinking to her Roman den impure, Gnashes her gory teeth; nor there secure. Hence oft I think if in some happy hour High grace should meet in one with highest power, And then a seasonable people still Should bend to his, as he to heaven's will, What we might hope, what wonderful effect From such a wished conjuncture might reflect. Sure, the mysterious work, where none withstand, Would forthwith finish under such a hand: Foreshortened time its useless course would stay, And soon precipitate the latest day. But a thick cloud about that morning lies, And intercepts the beams of mortal eyes, That 'tis the most which we determine can, If these the times, then this must be the man. And well he therefore does, and well has guessed, Who in his age has always forward pressed: And knowing not where heaven's choice may light, Girds yet his sword, and ready stand to fight; But men, alas, as if they nothing cared, Look on, all unconcerned, or unprepared; And stars still fall, and still the dragon's tail Swinges the volumes of its horrid flail. For the great justice that did first suspend 60 The world by sin, does by the same extend. Hence that blest day still counterposèd wastes, The ill delaying what the elected hastes; Hence landing nature to new seas is tossed, And good designs still with their authors lost. And thou, great Cromwell, for whose happy birth A mould was chosen out of better earth; Whose saint-like mother we did lately see Live out an age, long as a pedigree; That she might seem (could we the Fall dispute), T' have smelled the blossom, and not eat the fruit; Though none does of more lasting parents grow, Yet never any did them honour so, Though thou thine heart from evil still unstained, And always hast thy tongue from fraud refrained; Thou, who so oft through storms of thundering lead Hast born securely thine undaunted head, Thy breast through poniarding conspiracies, Drawn from the sheath of lying prophecies; Thee proof behond all other force or skill, Our sins endanger, and shall one day kill. How near they failed, and in thy sudden fall At once assayed to overturn us all. Our brutish fury struggling to be free, Hurried thy horses while they hurried thee, When thou hadst almost quit thy mortal cares, And soiled in dust thy crown of silver hairs. Let this one sorrow interweave among The other glories of our yearly song. Like skilful looms, which through the costly thread Of purling ore, a shining wave do shed: So shall the tears we on past grief employ, Still as they trickle, glitter in our joy. So with more modesty we may be true, And speak, as of the dead, the praises due: While impious men deceived with pleasure short, On their own hopes shall find the fall retort. But the poor beasts, wanting their noble guide, 61 (What could they more?) shrunk guiltily aside. First wingèd fear transports them far away, And leaden sorrow then their flight did stay. See how they each his towering crest abate, And the green grass, and their known mangers hate, Nor through wide nostrils snuff the wanton air, Nor their round hoofs, or curlèd manes compare; With wandering eyes, and restless ears they stood, And with shrill neighings asked him of the wood. Thou, Cromwell, falling, not a stupid tree, Or rock so savage, but it mourned for thee: And all about was heard a panic groan, As if that Nature's self were overthrown. It seemed the earth did from the centre tear; It seemed the sun was fall'n out of the sphere: Justice obstructed lay, and reason fooled; Courage disheartened, and religion cooled. A dismal silence through the palace went, And then loud shrieks the vaulted marbles rent, Such as the dying chorus sings by turns, And to deaf seas, and ruthless tempests mourns, When now they sink, and now the plundering streams Break up each deck, and rip the oaken seams. But thee triumphant hence the fiery car, And fiery steeds had borne out of the war, From the low world, and thankless men above, Unto the kingdom blest of peace and love: We only mourned ourselves, in thine ascent, Whom thou hadst left beneath with mantle rent. For all delight of life thou then didst lose, When to command, thou didst thyself dispose; Resigning up thy privacy so dear, To turn the headstrong people's charioteer; For to be Cromwell was a greater thing, Then ought below, or yet above a king: Therefore thou rather didst thyself depress, Yielding to rule, because it made thee less. For neither didst thou from the first apply 62 Thy sober spirit unto things too high, But in thine own fields exercised'st long, An healthful mind within a body strong; Till at the seventh time thou in the skies, As a small cloud, like a man's hand, didst rise; Then did thick mists and winds the air deform, And down at last thou poured'st the fertile storm, Which to the thirsty land did plenty bring, But, though forewarned, o'ertook and wet the King. What since he did, an higher force him pushed Still from behind, and yet before him rushed, Though undiscerned among the tumult blind, Who think those high decrees by man designed. 'Twas heaven would not that his power should cease, But walk still middle betwixt war and peace: Choosing each stone, and poising every weight, Trying the measures of the breadth and height; Here pulling down, and there erecting new, Founding a firm state by proportions true. When Gideon so did from the war retreat, Yet by the conquest of two kings grown great, He on the peace extends a warlike power, And Israel silent saw him raze the tower; And how he Succorth's Elders durst suppress, With thorns and briars of the wilderness. No king might ever such a force have done; Yet would not he be Lord, nor yet his son. Thou with the same strength, and an heart as plain, Didst (like thine olive) still refuse to reign, Though why should others all thy labour spoil, And brambles be anointed with thine oil, Whose climbing flame, without a timely stop, Had quickly levelled every cedar's top? Therefore first growing to thyself a law, Th' ambitious shrubs thou in just time didst awe. So have I seen at sea, when whirling winds, Hurry the bark, but more the seamen's minds, Who with mistaken course salute the sand, 63 And threatening rocks misapprehend for land, While baleful Tritons to the shipwreck guide, And corposants along the tackling slide, The passengers all wearied out before, Giddy, and wishing for the fatal shore, Some lusty mate, who with more careful eye Counted the hours, and every star did spy, The help does from the artless steersman strain, And doubles back unto the safer main. What though a while they grumble discontent, Saving himself, he does their loss prevent. 'Tis not a freedom, that where all command; Nor tyranny, where one does them withstand: But who of both the bounder knows to lay Him as their father must the state obey. Thou, and thine house (like Noah's eight) did rest, Left by the wars' flood on the mountains' crest: And the large vale lay subject to thy will Which thou but as an husbandman wouldst till: And only didst for others plant the vine Of liberty, not drunken with its wine. That sober liberty which men may have, That they enjoy, but more they vainly crave: And such as to their parents' tents do press, May show their own, not see his nakedness. Yet such a Chammish issue still does rage, The shame and plague both of the land and age, Who watched thy halting, and thy fall deride, Rejoicing when thy foot had slipped aside, That their new king might the fifth sceptre shake, And make the world, by his example, quake: Whose frantic army should they want for men Might muster heresies, so one were ten. What thy misfortune, they the spirit call, And their religion only is to fall. Oh Mahomet! now couldst thou rise again, Thy falling-sickness should have made thee reign, While Feake and Simpson would in many a tome, 64 Have writ the comments of thy sacred foam: For soon thou mightst have passed among their rant Were't but for thine unmovèd tulipant; As thou must needs have owned them of thy band For prophecies fit to be Alcoraned. Accursèd locusts, whom your king does spit Out of the centre of the unbottomed pit; Wanderers, adulterers, liars, Munster's rest, Sorcerers, athiests, jesuits possessed; You who the scriptures and the laws deface With the same liberty as points and lace; Oh race most hypocritically strict! Bent to reduce us to the ancient Pict; Well may you act the Adam and the Eve; Ay, and the serpent too that did deceive. But the great captain, now the danger's o'er, Makes you for his sake tremble one fit more; And, to your spite, returning yet alive Does with himself all that is good revive. So when first man did through the morning new See the bright sun his shining race pursue, All day he followed with unwearied sight, Pleased with that other world of moving light; But thought him when he missed his setting beams, Sunk in the hills, or plunged below the streams. While dismal blacks hung round the universe, And stars (like tapers) burned upon his hearse: And owls and ravens with their screeching noise Did make the funerals sadder by their joys. His weeping eyes the doleful vigils keep, Not knowing yet the night was made for sleep; Still to the west, where he him lost, he turned, And with such accents as despairing mourned: `Why did mine eyes once see so bright a ray; Or why day last no longer than a day?' When straight the sun behind him he descried, Smiling serenely from the further side. So while our star that gives us light and heat, 65 Seemed now a long and gloomy night to threat, Up from the other world his flame he darts, And princes (shining through their windows) starts, Who their suspected counsellors refuse, And credulous ambassadors accuse. `Is this', saith one, `the nation that we read Spent with both wars, under a captain dead, Yet rig a navy while we dress us late, And ere we dine, raze and rebuild their state? What oaken forests, and what golden mines! What mints of men, what union of designs! (Unless their ships, do, as their fowl proceed Of shedding leaves, that with their ocean breed). Theirs are not ships, but rather arks of war And beakèd promontories sailed from far; Of floating islands a new hatchèd nest; A fleet of worlds, of other worlds in quest; An hideous shoal of wood-leviathans, Armed with three tier of brazen hurricanes, That through the centre shoot their thundering side And sink the earth that does at anchor ride. What refuge to escape them can be found, Whose watery leaguers all the world surround? Needs must we all their tributaries be, Whose navies hold the sluices of the sea. The ocean is the fountain of command, But that once took, we captives are on land. And those that have the waters for their share, Can quickly leave us neither earth nor air. Yet if through these our fears could find a pass, Through double oak, and lined with treble brass, That one man still, although but named, alarms More than all men, all navies, and all arms. Him, in the day, him, in late night I dread, And still his sword seems hanging o'er my head. The nation had been ours, but his one soul Moves the great bulk, and animates the whole. He secrecy with number hath enchased, Courage with age, maturity with haste: The valiant's terror, riddle of the wise, And still his falchion all our knots unties. 66 Where did he learn those arts that cost us dear? Where below earth, or where above the sphere? He seems a king by long succession born, And yet the same to be a king does scorn. Abroad a king he seems, and something more, At home a subject on the equal floor. O could I once him with our title see, So should I hope that he might die as we. But let them write is praise that love him best, It grieves me sore to have thus much confessed.' Pardon, great Prince, if thus their fear of spite More than our love and duty do thee right. I yield, nor further will the prize contend, So that we both alike may miss our end: While thou thy venerable head dost raise As far above their malice as my praise, And as the Angel of our commonweal, Troubling the waters, yearly mak'st them heal. ~ Andrew Marvell

176:The First Anniversary Of The Government Under O.C. Like the vain Curlings of the Watry maze, Which in smooth streams a sinking Weight does raise; So Man, declining alwayes, disappears. In the Weak Circles of increasing Years; And his short Tumults of themselves Compose, While flowing Time above his Head does close. Cromwell alone with greater Vigour runs, (Sun-like) the Stages of succeeding Suns: And still the Day which he doth next restore, Is the just Wonder of the Day before. Cromwell alone doth with new Lustre spring, And shines the Jewel of the yearly Ring. 'Tis he the force of scatter'd Time contracts, And in one Year the Work of Ages acts: While heavy Monarchs make a wide Return, Longer, and more Malignant then Saturn: And though they all Platonique years should raign, In the same Posture would be found again. Their earthly Projects under ground they lay, More slow and brittle then the China clay: Well may they strive to leave them to their Son, For one Thing never was by one King don. Yet some more active for a Frontier Town Took in by Proxie, beggs a false Renown; Another triumphs at the publick Cost, And will have Wonn, if he no more have Lost; They fight by Others, but in Person wrong, And only are against their Subjects strong; Their other Wars seem but a feign'd contest, This Common Enemy is still opprest; If Conquerors, on them they turn their might; If Conquered, on them they wreak their Spight: They neither build the Temple in their dayes, Nor Matter for succeeding Founders raise; Nor Sacred Prophecies consult within, Much less themselves to perfect them begin, No other care they bear of things above, But with Astrologers divine, and Jove, To know how long their Planet yet Reprives 137 From the deserved Fate their guilty lives: Thus (Image-like) and useless time they tell, And with vain Scepter strike the hourly Bell; Nor more contribute to the state of Things, Then wooden Heads unto the Viols strings, While indefatigable Cromwell hyes, And cuts his way still nearer to the Skyes, Learning a Musique in the Region clear, To tune this lower to that higher Sphere. So when Amphion did the Lute command, Which the God gave him, with his gentle hand, The rougher Stones, unto his Measures hew'd, Dans'd up in order from the Quarreys rude; This took a Lower, that an Higher place, As he the Treble alter'd, or the Base: No Note he struck, but a new Story lay'd, And the great Work ascended while he play'd. The listning Structures he with Wonder ey'd, And still new Stopps to various Time apply'd: Now through the Strings a Martial rage he throws, And joyng streight the Theban Tow'r arose; Then as he strokes them with a Touch more sweet, The flocking Marbles in a Palace meet; But, for he most the graver Notes did try, Therefore the Temples rear'd their Columns high: Thus, ere he ceas'd, his sacred Lute creates Th'harmonious City of the seven Gates. Such was that wondrous Order and Consent, When Cromwell tun'd the ruling Instrument; While tedious Statesmen many years did hack, Framing a Liberty that still went back; Whose num'rous Gorge could swallow in an hour That Island, which the Sea cannot devour: Then our Amphion issues out and sings, And once he struck, and twice, the pow'rful Strings. The Commonwealth then first together came, And each one enter'd in the willing Frame; All other Matter yields, and may be rul'd; But who the Minds of stubborn Men can build? No Quarry bears a Stone so hardly wrought, Nor with such labour from its Center brought; None to be sunk in the Foundation bends, 138 Each in the House the highest Place contends, And each the Hand that lays him will direct, And some fall back upon the Architect; Yet all compos'd by his attractive Song, Into the Animated City throng. The Common-wealth does through their Centers all Draw the Circumf'rence of the publique Wall; The crossest Spirits here do take their part, Fast'ning the Contignation which they thwart; And they, whose Nature leads them to divide, Uphold, this one, and that the other Side; But the most Equal still sustein the Height, And they as Pillars keep the Work upright; While the resistance of opposed Minds, The Fabrick as with Arches stronger binds, Which on the Basis of a Senate free, Knit by the Roofs Protecting weight agree. When for his foot he thus a place had found, He hurles e'r since the World about him round, And in his sev'ral Aspects, like a Star, Here shines in Peace, and thither shoots a War. While by his Beams observing Princes steer, And wisely court the Influence they fear, O would they rather by his Pattern won. Kiss the approaching, nor yet angry Son; And in their numbred Footsteps humbly tread The path where holy Oracles do lead; How might they under such a Captain raise The great Designs kept for the latter Dayes! But mad with reason, so miscall'd, of State They know them not, and what they know not, hate Hence still they sing Hosanna to the Whore, And her whom they should Massacre adore: But Indians whom they should convert, subdue; Nor teach, but traffique with, or burn the Jew. Unhappy Princes, ignorantly bred, By Malice some, by Errour more misled; If gracious Heaven to my Life give length, Leisure to Times, and to my Weakness Strength, Then shall I once with graver Accents shake Your Regal sloth, and your long Slumbers wake: Like the shrill Huntsman that prevents the East, 139 Winding his Horn to Kings that chase the Beast. Till then my Muse shall hollow far behind Angelique Cromwell who outwings the wind; And in dark Nights, and in cold Dayes alone Pursues the Monster thorough every Throne: Which shrinking to her Roman Den impure, Gnashes her Goary teeth; nor there secure. Hence oft I think, if in some happy Hour High Grace should meet in one with highest Pow'r, And then a seasonable People still Should bend to his, as he to Heavens will, What we might hope, what wonderful Effect From such a wish'd Conjuncture might reflect. Sure, the mysterious Work, where none withstand, Would forthwith finish under such a Hand: Fore-shortned Time its useless Course would stay, And soon precipitate the latest Day. But a thick Cloud about that Morning lyes, And intercepts the Beams of Mortal eyes, That 'tis the most which we deteremine can, If these the Times, then this must be the Man. And well he therefore does, and well has guest, Who in his Age has always forward prest: And knowing not where Heavens choice may light, Girds yet his Sword, and ready stands to fight; But Men alas, as if they nothing car'd, Look on, all unconcern'd, or unprepar'd; And Stars still fall, and still the Dragons Tail Swinges the Volumes of its horrid Flail. For the great Justice that did first suspend The World by Sin, does by the same extend. Hence that blest Day still counterpoysed wastes, The ill delaying, what th'Elected hastes; Hence landing Nature to new Seas it tost, And good Designes still with their Authors lost. And thou, great Cromwell, for whose happy birth A Mold was chosen out of better Earth; Whose Saint-like Mother we did lately see Live out an Age, long as a Pedigree; That she might seem, could we the Fall dispute, T'have smelt the Blossome, and not eat the Fruit; Though none does of more lasting Parents grow, 140 But never any did them Honor so; Though thou thine Heart from Evil still unstain'd, And always hast thy Tongue from fraud refrain'd, Thou, who so oft through Storms of thundring Lead Hast born securely thine undaunted Head, Thy Brest through ponyarding Conspiracies, Drawn from the Sheath of lying Prophecies; Thee proof beyond all other Force or Skill, Our Sins endanger, and shall one day kill. How near they fail'd, and in thy sudden Fall At once assay'd to overturn us all. Our brutish fury strugling to be Free, Hurry'd thy Horses while they hurry'd thee. When thou hadst almost quit thy Mortal cares, And soyl'd in Dust thy Crown of silver Hairs. Let this one Sorrow interweave among The other Glories of our yearly Song. Like skilful Looms which through the costly threed Of purling Ore, a shining wave do shed: So shall the Tears we on past Grief employ, Still as they trickle, glitter in our Joy. So with more Modesty we may be True, And speak as of the Dead the Praises due: While impious Men deceiv'd with pleasure short, On their own Hopes shall find the Fall retort. But the poor Beasts wanting their noble Guide, What could they move? shrunk guiltily aside. First winged Fear transports them far away, And leaden Sorrow then their flight did stay. See how they each his towring Crest abate, And the green Grass, and their known Mangers hate, Nor through wide Nostrils snuffe the wanton air, Nor their round Hoofs, or curled Mane'scompare; With wandring Eyes, and restless Ears theystood, And with shrill Neighings ask'd him of the Wood. Thou Cromwell falling, not a stupid Tree, Or Rock so savage, but it mourn'd for thee: And all about was heard a Panique groan, As if that Natures self were overthrown. It seem'd the Earth did from the Center tear; It seem'd the Sun was faln out of the Sphere: Justice obstructed lay, and Reason fool'd; 141 Courage disheartned, and Religion cool'd. A dismal Silence through the Palace went, And then loud Shreeks the vaulted Marbles rent. Such as the dying Chorus sings by turns, And to deaf Seas, and ruthless Tempests mourns, When now they sink, and now the plundring Streams Break up each Deck, and rip the Oaken seams. But thee triumphant hence the firy Carr, And firy Steeds had born out of the Warr, From the low World, and thankless Men above, Unto the Kingdom blest of Peace and Love: We only mourn'd our selves, in thine Ascent, Whom thou hadst lest beneath with Mantle rent. For all delight of Life thou then didst lose, When to Command, thou didst thy self Depose; Resigning up thy Privacy so dear, To turn the headstrong Peoples Charioteer; For to be Cromwell was a greater thing, Then ought below, or yet above a King: Therefore thou rather didst thy Self depress, Yielding to Rule, because it made thee Less. For, neither didst thou from the first apply Thy sober Spirit unto things too High, But in thine own Fields exercisedst long, An Healthful Mind within a Body strong; Till at the Seventh time thou in the Skyes, As a small Cloud, like a Mans hand didst rise; Then did thick Mists and Winds the air deform, And down at last thou pow'rdst the fertile Storm; Which to the thirsty Land did plenty bring, But though forewarn'd, o'r-took and wet the King. What since he did, an higher Force him push'd Still from behind, and it before him rush'd, Though undiscern'd among the tumult blind, Who think those high Decrees by Man design'd. 'Twas Heav'n would not that his Pow'r should cease, But walk still middle betwixt War and Peace; Choosing each Stone, and poysing every weight, Trying the Measures of the Bredth and Height; Here pulling down, and there erecting New, Founding a firm State by Proportions true. When Gideon so did from the War retreat, 142 Yet by Conquest of two Kings grown great, He on the Peace extends a Warlike power, And Is'rel silent saw him rase the Tow'r; And how he Succoths Elders durst suppress, With Thorns and Briars of the Wilderness. No King might ever such a Force have done; Yet would not he be Lord, nor yet his Son. Thou with the same strength, and an Heart as plain, Didst (like thine Olive) still refuse to Reign; Though why should others all thy Labor spoil, And Brambles be anointed with thine Oyl, Whose climbing Flame, without a timely stop, Had quickly Levell'd every Cedar's top. Therefore first growing to thy self a Law, Th'ambitious Shrubs thou in just time didst aw. So have I seen at Sea, when whirling Winds, Hurry the Bark, but more the Seamens minds, Who with mistaken Course salute the Sand, And threat'ning Rocks misapprehend for Land; While baleful Tritons to the shipwrack guide. And Corposants along the Tacklings slide. The Passengers all wearyed out before, Giddy, and wishing for the fatal Shore; Some lusty Mate, who with more careful Eye Counted the Hours, and ev'ry Star did spy, The Helm does from the artless Steersman strain, And doubles back unto the safer Main. What though a while they grumble discontent, Saving himself he does their loss prevent. 'Tis not a Freedome, that where All command; Nor Tyranny, where One does them withstand: But who of both the Bounders knows to lay Him as their Father must the State obey. Thou, and thine House, like Noah's Eight did rest, Left by the Wars Flood on the Mountains crest: And the large Vale lay subject to thy Will, Which thou but as an Husbandman would Till: And only didst for others plant the Vine Of Liberty, not drunken with its Wine. That sober Liberty which men may have, That they enjoy, but more they vainly crave: And such as to their Parents Tents do press, 143 May shew their own, not see his Nakedness. Yet such a Chammish issue still does rage, The Shame and Plague both of the Land and Age, Who watch'd thy halting, and thy Fall deride, Rejoycing when thy Foot had slipt aside; that their new King might the fifth Scepter shake, And make the World, by his Example, Quake: Whose frantique Army should they want for Men Might muster Heresies, so one were ten. What thy Misfortune, they the Spirit call, And their Religion only is to Fall. Oh Mahomet! now couldst thou rise again, Thy Falling-sickness should have made thee Reign, While Feake and Simpson would in many a Tome, Have writ the Comments of thy sacred Foame: For soon thou mightst have past among their Rant Wer't but for thine unmoved Tulipant; As thou must needs have own'd them of thy band For prophecies fit to be Alcorand. Accursed Locusts, whom your King does spit Out of the Center of th'unbottom'd Pit; Wand'rers, Adult'rers, Lyers, Munser's rest, Sorcerers, Atheists, Jesuites, Possest; You who the Scriptures and the Laws deface With the same liberty as Points and Lace; Oh Race most hypocritically strict! Bent to reduce us to the ancient Pict; Well may you act the Adam and the Eve; Ay, and the Serpent too that did deceive. But the great Captain, now the danger's ore, Makes you for his sake Tremble one fit more; And, to your spight, returning yet alive Does with himself all that is good revive. So when first Man did through the Morning new See the bright Sun his shining Race pursue, All day he follow'd with unwearied sight, Pleas'd with that other World of moving Light; But thought him when he miss'd his setting beams, Sunk in the Hills, or plung'd below the Streams. While dismal blacks hung round the Universe, And Stars (like Tapers) burn'd upon his Herse: And Owls and Ravens with their screeching noyse 144 Did make the Fun'rals sadder by their Joyes. His weeping Eyes the doleful Vigils keep, Not knowing yet the Night was made for sleep: Still to the West, where he him lost, he turn'd, And with such accents, as Despairing, mourn'd: Why did mine Eyes once see so bright a Ray; Or why Day last no longer than a Day? When streight the Sun behind him he descry'd, Smiling serenely from the further side. So while our Star that gives us Light and Heat, Seem'd now a long and gloomy Night to threat, Up from the other World his Flame he darts, And Princes shining through their windows starts; Who their suspected Counsellors refuse, And credulous Ambassadors accuse. "Is this, saith one, the Nation that we read "Spent with both Wars, under a Captain dead? "Yet rig a Navy while we dress us late; "And ere we Dine, rase and rebuild our State. "What Oaken Forrests, and what golden Mines! "What Mints of Men, what Union of Designes! "Unless their Ships, do, as their Fowle proceed "Of shedding Leaves, that with their Ocean breed. "Theirs are not Ships, but rather Arks of War, "And beaked Promontories sail'd from far; "Of floting Islands a new Hatched Nest; "A Fleet of Worlds, of other Worlds in quest; "An hideous shole of wood Leviathans, "Arm'd with three Tire of brazen Hurricans; "That through the Center shoot their thundring side "And sink the Earth that does at Anchor ride. 'What refuge to escape them can be found, "Whose watry Leaguers all the world surround? "Needs must we all their Tributaries be, "Whose Navies hold the Sluces of the Sea. "The Ocean is the Fountain of Command, "But that once took, we Captives are on Land: "And those that have the Waters for their share, "Can quickly leave us neither Earth nor Air. "Yet if through these our Fears could find a pass; "Through double Oak, & lin'd with treble Brass; "That one Man still, although but nam'd, alarms 145 "More then all Men, all Navies, and all Arms. "Him, all the Day, Him, in late Nights I dread, "And still his Sword seems hanging o're my head. "The Nation had been ours, but his one Soul "Moves the great Bulk, and animates the whole. "He Secrecy with Number hath inchas'd, "Courage with Age, Maturity with Hast: "The Valiants Terror, Riddle of the Wise; "And still his Fauchion all our Knots unties. "Where did he learn those Arts that cost us dear? "Where below Earth, or where above the Sphere? "He seems a King by long Succession born, "And yet the same to be a King does scorn. "Abroad a King he seems, and something more, "At Home a Subject on the equal Floor. "O could I once him with our Title see, "So should I hope yet he might Dye as wee. "But let them write his Praise that love him best, "It grieves me sore to have thus much confest. "Pardon, great Prince, if thus their Fear or Spight "More then our Love and Duty do thee Right. "I yield, nor further will the Prize contend; "So that we both alike may miss our End: "While thou thy venerable Head dost raise "As far above their Malice as my Praise. "And as the Angel of our Commonweal, "Troubling the Waters, yearly mak'st them Heal. ~ Andrew Marvell

177:The Drunken Boat As I drifted on a river I could not control, No longer guided by the bargemen's ropes. They were captured by howling Indians Who nailed them naked to coloured posts. I cared no more for other boats or cargoes: Flemish wheat or English cottons, all were gone When my bargemen could no longer haul me I forgot about everything and drifted on. Amid the fury of the loudly chopping tides Last winter, deaf as a child's dark night, Ah, how I raced! And the drifting Peninsulas Have never known such conquering delight. Lighter than cork, I revolved upon waves That roll the dead forever in the deep, Ten days, beyond the blinking eyes of land! Lulled by storms, I drifted seaward from sleep. Sweeter than apples to a child its pungent edge; The wash of green water on my shell of pine. Anchor and rudder went drifting away, Washed in vomit and stained with blue wine. Now I drift through the poem of the sea; This gruel of stars mirrors the milky sky, Devours green azures; ecstatic flotsam, Drowned men, pale and thoughtful, sometimes drift by. Staining the sudden blueness, the slow sounds, Deliriums that streak the glowing sky, Stronger than drink and the songs we sing, It is boiling, bitter, red; it is love! I know how lightening split the sky apart, I know the surf and waterspouts and evening's fall, I've seen the dawn arisen like a flock of doves; I've seen what men have only dreamed they saw! 166 I saw the sun with mystic horrors darken And shimmer through a violet haze; With a shiver of shutters the waves fell Like actors in ancient, forgotten plays! I dreamed of green nights and glittering snow, Slow kisses rising in the eyes of the sea, Unknown liquids flowing, the blue and yellow Stirring of phosphorescent melody! For months I watched the surge of the sea, Hysterical herds attacking the reefs; I never thought the bright feet of Mary Could muzzle up the heavy-breathing waves! I have jostled - you know? - unbelievable Floridas And seen among the flowers the wild eyes Of panthers in the skins of men! Rainbows Birdling blind flocks beneath the horizons! In stinking swamps I have seen great hulks: A Leviathan that rotted in the reeds! Water crumbling in the midst of calm And distances that shatter into foam. Glaciers, silver suns, waves of pearl, fiery skies, Giant serpents stranded where lice consume Them, falling in the depths of dark gulfs From contorted trees, bathed in black perfume! I wanted to show children these fishes shining In the blue wave, the golden fish that sing A froth of flowers cradled my wandering And delicate winds tossed me on their wings. Sometimes, a martyr of poles and latitudes, The sea rocked me softly in sighing air, And brought me dark blooms with yellow stems I remained there like a woman on her knees. Almost an island, I balanced on my boat's sides 167 Rapacious blond-eyed birds, their dung, their screams. I drifted on through fragile tangled lines Drowned men, still staring up, sank down to sleep. Now I, a little lost boat, in swirling debris, Tossed by the storm into the birdless upper air - All the Hansa Merchants and Monitors Could not fish up my body drunk with the sea; Free, smoking, touched the violet haze above, I, who the lurid heavens breached like some rare wall Which boasts - confection that the poets love Lichens of sunlight, and snots of bright blue sky; Lost branch spinning in a herd of hippocamps, Covered over with electric animals, An everlasting July battering The glittering sky and its fiery funnels; Shaking at the sound of monsters roaring, Rutting Behemoths in thick whirlpools, Eternal weaver of unmoving blues, I thought of Europe and its ancient walls! I have seen archipelagos in the stars, Feverish skies where I was free to roam! Are these bottomless nights your exiled nests, Swarm of golden birds, O Strength to come? True, I've cried too much; I am heartsick at dawn. The moon is bitter and the sun is sour… Love burns me; I am swollen and slow. Let my keel break! Oh, let me sink in the sea! If I long for a shore in Europe, It's a small pond, dark, cold, remote, The odour of evening, and a child full of sorrow Who stoops to launch a crumpled paper boat. Washed in your languors, sea, I cannot trace The wake of tankers foaming through the cold, Nor assault the pride of pennants and flags, 168 Nor endure the slave ship's stinking hold. ____________________________________________________ Translation by Rebecca Seiferle: As I descended impassible Rivers, I felt no longer steered by bargemen; they were captured by howling Redskins, nailed as targets, naked, to painted stakes. What did I care for cargo or crews, bearers of English cotton or Flemish grain— having left behind the bargemen and racket, the Rivers let me descend where I wished. In the furious splashing of the waves, I — that other winter, deafer than the minds of children — ran! And the unanchored Peninsulas never knew a more triumphant brouhaha. The tempest blessed my sea awakening. Lighter than cork, I danced the waves scrolling out the eternal roll of the dead— ten nights, without longing for the lantern's silly eye. Sweeter than the flesh of tart apples to children, the green water penetrated my pine hull and purged me of vomit and the stain of blue wines— my rudder and grappling hooks drifting away. Since then, I have bathed in the Poem of the Sea, a milky way, infused with stars, devouring the azure greens where, flotsam-pale and ravished, drowned and pensive men float by. Where, suddenly staining the blues, delirious and slow rhythms under the glowing red of day, stronger than alcohol, vaster than our lyrics, ferment the red bitters of love! I know heavens pierced by lightning, the waterspouts 169 and undertows and currents: I know night, Dawn rising like a nation of doves, and I've seen, sometimes, what men only dreamed they saw! I've seen the sun, low, a blot of mystic dread, illuminating with far-reaching violet coagulations, like actors in antique tragedies, the waves rolling away in a shiver of shutters. I've dreamed a green night to dazzling snows, kisses slowly rising to the eyelids of the sea, unknown saps flowing, and the yellow and blue rising of phosphorescent songs. For months, I've followed the swells assaulting the reefs like hysterical herds, without ever thinking that the luminous feet of some Mary could muzzle the panting Deep. I've touched, you know, incredible Floridas where, inside flowers, the eyes of panthers mingle with the skins of men! And rainbows bridle glaucous flocks beneath the rim of the sea! I've seen fermenting— enormous marshes, nets where a whole Leviathan rots in the rushes! Such a ruin of water in the midst of calm, and the distant horizon worming into whirlpools! Glaciers, silver suns, pearly tides, ember skies! Hideous wrecks at the bottom of muddy gulfs where giant serpents, devoured by lice, drop with black perfume out of twisted trees! I wanted to show children these dorados of the blue wave, these golden, singing fish. A froth of flowers has cradled my vagrancies, and ineffable winds have winged me on. Sometimes like a martyr, tired of poles and zones, the sea has rolled me softly in her sigh and held out to me the yellow cups of shadow flowers, 170 and I've remained there, like a woman, kneeling . . . Almost an island, balancing the quarrels, the dung, the cries of blond-eyed birds on the gunnels of my boat, I sailed on, and through my frail lines, drowned men, falling backwards, sank to sleep. Now, I, a boat lost in the hair of the coves, tossed by hurricane into the birdless air, me, whom all the Monitors and Hansa sailing ships could not salvage, my carcass drunk with sea; free, rising like smoke, riding violet mists, I who pierced the sky turning red like a wall, who bore the exquisite jam of all good poets, lichens of sun and snots of azure, who, spotted with electric crescents, ran on, a foolish plank escorted by black hippocamps, when the Julys brought down with a single blow the ultramarine sky with its burning funnels; I who tremble, feeling the moan fifty leagues away of the Behemoth rutting and the dull Maelstrom, eternal weaver of the unmovable blue— I grieve for Europe with its ancient breastworks! I've seen thunderstruck archipelagos! and islands that open delirious skies for wanderers: Are these bottomless nights your nest of exile, O millions of gold birds, O Force to come? True, I've cried too much! Dawns are harrowing. All moons are cruel and all suns, bitter: acrid love puffs me up with drunken slowness. Let my keel burst! Give me to the sea! If I desire any of the waters of Europe, it's the pond black and cold, in the odor of evening, where a child full of sorrow gets down on his knees to launch a paperboat as frail as a May butterfly. 171 Bathed in your languors, o waves, I can no longer wash away the wake of ships bearing cotton, nor penetrate the arrogance of pennants and flags, nor swim past the dreadful eyes of slave ships. ______________________________________________________ As I was floating down impassive Rivers, I no longer felt myself steered by the haulers: gaudy Redskins had taken them for targets, nailing them naked to coloured stakes. I cared nothing for all my crews, carrying Flemish wheat or English cotton. When, along with my haulers, those uproars stopped, the Rivers let me sail downstream where I pleased. Into the ferocious tide-rips, last winter, more absorbed than the minds of children, I ran! And the unmoored Peninsulas never endured more triumphant clamourings. The storm made bliss of my sea-borne awakenings. Lighter than a cork, I danced on the waves which men call the eternal rollers of victims, for ten nights, without once missing the foolish eye of the harbor lights! Sweeter than the flesh of sour apples to children, the green water penetrated my pinewood hull and washed me clean of the bluish wine-stains and the splashes of vomit, carrying away both rudder and anchor. And from that time on I bathed in the Poem of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, devouring the green azures where, entranced in pallid flotsam, a dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down; where, suddenly dyeing the blueness, deliriums and slow rhythms under the gleams of the daylight, stronger than alcohol, vaster than music, ferment the bitter rednesses of love! 172 I have come to know the skies splitting with lightning, and the waterspouts, and the breakers and currents; I know the evening, and dawn rising up like a flock of doves, and sometimes I have seen what men have imagined they saw! I have seen the low-hanging sun speckled with mystic horrors lighting up long violet coagulations like the performers in antique dramas; waves rolling back into the distances their shiverings of venetian blinds! I have dreamed of the green night of the dazzled snows, the kiss rising slowly to the eyes of the seas, the circulation of undreamed-of saps, and the yellow-blue awakenings of singing phosphorus! I have followed, for whole months on end, the swells battering the reefs like hysterical herds of cows, never dreaming that the luminous feet of the Marys could muzzle by force the snorting Oceans! I have struck, do you realize, incredible Floridas, where mingle with flowers the eyes of panthers in human skins! Rainbows stretched like bridles under the sea's horizon to glaucous herds! I have seen the enormous swamps seething, traps where a whole leviathan rots in the reeds! Downfalls of waters in the midst of the calm, and distances cataracting down into abysses! Glaciers, suns of silver, waves of pearl, skies of red-hot coals! Hideous wrecks at the bottom of brown gulfs where the giant snakes, devoured by vermin, fall from the twisted trees with black odours! I should have liked to show to children those dolphins of the blue wave, those golden, those singing fish. -Foam of flowers rocked my driftings, and at times ineffable winds would lend me wings. Sometimes, a martyr weary of poles and zones, the sea whose sobs sweetened my rollings 173 lifted my shadow-flowers with their yellow sucking disks toward me, and I hung there like a kneeling woman... Resembling an island, tossing on my sides the brawls and droppings of pale-eyed, clamouring birds. And I was scudding along when across my frayed ropes drowned men sank backwards into sleep!... But now I, a boat lost under the hair of coves, hurled by the hurricane into the birdless ether; I, whose wreck, dead-drunk and sodden with water, neither Monitor nor Hanseatic ships would have fished up; free, smoking, risen from violet fogs, I who bored through the wall of the reddening sky which bears a sweetmeat good poets find delicious: lichens of sunlight mixed with azure snot; who ran, speckled with tiny electric moons, a crazy plank with black sea-horses for escort, when Julys were crushing with cudgel blows skies of ultramarine into burning funnels; I who trembled to feel at fifty leagues off the groans of Behemoths rutting, and the dense Maelstroms; eternal spinner of blue immobilities, I long for Europe with it's age-old parapets! I have seen archipelagos of stars! and islands whose delirious skies are open to sea wanderers: -Do you sleep, are you exiled in those bottomless nights, O million golden birds, Life Force of the future? But, truly, I have wept too much! Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter: sharp love has swollen me up with intoxicating torpor. O let my keel split! O let me sink to the bottom! If there is one water in Europe I want, it is the black cold pool where into the scented twilight a child squatting full of sadness launches a boat as fragile as a butterfly in May. 174 I can no more, bathed in your langours, O waves, sail in the wake of the carriers of cottons; nor undergo the pride of the flags and pennants; nor pull past the horrible eyes of prison hulks. _____________________________________________________ Translation by Wallace Fowlie: As I was going down impassive rivers, I no longer felt myself guided by haulers! Yelping redskins had taken them as targets, And had nailed them naked to colored stakes. I was indifferent to all crews, The bearer of Flemish wheat or English cottons, When with my haulers this uproar stopped, The Rivers let me go where I wanted. Into the furious lashing of the tides, More heedless than children's brains, the other winter I ran! And loosened peninsulas Have not undergone a more triumphant hubbub. The storm blessed my sea vigils. Lighter than a cork I danced on the waves That are called eternal rollers of victims, Ten nights, without missing the stupid eye of the lighthouses! Sweeter than the flesh of hard apples is to children, The green water penetrated my hull of fir And washed me of spots of blue wine And vomit, scattering rudder and grappling-hook. And from then on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, infused with stars and lactescent, Devouring the green azure where, like a pale elated Piece of flotsam, a pensive drowned figure sometimes sinks; Where, suddenly dyeing the blueness, delirium And slow rhythms under the streaking of daylight, Stronger than alcohol, vaster than our lyres, 175 The bitter redness of love ferments! I know the skies bursting with lighting, and the waterspouts And the surf and the currents; I know the evening, And dawn as exhalted as a flock of doves, And at times I have seen what man thought he saw! I have seen the low sun spotted with mystic horrors, Lighting up, with long violet clots, Resembling actors of very ancient dramas, The waves rolling far off their quivering of shutters! I have dreamed of the green night with dazzled snows, A kiss slowly rising to the eyes of the sea, The circulation of unknown saps, And the yellow and blue awakening of singing phosphorous! I followed during pregnant months the swell, Like hysterical cows, in its assault on the reefs, Without dreaming that the luminous feet of the Marys Could restrain the snout of the wheezing Oceans! I struck against, you know, unbelievable Floridas Mingling with flowers panthers' eyes and human Skin! Rainbows stretched like bridal reins Under the horizon of the seas to greenish herds! I have seen enormous swamps ferment, fish-traps Where a whole Leviathan rots in the rushes! Avalanches of water in the midst of a calm, And the distances cataracting toward the abyss! Glaciers, suns of silver, nacreous waves, skies of embers! Hideous strands at the end of brown gulfs Where giant serpents devoured by bedbugs Fall down from gnarled tress with black scent! I should have liked to show children those sunfish Of the blue wave, the fish of gold, the singing fish. --Foam of flowers rocked my drifting And ineffable winds winged me at times. 176 At times a martyr weary of poles and zones, The sea, whose sob created my gentle roll, Brought up to me her dark flowers with yellow suckers And I remained like a woman on her knees... Resembling an island tossing on my sides the quarrels And droppings of noisy birds with yellow eyes. And I sailed on, when through my fragile ropes Drowned men sank backward to sleep! Now I, a boat lost in the foliage of caves, Thrown by the storm into the birdless air, I whose water-drunk carcass would not have been rescued By the Monitors and the Hanseatic sailboats; Free, smoking, topped with violet fog, I who pierced the reddening sky like a wall Bearing--delicious jam for good poets-Lichens of sunlight and mucus of azure; Who ran, spotted with small electric moons, A wild plank, escorted by black seahorses, When Julys beat down with blows of cudgels The ultramarine skies with burning funnels; I, who trembled, hearing at fifty leagues off The moaning of the Behemoths in heat and the thick Maelstroms, I, eternal spinner of the blue immobility, Miss Europe with its ancient parapets! I have seen sidereal archipelagos! and islands Whose delirious skies are open to the sea-wanderer: --Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep and exile yourself, Million golden birds, O future Vigor? But, in truth, I have wept too much! Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter. Acrid love has swollen me with intoxicating torpor. O let my keel burst! O let me go into the sea! If I want a water of Europe, it is the black Cold puddle where in the sweet-smelling twilight 177 A squatting child full of sadness releases A boat as fragile as a May butterfly. No longer can I, bathed in your languor, O waves, Follow in the wake of the cotton boats, Nor cross through the pride of flags and flames, Nor swim under the terrible eyes of prison ships. ______________________________________________________ Translation by A. S. Kline As I floated down impassive Rivers, I felt myself no longer pulled by ropes: The Redskins took my hauliers for targets, And nailed them naked to their painted posts. Carrying Flemish wheat or English cotton, I was indifferent to all my crews. The Rivers let me float down as I wished, When the victims and the sounds were through. Into the furious breakers of the sea, Deafer than the ears of a child, last winter, I ran! And the Peninsulas sliding by me Never heard a more triumphant clamour. The tempest blessed my sea-borne arousals. Lighter than a cork I danced those waves They call the eternal churners of victims, Ten nights, without regret for the lighted bays! Sweeter than sour apples to the children The green ooze spurting through my hull’s pine, Washed me of vomit and the blue of wine, Carried away my rudder and my anchor. Then I bathed in the Poem of the Sea, Infused with stars, the milk-white spume blends, Grazing green azures: where ravished, bleached Flotsam, a drowned man in dream descends. Where, staining the blue, sudden deliriums 178 And slow tremors under the gleams of fire, Stronger than alcohol, vaster than our rhythms, Ferment the bitter reds of our desire! I knew the skies split apart by lightning, Waterspouts, breakers, tides: I knew the night, The Dawn exalted like a crowd of doves, I saw what men think they’ve seen in the light! I saw the low sun, stained with mystic terrors, Illuminate long violet coagulations, Like actors in a play, a play that’s ancient, Waves rolling back their trembling of shutters! I dreamt the green night of blinded snows, A kiss lifted slow to the eyes of seas, The circulation of unheard-of flows, Sung phosphorus’s blue-yellow awakenings! For months on end, I’ve followed the swell That batters at the reefs like terrified cattle, Not dreaming the Three Marys’ shining feet Could muzzle with their force the Ocean’s hell! I’ve struck Floridas, you know, beyond belief, Where eyes of panthers in human skins, Merge with the flowers! Rainbow bridles, beneath the seas’ horizon, stretched out to shadowy fins! I’ve seen the great swamps boil, and the hiss Where a whole whale rots among the reeds! Downfalls of water among tranquilities, Distances showering into the abyss. Nacrous waves, silver suns, glaciers, ember skies! Gaunt wrecks deep in the brown vacuities Where the giant eels riddled with parasites Fall, with dark perfumes, from the twisted trees! I would have liked to show children dolphins Of the blue wave, the golden singing fish. – Flowering foams rocked me in my drift, 179 At times unutterable winds gave me wings. Sometimes, a martyr tired of poles and zones, The sea whose sobs made my roilings sweet Showed me its shadow flowers with yellow mouths And I rested like a woman on her knees… Almost an isle, blowing across my sands, quarrels And droppings of pale-eyed clamorous gulls, And I scudded on while, over my frayed lines, Drowned men sank back in sleep beneath my hull!… Now I, a boat lost in the hair of bays, Hurled by the hurricane through bird-less ether, I, whose carcass, sodden with salt-sea water, No Monitor or Hanseatic vessel could recover: Freed, in smoke, risen from the violet fog, I, who pierced the red skies like a wall, Bearing the sweets that delight true poets, Lichens of sunlight, gobbets of azure: Who ran, stained with electric moonlets, A crazed plank, companied by black sea-horses, When Julys were crushing with cudgel blows Skies of ultramarine in burning funnels: I, who trembled to hear those agonies Of rutting Behemoths and dark Maelstroms, Eternal spinner of blue immobilities, I regret the ancient parapets of Europe! I’ve seen archipelagos of stars! And isles Whose maddened skies open for the sailor: – Is it in depths of night you sleep, exiled, Million birds of gold, O future Vigour? – But, truly, I’ve wept too much! The Dawns Are heartbreaking, each moon hell, each sun bitter: Fierce love has swallowed me in drunken torpors. O let my keel break! Tides draw me down! 180 If I want one pool in Europe, it’s the cold Black pond where into the scented night A child squatting filled with sadness launches A boat as frail as a May butterfly. Bathed in your languor, waves, I can no longer Cut across the wakes of cotton ships, Or sail against the pride of flags, ensigns, Or swim the dreadful gaze of prison ships. ~ Arthur Rimbaud

178:Ballad Of Jesus Of Nazareth I. It matters not what place he drew At first life's mortal breath, Some say it was in Bethlehem, And some in Nazareth. But shame and sorrow were his lot And shameful was his death. The angels sang, and o'er the barn Wherein the infant lay, They hung a star, for they foresaw The sad world's better day, But well God knew what thyme and rue Were planted by his way. The children of the Pharisees In hymn and orison Worshipped the prophets, whom their sires To cruel death had done, And said, 'had we been there their death We had not looked upon.' While the star shone the angels saw The tombs these children built For those the world had driven out, And smitten to the hilt, God knew these wretched sons would bear The self-same bloody guilt. Always had he who strives for men But done some other thing, If he had not led a hermit life, Or had not had his fling, We would have followed him, they say, And made him lord and King. For John was clothed in camel's hair And lived among the brutes; 26 But Jesus fared where the feast was spread To the sound of shawms and lutes, Where gathered knaves and publicans And hapless prostitutes. Like children in the market place Who sullen sat and heard, With John they would not mourn, nor yet Rejoice at Jesus' word; Had Jesus mourned, or John rejoiced, He had been King and lord. II. From Bethlehem until the day He came up to the feast We hear no word, we only know In wisdom he increased, We know the marvelous boy did awe The Pharisee and priest. For wearied men wake to admire A genius in the bud; Before the passion of the world Flows through him like a flood; Ere he becomes a scourge to those Who drink of mankind's blood. Perhaps in him they saw an arm To keep the people still; And fool the meek and slay the weak And give the King his will; And put a wall for armZd men 'Round every pleasant hill. And this is why in after years The Galilean wept; The cup of youth was sweet with truth But a green worm in it crept; And that was dullness clothed in power, And hate which never slept. 27 Through twenty years he drove the plane, And shaped with ax and saw; And dreamed upon the Hebrew writ Unto a day of awe, When he felt the world fit to his grasp As by a mighty law. He looked upon the sunny sky, And 'round the flowering earth; He heard the poor man's groan of woe, And the prince's song of mirth; Then Jesus vowed the life of man Should have another birth. And this is why the Son of Man Wept when he knew the loss, The toil and sacrifice to cleanse A little earthly dross; And that a god to save twelve men Must die upon the cross. III. 'Twas on a pleasant day in June Beneath an azure sky That 'round him stood the multitude And saw within his eye The light that from nor sun nor star Ever was known to fly. And some came out to scoff and laugh, And some to lay a snare; The rhetorician gaped to see: The learnZd carpenter. The money changer, judge and priest, And statesman all were there. Some thought the Galilean mad; Some asked, is he sincere? Some said he played the demagogue To gain the people's ear, And raise a foe against the law 28 That lawful men should fear. But all the while did C¾sar's might Grow big with blood and lust; And no one brooked his tyrant arm, For the statesman said the crust That paupers gnaw is by the law, And that the law is just. From hunger's hovel, from the streets; From horror's blackened niche Earth's mourners came and hands were stretched To touch him from the ditch. Then rose a Scribe and said he turned The poor against the rich. And those who hated C¾sar's rule, Albeit sowed the lie That Jesus stirred sedition up That he might profit by A revolution, which should clothe Himself in monarchy. Through twice a thousand years the world Has missed the words he taught; To forms and creeds and empty show Christ never gave a thought, But wrongs that men do unto men They were the wrongs he fought. He did not eat with washen hands, Nor keep the Sabbath day; He did not to the Synagogue Repair to sing and pray. Nor for to-morrow take a thought, To mar life's pleasant way. He saw that all of human woe Takes root in hate and greed; He saw until men love their kind The human heart must bleed. And that nor hymn nor sacrifice 29 Meets any human need. And this is why he scourged the rich And lashed the Pharisee, And stripped from every pious face The mask hypocrisy; And so laced Mary Magdalene, Caught in adultery. And this is why with grievous fire He smote the lawyer's lore. And every wile of cunning guile Which made the burden more Upon the backs of wretched men, Who heavy burdens bore. Therefore when that the hour was come For him to die, they blent Of many things a lying charge, But at last the argument They killed him with was that he stirred The people's discontent. From thence the world has gone its way Of this truth, deaf and blind, And every man who struck the law Has felt the halter bind, Until his words were choked in death Uttered for human kind. Now did the dreams of Galilee Awake as from a sleep, Fly up from earth, and Life unmasked Life's promise did not keep, And Jesus saw the face of Life, And all who see it weep. God's spirit fled the damnZd earth And left the earth forlorn. No more did Jesus walk the fields, And pluck the ripened corn; Nor muse beside the silent sea, 30 Upon a summer's morn. Before the heart of Christ was pierced With agony divine, He sat him down in a merry mood With loving friends to dine. And once in Cana he did turn The water into wine. Now put from shore, swept far to sea His shallop caught the tide, Arched o'er him was eternity 'Twixt starless wastes and wide. God's spirit seemed withdrawn that once Walked hourly at his side. IV. Gladly the common people heard And called upon his name. But yet he knew what they would do, Christ Jesus knew their frame, And that he should be left alone Upon a day of shame. Sharper than thorns upon the brow, Or nails spiked through the hand Is when the people fly for fear And cannot understand; And let their saviors die the death As creatures contraband. For wrongs that flourish by a lie Are hard enough to bear; But wrongs that take their root in truth Shade every brow with care; And this is why Gethsemane Was shadowed with despair. In dark and drear Gethsemane Hell's devils laughed and raved, When Jesus torn by fear and doubt 31 Reprieve from sorrow craved; For who would lose his life, unless Another's life he saved? V. In youth when all the world appeared As fresh as any flower, Satan besought the Son of Man, New-clothed in godly power, And took him to behold the world Upon a lofty tower. To every man of god-like might Comes Satan once to give The crown, the crosier and the sword And bid him laugh and live, While Hope hides in the wilderness, A hunted fugitive. But neither gold nor kingly crown Tempted the Son of Man He hoped as many souls have hoped, Ever since time began, That love itself can overcome, Hate's foul leviathan Some fix their faith to heaven's grace, And some to saintly bones; Some think that water doth contain A virtue which atones; And some believe that men are saved By penitential groans. But of all faith that ever fired A spirit with its glow That is supreme which thinks that truth No power can overthrow; And he believes who takes and cleaves To the thorny way of woe! For life is sweet, and sweet it is 32 With jeweled sandals shod To trip where happy blossoms shoot Up from the fragrant sod; And what sustains the souls that pass Alway beneath the rod? The book of worldly lore he closed And bound it with a hasp; And in the hour of danger came No king with friendly clasp. It was the hand of love against The anger of the asp. Since Jesus died the lust of kings Has linked the cross and crown; And slaughtered millions whom to save From heaven he came down; And all to tame the mind of man To his divine renown. But whether he were man or god This thing at least is true; He hated with a lordly hate The Gentile and the Jew, Who robbed the poor and wronged the weak, And kept the widow's due. And those all clothed in raiment soft, Who in kings' houses dwell; And those who compass sea and land Their proselytes to swell; And when they make one he is made Two-fold the child of hell. And those who tithe of anise give, But sharpen beak and claw; And those who plait the web of hate The heart of man to flaw; And hungry lawyers who pile up The burdens of the law. I wonder not they slew the Christ 33 And put upon his brow The cruel crown of thorns, I know The world would do it now; And none shall live who on himself Shall take the self-same vow. And none shall live who tries to balk The heavy hand of greed; And he who hopes for human help Against his hour of need Will find the souls he tried to save Ready to make him bleed. For he who flays the hypocrite, And scourges with a thong The money changer, soon will find The money changer strong; And even the people will incline To think his mission wrong. And pious souls will say he is At best a castaway; Some will remember he blasphemed And broke the Sabbath day. And the coward friend will fool his heart And then he will betray. At last the Scribe and Pharisee No longer could abide The tumult which his words stirred up In every country side; And so they made a sign, which meant He must be crucified. For him no sword was raised, no king Came forward for his sake; And every son of mammon laughed To see death overtake The fool who fastened to the truth And made his life the stake. VI. 34 Upon a day when Jesus' soul Like an angel's voice did quire, The heart of all the people burned With a white and holy fire; And they did sweep to make him king Over the world's empire. His kingdom was not of this world, But this they would not own; And he to save themselves did go To a mountain place alone, And there did pray that holy Truth Might find somewhere a throne. When Henry was by Francis sought To make him emperor, They walked upon a cloth of gold, As sovereign lords of war. And trumpets blew and banners flew About the royal car. When Caesar back to Rome returned With all the world subdued, The soldiers and the priests did shout, And cried the multitude; For he had slain his country's foes, And drenched their land with blood. But all the triumph of the Christ That ever came to pass Was when he rode amidst a mob Upon a borrowed ass; And this is all the worldly pomp A genius ever has. His cloth of gold were branches cut And strewn upon the ground; And every money-changer laughed, And the judges looked and frowned; But no one saw a flag unfurled, Or heard a bugle sound. 35 To-day whene'er a coxcomb king Visits a foreign shore, The simple people deck themselves And all the cannon roar. But it would not do such grace to show To a soul of lordly lore. VII. Of all sad suppers ever spread For broken hearts to eat, That was the saddest where the Christ Did serve the bread and meat; And, ere he served them, washed with care Each worn disciple's feet. And who would hold in memory That supper, let him call His loved friends about his board And serve them one and all; And with a loving spirit crown The simple festival. For this I hold to be the truth, And Jesus said the same; That men who meet as brothers, they Are gathered in his name; And only for its evil deeds A soul he will disclaim. Through climes of sun and climes of snow Full many a wretched knight, The holy grail, without avail Did make his life's delight, And lo! the thing it symbolized Was ever in their sight. The cup whereof Christ Jesus drank Was wholly without grace; And whether made of stone or wood Was lost or broke apace. 36 And no one thought to keep a cup While looking in his face. They kept no cup, their only thought Was for the morrow morn. And as he passed the wine and bread With pallid hands and worn, Peter did swear he would not leave His stricken lord forlorn. John, the beloved, on his breast, Wept while the hour did pass. Judas did groan when Jesus struck Behind his soul's arras. All trembled for the bitter hate, And power of Caiaphas. But for that simple, farewell feast In Holland, France and Spain, Ten million men as true as John Were racked and burnt and slain, As if they held remembrance of The farewell feast of Cain. Had Jesus known what fratricide Over his words would fall I think he would have gone straightway Up to the judgment hall, And never broken bread or drunk The cup his friends withal. Though a good tree brings forth good fruit, What good bears naught but good? What sum of saintly life contains No grain of devil's food? What purest truth when past its youth Is not its own falsehood? And every rod wherewith the wise Have cleft each barrier sea, That men might walk across and reach The land of liberty, 37 In hands of kings were snakes whose stings Were worse than slavery. VIII. The rulers thought it best to wait Till Jesus were alone; They had forgot the coward crowd Never protects its own, But leaves its leaders to the whim Of wrong upon a throne. Had malcontents for Pilate sought To do a treasonous thing, Ten thousand loyal fishermen Had made the traitors swing; For they are taught they cannot live Unless they have a king. But soldiers came with swords and staves To sieze one helpless man. And only Peter had a sword To smite the craven clan And only Peter stood his ground, And all the people ran. I wish, since Jesus by the world Is held to be divine, That he had lived to give to men A perfect anodyne, And raise to human liberty A world compelling shrine. A shrine 'round which should lie to-day The world's discarded crowns, And swords and guns and gilded gawds And monkish beads and gowns; But, as it is, upon these things, They say, he never frowns. And only by an argument Can any being show 38 That Jesus would chop out and burn These monstrous roots of woe. And so these roots are living yet, And still the roots do grow. Unto this day in divers lands Pilate is singled out For curses that he did not save Christ from the rabble's shout; But they forget he was a judge, And had a judge's doubt. The sickly fear of the rulers' sneer Clutches the judge's heart. And to hide behind a hoary lie Is the judge's highest art; And the judgment hall has a door that leads To the room of the money mart. The laws wherewith men murder men Are dark with skeptic slime; They are not stars that point the way To truth in every clime. Wherefore was Jesus crucified, For what was not a crime. When Pilate questioned what is truth He did not mean to jest; He meant to show when life's at stake How difficult the quest Through hollow rules and empty forms To truth's ingenuous test. And Pilate might have pardoned him Had not the lawyers said, The Galilean strove to put A crown upon his head. And how could Jesus be a king, Who blood had never shed? The trial of Jesus long ago Was cursed in solemn rhyme; 39 For the judgment hall was but farcical And the trial a pantomime. Save that it led to a felon's death For what was not a crime. The common people on that day Had enough black-bread to eat. And what to them was another's woe Before the judgment seat? They were content that day to keep From pit-falls their own feet. Had Herod stood, whate'er the charge, Before the people's bar The sophists would have cut it down With reason's scimitar, And called the peasants to enforce The judgment near and far. And had they failed to save their king From every foul mischance The banded Anarchs of the world Had held them in durance, As afterward the crownZd heads Did punish recreant France. IX. So it fell out amid the rout Of captain, lord and priest, They bound his hands with felon bands And they flogged him like a beast. And Pilate washed his hands, and then For them a thief released. And only women solaced him, And one mad courtesan, 'Save thou thyself,' the elders cried, 'Who came to rescue man.' Where were the common people then? The common people ran. 40 Between two thieves upon a hill The terror to proclaim They racked his body on a cross Till his thirst was like a flame; And they mocked his woe and they wagged their heads, And they spat upon his name. God thought a picture like to this, Fire-limned against the sky, Once seen, would never fade away From the world's careless eye; And that the lesson that it taught No soul could wander by. God thought the shadow of this cross, Athwart the mad world's ken, Would stay with shame the hands that kill The men who die for men, And that no soul for love of truth Need ever die again. Many a man the valley of death With fearless step hath trod; The prophet is a phoenix soul, And the wretch is a sullen clod. But Jesus in his death became Liker unto a god Liker unto a god he grew Who walked through heaven and hell; He died as he forgave the mob That 'round the cross did yell. They knew not what they did, and this Jesus, the god, knew well. For hate is spawned of ignorance And ignorance of hate. And all the fangZd shapes that creep From their incestuous state Enter the gardens of the world, And cursZd keep their fate. 41 Near Gadara did Jesus drive By an occult power and sign The unclean devils from a loon Into a herd of swine. But the swinish devils entered the Scribes, And slew a soul divine. Christ healed the blind, but could not ope The eyes of ignorance, Nor turn to wands of peace and love Hate's bloody sword and lance; But the swinish fiends who took his life Received a pardoning glance. And Jesus raised the dead to life, And he cured the lame and halt But he could not heal a hateful soul, And keep it free from fault; Nor bring the savour back again To the world's trampled salt. X. After his death the rulers slept, And the judges were at ease; For they had killed a rebel soul And strewed his devotees; But the imp of time is a thing perverse, And laughs at men's decrees. For it is vain to kill a man, His life to stigmatize; Herein the wisdom of the world Is folly to the wise; For those the world doth kill, the world Will surely canonize. To look upon a lovZd face By the Gorgon Death made stone, Will make the heart leap up with fear And the soul with sorrow groan; 42 Alas! who knows what thing he knew Ere the light of life was flown? Who knows what tears did start to well, But were frozen at their source? Who knows his ashen grief who felt That iron hand of force? Or what black thing he saw before He grew a lifeless corse? And, much of hope, but more of woe Falls with the chastening rod, As the living think of an orphan soul That the spectral ways may trod, And how that orphan soul must cry In its new world after God. So the fisherman did sigh at night, For a dream-face haunted them. By day they hid as branded men Within Jerusalem. And the common people, safe at home, Did breathe a requiem. But where he lay, one fearless soul, Mad Magdalene, from whom Christ cast the seven devils out, Came in the morning's gloom, And thence arose the burning faith That Christ rose from the tomb But all do know the mind of man Mixes the false and true, And deifies each Son of God That ever hatred slew; And weaves him magic tales to tell Of what the man could do. The legends grow, as grow they must The wonder to equip. And ere they write the legends out, They pass from lip to lip, 43 Till a simple life becomes a theme For studied scholarship. But this I know that after Christ Did die on Calvary, He never more did preach to men, Nor scourge the Pharisee; Else it was vain to still his voice And nail him to a tree. Nor scribe nor priest were ever more By him disquieted. And little did it mean to them That he rose from the dead. For greed can sleep when it has killed The thing that it did dread. And never a king or satrap knew That Christ the tomb had rent; He might have lived a second life, With every lord's consent, If never more he sought to stir The people's discontent. He might have risen from the dead And gone to Galilee; And there paced out a hundred years In a sorrowed revery, If he but never preached again The creed humanity. XI. To distant lands did Jesus' words, Like sparks that burst in flame, Fly forth to light the ways of dole, And blind the eyes of shame, Till subtle kings, to staunch their wounds, Did conjure with his name. When kings did pilfer Jesus' might, His words of love were turned 44 To swords and goads and heavy loads, And rods and brands that burned; And never had the world before So piteously mourned. Of peasant Mary they did make A statue all of gold; And placed a crown upon her head With jewels manifold. And Jesus' words were strained and drawn This horror to uphold. They robed a rebel royally, And placed within his hand A scepter, that himself should be One of their murderous band. And it is tragical that men Can never understand. For Herod crowned the carpenter With woven thorns of hate. And put a reed within his hand A king to imitate. Now kings have made a rebel soul The patron of the state. And kingcraft never hatched a lie, This falsehood to surpass. For Jesus' only hour of pomp Was what a genius has; He rode amidst a howling mob Upon a borrowed ass. Though his cloth of gold were branches cut And strewed upon the ground; And though the money-changers laughed, While the judges looked and frowned; To-day for him the flag is flown, And all the bugles sound. To-day where'er the treacherous sword Takes lord-ship in the world, 45 The bloody rag they call the flag, In his name is unfurled. And round the standard of the cross Is greed, the python, curled. For wrongs that have the show of truth Are hard enough to bear, But wrongs that flourish by a lie, Shade wisdom's brow with care. And still in dark Gethsemane There lurks the fiend Despair. And still in drear Gethsemane, Hell's devils laugh and rave, Because the Prince of Peace hath failed The wayward world to save. For every word he spoke is made A shackle to enslave. Man's wingd hopes are white at dawn, But the hand of malice smuts. O, angel voices drowned and lost Amid the growl of guts! O spirit hands that strain to draw A dead world from the ruts! God made a stage of Palestine, And the drama played was Life; And the Eye of Heaven sat and watched The true and false at strife; While a masque o' the World did play the pimp, And take a whore to wife. I wonder not they slew the Christ, And put upon his brow A mocking crown of thorns, I know The world would do it now; And none shall live who on himself Shall take the self-same vow. And none shall live who tries to balk The heavy hand of greed. 46 And who betakes him to the task, That heart will surely bleed. But a little truth, somehow is saved Out of each dead man's creed. Out of the life of him who scourged The Scribe and Pharisee, A willing world can take to heart The creed humanity; And all the wonder tales of Christ Are naught to you and me. And it matters not what place he drew, At first life's mortal breath, Nor how it was his spirit rose And triumphed over death, But good it is to hear and do The word that Jesus saith. Until the perfect truth shall lie Treasured and set apart; One whole, harmonious truth to set A seal upon each heart; And none may ever from that truth In any wise depart. ~ Edgar Lee Masters

179:Jubilate Agno: Fragment B, Part 2 LET PETER rejoice with the MOON FISH who keeps up the life in the waters by night. Let Andrew rejoice with the Whale, who is array'd in beauteous blue and is a combination of bulk and activity. Let James rejoice with the Skuttle-Fish, who foils his foe by the effusion of his ink. Let John rejoice with Nautilus who spreads his sail and plies his oar, and the Lord is his pilot. Let Philip rejoice with Boca, which is a fish that can speak. Let Bartholomew rejoice with the Eel, who is pure in proportion to where he is found and how he is used. Let Thomas rejoice with the Sword-Fish, whose aim is perpetual and strength insuperable. Let Matthew rejoice with Uranoscopus, whose eyes are lifted up to God. Let James the less, rejoice with the Haddock, who brought the piece of money for the Lord and Peter. Let Jude bless with the Bream, who is of melancholy from his depth and serenity. Let Simon rejoice with the Sprat, who is pure and innumerable. Let Matthias rejoice with the Flying-Fish, who has a part with the birds, and is sublimity in his conceit. Let Stephen rejoice with Remora -- The Lord remove all obstacles to his glory. Let Paul rejoice with the Scale, who is pleasant and faithful!, like God's good ENGLISHMAN. Let Agrippa, which is Agricola, rejoice with Elops, who is a choice fish. 56 Let Joseph rejoice with the Turbut, whose capture makes the poor fisher-man sing. Let Mary rejoice with the Maid -- blessed be the name of the immaculate CONCEPTION. Let John, the Baptist, rejoice with the Salmon -- blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus for infant Baptism. Let Mark rejoice with the Mullet, who is John Dore, God be gracious to him and his family. Let Barnabus rejoice with the Herring -- God be gracious to the Lord's fishery. Let Cleopas rejoice with the Mackerel, who cometh in a shoal after a leader. Let Abiud of the Lord's line rejoice with Murex, who is good and of a precious tincture. Let Eliakim rejoice with the Shad, who is contemned in his abundance. Let Azor rejoice with the Flounder, who is both of the sea and of the river, Let Sadoc rejoice with the Bleak, who playeth upon the surface in the Sun. Let Achim rejoice with the Miller's Thumb, who is a delicious morsel for the water fowl. Let Eliud rejoice with Cinaedus, who is a fish yellow all over. Let Eleazar rejoice with the Grampus, who is a pompous spouter. Let Matthan rejoice with the Shark, who is supported by multitudes of small value. Let Jacob rejoice with the Gold Fish, who is an eye-trap. Let Jairus rejoice with the Silver Fish, who is bright and lively. Let Lazarus rejoice with Torpedo, who chills the life of the assailant through his staff. 57 Let Mary Magdalen rejoice with the Place, whose goodness and purity are of the Lord's making. Let Simon the leper rejoice with the Eel-pout, who is a rarity on account of his subtlety. Let Alpheus rejoice with the Whiting, whom God hath bless'd in multitudes, and his days are as the days of PURIM. Let Onesimus rejoice with the Cod -- blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus for a miraculous draught of men. Let Joses rejoice with the Sturgeon, who saw his maker in the body and obtained grace. Let Theophilus rejoice with the Folio, who hath teeth, like the teeth of a saw. Let Bartimeus rejoice with the Quaviver -- God be gracious to the eyes of him, who prayeth for the blind. Let CHRISTOPHER, who is Simon of Cyrene, rejoice with the Rough -- God be gracious to the CAM and to DAVID CAM and his seed for ever. Let Timeus rejoice with the Ling -- God keep the English Sailors clear of French bribery. Let Salome rejoice with the Mermaid, who hath the countenance and a portion of human reason. Let Zacharias rejoice with the Gudgeon, who improves in his growth till he is mistaken. Let Campanus rejoice with the Lobster -- God be gracious to all the CAMPBELLs especially John. Let Martha rejoice with the Skallop -- the Lord revive the exercise and excellence of the Needle. Let Mary rejoice with the Carp -- the ponds of Fairlawn and the garden bless for the master. 58 Let Zebedee rejoice with the Tench -- God accept the good son for his parents also. Let Joseph of Arimathea rejoice with the Barbel -- a good coffin and a tombstone without grudging! Let Elizabeth rejoice with the Crab -- it is good, at times, to go back. Let Simeon rejoice with the Oyster, who hath the life without locomotion. Let Jona rejoice with the Wilk -- Wilks, Wilkie, and Wilkinson bless the name of the Lord Jesus. Let Nicodemus rejoice with the Muscle, for so he hath provided for the poor. Let Gamaliel rejoice with the Cockle -- I will rejoice in the remembrance of mercy. Let Agabus rejoice with the Smelt -- The Lord make me serviceable to the HOWARDS. Let Rhoda rejoice with the Sea-Cat, who is pleasantry and purity. Let Elmodam rejoice with the Chubb, who is wary of the bait and thrives in his circumspection. Let Jorim rejoice with the Roach -- God bless my throat and keep me from things stranggled. Let Addi rejoice with the Dace -- It is good to angle with meditation. Let Luke rejoice with the Trout -- Blessed be Jesus in Aa, in Dee and in Isis. Let Cosam rejoice with the Perch, who is a little tyrant, because he is not liable to that, which he inflicts. Let Levi rejoice with the Pike -- God be merciful to all dumb creatures in respect of pain. Let Melchi rejoice with the Char, who cheweth the cud. Let Joanna rejoice with the Anchovy -- I beheld and lo! 'a great multitude! 59 Let Neri rejoice with the Keeling Fish, who is also called the Stock Fish. Let Janna rejoice with the Pilchard -- the Lord restore the seed of Abishai. Let Esli rejoice with the Soal, who is flat and spackles for the increase of motion. Let Nagge rejoice with the Perriwinkle -- 'for the rain it raineth every day.' Let Anna rejoice with the Porpus, who is a joyous fish and of good omen. Let Phanuel rejoice with the Shrimp, which is the childrens fishery. Let Chuza rejoice with the Sea-Bear, who is full of sagacity and prank. Let Susanna rejoice with the Lamprey, who is an eel with a title. Let Candace rejoice with the Craw-fish -- How hath the Christian minister renowned the Queen. Let The Eunuch rejoice with the Thorn-Back -- It is good to be discovered reading the BIBLE. Let Simon the Pharisee rejoice with the Grigg -- the Lord bring up Issachar and Dan. Let Simon the converted Sorcerer rejoice with the Dab quoth Daniel. Let Joanna, of the Lord's line, rejoice with the Minnow, who is multiplied against the oppressor. Let Jonas rejoice with the Sea-Devil, who hath a good name from his Maker. Let Alexander rejoice with the Tunny -- the worse the time the better the eternity. Let Rufus rejoice with the Needle-fish, who is very good in his element. Let Matthat rejoice with the Trumpet-fish -- God revive the blowing of the TRUMPETS. Let Mary, the mother of James, rejoice with the Sea-Mouse -- it is good to be at 60 peace. Let Prochorus rejoice with Epodes, who is a kind of fish with Ovid who is at peace in the Lord. Let Timotheus rejoice with the Dolphin, who is of benevolence. Let Nicanor rejoice with the Skeat -- Blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus in fish and in the Shewbread, which ought to be continually on the altar, now more than ever, and the want of it is the Abomination of Desolation spoken of by Daniel. Let Timon rejoice with Crusion -- The Shew-Bread in the first place is gratitude to God to shew who is bread, whence it is, and that there is enough and to spare. Let Parmenas rejoice with the Mixon -- Secondly it is to prevent the last extremity, for it is lawful that rejected hunger may take it. Let Dorcas rejoice with Dracunculus -- blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus in the Grotto. Let Tychicus rejoice with Scolopendra, who quits himself of the hook by voiding his intrails. Let Trophimus rejoice with the Sea-Horse, who shoud have been to Tychicus the father of Yorkshiremen. Let Tryphena rejoice with Fluta -- Saturday is the Sabbath for the mouth of God hath spoken it. Let Tryphosa rejoice with Acarne -- With such preparation the Lord's Jubile is better kept. Let Simon the Tanner rejoice with Alausa -- Five days are sufficient for the purposes of husbandry. Let Simeon Niger rejoice with the Loach -- The blacks are the seed of Cain. Let Lucius rejoice with Corias -- Some of Cain's seed was preserved in the loins of Ham at the flood. Let Manaen rejoice with Donax. My DEGREE is good even here, in the Lord I have 61 a better. Let Sergius Paulus rejoice with Dentex -- Blessed be the name Jesus for my teeth. Let Silas rejoice with the Cabot -- the philosophy of the times ev'n now is vain deceit. Let Barsabas rejoice with Cammarus -- Newton is ignorant for if a man consult not the WORD how should he understand the WORK? -Let Lydia rejoice with Attilus -- Blessed be the name of him which eat the fish and honey comb. Let Jason rejoice with Alopecias, who is subtlety without offence. Let Dionysius rejoice with Alabes who is peculiar to the Nile. Let Damaris rejoice with Anthias -- The fountain of the Nile is known to the Eastern people who drink it. Let Apollos rejoice with Astacus, but St Paul is the Agent for England. Let Justus rejoice with Crispus in a Salmon-Trout -- the Lord look on the soul of Richard Atwood. Let Crispus rejoice with Leviathan -- God be gracious to the soul of HOBBES, who was no atheist, but a servant of Christ, and died in the Lord -- I wronged him God forgive me. Let Aquila rejoice with Beemoth who is Enoch no fish but a stupendous creeping Thing. Let Priscilla rejoice with Cythera. As earth increases by Beemoth so the sea likewise enlarges. Let Tyrannus rejoice with Cephalus who hath a great head. Let Gaius rejoice with the Water-Tortoise -- Paul and Tychicus were in England with Agricola my father. Let Aristarchus rejoice with Cynoglossus -- The Lord was at Glastonbury in the 62 body and blessed the thorn. Let Alexander rejoice with the Sea-Urchin -- The Lord was at Bristol and blessed the waters there. Let Sopater rejoice with Elacate -- The waters of Bath were blessed by St Matthias. Let Secundus rejoice with Echeneis who is the sea-lamprey. Let Eutychus rejoice with Cnide -- Fish and honeycomb are blessed to eat after a recovery. -Let Mnason rejoice with Vulvula a sort of fish -- Good words are of God, the cant from the Devil. Let Claudius Lysias rejoice with Coracinus who is black and peculiar to Nile. Let Bernice rejoice with Corophium which is a kind of crab. Let Phebe rejoice with Echinometra who is a beautiful shellfish red and green. Let Epenetus rejoice with Erythrinus who is red with a white belly. Let Andronicus rejoice with Esox, the Lax, a great fish of the Rhine. Let Junia rejoice with the Faber-Fish -- Broil'd fish and honeycomb may be taken for the sacrament. Let Amplias rejoice with Garus, who is a kind of Lobster. Let Urbane rejoice with Glanis, who is a crafty fish who bites away the bait and saves himself. Let Stachys rejoice with Glauciscus, who is good for Women's milk. Let Apelles rejoice with Glaucus -- behold the seed of the brave and ingenious how they are saved! Let Aristobulus rejoice with Glycymerides who is pure and sweet. Let Herodion rejoice with Holothuria which are prickly fishes. 63 Let Narcissus rejoice with Hordeia -- I will magnify the Lord who multiplied the fish. Let Persis rejoice with Liparis -- I will magnify the Lord who multiplied the barley loaves. Let Rufus rejoice with Icthyocolla of whose skin a water-glue is made. Let Asyncritus rejoice with Labrus who is a voracious fish. Let Phlegon rejoice with the Sea-Lizard -- Bless Jesus THOMAS BOWLBY and all the seed of Reuben. Let Hermas rejoice with Lamyrus who is of things creeping in the sea. Let Patrobas rejoice with Lepas, all shells are precious. Let Hermes rejoice with Lepus, who is a venomous fish. Let Philologus rejoice with Ligarius -- shells are all parries to the adversary. Let Julia rejoice with the Sleeve-Fish -- Blessed be Jesus for all the TAYLERS. Let Nereus rejoice with the Calamary -- God give success to our fleets. Let Olympas rejoice with the Sea-Lantern, which glows upon the waters. Let Sosipater rejoice with Cornuta. There are fish for the Sea-Night-Birds that glow at bottom. Let Lucius rejoice with the Cackrel Fish. God be gracious to JMs FLETCHER who has my tackling. Let Tertius rejoice with Maia which is a kind of crab. Let Erastus rejoice with Melandry which is the largest Tunny. Let Quartus rejoice with Mena. God be gracious to the immortal soul of poor Carte, who was barbarously and cowardly murder'd -- the Lord prevent the dealers in clandestine death. 64 Let Sosthenes rejoice with the Winkle -- all shells like the parts of the body are good kept for those parts. Let Chloe rejoice with the Limpin -- There is a way to the terrestrial Paradise upon the knees. Let Carpus rejoice with the Frog-Fish -- A man cannot die upon his knees. Let Stephanas rejoice with Mormyra who is a fish of divers colours. Let Fortunatus rejoice with the Burret -- it is good to be born when things are crossed. Let Lois rejoice with the Angel-Fish -- There is a fish that swims in the fluid Empyrean. Let Achaicus rejoice with the Fat-Back -- The Lord invites his fishers to the WEST INDIES. Let Sylvanus rejoice with the Black-Fish -- Oliver Cromwell himself was the murderer in the Mask. Let Titus rejoice with Mys -- O Tite siquid ego adjuero curamve levasso! Let Euodias rejoice with Myrcus -- There is a perfumed fish I will offer him for a sweet savour to the Lord. Let Syntyche rejoice with Myax -- There are shells in the earth which were left by the FLOOD. Let Clement rejoice with Ophidion -- There are shells again in earth at sympathy with those in sea. Let Epaphroditus rejoice with Opthalmias -- The Lord increase the Cambridge collection of fossils. Let Epaphras rejoice with Orphus -- God be gracious to the immortal soul of Dr Woodward. Let Justus rejoice with Pagrus -- God be gracious to the immortal soul of Dr Middleton. 65 Let Nymphas rejoice with Fagurus -- God bless Charles Mason and all Trinity College. Let Archippus rejoice with Nerita whose shell swimmeth. Let Eunice rejoice with Oculata who is of the Lizard kind. Let Onesephorus rejoice with Orca, who is a great fish. Let Eubulus rejoice with Ostrum the scarlet -- God be gracious to Gordon and Groat. Let Pudens rejoice with Polypus -- The Lord restore my virgin! Let Linus rejoice with Ozsena who is a kind of Polype -- God be gracious to Lyne and Anguish. Let Claudia rejoice with Pascer -- the purest creatures minister to wantoness by unthankfulness. Let Artemas rejoice with Pastinaca who is a fish with a sting. Let Zenas rejoice with Pecten -- The Lord obliterate the laws of man! Let Philemon rejoice with Pelagia -- The laws and judgement are impudence and blindness. Let Apphia rejoice with Pelamis -- The Lord Jesus is man's judgement. Let Demetrius rejoice with Peloris, who is greatest of Shell-Fishes. Let Antipas rejoice with Pentadactylus -- A papist hath no sentiment God bless CHURCHILL. *** FOR I pray the Lord JESUS that cured the LUNATICK to be merciful to all my brethren and sisters in these houses. For they work me with their harping-irons, which is a barbarous instrument, because I am more unguarded than others. 66 For the blessing of God hath been on my epistles, which I have written for the benefit of others. For I bless God that the CHURCH of ENGLAND is one of the SEVEN ev'n the candlestick of the Lord. For the ENGLISH TONGUE shall be the language of the WEST. For I pray Almighty CHRIST to bless the MAGDALEN HOUSE and to forward a National purification. For I have the blessing of God in the three POINTS of manhood, of the pen, of the sword, and of chivalry. For I am inquisitive in the Lord, and defend the philosophy of the scripture against vain deceit. For the nets come down from the eyes of the Lord to fish up men to their salvation. For I have a greater compass both of mirth and melancholy than another. For I bless the Lord JESUS in the innumerables, and for ever and ever. For I am redoubted, and redoubtable in the Lord, as is THOMAS BECKET my father. For I have had the grace to GO BACK, which is my blessing unto prosperity. For I paid for my seat in St PAUL's, when I was six years old, and took possession against the evil day. For I am descended from the steward of the island -- blessed be the name of the Lord Jesus king of England. For the poor gentleman is the first object of the Lord's charity and he is the most pitied who hath lost the most. For I am in twelve HARDSHIPS, but he that was born of a virgin shall deliver me out of all. For I am safe, as to my head, from the female dancer and her admirers. 67 For I pray for CHICHISTER to give the glory to God, and to keep the adversary at bay. For I am making to the shore day by day, the Lord Jesus take me. For I bless the Lord JESUS upon RAMSGATE PIER -- the Lord forward the building of harbours. For I bless the Lord JESUS for his very seed, which is in my body. For I pray for R and his family, I pray for Mr Becher, and I bean for the Lord JESUS. For I pray to God for Nore, for the Trinity house, for all light-houses, beacons and buoys. For I bless God that I am not in a dungeon, but am allowed the light of the Sun. For I pray God for the PYGMIES against their feathered adversaries, as a deed of charity. For I pray God for all those, who have defiled themselves in matters inconvenient. For I pray God be gracious to CORNELIUS MATTHEWS name and connection. For I am under the same accusation with my Saviour -- -for they said, he is besides himself. For I pray God for the introduction of new creatures into this island. For I pray God for the ostriches of Salisbury Plain, the beavers of the Medway and silver fish of Thames. For Charity is cold in the multitude of possessions, and the rich are covetous of their crumbs. For I pray to be accepted as a dog without offence, which is best of all. For I wish to God and desire towards the most High, which is my policy. 68 For the tides are the life of God in the ocean, and he sends his angel to trouble the great DEEP. For he hath fixed the earth upon arches and pillars, and the flames of hell flow under it. For the grosser the particles the nearer to the sink, and the nearer to purity, the quicker the gravitation. For MATTER is the dust of the Earth, every atom of which is the life. For MOTION is as the quantity of life direct, and that which hath not motion, is resistance. For Resistance is not of GOD, but he -- hath built his works upon it. For the Centripetal and Centrifugal forces are GOD SUSTAINING and DIRECTING. For Elasticity is the temper of matter to recover its place with vehemence. For Attraction is the earning of parts, which have a similitude in the life. For the Life of God is in the Loadstone, and there is a magnet, which pointeth due EAST. For the Glory of God is always in the East, but cannot be seen for the cloud of the crucifixion. For due East is the way to Paradise, which man knoweth not by reason of his fall. For the Longitude is (nevertheless) attainable by steering angularly notwithstanding. For Eternity is a creature and is built upon Eternity ¥ê¥á¥ó¥á¥â¥ï¥ë¥ç ¥å¥g¥é ¥ó¥ç ¥ä¥é¥á¥â¥ï¥ë¥ç . For Fire is a mixed nature of body and spirit, and the body is fed by that which hath not life. For Fire is exasperated by the Adversary, who is Death, unto the detriment of 69 man. For an happy Conjecture is a miraculous cast by the Lord Jesus. For a bad Conjecture is a draught of stud and mud. For there is a Fire which is blandishing, and which is of God direct. For Fire is a substance and distinct, and purifyeth ev'n in hell. For the Shears is the first of the mechanical powers, and to be used on the knees. For if Adam had used this instrument right, he would not have fallen. For the power of the Shears Is direct as the life. For the power of the WEDGE is direct as it's altitude by communication of Almighty God. For the Skrew, Axle and Wheel, Pulleys, the Lever and Inclined Plane are known in the Schools. For the Centre is not known but by the application of the members to matter. For I have shown the Vis Inerti©¡ to be false, and such is all nonsense. For the Centre is the hold of the Spirit upon the matter in hand. For FRICTION is inevitable because the Universe is FULL of God's works. For the PERPETUAL MOTION is in all the works of Almighty GOD. For it is not so in the engines of man, which are made of dead materials, neither indeed can be. For the Moment of bodies, as it is used, is a false term -- bless God ye Speakers on the Fifth of November. For Time and Weight are by their several estimates. For I bless GOD in the discovery of the LONGITUDE direct by the means of 70 GLADWICK. For the motion of the PENDULUM is the longest in that it parries resistance. For the WEDDING GARMENTS of all men are prepared in the SUN against the day of acceptation. For the Wedding Garments of all women are prepared in the MOON against the day of their purification. For CHASTITY is the key of knowledge as in Esdras, Sr Isaac Newton and now, God be praised, in me. For Newton nevertheless is more of error than of the truth, but I am of the WORD of GOD. For WATER, is not of solid constituents, but is dissolved from precious stones above. For the life remains in its dissolvent state, and that in great power. For WATER is condensed by the Lord's FROST, tho' not by the FLORENTINE experiment. For GLADWICK is a substance growing on hills in the East, candied by the sun, and of diverse colours. For it is neither stone nor metal but a new creature, soft to the ax, but hard to the hammer. For it answers sundry uses, but particularly it supplies the place of Glass. For it giveth a benign light without the fragility, malignity or mischief of Glass. For it attracteth all the colours of the GREAT BOW which is fixed in the EAST. For the FOUNTAINS and SPRINGS are the life of the waters working up to God. For they are in SYMPATHY with the waters above the Heavens, which are solid. For the Fountains, springs and rivers are all of them from the sea, whose water is filtrated and purified by the earth. 71 For there is Water above the visible surface in a spiritualizing state, which cannot be seen but by application of a CAPILLARY TUBE. For the ASCENT of VAPOURS is the return of thanksgiving from all humid bodies. For the RAIN WATER kept in a reservoir at any altitude, suppose of a thousand feet, will make a fountain from a spout of ten feet of the same height. For it will ascend in a stream two thirds of the way and afterwards prank itself into ten thousand agreeable forms. For the SEA is a seventh of the Earth -- the spirit of the Lord by Esdras. For MERCURY is affected by the AIR because it is of a similar subtlety. For the rising in the BAROMETER is not effected by pressure but by sympathy. For it cannot be seperated from the creature with which it is intimately and eternally connected. For where it is stinted of air there it will adhere together and stretch on the reverse. For it works by ballancing according to the hold of the spirit. For QUICK-SILVER is spiritual and so is the AIR to all intents and purposes. For the AIR-PUMP weakens and dispirits but cannot wholly exhaust. For SUCKTION is the withdrawing of the life, but life will follow as fast as it can. For there is infinite provision to keep up the life in all the parts of Creation. For the AIR is contaminated by curses and evil language. For poysonous creatures catch some of it and retain it or ere it goes to the adversary. For IRELAND was without these creatures, till of late, because of the simplicity of the people. 72 For the AIR. is purified by prayer which is made aloud and with all our might. For loud prayer is good for weak lungs and for a vitiated throat. For SOUND is propagated in the spirit and in all directions. For the VOICE of a figure compleat in all its parts. For a man speaks HIMSELF from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet. For a LION roars HIMSELF compleat from head to tail. For all these things are seen in the spirit which makes the beauty of prayer. For all whispers and unmusical sounds in general are of the Adversary. For 'I will hiss saith the Lord' is God's denunciation of death. For applause or the clapping of the hands is the natural action of a man on the descent of the glory of God. For EARTH which is an intelligence hath a voice and a propensity to speak in all her parts. For ECHO is the soul of the voice exerting itself in hollow places. For ECHO cannot act but when she can parry the adversary. For ECHO is greatest in Churches and where she can assist in prayer. For a good voice hath its Echo with it and it is attainable by much supplication. For the FOICE is from the body and the spirit -- and is a a body and a spirit. For the prayers of good men are therefore visible to second-sighted persons. For HARPSICHORDS are best strung with gold wire. For HARPS and VIOLS are best strung with Indian weed. For the GERMAN FLUTE is an indirect -- the common flute good, bless the Lord Jesus BENJIMIN HALLET. 73 For the feast of TRUMPETS should be kept up, that being the most direct and acceptable of all instruments. For the TRUMPET of God is a blessed intelligence and so are all the instruments in HEAVEN. For GOD the father Almighty plays upon the HARP of stupendous magnitude and melody. For innumerable Angels fly out at every touch and his tune is a work of creation. For at that time malignity ceases and the devils themselves are at peace. For this time is perceptible to man by a remarkable stillness and serenity of soul. For the ¨¡olian harp is improveable into regularity. For when it is so improved it will be known to be the SHAWM. For it woud be better if the LITURGY were musically performed. For the strings of the SHAWM were upon a cylinder which turned to the wind. For this was spiritual musick altogether, as the wind is a spirit. For there is nothing but it may be played upon in delight. For the flames of fire may lie blown thro musical pipes. For it is so higher up in the vast empyrean. For is so real as that which is spiritual. For an IGNIS FATUUS is either the fool's conceit or a blast from the adversary. For SHELL-FIRE or ELECTRICAL is the quick air when it is caught. For GLASS is worked in the fire till it partakes of its nature. For the electrical fire is easily obtain'd by the working of glass. 74 For all spirits are of fire and the air is a very benign one. For the MAN in VACUO is a flat conceit of preposterous folly. For the breath of our nostrils is an electrical spirit. For an electrical spirit may be exasperated into a malignant fire. For it is good to quicken in paralytic cases being the life applied unto death, For the method of philosophizing is in a posture of Adoration. For the School-Doctrine of Thunder and Lightning is a Diabolical Hypothesis. For it is taking the nitre from the lower regions and directing it against the Infinite of Heights. For THUNDER is the voice of God direct in verse and musick. For LIGHTNING is a glance of the glory of God. For the Brimstone that is found at the times of thunder and lightning is worked up by the Adversary. For the voice is always for infinite good which he strives to impede. For the Devil can work coals into shapes to afflict the minds of those that will not pray. For the coffin and the cradle and the purse are all against a man. For the coffin is for the dead and death came by disobedience. For the cradle is for weakness and the child of man was originally strong from the womb. For the purse is for money and money is dead matter with the stamp of human vanity. For the adversary frequently sends these particular images out of the fire to those whom they concern. 75 For the coffin is for me because I have nothing to do with it. For the cradle is for me because the old Dragon attacked me in it and overcame in Christ. For the purse is for me because I have neither money nor human friends. For LIGHT is propagated at all distances in an instant because it is actuated by the divine conception. For the Satellites of the planet prove nothing in this matter but the glory of Almighty God. For the SHADE is of death and from the adversary. For Solomon said vanity of vanities, vanity of vanities all is vanity. For Jesus says verity of verities, verity of verities all is verity. For Solomon said THOU FOOL in malice from his own vanity. For the Lord reviled not all in hardship and temptation unutterable. For Fire hath this property that it reduces a thing till finally it is not. For all the filth wicked of men shall be done away by fire in Eternity. For the furnace itself shall come up at the last according to Abraham's vision. For the Convex Heaven of shall work about on that great event. For the ANTARTICK POLE is not yet but shall answer in the Consummation. For the devil hath most power in winter, because darkness prevails. For the Longing of Women is the operation of the Devil upon their conceptions. For the marking of their children is from the same cause both of which are to be parried by prayer. For the laws of King James the first against Witchcraft were wise, had it been of man to make laws. 76 For there are witches and wizards even now who are spoken to by their familiars. For the visitation of their familiars is prevented by the Lord's incarnation. For to conceive with intense diligence against one's neighbour is a branch of witchcraft. For to use pollution, exact and cross things and at the same time to think against a man is the crime direct. For prayer with musick is good for persons so exacted upon. For before the NATIVITY is the dead of the winter and after it the quick. For the sin against the HOLY GHOST is INGRATITUDE. For stuff'd guts make no musick; strain them strong and you shall have sweet melody. For the SHADOW is of death, which is the Devil, who can make false and faint images of the works of Almighty God. For every man beareth death about him ever since the transgression of Adam, but in perfect light there is no shadow. For all Wrath is Fire, which the adversary blows upon and exasperates. For SHADOW is a fair Word from God, which is not returnable till the furnace comes up. For the ECLIPSE is of the adversary -- blessed be the name of Jesus for Whisson of Trinity. For the shadow is his and the penumbra is his and his the perplexity of the the phenomenon. For the eclipses happen at times when the light is defective. For the more the light is defective, the more the powers of darkness prevail. 77 For deficiencies happen by the luminaries crossing one another. For the SUN is an intelligence and an angel of the human form. For the MOON is an intelligence and an angel in shape like a woman. For they are together in the spirit every night like man and wife. For Justice is infinitely beneath Mercy in nature and office. For the Devil himself may be just in accusation and punishment. For HELL is without eternity from the presence of Almighty God. For Volcanos and burning mountains are where the adversary hath most power. For the angel GRATITUDE is my wife -- God bring me to her or her to me. For the propagation of light is quick as the divine Conception. For FROST is damp and unwholsome air candied to fall to the best advantage. For I am the Lord's News-Writer -- the scribe-evangelist -- Widow Mitchel, Gun and Grange bless the Lord Jesus. For Adversity above all other is to be deserted of the grace of God. For in the divine Idea this Eternity is compleat and the Word is a making many more. For there is a forlorn hope ev'n for impenitent sinners because the furnace itself must be the crown of Eternity. For my hope is beyond Eternity in the bosom of God my saviour. For by the grace of God I am the Reviver of ADORATION amongst ENGLISH-MEN. For being desert-ed is to have desert in the sight of God and intitles one to the Lord's merit. For things that are not in the sight of men are thro' God of infinite concern. 78 For envious men have exceeding subtlety quippe qui in -- videant. For avaricious men are exceeding subtle like the soul seperated from the body. For their attention is on a sinking object which perishes. For they can go beyond the children of light in matters of their own misery. For Snow is the dew candied and cherishes. For TIMES and SEASONS are the Lord's -- Man is no CHRONOLOGER. For there is a CIRCULATION of the SAP in all vegetables. For SOOT is the dross of Fire. For the CLAPPING of the hands is naught unless it be to the glory of God. For God will descend in visible glory when men begin to applaud him. For all STAGE-Playing is Hypocrisy and the Devil is the master of their revels. For the INNATATION of corpuscles is solved by the Gold-beater's hammer -- God be gracious to Christopher Peacock and to all my God-Children. For the PRECESSION of the Equinoxes is improving nature -- something being gained every where for the glory of God perpetually. For the souls of the departed are embodied in clouds and purged by the Sun. For the LONGITUDE may be discovered by attending the motions of the Sun. Way 2d. For you must consider the Sun as dodging, which he does to parry observation. For he must be taken with an Astrolabe, and considered respecting the point he left. For you must do this upon your knees and that will secure your point. For I bless God that I dwell within the sound of Success, and that it is well with 79 ENGLAND this blessed day. NATIVITY of our LORD N.S. 1759. ~ Christopher Smart

180:There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen Their baaing vanities, to browse away The comfortable green and juicy hay From human pastures; or, O torturing fact! Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'd Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe Our gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tinge Of sanctuary splendour, not a sight Able to face an owl's, they still are dight By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests, And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts, Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount To their spirit's perch, their being's high account, Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones Amid the fierce intoxicating tones Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabour'd drums, And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums, In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon, And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks. Are then regalities all gilded masks? No, there are throned seats unscalable But by a patient wing, a constant spell, Or by ethereal things that, unconfin'd, Can make a ladder of the eternal wind, And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents To watch the abysm-birth of elements. Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd Fate A thousand Powers keep religious state, In water, fiery realm, and airy bourne; And, silent as a consecrated urn, Hold sphery sessions for a season due. Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few! Have bared their operations to this globe Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe Our piece of heavenwhose benevolence Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude, As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud 'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear, Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest. When thy gold breath is misting in the west, She unobserved steals unto her throne, And there she sits most meek and most alone; As if she had not pomp subservient; As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent Towards her with the Muses in thine heart; As if the ministring stars kept not apart, Waiting for silver-footed messages. O Moon! the oldest shades 'mong oldest trees Feel palpitations when thou lookest in: O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din The while they feel thine airy fellowship. Thou dost bless every where, with silver lip Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine, Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine: Innumerable mountains rise, and rise, Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes; And yet thy benediction passeth not One obscure hiding-place, one little spot Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken, And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps Within its pearly house.The mighty deeps, The monstrous sea is thinethe myriad sea! O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee, And Tellus feels his forehead's cumbrous load. Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abode Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine Such utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pine For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh? Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper's eye, Or what a thing is love! 'Tis She, but lo! How chang'd, how full of ache, how gone in woe! She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness Is wan on Neptune's blue: yet there's a stress Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees, Dancing upon the waves, as if to please The curly foam with amorous influence. O, not so idle: for down-glancing thence She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about O'erwhelming water-courses; scaring out The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright'ning Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning. Where will the splendor be content to reach? O love! how potent hast thou been to teach Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells, In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells, In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun, Thou pointest out the way, and straight 'tis won. Amid his toil thou gav'st Leander breath; Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death; Thou madest Pluto bear thin element; And now, O winged Chieftain! thou hast sent A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world, To find Endymion.          On gold sand impearl'd With lily shells, and pebbles milky white, Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth'd her light Against his pallid face: he felt the charm To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm Of his heart's blood: 'twas very sweet; he stay'd His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds, To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads, Lashed from the crystal roof by fishes' tails. And so he kept, until the rosy veils Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand Were lifted from the water's breast, and fann'd Into sweet air; and sober'd morning came Meekly through billows:when like taper-flame Left sudden by a dallying breath of air, He rose in silence, and once more 'gan fare Along his fated way.            Far had he roam'd, With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam'd Above, around, and at his feet; save things More dead than Morpheus' imaginings: Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast-plates large Of gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and targe; Rudders that for a hundred years had lost The sway of human hand; gold vase emboss'd With long-forgotten story, and wherein No reveller had ever dipp'd a chin But those of Saturn's vintage; mouldering scrolls, Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those souls Who first were on the earth; and sculptures rude In ponderous stone, developing the mood Of ancient Nox;then skeletons of man, Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan, And elephant, and eagle, and huge jaw Of nameless monster. A cold leaden awe These secrets struck into him; and unless Dian had chaced away that heaviness, He might have died: but now, with cheered feel, He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to steal About the labyrinth in his soul of love. "What is there in thee, Moon! that thou shouldst move My heart so potently? When yet a child I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil'd. Thou seem'dst my sister: hand in hand we went From eve to morn across the firmament. No apples would I gather from the tree, Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously: No tumbling water ever spake romance, But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance: No woods were green enough, no bower divine, Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine: In sowing time ne'er would I dibble take, Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake; And, in the summer tide of blossoming, No one but thee hath heard me blithly sing And mesh my dewy flowers all the night. No melody was like a passing spright If it went not to solemnize thy reign. Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain By thee were fashion'd to the self-same end; And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend With all my ardours: thou wast the deep glen; Thou wast the mountain-topthe sage's pen The poet's harpthe voice of friendsthe sun; Thou wast the riverthou wast glory won; Thou wast my clarion's blastthou wast my steed My goblet full of winemy topmost deed: Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon! O what a wild and harmonized tune My spirit struck from all the beautiful! On some bright essence could I lean, and lull Myself to immortality: I prest Nature's soft pillow in a wakeful rest. But, gentle Orb! there came a nearer bliss My strange love cameFelicity's abyss! She came, and thou didst fade, and fade away Yet not entirely; no, thy starry sway Has been an under-passion to this hour. Now I begin to feel thine orby power Is coming fresh upon me: O be kind, Keep back thine influence, and do not blind My sovereign vision.Dearest love, forgive That I can think away from thee and live! Pardon me, airy planet, that I prize One thought beyond thine argent luxuries! How far beyond!" At this a surpris'd start Frosted the springing verdure of his heart; For as he lifted up his eyes to swear How his own goddess was past all things fair, He saw far in the concave green of the sea An old man sitting calm and peacefully. Upon a weeded rock this old man sat, And his white hair was awful, and a mat Of weeds were cold beneath his cold thin feet; And, ample as the largest winding-sheet, A cloak of blue wrapp'd up his aged bones, O'erwrought with symbols by the deepest groans Of ambitious magic: every ocean-form Was woven in with black distinctness; storm, And calm, and whispering, and hideous roar Were emblem'd in the woof; with every shape That skims, or dives, or sleeps, 'twixt cape and cape. The gulphing whale was like a dot in the spell, Yet look upon it, and 'twould size and swell To its huge self; and the minutest fish Would pass the very hardest gazer's wish, And show his little eye's anatomy. Then there was pictur'd the regality Of Neptune; and the sea nymphs round his state, In beauteous vassalage, look up and wait. Beside this old man lay a pearly wand, And in his lap a book, the which he conn'd So stedfastly, that the new denizen Had time to keep him in amazed ken, To mark these shadowings, and stand in awe. The old man rais'd his hoary head and saw The wilder'd strangerseeming not to see, His features were so lifeless. Suddenly He woke as from a trance; his snow-white brows Went arching up, and like two magic ploughs Furrow'd deep wrinkles in his forehead large, Which kept as fixedly as rocky marge, Till round his wither'd lips had gone a smile. Then up he rose, like one whose tedious toil Had watch'd for years in forlorn hermitage, Who had not from mid-life to utmost age Eas'd in one accent his o'er-burden'd soul, Even to the trees. He rose: he grasp'd his stole, With convuls'd clenches waving it abroad, And in a voice of solemn joy, that aw'd Echo into oblivion, he said: "Thou art the man! Now shall I lay my head In peace upon my watery pillow: now Sleep will come smoothly to my weary brow. O Jove! I shall be young again, be young! O shell-borne Neptune, I am pierc'd and stung With new-born life! What shall I do? Where go, When I have cast this serpent-skin of woe? I'll swim to the syrens, and one moment listen Their melodies, and see their long hair glisten; Anon upon that giant's arm I'll be, That writhes about the roots of Sicily: To northern seas I'll in a twinkling sail, And mount upon the snortings of a whale To some black cloud; thence down I'll madly sweep On forked lightning, to the deepest deep, Where through some sucking pool I will be hurl'd With rapture to the other side of the world! O, I am full of gladness! Sisters three, I bow full hearted to your old decree! Yes, every god be thank'd, and power benign, For I no more shall wither, droop, and pine. Thou art the man!" Endymion started back Dismay'd; and, like a wretch from whom the rack Tortures hot breath, and speech of agony, Mutter'd: "What lonely death am I to die In this cold region? Will he let me freeze, And float my brittle limbs o'er polar seas? Or will he touch me with his searing hand, And leave a black memorial on the sand? Or tear me piece-meal with a bony saw, And keep me as a chosen food to draw His magian fish through hated fire and flame? O misery of hell! resistless, tame, Am I to be burnt up? No, I will shout, Until the gods through heaven's blue look out! O Tartarus! but some few days agone Her soft arms were entwining me, and on Her voice I hung like fruit among green leaves: Her lips were all my own, andah, ripe sheaves Of happiness! ye on the stubble droop, But never may be garner'd. I must stoop My head, and kiss death's foot. Love! love, farewel! Is there no hope from thee? This horrid spell Would melt at thy sweet breath.By Dian's hind Feeding from her white fingers, on the wind I see thy streaming hair! and now, by Pan, I care not for this old mysterious man!" He spake, and walking to that aged form, Look'd high defiance. Lo! his heart 'gan warm With pity, for the grey-hair'd creature wept. Had he then wrong'd a heart where sorrow kept? Had he, though blindly contumelious, brought Rheum to kind eyes, a sting to human thought, Convulsion to a mouth of many years? He had in truth; and he was ripe for tears. The penitent shower fell, as down he knelt Before that care-worn sage, who trembling felt About his large dark locks, and faultering spake: "Arise, good youth, for sacred Phoebus' sake! I know thine inmost bosom, and I feel A very brother's yearning for thee steal Into mine own: for why? thou openest The prison gates that have so long opprest My weary watching. Though thou know'st it not, Thou art commission'd to this fated spot For great enfranchisement. O weep no more; I am a friend to love, to loves of yore: Aye, hadst thou never lov'd an unknown power I had been grieving at this joyous hour But even now most miserable old, I saw thee, and my blood no longer cold Gave mighty pulses: in this tottering case Grew a new heart, which at this moment plays As dancingly as thine. Be not afraid, For thou shalt hear this secret all display'd, Now as we speed towards our joyous task." So saying, this young soul in age's mask Went forward with the Carian side by side: Resuming quickly thus; while ocean's tide Hung swollen at their backs, and jewel'd sands Took silently their foot-prints. "My soul stands Now past the midway from mortality, And so I can prepare without a sigh To tell thee briefly all my joy and pain. I was a fisher once, upon this main, And my boat danc'd in every creek and bay; Rough billows were my home by night and day, The sea-gulls not more constant; for I had No housing from the storm and tempests mad, But hollow rocks,and they were palaces Of silent happiness, of slumberous ease: Long years of misery have told me so. Aye, thus it was one thousand years ago. One thousand years!Is it then possible To look so plainly through them? to dispel A thousand years with backward glance sublime? To breathe away as 'twere all scummy slime From off a crystal pool, to see its deep, And one's own image from the bottom peep? Yes: now I am no longer wretched thrall, My long captivity and moanings all Are but a slime, a thin-pervading scum, The which I breathe away, and thronging come Like things of yesterday my youthful pleasures. "I touch'd no lute, I sang not, trod no measures: I was a lonely youth on desert shores. My sports were lonely, 'mid continuous roars, And craggy isles, and sea-mew's plaintive cry Plaining discrepant between sea and sky. Dolphins were still my playmates; shapes unseen Would let me feel their scales of gold and green, Nor be my desolation; and, full oft, When a dread waterspout had rear'd aloft Its hungry hugeness, seeming ready ripe To burst with hoarsest thunderings, and wipe My life away like a vast sponge of fate, Some friendly monster, pitying my sad state, Has dived to its foundations, gulph'd it down, And left me tossing safely. But the crown Of all my life was utmost quietude: More did I love to lie in cavern rude, Keeping in wait whole days for Neptune's voice, And if it came at last, hark, and rejoice! There blush'd no summer eve but I would steer My skiff along green shelving coasts, to hear The shepherd's pipe come clear from aery steep, Mingled with ceaseless bleatings of his sheep: And never was a day of summer shine, But I beheld its birth upon the brine: For I would watch all night to see unfold Heaven's gates, and Aethon snort his morning gold Wide o'er the swelling streams: and constantly At brim of day-tide, on some grassy lea, My nets would be spread out, and I at rest. The poor folk of the sea-country I blest With daily boon of fish most delicate: They knew not whence this bounty, and elate Would strew sweet flowers on a sterile beach. "Why was I not contented? Wherefore reach At things which, but for thee, O Latmian! Had been my dreary death? Fool! I began To feel distemper'd longings: to desire The utmost privilege that ocean's sire Could grant in benediction: to be free Of all his kingdom. Long in misery I wasted, ere in one extremest fit I plung'd for life or death. To interknit One's senses with so dense a breathing stuff Might seem a work of pain; so not enough Can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt, And buoyant round my limbs. At first I dwelt Whole days and days in sheer astonishment; Forgetful utterly of self-intent; Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow. Then, like a new fledg'd bird that first doth shew His spreaded feathers to the morrow chill, I tried in fear the pinions of my will. 'Twas freedom! and at once I visited The ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed. No need to tell thee of them, for I see That thou hast been a witnessit must be For these I know thou canst not feel a drouth, By the melancholy corners of that mouth. So I will in my story straightway pass To more immediate matter. Woe, alas! That love should be my bane! Ah, Scylla fair! Why did poor Glaucus everever dare To sue thee to his heart? Kind stranger-youth! I lov'd her to the very white of truth, And she would not conceive it. Timid thing! She fled me swift as sea-bird on the wing, Round every isle, and point, and promontory, From where large Hercules wound up his story Far as Egyptian Nile. My passion grew The more, the more I saw her dainty hue Gleam delicately through the azure clear: Until 'twas too fierce agony to bear; And in that agony, across my grief It flash'd, that Circe might find some relief Cruel enchantress! So above the water I rear'd my head, and look'd for Phoebus' daughter. Aeaea's isle was wondering at the moon: It seem'd to whirl around me, and a swoon Left me dead-drifting to that fatal power. "When I awoke, 'twas in a twilight bower; Just when the light of morn, with hum of bees, Stole through its verdurous matting of fresh trees. How sweet, and sweeter! for I heard a lyre, And over it a sighing voice expire. It ceasedI caught light footsteps; and anon The fairest face that morn e'er look'd upon Push'd through a screen of roses. Starry Jove! With tears, and smiles, and honey-words she wove A net whose thraldom was more bliss than all The range of flower'd Elysium. Thus did fall The dew of her rich speech: "Ah! Art awake? O let me hear thee speak, for Cupid's sake! I am so oppress'd with joy! Why, I have shed An urn of tears, as though thou wert cold dead; And now I find thee living, I will pour From these devoted eyes their silver store, Until exhausted of the latest drop, So it will pleasure thee, and force thee stop Here, that I too may live: but if beyond Such cool and sorrowful offerings, thou art fond Of soothing warmth, of dalliance supreme; If thou art ripe to taste a long love dream; If smiles, if dimples, tongues for ardour mute, Hang in thy vision like a tempting fruit, O let me pluck it for thee." Thus she link'd Her charming syllables, till indistinct Their music came to my o'er-sweeten'd soul; And then she hover'd over me, and stole So near, that if no nearer it had been This furrow'd visage thou hadst never seen. "Young man of Latmos! thus particular Am I, that thou may'st plainly see how far This fierce temptation went: and thou may'st not Exclaim, How then, was Scylla quite forgot? "Who could resist? Who in this universe? She did so breathe ambrosia; so immerse My fine existence in a golden clime. She took me like a child of suckling time, And cradled me in roses. Thus condemn'd, The current of my former life was stemm'd, And to this arbitrary queen of sense I bow'd a tranced vassal: nor would thence Have mov'd, even though Amphion's harp had woo'd Me back to Scylla o'er the billows rude. For as Apollo each eve doth devise A new appareling for western skies; So every eve, nay every spendthrift hour Shed balmy consciousness within that bower. And I was free of haunts umbrageous; Could wander in the mazy forest-house Of squirrels, foxes shy, and antler'd deer, And birds from coverts innermost and drear Warbling for very joy mellifluous sorrow To me new born delights!              "Now let me borrow, For moments few, a temperament as stern As Pluto's sceptre, that my words not burn These uttering lips, while I in calm speech tell How specious heaven was changed to real hell. "One morn she left me sleeping: half awake I sought for her smooth arms and lips, to slake My greedy thirst with nectarous camel-draughts; But she was gone. Whereat the barbed shafts Of disappointment stuck in me so sore, That out I ran and search'd the forest o'er. Wandering about in pine and cedar gloom Damp awe assail'd me; for there 'gan to boom A sound of moan, an agony of sound, Sepulchral from the distance all around. Then came a conquering earth-thunder, and rumbled That fierce complain to silence: while I stumbled Down a precipitous path, as if impell'd. I came to a dark valley.Groanings swell'd Poisonous about my ears, and louder grew, The nearer I approach'd a flame's gaunt blue, That glar'd before me through a thorny brake. This fire, like the eye of gordian snake, Bewitch'd me towards; and I soon was near A sight too fearful for the feel of fear: In thicket hid I curs'd the haggard scene The banquet of my arms, my arbour queen, Seated upon an uptorn forest root; And all around her shapes, wizard and brute, Laughing, and wailing, groveling, serpenting, Shewing tooth, tusk, and venom-bag, and sting! O such deformities! Old Charon's self, Should he give up awhile his penny pelf, And take a dream 'mong rushes Stygian, It could not be so phantasied. Fierce, wan, And tyrannizing was the lady's look, As over them a gnarled staff she shook. Oft-times upon the sudden she laugh'd out, And from a basket emptied to the rout Clusters of grapes, the which they raven'd quick And roar'd for more; with many a hungry lick About their shaggy jaws. Avenging, slow, Anon she took a branch of mistletoe, And emptied on't a black dull-gurgling phial: Groan'd one and all, as if some piercing trial Was sharpening for their pitiable bones. She lifted up the charm: appealing groans From their poor breasts went sueing to her ear In vain; remorseless as an infant's bier She whisk'd against their eyes the sooty oil. Whereat was heard a noise of painful toil, Increasing gradual to a tempest rage, Shrieks, yells, and groans of torture-pilgrimage; Until their grieved bodies 'gan to bloat And puff from the tail's end to stifled throat: Then was appalling silence: then a sight More wildering than all that hoarse affright; For the whole herd, as by a whirlwind writhen, Went through the dismal air like one huge Python Antagonizing Boreas,and so vanish'd. Yet there was not a breath of wind: she banish'd These phantoms with a nod. Lo! from the dark Came waggish fauns, and nymphs, and satyrs stark, With dancing and loud revelry,and went Swifter than centaurs after rapine bent. Sighing an elephant appear'd and bow'd Before the fierce witch, speaking thus aloud In human accent: "Potent goddess! chief Of pains resistless! make my being brief, Or let me from this heavy prison fly: Or give me to the air, or let me die! I sue not for my happy crown again; I sue not for my phalanx on the plain; I sue not for my lone, my widow'd wife; I sue not for my ruddy drops of life, My children fair, my lovely girls and boys! I will forget them; I will pass these joys; Ask nought so heavenward, so tootoo high: Only I pray, as fairest boon, to die, Or be deliver'd from this cumbrous flesh, From this gross, detestable, filthy mesh, And merely given to the cold bleak air. Have mercy, Goddess! Circe, feel my prayer!" That curst magician's name fell icy numb Upon my wild conjecturing: truth had come Naked and sabre-like against my heart. I saw a fury whetting a death-dart; And my slain spirit, overwrought with fright, Fainted away in that dark lair of night. Think, my deliverer, how desolate My waking must have been! disgust, and hate, And terrors manifold divided me A spoil amongst them. I prepar'd to flee Into the dungeon core of that wild wood: I fled three dayswhen lo! before me stood Glaring the angry witch. O Dis, even now, A clammy dew is beading on my brow, At mere remembering her pale laugh, and curse. "Ha! ha! Sir Dainty! there must be a nurse Made of rose leaves and thistledown, express, To cradle thee my sweet, and lull thee: yes, I am too flinty-hard for thy nice touch: My tenderest squeeze is but a giant's clutch. So, fairy-thing, it shall have lullabies Unheard of yet; and it shall still its cries Upon some breast more lily-feminine. Oh, noit shall not pine, and pine, and pine More than one pretty, trifling thousand years; And then 'twere pity, but fate's gentle shears Cut short its immortality. Sea-flirt! Young dove of the waters! truly I'll not hurt One hair of thine: see how I weep and sigh, That our heart-broken parting is so nigh. And must we part? Ah, yes, it must be so. Yet ere thou leavest me in utter woe, Let me sob over thee my last adieus, And speak a blessing: Mark me! thou hast thews Immortal, for thou art of heavenly race: But such a love is mine, that here I chase Eternally away from thee all bloom Of youth, and destine thee towards a tomb. Hence shalt thou quickly to the watery vast; And there, ere many days be overpast, Disabled age shall seize thee; and even then Thou shalt not go the way of aged men; But live and wither, cripple and still breathe Ten hundred years: which gone, I then bequeath Thy fragile bones to unknown burial. Adieu, sweet love, adieu!"As shot stars fall, She fled ere I could groan for mercy. Stung And poisoned was my spirit: despair sung A war-song of defiance 'gainst all hell. A hand was at my shoulder to compel My sullen steps; another 'fore my eyes Moved on with pointed finger. In this guise Enforced, at the last by ocean's foam I found me; by my fresh, my native home. Its tempering coolness, to my life akin, Came salutary as I waded in; And, with a blind voluptuous rage, I gave Battle to the swollen billow-ridge, and drave Large froth before me, while there yet remain'd Hale strength, nor from my bones all marrow drain'd. "Young lover, I must weepsuch hellish spite With dry cheek who can tell? While thus my might Proving upon this element, dismay'd, Upon a dead thing's face my hand I laid; I look'd'twas Scylla! Cursed, cursed Circe! O vulture-witch, hast never heard of mercy? Could not thy harshest vengeance be content, But thou must nip this tender innocent Because I lov'd her?Cold, O cold indeed Were her fair limbs, and like a common weed The sea-swell took her hair. Dead as she was I clung about her waist, nor ceas'd to pass Fleet as an arrow through unfathom'd brine, Until there shone a fabric crystalline, Ribb'd and inlaid with coral, pebble, and pearl. Headlong I darted; at one eager swirl Gain'd its bright portal, enter'd, and behold! 'Twas vast, and desolate, and icy-cold; And all aroundBut wherefore this to thee Who in few minutes more thyself shalt see? I left poor Scylla in a niche and fled. My fever'd parchings up, my scathing dread Met palsy half way: soon these limbs became Gaunt, wither'd, sapless, feeble, cramp'd, and lame. "Now let me pass a cruel, cruel space, Without one hope, without one faintest trace Of mitigation, or redeeming bubble Of colour'd phantasy; for I fear 'twould trouble Thy brain to loss of reason: and next tell How a restoring chance came down to quell One half of the witch in me.        On a day, Sitting upon a rock above the spray, I saw grow up from the horizon's brink A gallant vessel: soon she seem'd to sink Away from me again, as though her course Had been resum'd in spite of hindering force So vanish'd: and not long, before arose Dark clouds, and muttering of winds morose. Old Eolus would stifle his mad spleen, But could not: therefore all the billows green Toss'd up the silver spume against the clouds. The tempest came: I saw that vessel's shrouds In perilous bustle; while upon the deck Stood trembling creatures. I beheld the wreck; The final gulphing; the poor struggling souls: I heard their cries amid loud thunder-rolls. O they had all been sav'd but crazed eld Annull'd my vigorous cravings: and thus quell'd And curb'd, think on't, O Latmian! did I sit Writhing with pity, and a cursing fit Against that hell-born Circe. The crew had gone, By one and one, to pale oblivion; And I was gazing on the surges prone, With many a scalding tear and many a groan, When at my feet emerg'd an old man's hand, Grasping this scroll, and this same slender wand. I knelt with painreached out my handhad grasp'd These treasurestouch'd the knucklesthey unclasp'd I caught a finger: but the downward weight O'erpowered meit sank. Then 'gan abate The storm, and through chill aguish gloom outburst The comfortable sun. I was athirst To search the book, and in the warming air Parted its dripping leaves with eager care. Strange matters did it treat of, and drew on My soul page after page, till well-nigh won Into forgetfulness; when, stupefied, I read these words, and read again, and tried My eyes against the heavens, and read again. O what a load of misery and pain Each Atlas-line bore off!a shine of hope Came gold around me, cheering me to cope Strenuous with hellish tyranny. Attend! For thou hast brought their promise to an end. "In the wide sea there lives a forlorn wretch, Doom'd with enfeebled carcase to outstretch His loath'd existence through ten centuries, And then to die alone. Who can devise A total opposition? No one. So One million times ocean must ebb and flow, And he oppressed. Yet he shall not die, These things accomplish'd:If he utterly Scans all the depths of magic, and expounds The meanings of all motions, shapes, and sounds; If he explores all forms and substances Straight homeward to their symbol-essences; He shall not die. Moreover, and in chief, He must pursue this task of joy and grief Most piously;all lovers tempest-tost, And in the savage overwhelming lost, He shall deposit side by side, until Time's creeping shall the dreary space fulfil: Which done, and all these labours ripened, A youth, by heavenly power lov'd and led, Shall stand before him; whom he shall direct How to consummate all. The youth elect Must do the thing, or both will be destroy'd." "Then," cried the young Endymion, overjoy'd, "We are twin brothers in this destiny! Say, I intreat thee, what achievement high Is, in this restless world, for me reserv'd. What! if from thee my wandering feet had swerv'd, Had we both perish'd?""Look!" the sage replied, "Dost thou not mark a gleaming through the tide, Of divers brilliances? 'tis the edifice I told thee of, where lovely Scylla lies; And where I have enshrined piously All lovers, whom fell storms have doom'd to die Throughout my bondage." Thus discoursing, on They went till unobscur'd the porches shone; Which hurryingly they gain'd, and enter'd straight. Sure never since king Neptune held his state Was seen such wonder underneath the stars. Turn to some level plain where haughty Mars Has legion'd all his battle; and behold How every soldier, with firm foot, doth hold His even breast: see, many steeled squares, And rigid ranks of ironwhence who dares One step? Imagine further, line by line, These warrior thousands on the field supine: So in that crystal place, in silent rows, Poor lovers lay at rest from joys and woes. The stranger from the mountains, breathless, trac'd Such thousands of shut eyes in order plac'd; Such ranges of white feet, and patient lips All ruddy,for here death no blossom nips. He mark'd their brows and foreheads; saw their hair Put sleekly on one side with nicest care; And each one's gentle wrists, with reverence, Put cross-wise to its heart.                "Let us commence, Whisper'd the guide, stuttering with joy, even now." He spake, and, trembling like an aspen-bough, Began to tear his scroll in pieces small, Uttering the while some mumblings funeral. He tore it into pieces small as snow That drifts unfeather'd when bleak northerns blow; And having done it, took his dark blue cloak And bound it round Endymion: then struck His wand against the empty air times nine. "What more there is to do, young man, is thine: But first a little patience; first undo This tangled thread, and wind it to a clue. Ah, gentle! 'tis as weak as spider's skein; And shouldst thou break itWhat, is it done so clean? A power overshadows thee! Oh, brave! The spite of hell is tumbling to its grave. Here is a shell; 'tis pearly blank to me, Nor mark'd with any sign or charactery Canst thou read aught? O read for pity's sake! Olympus! we are safe! Now, Carian, break This wand against yon lyre on the pedestal." 'Twas done: and straight with sudden swell and fall Sweet music breath'd her soul away, and sigh'd A lullaby to silence."Youth! now strew These minced leaves on me, and passing through Those files of dead, scatter the same around, And thou wilt see the issue."'Mid the sound Of flutes and viols, ravishing his heart, Endymion from Glaucus stood apart, And scatter'd in his face some fragments light. How lightning-swift the change! a youthful wight Smiling beneath a coral diadem, Out-sparkling sudden like an upturn'd gem, Appear'd, and, stepping to a beauteous corse, Kneel'd down beside it, and with tenderest force Press'd its cold hand, and weptand Scylla sigh'd! Endymion, with quick hand, the charm applied The nymph arose: he left them to their joy, And onward went upon his high employ, Showering those powerful fragments on the dead. And, as he pass'd, each lifted up its head, As doth a flower at Apollo's touch. Death felt it to his inwards; 'twas too much: Death fell a weeping in his charnel-house. The Latmian persever'd along, and thus All were re-animated. There arose A noise of harmony, pulses and throes Of gladness in the airwhile many, who Had died in mutual arms devout and true, Sprang to each other madly; and the rest Felt a high certainty of being blest. They gaz'd upon Endymion. Enchantment Grew drunken, and would have its head and bent. Delicious symphonies, like airy flowers, Budded, and swell'd, and, full-blown, shed full showers Of light, soft, unseen leaves of sounds divine. The two deliverers tasted a pure wine Of happiness, from fairy-press ooz'd out. Speechless they eyed each other, and about The fair assembly wander'd to and fro, Distracted with the richest overflow Of joy that ever pour'd from heaven.                   "Away!" Shouted the new-born god; "Follow, and pay Our piety to Neptunus supreme!" Then Scylla, blushing sweetly from her dream, They led on first, bent to her meek surprise, Through portal columns of a giant size, Into the vaulted, boundless emerald. Joyous all follow'd, as the leader call'd, Down marble steps; pouring as easily As hour-glass sandand fast, as you might see Swallows obeying the south summer's call, Or swans upon a gentle waterfall. Thus went that beautiful multitude, nor far, Ere from among some rocks of glittering spar, Just within ken, they saw descending thick Another multitude. Whereat more quick Moved either host. On a wide sand they met, And of those numbers every eye was wet; For each their old love found. A murmuring rose, Like what was never heard in all the throes Of wind and waters: 'tis past human wit To tell; 'tis dizziness to think of it. This mighty consummation made, the host Mov'd on for many a league; and gain'd, and lost Huge sea-marks; vanward swelling in array, And from the rear diminishing away, Till a faint dawn surpris'd them. Glaucus cried, "Behold! behold, the palace of his pride! God Neptune's palaces!" With noise increas'd, They shoulder'd on towards that brightening east. At every onward step proud domes arose In prospect,diamond gleams, and golden glows Of amber 'gainst their faces levelling. Joyous, and many as the leaves in spring, Still onward; still the splendour gradual swell'd. Rich opal domes were seen, on high upheld By jasper pillars, letting through their shafts A blush of coral. Copious wonder-draughts Each gazer drank; and deeper drank more near: For what poor mortals fragment up, as mere As marble was there lavish, to the vast Of one fair palace, that far far surpass'd, Even for common bulk, those olden three, Memphis, and Babylon, and Nineveh. As large, as bright, as colour'd as the bow Of Iris, when unfading it doth shew Beyond a silvery shower, was the arch Through which this Paphian army took its march, Into the outer courts of Neptune's state: Whence could be seen, direct, a golden gate, To which the leaders sped; but not half raught Ere it burst open swift as fairy thought, And made those dazzled thousands veil their eyes Like callow eagles at the first sunrise. Soon with an eagle nativeness their gaze Ripe from hue-golden swoons took all the blaze, And then, behold! large Neptune on his throne Of emerald deep: yet not exalt alone; At his right hand stood winged Love, and on His left sat smiling Beauty's paragon. Far as the mariner on highest mast Can see all round upon the calmed vast, So wide was Neptune's hall: and as the blue Doth vault the waters, so the waters drew Their doming curtains, high, magnificent, Aw'd from the throne aloof;and when storm-rent Disclos'd the thunder-gloomings in Jove's air; But sooth'd as now, flash'd sudden everywhere, Noiseless, sub-marine cloudlets, glittering Death to a human eye: for there did spring From natural west, and east, and south, and north, A light as of four sunsets, blazing forth A gold-green zenith 'bove the Sea-God's head. Of lucid depth the floor, and far outspread As breezeless lake, on which the slim canoe Of feather'd Indian darts about, as through The delicatest air: air verily, But for the portraiture of clouds and sky: This palace floor breath-air,but for the amaze Of deep-seen wonders motionless,and blaze Of the dome pomp, reflected in extremes, Globing a golden sphere.              They stood in dreams Till Triton blew his horn. The palace rang; The Nereids danc'd; the Syrens faintly sang; And the great Sea-King bow'd his dripping head. Then Love took wing, and from his pinions shed On all the multitude a nectarous dew. The ooze-born Goddess beckoned and drew Fair Scylla and her guides to conference; And when they reach'd the throned eminence She kist the sea-nymph's cheek,who sat her down A toying with the doves. Then,"Mighty crown And sceptre of this kingdom!" Venus said, "Thy vows were on a time to Nais paid: Behold!"Two copious tear-drops instant fell From the God's large eyes; he smil'd delectable, And over Glaucus held his blessing hands. "Endymion! Ah! still wandering in the bands Of love? Now this is cruel. Since the hour I met thee in earth's bosom, all my power Have I put forth to serve thee. What, not yet Escap'd from dull mortality's harsh net? A little patience, youth! 'twill not be long, Or I am skilless quite: an idle tongue, A humid eye, and steps luxurious, Where these are new and strange, are ominous. Aye, I have seen these signs in one of heaven, When others were all blind; and were I given To utter secrets, haply I might say Some pleasant words:but Love will have his day. So wait awhile expectant. Pr'ythee soon, Even in the passing of thine honey-moon, Visit my Cytherea: thou wilt find Cupid well-natured, my Adonis kind; And pray persuade with theeAh, I have done, All blisses be upon thee, my sweet son!" Thus the fair goddess: while Endymion Knelt to receive those accents halcyon. Meantime a glorious revelry began Before the Water-Monarch. Nectar ran In courteous fountains to all cups outreach'd; And plunder'd vines, teeming exhaustless, pleach'd New growth about each shell and pendent lyre; The which, in disentangling for their fire, Pull'd down fresh foliage and coverture For dainty toying. Cupid, empire-sure, Flutter'd and laugh'd, and oft-times through the throng Made a delighted way. Then dance, and song, And garlanding grew wild; and pleasure reign'd. In harmless tendril they each other chain'd, And strove who should be smother'd deepest in Fresh crush of leaves.              O 'tis a very sin For one so weak to venture his poor verse In such a place as this. O do not curse, High Muses! let him hurry to the ending. All suddenly were silent. A soft blending Of dulcet instruments came charmingly; And then a hymn.           "KING of the stormy sea! Brother of Jove, and co-inheritor Of elements! Eternally before Thee the waves awful bow. Fast, stubborn rock, At thy fear'd trident shrinking, doth unlock Its deep foundations, hissing into foam. All mountain-rivers lost, in the wide home Of thy capacious bosom ever flow. Thou frownest, and old Eolus thy foe Skulks to his cavern, 'mid the gruff complaint Of all his rebel tempests. Dark clouds faint When, from thy diadem, a silver gleam Slants over blue dominion. Thy bright team Gulphs in the morning light, and scuds along To bring thee nearer to that golden song Apollo singeth, while his chariot Waits at the doors of heaven. Thou art not For scenes like this: an empire stern hast thou; And it hath furrow'd that large front: yet now, As newly come of heaven, dost thou sit To blend and interknit Subdued majesty with this glad time. O shell-borne King sublime! We lay our hearts before thee evermore We sing, and we adore! "Breathe softly, flutes; Be tender of your strings, ye soothing lutes; Nor be the trumpet heard! O vain, O vain; Not flowers budding in an April rain, Nor breath of sleeping dove, nor river's flow, No, nor the Eolian twang of Love's own bow, Can mingle music fit for the soft ear Of goddess Cytherea! Yet deign, white Queen of Beauty, thy fair eyes On our souls' sacrifice. "Bright-winged Child! Who has another care when thou hast smil'd? Unfortunates on earth, we see at last All death-shadows, and glooms that overcast Our spirits, fann'd away by thy light pinions. O sweetest essence! sweetest of all minions! God of warm pulses, and dishevell'd hair, And panting bosoms bare! Dear unseen light in darkness! eclipser Of light in light! delicious poisoner! Thy venom'd goblet will we quaff until We fillwe fill! And by thy Mother's lips"             Was heard no more For clamour, when the golden palace door Opened again, and from without, in shone A new magnificence. On oozy throne Smooth-moving came Oceanus the old, To take a latest glimpse at his sheep-fold, Before he went into his quiet cave To muse for everThen a lucid wave, Scoop'd from its trembling sisters of mid-sea, Afloat, and pillowing up the majesty Of Doris, and the Egean seer, her spouse Next, on a dolphin, clad in laurel boughs, Theban Amphion leaning on his lute: His fingers went across itAll were mute To gaze on Amphitrite, queen of pearls, And Thetis pearly too.              The palace whirls Around giddy Endymion; seeing he Was there far strayed from mortality. He could not bear itshut his eyes in vain; Imagination gave a dizzier pain. "O I shall die! sweet Venus, be my stay! Where is my lovely mistress? Well-away! I dieI hear her voiceI feel my wing" At Neptune's feet he sank. A sudden ring Of Nereids were about him, in kind strife To usher back his spirit into life: But still he slept. At last they interwove Their cradling arms, and purpos'd to convey Towards a crystal bower far away. Lo! while slow carried through the pitying crowd, To his inward senses these words spake aloud; Written in star-light on the dark above: Dearest Endymion! my entire love! How have I dwelt in fear of fate: 'tis done Immortal bliss for me too hast thou won. Arise then! for the hen-dove shall not hatch Her ready eggs, before I'll kissing snatch Thee into endless heaven. Awake! awake! The youth at once arose: a placid lake Came quiet to his eyes; and forest green, Cooler than all the wonders he had seen, Lull'd with its simple song his fluttering breast. How happy once again in grassy nest! (line 1): Woodhouse notes that "Keats said, with much simplicity, 'It will be easily seen what I think of the present ministers, by the beginning of the third Book.'" (line 407): Whether the reference is to the Pillars of Hercules, the confluence of the Mediterranean and Atlantic, or to the scene of the Death of Hercules, is not very clear; but probably "wound up his story" refers rather to his last labour than to his death on Mount ta. (lines 863-65): This simile must surely be a reminiscence of Perrin's Fables Amusantes or some similar book used in Mr. Clarke's School. I remember the Fable of the old eagle and her young stood first in the book I used at school. The draft gives line 860 thus -- 'But soon like eagles natively their gaze...' At the end of this Book Keats wrote in the draft, "Oxf: Sept. 26." ~ Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes ~ John Keats, Endymion - Book III

181:The Rosciad Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse Boldly defies all mean and partial views; With honest freedom plays the critic's part, And praises, as she censures, from the heart. Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair. The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage No longer whine in love, and rant in rage; The monarch quits his throne, and condescends Humbly to court the favour of his friends; For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps, And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps. Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome, To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume; In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war, And show where honour bled in every scar. But though bare merit might in Rome appear The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here; We form our judgment in another way; And they will best succeed, who best can pay: Those who would gain the votes of British tribes, Must add to force of merit, force of bribes. What can an actor give? In every age Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage; Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player, Appear as often as their image there: They can't, like candidate for other seat, Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat. Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon, And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune: But what they have they give; could Clive do more, Though for each million he had brought home four? Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair, And hopes the friends of humour will be there; In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat For those who laughter love, instead of meat; Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be, In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea; 259 Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives, And at the New, pours water on the leaves. The town divided, each runs several ways, As passion, humour, interest, party sways. Things of no moment, colour of the hair, Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair, A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced, Conciliate favour, or create distaste. From galleries loud peals of laughter roll, And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll. Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart, Palmer! oh! Palmer tops the jaunty part. Seated in pit, the dwarf with aching eyes, Looks up, and vows that Barry's out of size; Whilst to six feet the vigorous stripling grown, Declares that Garrick is another Coan. When place of judgment is by whim supplied, And our opinions have their rise in pride; When, in discoursing on each mimic elf, We praise and censure with an eye to self; All must meet friends, and Ackman bids as fair, In such a court, as Garrick, for the chair. At length agreed, all squabbles to decide, By some one judge the cause was to be tried; But this their squabbles did afresh renew, Who should be judge in such a trial:--who? For Johnson some; but Johnson, it was fear'd, Would be too grave; and Sterne too gay appear'd; Others for Franklin voted; but 'twas known, He sicken'd at all triumphs but his own: For Colman many, but the peevish tongue Of prudent Age found out that he was young: For Murphy some few pilfering wits declared, Whilst Folly clapp'd her hands, and Wisdom stared. To mischief train'd, e'en from his mother's womb, Grown old in fraud, though yet in manhood's bloom, Adopting arts by which gay villains rise, And reach the heights which honest men despise; Mute at the bar, and in the senate loud, Dull 'mongst the dullest, proudest of the proud; A pert, prim, prater of the northern race, Guilt in his heart, and famine in his face, 260 Stood forth,--and thrice he waved his lily hand, And thrice he twirled his tye, thrice stroked his band:-At Friendship's call (thus oft, with traitorous aim, Men void of faith usurp Faith's sacred name) At Friendship's call I come, by Murphy sent, Who thus by me develops his intent: But lest, transfused, the spirit should be lost, That spirit which, in storms of rhetoric toss'd, Bounces about, and flies like bottled beer, In his own words his own intentions hear. Thanks to my friends; but to vile fortunes born, No robes of fur these shoulders must adorn. Vain your applause, no aid from thence I draw; Vain all my wit, for what is wit in law? Twice, (cursed remembrance!) twice I strove to gain Admittance 'mongst the law-instructed train, Who, in the Temple and Gray's Inn, prepare For clients' wretched feet the legal snare; Dead to those arts which polish and refine, Deaf to all worth, because that worth was mine, Twice did those blockheads startle at my name, And foul rejection gave me up to shame. To laws and lawyers then I bade adieu, And plans of far more liberal note pursue. Who will may be a judge--my kindling breast Burns for that chair which Roscius once possess'd. Here give your votes, your interest here exert, And let success for once attend desert. With sleek appearance, and with ambling pace, And, type of vacant head, with vacant face, The Proteus Hill put in his modest plea,-Let Favour speak for others, Worth for me.-For who, like him, his various powers could call Into so many shapes, and shine in all? Who could so nobly grace the motley list, Actor, Inspector, Doctor, Botanist? Knows any one so well--sure no one knows-At once to play, prescribe, compound, compose? Who can--but Woodward came,--Hill slipp'd away, Melting, like ghosts, before the rising day. With that low cunning, which in fools supplies, And amply too, the place of being wise, 261 Which Nature, kind, indulgent parent, gave To qualify the blockhead for a knave; With that smooth falsehood, whose appearance charms, And Reason of each wholesome doubt disarms, Which to the lowest depths of guile descends, By vilest means pursues the vilest ends; Wears Friendship's mask for purposes of spite, Pawns in the day, and butchers in the night; With that malignant envy which turns pale, And sickens, even if a friend prevail, Which merit and success pursues with hate, And damns the worth it cannot imitate; With the cold caution of a coward's spleen, Which fears not guilt, but always seeks a screen, Which keeps this maxim ever in her view-What's basely done, should be done safely too; With that dull, rooted, callous impudence, Which, dead to shame and every nicer sense, Ne'er blush'd, unless, in spreading Vice's snares, She blunder'd on some virtue unawares; With all these blessings, which we seldom find Lavish'd by Nature on one happy mind, A motley figure, of the Fribble tribe, Which heart can scarce conceive, or pen describe, Came simpering on--to ascertain whose sex Twelve sage impannell'd matrons would perplex. Nor male, nor female; neither, and yet both; Of neuter gender, though of Irish growth; A six-foot suckling, mincing in Its gait; Affected, peevish, prim, and delicate; Fearful It seem'd, though of athletic make, Lest brutal breezes should too roughly shake Its tender form, and savage motion spread, O'er Its pale cheeks, the horrid manly red. Much did It talk, in Its own pretty phrase, Of genius and of taste, of players and of plays; Much too of writings, which Itself had wrote, Of special merit, though of little note; For Fate, in a strange humour, had decreed That what It wrote, none but Itself should read; Much, too, It chatter'd of dramatic laws, Misjudging critics, and misplaced applause; 262 Then, with a self-complacent, jutting air, It smiled, It smirk'd, It wriggled to the chair; And, with an awkward briskness not Its own, Looking around, and perking on the throne, Triumphant seem'd; when that strange savage dame, Known but to few, or only known by name, Plain Common-Sense appear'd, by Nature there Appointed, with plain Truth, to guard the chair, The pageant saw, and, blasted with her frown, To Its first state of nothing melted down. Nor shall the Muse, (for even there the pride Of this vain nothing shall be mortified) Nor shall the Muse (should Fate ordain her rhymes, Fond, pleasing thought! to live in after-times) With such a trifler's name her pages blot; Known be the character, the thing forgot: Let It, to disappoint each future aim, Live without sex, and die without a name! Cold-blooded critics, by enervate sires Scarce hammer'd out, when Nature's feeble fires Glimmer'd their last; whose sluggish blood, half froze, Creeps labouring through the veins; whose heart ne'er glows With fancy-kindled heat;--a servile race, Who, in mere want of fault, all merit place; Who blind obedience pay to ancient schools, Bigots to Greece, and slaves to musty rules; With solemn consequence declared that none Could judge that cause but Sophocles alone. Dupes to their fancied excellence, the crowd, Obsequious to the sacred dictate, bow'd. When, from amidst the throng, a youth stood forth, Unknown his person, not unknown his worth; His look bespoke applause; alone he stood, Alone he stemm'd the mighty critic flood. He talk'd of ancients, as the man became Who prized our own, but envied not their fame; With noble reverence spoke of Greece and Rome, And scorn'd to tear the laurel from the tomb. But, more than just to other countries grown, Must we turn base apostates to our own? Where do these words of Greece and Rome excel, That England may not please the ear as well? 263 What mighty magic's in the place or air, That all perfection needs must centre there? In states, let strangers blindly be preferr'd; In state of letters, merit should be heard. Genius is of no country; her pure ray Spreads all abroad, as general as the day; Foe to restraint, from place to place she flies, And may hereafter e'en in Holland rise. May not, (to give a pleasing fancy scope, And cheer a patriot heart with patriot hope) May not some great extensive genius raise The name of Britain 'bove Athenian praise; And, whilst brave thirst of fame his bosom warms, Make England great in letters as in arms? There may--there hath,--and Shakspeare's Muse aspires Beyond the reach of Greece; with native fires Mounting aloft, he wings his daring flight, Whilst Sophocles below stands trembling at his height. Why should we then abroad for judges roam, When abler judges we may find at home? Happy in tragic and in comic powers, Have we not Shakspeare?--Is not Jonson ours? For them, your natural judges, Britons, vote; They'll judge like Britons, who like Britons wrote. He said, and conquer'd--Sense resumed her sway, And disappointed pedants stalk'd away. Shakspeare and Jonson, with deserved applause, Joint-judges were ordain'd to try the cause. Meantime the stranger every voice employ'd, To ask or tell his name. Who is it? Lloyd. Thus, when the aged friends of Job stood mute, And, tamely prudent, gave up the dispute, Elihu, with the decent warmth of youth, Boldly stood forth the advocate of Truth; Confuted Falsehood, and disabled Pride, Whilst baffled Age stood snarling at his side. The day of trial's fix'd, nor any fear Lest day of trial should be put off here. Causes but seldom for delay can call In courts where forms are few, fees none at all. The morning came, nor find I that the Sun, As he on other great events hath done, 264 Put on a brighter robe than what he wore To go his journey in, the day before. Full in the centre of a spacious plain, On plan entirely new, where nothing vain, Nothing magnificent appear'd, but Art With decent modesty perform'd her part, Rose a tribunal: from no other court It borrow'd ornament, or sought support: No juries here were pack'd to kill or clear, No bribes were taken, nor oaths broken here; No gownsmen, partial to a client's cause, To their own purpose turn'd the pliant laws; Each judge was true and steady to his trust, As Mansfield wise, and as old Foster just. In the first seat, in robe of various dyes, A noble wildness flashing from his eyes, Sat Shakspeare: in one hand a wand he bore, For mighty wonders famed in days of yore; The other held a globe, which to his will Obedient turn'd, and own'd the master's skill: Things of the noblest kind his genius drew, And look'd through Nature at a single view: A loose he gave to his unbounded soul, And taught new lands to rise, new seas to roll; Call'd into being scenes unknown before, And passing Nature's bounds, was something more. Next Jonson sat, in ancient learning train'd, His rigid judgment Fancy's flights restrain'd; Correctly pruned each wild luxuriant thought, Mark'd out her course, nor spared a glorious fault. The book of man he read with nicest art, And ransack'd all the secrets of the heart; Exerted penetration's utmost force, And traced each passion to its proper source; Then, strongly mark'd, in liveliest colours drew, And brought each foible forth to public view: The coxcomb felt a lash in every word, And fools, hung out, their brother fools deterr'd. His comic humour kept the world in awe, And Laughter frighten'd Folly more than Law. But, hark! the trumpet sounds, the crowd gives way, And the procession comes in just array. 265 Now should I, in some sweet poetic line, Offer up incense at Apollo's shrine, Invoke the Muse to quit her calm abode, And waken Memory with a sleeping Ode. For how shall mortal man, in mortal verse, Their titles, merits, or their names rehearse? But give, kind Dulness! memory and rhyme, We 'll put off Genius till another time. First, Order came,--with solemn step, and slow, In measured time his feet were taught to go. Behind, from time to time, he cast his eye, Lest this should quit his place, that step awry. Appearances to save his only care; So things seem right, no matter what they are. In him his parents saw themselves renew'd, Begotten by Sir Critic on Saint Prude. Then came drum, trumpet, hautboy, fiddle, flute; Next snuffer, sweeper, shifter, soldier, mute: Legions of angels all in white advance; Furies, all fire, come forward in a dance; Pantomime figures then are brought to view, Fools, hand in hand with fools, go two by two. Next came the treasurer of either house; One with full purse, t'other with not a sous. Behind, a group of figures awe create, Set off with all the impertinence of state; By lace and feather consecrate to fame, Expletive kings, and queens without a name. Here Havard, all serene, in the same strains, Loves, hates, and rages, triumphs and complains; His easy vacant face proclaim'd a heart Which could not feel emotions, nor impart. With him came mighty Davies: on my life, That Davies hath a very pretty wife! Statesman all over, in plots famous grown, He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone. Next Holland came: with truly tragic stalk, He creeps, he flies,--a hero should not walk. As if with Heaven he warr'd, his eager eyes Planted their batteries against the skies; Attitude, action, air, pause, start, sigh, groan, He borrow'd, and made use of as his own. 266 By fortune thrown on any other stage, He might, perhaps, have pleased an easy age; But now appears a copy, and no more, Of something better we have seen before. The actor who would build a solid fame, Must Imitation's servile arts disclaim; Act from himself, on his own bottom stand; I hate e'en Garrick thus at second-hand. Behind came King.--Bred up in modest lore, Bashful and young, he sought Hibernia's shore; Hibernia, famed, 'bove every other grace, For matchless intrepidity of face. From her his features caught the generous flame, And bid defiance to all sense of shame. Tutor'd by her all rivals to surpass, 'Mongst Drury's sons he comes, and shines in Brass. Lo, Yates! Without the least finesse of art He gets applause--I wish he'd get his part. When hot Impatience is in full career, How vilely 'Hark ye! hark ye!' grates the ear; When active fancy from the brain is sent, And stands on tip-toe for some wish'd event, I hate those careless blunders, which recall Suspended sense, and prove it fiction all. In characters of low and vulgar mould, Where Nature's coarsest features we behold; Where, destitute of every decent grace, Unmanner'd jests are blurted in your face, There Yates with justice strict attention draws, Acts truly from himself, and gains applause. But when, to please himself or charm his wife, He aims at something in politer life, When, blindly thwarting Nature's stubborn plan, He treads the stage by way of gentleman, The clown, who no one touch of breeding knows, Looks like Tom Errand dress'd in Clincher's clothes. Fond of his dress, fond of his person grown, Laugh'd at by all, and to himself unknown, Prom side to side he struts, he smiles, he prates, And seems to wonder what's become of Yates. Woodward, endow'd with various tricks of face, Great master in the science of grimace, 267 From Ireland ventures, favourite of the town, Lured by the pleasing prospect of renown; A speaking harlequin, made up of whim, He twists, he twines, he tortures every limb; Plays to the eye with a mere monkey's art, And leaves to sense the conquest of the heart. We laugh indeed, but, on reflection's birth, We wonder at ourselves, and curse our mirth. His walk of parts he fatally misplaced, And inclination fondly took for taste; Hence hath the town so often seen display'd Beau in burlesque, high life in masquerade. But when bold wits,--not such as patch up plays, Cold and correct, in these insipid days,-Some comic character, strong featured, urge To probability's extremest verge; Where modest Judgment her decree suspends, And, for a time, nor censures, nor commends; Where critics can't determine on the spot Whether it is in nature found or not, There Woodward safely shall his powers exert, Nor fail of favour where he shows desert; Hence he in Bobadil such praises bore, Such worthy praises, Kitely scarce had more. By turns transform'd into all kind of shapes, Constant to none, Foote laughs, cries, struts, and scrapes: Now in the centre, now in van or rear, The Proteus shifts, bawd, parson, auctioneer. His strokes of humour, and his bursts of sport, Are all contain'd in this one word--distort. Doth a man stutter, look a-squint, or halt? Mimics draw humour out of Nature's fault, With personal defects their mirth adorn, And bang misfortunes out to public scorn. E'en I, whom Nature cast in hideous mould, Whom, having made, she trembled to behold, Beneath the load of mimicry may groan, And find that Nature's errors are my own. Shadows behind of Foote and Woodward came; Wilkinson this, Obrien was that name. Strange to relate, but wonderfully true, That even shadows have their shadows too! 268 With not a single comic power endued, The first a mere, mere mimic's mimic stood; The last, by Nature form'd to please, who shows, In Johnson's Stephen, which way genius grows, Self quite put off, affects with too much art To put on Woodward in each mangled part; Adopts his shrug, his wink, his stare; nay, more, His voice, and croaks; for Woodward croak'd before. When a dull copier simple grace neglects, And rests his imitation in defects, We readily forgive; but such vile arts Are double guilt in men of real parts. By Nature form'd in her perversest mood, With no one requisite of art endued, Next Jackson came--Observe that settled glare, Which better speaks a puppet than a player; List to that voice--did ever Discord hear Sounds so well fitted to her untuned ear? When to enforce some very tender part, The right hand slips by instinct on the heart, His soul, of every other thought bereft, Is anxious only where to place the left; He sobs and pants to soothe his weeping spouse; To soothe his weeping mother, turns and bows: Awkward, embarrass'd, stiff, without the skill Of moving gracefully, or standing still, One leg, as if suspicious of his brother, Desirous seems to run away from t'other. Some errors, handed down from age to age, Plead custom's force, and still possess the stage. That's vile: should we a parent's faults adore, And err, because our fathers err'd before? If, inattentive to the author's mind, Some actors made the jest they could not find; If by low tricks they marr'd fair Nature's mien, And blurr'd the graces of the simple scene, Shall we, if reason rightly is employ'd, Not see their faults, or seeing, not avoid? When Falstaff stands detected in a lie, Why, without meaning, rolls Love's glassy eye? Why? There's no cause--at least no cause we know-It was the fashion twenty years ago. 269 Fashion!--a word which knaves and fools may use, Their knavery and folly to excuse. To copy beauties, forfeits all pretence To fame--to copy faults, is want of sense. Yet (though in some particulars he fails, Some few particulars, where mode prevails) If in these hallow'd times, when, sober, sad, All gentlemen are melancholy mad; When 'tis not deem'd so great a crime by half To violate a vestal as to laugh, Rude mirth may hope, presumptuous, to engage An act of toleration for the stage; And courtiers will, like reasonable creatures, Suspend vain fashion, and unscrew their features; Old Falstaff, play'd by Love, shall please once more, And humour set the audience in a roar. Actors I've seen, and of no vulgar name, Who, being from one part possess'd of fame, Whether they are to laugh, cry, whine, or bawl, Still introduce that favourite part in all. Here, Love, be cautious--ne'er be thou betray'd To call in that wag Falstaff's dangerous aid; Like Goths of old, howe'er he seems a friend, He'll seize that throne you wish him to defend. In a peculiar mould by Humour cast, For Falstaff framed--himself the first and last-He stands aloof from all--maintains his state, And scorns, like Scotsmen, to assimilate. Vain all disguise--too plain we see the trick, Though the knight wears the weeds of Dominic; And Boniface disgraced, betrays the smack, In _anno Domini_, of Falstaff sack. Arms cross'd, brows bent, eyes fix'd, feet marching slow, A band of malcontents with spleen o'erflow; Wrapt in Conceit's impenetrable fog, Which Pride, like Phoebus, draws from every bog, They curse the managers, and curse the town Whose partial favour keeps such merit down. But if some man, more hardy than the rest, Should dare attack these gnatlings in their nest, At once they rise with impotence of rage, Whet their small stings, and buzz about the stage: 270 'Tis breach of privilege! Shall any dare To arm satiric truth against a player? Prescriptive rights we plead, time out of mind; Actors, unlash'd themselves, may lash mankind. What! shall Opinion then, of nature free, And liberal as the vagrant air, agree To rust in chains like these, imposed by things, Which, less than nothing, ape the pride of kings? No--though half-poets with half-players join To curse the freedom of each honest line; Though rage and malice dim their faded cheek, What the Muse freely thinks, she'll freely speak; With just disdain of every paltry sneer, Stranger alike to flattery and fear, In purpose fix'd, and to herself a rule, Public contempt shall wait the public fool. Austin would always glisten in French silks; Ackman would Norris be, and Packer, Wilkes: For who, like Ackman, can with humour please; Who can, like Packer, charm with sprightly ease? Higher than all the rest, see Bransby strut: A mighty Gulliver in Lilliput! Ludicrous Nature! which at once could show A man so very high, so very low! If I forget thee, Blakes, or if I say Aught hurtful, may I never see thee play. Let critics, with a supercilious air, Decry thy various merit, and declare Frenchman is still at top; but scorn that rage Which, in attacking thee, attacks the age. French follies, universally embraced, At once provoke our mirth, and form our taste. Long, from a nation ever hardly used, At random censured, wantonly abused, Have Britons drawn their sport; with partial view Form'd general notions from the rascal few; Condemn'd a people, as for vices known, Which from their country banish'd, seek our own. At length, howe'er, the slavish chain is broke, And Sense, awaken'd, scorns her ancient yoke: Taught by thee, Moody, we now learn to raise Mirth from their foibles; from their virtues, praise. 271 Next came the legion which our summer Bayes, From alleys, here and there, contrived to raise, Flush'd with vast hopes, and certain to succeed, With wits who cannot write, and scarce can read. Veterans no more support the rotten cause, No more from Elliot's worth they reap applause; Each on himself determines to rely; Be Yates disbanded, and let Elliot fly. Never did players so well an author fit, To Nature dead, and foes declared to wit. So loud each tongue, so empty was each head, So much they talk'd, so very little said, So wondrous dull, and yet so wondrous vain, At once so willing, and unfit to reign, That Reason swore, nor would the oath recall, Their mighty master's soul inform'd them all. As one with various disappointments sad, Whom dulness only kept from being mad, Apart from all the rest great Murphy came-Common to fools and wits, the rage of fame. What though the sons of Nonsense hail him Sire, Auditor, Author, Manager, and Squire, His restless soul's ambition stops not there; To make his triumphs perfect, dub him Player. In person tall, a figure form'd to please, If symmetry could charm deprived of ease; When motionless he stands, we all approve; What pity 'tis the thing was made to move. His voice, in one dull, deep, unvaried sound, Seems to break forth from caverns under ground; From hollow chest the low sepulchral note Unwilling heaves, and struggles in his throat. Could authors butcher'd give an actor grace, All must to him resign the foremost place. When he attempts, in some one favourite part, To ape the feelings of a manly heart, His honest features the disguise defy, And his face loudly gives his tongue the lie. Still in extremes, he knows no happy mean, Or raving mad, or stupidly serene. In cold-wrought scenes, the lifeless actor flags; In passion, tears the passion into rags. 272 Can none remember? Yes--I know all must-When in the Moor he ground his teeth to dust, When o'er the stage he Folly's standard bore, Whilst Common-Sense stood trembling at the door. How few are found with real talents blest! Fewer with Nature's gifts contented rest. Man from his sphere eccentric starts astray: All hunt for fame, but most mistake the way. Bred at St Omer's to the shuffling trade, The hopeful youth a Jesuit might have made; With various readings stored his empty skull, Learn'd without sense, and venerably dull; Or, at some banker's desk, like many more, Content to tell that two and two make four; His name had stood in City annals fair, And prudent Dulness mark'd him for a mayor. What, then, could tempt thee, in a critic age, Such blooming hopes to forfeit on a stage? Could it be worth thy wondrous waste of pains To publish to the world thy lack of brains? Or might not Reason e'en to thee have shown, Thy greatest praise had been to live unknown? Yet let not vanity like thine despair: Fortune makes Folly her peculiar care. A vacant throne, high-placed in Smithfield, view. To sacred Dulness and her first-born due, Thither with haste in happy hour repair, Thy birthright claim, nor fear a rival there. Shuter himself shall own thy juster claim, And venal Ledgers puff their Murphy's name; Whilst Vaughan, or Dapper, call him which you will, Shall blow the trumpet, and give out the bill. There rule, secure from critics and from sense, Nor once shall Genius rise to give offence; Eternal peace shall bless the happy shore, And little factions break thy rest no more. From Covent Garden crowds promiscuous go, Whom the Muse knows not, nor desires to know; Veterans they seem'd, but knew of arms no more Than if, till that time, arms they never bore: Like Westminster militia train'd to fight, They scarcely knew the left hand from the right. 273 Ashamed among such troops to show the head, Their chiefs were scatter'd, and their heroes fled. Sparks at his glass sat comfortably down To separate frown from smile, and smile from frown. Smith, the genteel, the airy, and the smart, Smith was just gone to school to say his part. Ross (a misfortune which we often meet) Was fast asleep at dear Statira's feet; Statira, with her hero to agree, Stood on her feet as fast asleep as he. Macklin, who largely deals in half-form'd sounds, Who wantonly transgresses Nature's bounds, Whose acting's hard, affected, and constrain'd, Whose features, as each other they disdain'd, At variance set, inflexible and coarse, Ne'er know the workings of united force, Ne'er kindly soften to each other's aid, Nor show the mingled powers of light and shade; No longer for a thankless stage concern'd, To worthier thoughts his mighty genius turn'd, Harangued, gave lectures, made each simple elf Almost as good a speaker as himself; Whilst the whole town, mad with mistaken zeal, An awkward rage for elocution feel; Dull cits and grave divines his praise proclaim, And join with Sheridan's their Macklin's name. Shuter, who never cared a single pin Whether he left out nonsense, or put in, Who aim'd at wit, though, levell'd in the dark, The random arrow seldom hit the mark, At Islington, all by the placid stream Where city swains in lap of Dulness dream, Where quiet as her strains their strains do flow, That all the patron by the bards may know, Secret as night, with Rolt's experienced aid, The plan of future operations laid, Projected schemes the summer months to cheer, And spin out happy folly through the year. But think not, though these dastard chiefs are fled, That Covent Garden troops shall want a head: Harlequin comes their chief! See from afar The hero seated in fantastic car! 274 Wedded to Novelty, his only arms Are wooden swords, wands, talismans, and charms; On one side Folly sits, by some call'd Fun, And on the other his arch-patron, Lun; Behind, for liberty athirst in vain, Sense, helpless captive, drags the galling chain: Six rude misshapen beasts the chariot draw, Whom Reason loathes, and Nature never saw, Monsters with tails of ice, and heads of fire; 'Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimeras dire.' Each was bestrode by full as monstrous wight, Giant, dwarf, genius, elf, hermaphrodite. The Town, as usual, met him in full cry; The Town, as usual, knew no reason why: But Fashion so directs, and Moderns raise On Fashion's mouldering base their transient praise. Next, to the field a band of females draw Their force, for Britain owns no Salique law: Just to their worth, we female rights admit, Nor bar their claim to empire or to wit. First giggling, plotting chambermaids arrive, Hoydens and romps, led on by General Clive. In spite of outward blemishes, she shone, For humour famed, and humour all her own: Easy, as if at home, the stage she trod, Nor sought the critic's praise, nor fear'd his rod: Original in spirit and in ease, She pleased by hiding all attempts to please: No comic actress ever yet could raise, On Humour's base, more merit or more praise. With all the native vigour of sixteen, Among the merry troop conspicuous seen, See lively Pope advance, in jig, and trip Corinna, Cherry, Honeycomb, and Snip: Not without art, but yet to nature true, She charms the town with humour just, yet new: Cheer'd by her promise, we the less deplore The fatal time when Olive shall be no more. Lo! Vincent comes! With simple grace array'd, She laughs at paltry arts, and scorns parade: Nature through her is by reflection shown, Whilst Gay once more knows Polly for his own. 275 Talk not to me of diffidence and fear-I see it all, but must forgive it here; Defects like these, which modest terrors cause, From Impudence itself extort applause. Candour and Reason still take Virtue's part; We love e'en foibles in so good a heart. Let Tommy Arne,--with usual pomp of style, Whose chief, whose only merit's to compile; Who, meanly pilfering here and there a bit, Deals music out as Murphy deals out wit,-Publish proposals, laws for taste prescribe, And chaunt the praise of an Italian tribe; Let him reverse kind Nature's first decrees, And teach e'en Brent a method not to please; But never shall a truly British age Bear a vile race of eunuchs on the stage; The boasted work's call'd national in vain, If one Italian voice pollutes the strain. Where tyrants rule, and slaves with joy obey, Let slavish minstrels pour the enervate lay; To Britons far more noble pleasures spring, In native notes whilst Beard and Vincent sing. Might figure give a title unto fame, What rival should with Yates dispute her claim? But justice may not partial trophies raise, Nor sink the actress' in the woman's praise. Still hand in hand her words and actions go, And the heart feels more than the features show; For, through the regions of that beauteous face We no variety of passions trace; Dead to the soft emotions of the heart, No kindred softness can those eyes impart: The brow, still fix'd in sorrow's sullen frame, Void of distinction, marks all parts the same. What's a fine person, or a beauteous face, Unless deportment gives them decent grace? Bless'd with all other requisites to please, Some want the striking elegance of ease; The curious eye their awkward movement tires; They seem like puppets led about by wires. Others, like statues, in one posture still, Give great ideas of the workman's skill; 276 Wond'ring, his art we praise the more we view, And only grieve he gave not motion too. Weak of themselves are what we beauties call, It is the manner which gives strength to all; This teaches every beauty to unite, And brings them forward in the noblest light; Happy in this, behold, amidst the throng, With transient gleam of grace, Hart sweeps along. If all the wonders of external grace, A person finely turn'd, a mould of face, Where--union rare--expression's lively force With beauty's softest magic holds discourse, Attract the eye; if feelings, void of art, Rouse the quick passions, and inflame the heart; If music, sweetly breathing from the tongue, Captives the ear, Bride must not pass unsung. When fear, which rank ill-nature terms conceit, By time and custom conquer'd, shall retreat; When judgment, tutor'd by experience sage, Shall shoot abroad, and gather strength from age; When Heaven, in mercy, shall the stage release From the dull slumbers of a still-life piece; When some stale flower, disgraceful to the walk, Which long hath hung, though wither'd, on the stalk, Shall kindly drop, then Bride shall make her way, And merit find a passage to the day; Brought into action, she at once shall raise Her own renown, and justify our praise. Form'd for the tragic scene, to grace the stage With rival excellence of love and rage; Mistress of each soft art, with matchless skill To turn and wind the passions as she will; To melt the heart with sympathetic woe, Awake the sigh, and teach the tear to flow; To put on frenzy's wild, distracted glare, And freeze the soul with horror and despair; With just desert enroll'd in endless fame, Conscious of worth superior, Cibber came. When poor Alicia's madd'ning brains are rack'd, And strongly imaged griefs her mind distract, Struck with her grief, I catch the madness too, My brain turns round, the headless trunk I view! 277 The roof cracks, shakes, and falls--new horrors rise, And Reason buried in the ruin lies! Nobly disdainful of each slavish art, She makes her first attack upon the heart; Pleased with the summons, it receives her laws, And all is silence, sympathy, applause. But when, by fond ambition drawn aside, Giddy with praise, and puff'd with female pride, She quits the tragic scene, and, in pretence To comic merit, breaks down nature's fence, I scarcely can believe my ears or eyes, Or find out Cibber through the dark disguise. Pritchard, by Nature for the stage design'd, In person graceful, and in sense refined; Her art as much as Nature's friend became, Her voice as free from blemish as her fame, Who knows so well in majesty to please, Attemper'd with the graceful charms of ease? When, Congreve's favoured pantomime to grace, She comes a captive queen, of Moorish race; When love, hate, jealousy, despair, and rage With wildest tumults in her breast engage, Still equal to herself is Zara seen; Her passions are the passions of a queen. When she to murder whets the timorous Thane, I feel ambition rush through every vein; Persuasion hangs upon her daring tongue, My heart grows flint, and every nerve's new strung. In comedy--Nay, there, cries Critic, hold; Pritchard's for comedy too fat and old: Who can, with patience, bear the gray coquette, Or force a laugh with over-grown Julett? Her speech, look, action, humour, all are just, But then, her age and figure give disgust. Are foibles, then, and graces of the mind, In real life, to size or age confined? Do spirits flow, and is good-breeding placed In any set circumference of waist? As we grow old, doth affectation cease, Or gives not age new vigour to caprice? If in originals these things appear, Why should we bar them in the copy here? 278 The nice punctilio-mongers of this age, The grand minute reformers of the stage, Slaves to propriety of every kind, Some standard measure for each part should find, Which, when the best of actors shall exceed, Let it devolve to one of smaller breed. All actors, too, upon the back should bear Certificate of birth; time, when; place, where; For how can critics rightly fix their worth, Unless they know the minute of their birth? An audience, too, deceived, may find, too late, That they have clapp'd an actor out of date. Figure, I own, at first may give offence, And harshly strike the eye's too curious sense; But when perfections of the mind break forth, Humour's chaste sallies, judgment's solid worth; When the pure genuine flame by Nature taught, Springs into sense and every action's thought; Before such merit all objections fly-Pritchard's genteel, and Garrick's six feet high. Oft have I, Pritchard, seen thy wondrous skill, Confess'd thee great, but find thee greater still; That worth, which shone in scatter'd rays before, Collected now, breaks forth with double power. The 'Jealous Wife!' on that thy trophies raise, Inferior only to the author's praise. From Dublin, famed in legends of romance For mighty magic of enchanted lance, With which her heroes arm'd, victorious prove, And, like a flood, rush o'er the land of Love, Mossop and Barry came--names ne'er design'd By Fate in the same sentence to be join'd. Raised by the breath of popular acclaim, They mounted to the pinnacle of fame; There the weak brain, made giddy with the height, Spurr'd on the rival chiefs to mortal fight. Thus sportive boys, around some basin's brim, Behold the pipe-drawn bladders circling swim; But if, from lungs more potent, there arise Two bubbles of a more than common size, Eager for honour, they for fight prepare, Bubble meets bubble, and both sink to air. 279 Mossop attach'd to military plan, Still kept his eye fix'd on his right-hand man; Whilst the mouth measures words with seeming skill, The right hand labours, and the left lies still; For he, resolved on Scripture grounds to go, What the right doth, the left-hand shall not know, With studied impropriety of speech, He soars beyond the hackney critic's reach; To epithets allots emphatic state, Whilst principals, ungraced, like lackeys wait; In ways first trodden by himself excels, And stands alone in indeclinables; Conjunction, preposition, adverb join To stamp new vigour on the nervous line; In monosyllables his thunders roll, He, she, it, and we, ye, they, fright the soul. In person taller than the common size, Behold where Barry draws admiring eyes! When labouring passions, in his bosom pent, Convulsive rage, and struggling heave for vent; Spectators, with imagined terrors warm, Anxious expect the bursting of the storm: But, all unfit in such a pile to dwell, His voice comes forth, like Echo from her cell, To swell the tempest needful aid denies, And all adown the stage in feeble murmurs dies. What man, like Barry, with such pains, can err In elocution, action, character? What man could give, if Barry was not here, Such well applauded tenderness to Lear? Who else can speak so very, very fine, That sense may kindly end with every line? Some dozen lines before the ghost is there, Behold him for the solemn scene prepare: See how he frames his eyes, poises each limb, Puts the whole body into proper trim:-From whence we learn, with no great stretch of art, Five lines hence comes a ghost, and, ha! a start. When he appears most perfect, still we find Something which jars upon and hurts the mind: Whatever lights upon a part are thrown, We see too plainly they are not his own: 280 No flame from Nature ever yet he caught, Nor knew a feeling which he was not taught: He raised his trophies on the base of art, And conn'd his passions, as he conn'd his part. Quin, from afar, lured by the scent of fame, A stage leviathan, put in his claim, Pupil of Betterton and Booth. Alone, Sullen he walk'd, and deem'd the chair his own: For how should moderns, mushrooms of the day, Who ne'er those masters knew, know how to play? Gray-bearded veterans, who, with partial tongue, Extol the times when they themselves were young, Who, having lost all relish for the stage, See not their own defects, but lash the age, Received, with joyful murmurs of applause, Their darling chief, and lined his favourite cause. Far be it from the candid Muse to tread Insulting o'er the ashes of the dead: But, just to living merit, she maintains, And dares the test, whilst Garrick's genius reigns, Ancients in vain endeavour to excel, Happily praised, if they could act as well. But, though prescription's force we disallow, Nor to antiquity submissive bow; Though we deny imaginary grace, Founded on accidents of time and place, Yet real worth of every growth shall bear Due praise; nor must we, Quin, forget thee there. His words bore sterling weight; nervous and strong, In manly tides of sense they roll'd along: Happy in art, he chiefly had pretence To keep up numbers, yet not forfeit sense; No actor ever greater heights could reach In all the labour'd artifice of speech. Speech! is that all? And shall an actor found An universal fame on partial ground? Parrots themselves speak properly by rote, And, in six months, my dog shall howl by note. I laugh at those who, when the stage they tread, Neglect the heart, to compliment the head; With strict propriety their cares confined To weigh out words, while passion halts behind: 281 To syllable-dissectors they appeal, Allow them accent, cadence,--fools may feel; But, spite of all the criticising elves, Those who would make us feel, must feel themselves. His eyes, in gloomy socket taught to roll, Proclaim'd the sullen 'habit of his soul:' Heavy and phlegmatic he trod the stage, Too proud for tenderness, too dull for rage. When Hector's lovely widow shines in tears, Or Rowe's gay rake dependent virtue jeers, With the same cast of features he is seen To chide the libertine, and court the queen. From the tame scene, which without passion flows, With just desert his reputation rose; Nor less he pleased, when, on some surly plan, He was, at once, the actor and the man. In Brute he shone unequall'd: all agree Garrick's not half so great a Brute as he. When Cato's labour'd scenes are brought to view, With equal praise the actor labour'd too; For still you'll find, trace passions to their root, Small difference 'twixt the Stoic and the Brute. In fancied scenes, as in life's real plan, He could not, for a moment, sink the man. In whate'er cast his character was laid, Self still, like oil, upon the surface play'd. Nature, in spite of all his skill, crept in: Horatio, Dorax, Falstaff,--still 'twas Quin. Next follows Sheridan. A doubtful name, As yet unsettled in the rank of fame: This, fondly lavish in his praises grown, Gives him all merit; that allows him none; Between them both, we'll steer the middle course, Nor, loving praise, rob Judgment of her force. Just his conceptions, natural and great, His feelings strong, his words enforced with weight. Was speech-famed Quin himself to hear him speak, Envy would drive the colour from his cheek; But step-dame Nature, niggard of her grace, Denied the social powers of voice and face. Fix'd in one frame of features, glare of eye, Passions, like chaos, in confusion lie; 282 In vain the wonders of his skill are tried To form distinctions Nature hath denied. His voice no touch of harmony admits, Irregularly deep, and shrill by fits. The two extremes appear like man and wife, Coupled together for the sake of strife. His action's always strong, but sometimes such, That candour must declare he acts too much. Why must impatience fall three paces back? Why paces three return to the attack? Why is the right leg, too, forbid to stir, Unless in motion semicircular? Why must the hero with the Nailor vie, And hurl the close-clench'd fist at nose or eye? In Royal John, with Philip angry grown, I thought he would have knock'd poor Davies down. Inhuman tyrant! was it not a shame To fright a king so harmless and so tame? But, spite of all defects, his glories rise, And art, by judgment form'd, with nature vies. Behold him sound the depth of Hubert's soul, Whilst in his own contending passions roll; View the whole scene, with critic judgment scan, And then deny him merit, if you can. Where he falls short, 'tis Nature's fault alone; Where he succeeds, the merit's all his own. Last Garrick came. Behind him throng a train Of snarling critics, ignorant as vain. One finds out--He's of stature somewhat low-Your hero always should be tall, you know; True natural greatness all consists in height. Produce your voucher, Critic.--Serjeant Kite. Another can't forgive the paltry arts By which he makes his way to shallow hearts; Mere pieces of finesse, traps for applause-'Avaunt! unnatural start, affected pause!' For me, by Nature form'd to judge with phlegm, I can't acquit by wholesale, nor condemn. The best things carried to excess are wrong; The start may be too frequent, pause too long: But, only used in proper time and place, Severest judgment must allow them grace. 283 If bunglers, form'd on Imitation's plan, Just in the way that monkeys mimic man, Their copied scene with mangled arts disgrace, And pause and start with the same vacant face, We join the critic laugh; those tricks we scorn Which spoil the scenes they mean them to adorn. But when, from Nature's pure and genuine source, These strokes of acting flow with generous force, When in the features all the soul's portray'd, And passions, such as Garrick's, are display'd, To me they seem from quickest feelings caught-Each start is nature, and each pause is thought. When reason yields to passion's wild alarms, And the whole state of man is up in arms, What but a critic could condemn the player For pausing here, when cool sense pauses there? Whilst, working from the heart, the fire I trace, And mark it strongly flaming to the face; Whilst in each sound I hear the very man, I can't catch words, and pity those who can. Let wits, like spiders, from the tortured brain Fine-draw the critic-web with curious pain; The gods,--a kindness I with thanks must pay,-Have form'd me of a coarser kind of clay; Not stung with envy, nor with spleen diseased, A poor dull creature, still with Nature pleased: Hence to thy praises, Garrick, I agree, And, pleased with Nature, must be pleased with thee. Now might I tell how silence reign'd throughout, And deep attention hush'd the rabble rout; How every claimant, tortured with desire, Was pale as ashes, or as red as fire; But loose to fame, the Muse more simply acts, Rejects all flourish, and relates mere facts. The judges, as the several parties came, With temper heard, with judgment weigh'd each claim; And, in their sentence happily agreed, In name of both, great Shakspeare thus decreed:-If manly sense, if Nature link'd with Art; If thorough knowledge of the human heart; If powers of acting vast and unconfined; If fewest faults with greatest beauties join'd; 284 If strong expression, and strange powers which lie Within the magic circle of the eye; If feelings which few hearts like his can know, And which no face so well as his can show, Deserve the preference--Garrick! take the chair; Nor quit it--till thou place an equal there. ~ Charles Churchill

--- IN CHAPTERS (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

0

   8 Psychology
   5 Occultism
   2 Philosophy
   2 Fiction
   1 Poetry
   1 Mythology
   1 Christianity


   8 Carl Jung
   3 Jordan Peterson
   2 Jorge Luis Borges
   2 H P Lovecraft
   2 Aldous Huxley


   4 Aion
   3 Mysterium Coniunctionis
   3 Maps of Meaning
   2 The Perennial Philosophy