The Airn-Wanderer:

WÆPEN WUNDUM SUNDORGENGA

Waes Ah! Waes Ah, noo!
Beguid! an’ Greatly, unco Greatly Hye, IT!
Wi'in Abysmal-Deep Primal Fyre, IT!
Great Fair Thor's Orrah!
Lookin’ yondir! lookin’ yondir, noo!
Afore avidly, unco avidly
Drank hynne Ah! Great Warlike Orrah!
The Gowblat o’ Noble Precious Gowd Shimmerin':
Gleamin’ further, IT! Ane an' the Same, hynne!
Wi' the Verra Glare frae Bein' o' Power Supreme!
Gift Invincibly Purified IT, hynne!
Thad Enraged Wotan’s ain Verra Chalice o’ mine,
An’ Toast frae Hye-HEREHAND!
Great, in Fyre Ragin' noo, Ullr's Orrah!
Frae Noble Valhalla Rairan Deep
Wi’ ITS Metal Fiery Soul, hynne!
Orra Skye-Substance, orra Skye-Schorcin’ o’ mine!
Noo, verra unco! Core-Martially stylle grabbin’,
Wi’ Black Leather Glove
O’ Total Dazzlin’, an' Verra, Verra ​Core-Abysmal, IT!
Whyte-War, hynne!

ÞUNORE HWÍT CEALLA,

Fyre-Flowin’, the Verra Northumbrian Mead!  
Livin’, Tasty wi’ Pow’r, Great Warlike Orrah!
Niflheim-Watery, IT!

BEADWE, MĪN SWÆTAN,

Frae yon Ironclad Norþan-hymbre!
Frae Hel Itself Delicious,
Unco dyrinkin’, downe the hatch!
Hynne Ah,
My by-gone Days left orra Aflame:
Great Vision! Great Bellum! noo dyin’ o’ mine!
Whileas stylle waes hynne Ah!
Thro’ the Bare Highlands Dreary,
‘Yont South Ruins’ Bluish Burnan Wa,
Deep-Wanderin’,
In search for the Verra Lightnin’ Raed,
An' Flashin' Guide o' mine Devastatingly Immortal!

BĒOWES RĒADA FÝRTORR,

O’er Thae Cauld Moorlan Heights hynne,
Leisurely, implacably, Great Warlike Orrah!
Amyd Hye Rocky Smeddum all abowt me
Strollin’,
Intae the Verra Mirk Unfathomable,
Airn-Flesh o’ mine, hynne
Throwin’,
An' my Wise an’ Bold an’ Proud!
Sensual Noble Dame,
Gerðr galdrs Scho!

MĪN FÆÐMLICE OND BRYNIGE CWÝNE
SÉO HYGEÞRYMME ÁDRÍEGEÞ,

A' Oor Inflamed Naychts! Verra Wyntry Naychts!
Afore the Sacral Stane-Hearth:

WINTRES WÍDERFEORLIC HEORÐ,
HWÆR ÆFRE OND LÍGBRYNE
ÚSERE BRÆD GEMETEÞ,

Stylle deep-burnin',
Guid, Verra Guid Bleezan Orrah!
Scho unco weall! Scho unco weall! Ah say!
Rememberin',
In Lang Robes o' Deep Crimson Fyre, noo!
Her Superior Womanhood,
Full! An' divinely, orra divinely!
Thro' Her Glowin' Mystery Sinuous, o'er endowed!
Hynne stylle, unco ardently! in Primal Lowes, fully Sinuous!
Whare, Thys weall! weall! Scho unco knew!
Ah! Guid, Verra Guid Thundir's Orrah!
Used tae ay lose! nae abeigh!
Wi'in an Abyss Interminable an' Endless Contynent!
Ay, Great Guid Orrah! Masell!
An’ Verra Firey! sinuously Trowe! Verra Soul!
Unco tightly, wi' Norland Passion
Stylle profoundly Wemenlie o' Hers!
Shrouded,
Scho saw me! Scho orra saw me!
Noo, wi’ Courage Ablaze an’ unco Wreððe
Ascendin’
To orra desire! to orra possess,
To hae IT! To unco hae IT! back again!
Ah! LEOFLIC IREN HÁTAN!
The Lone Airn-Wanderer, SUNDORGENGA, Ah!
Frae yon Auld Götaland:

LAND GUMCYNNES GEAT-MÆCGUM,
BEADWE-HEARPENÆGLES EORÐRÍCE,

My ain Lost, the OVERMAN'S HIS-SEL!
Great, Great Mjölnir's Warlike Orrah!
Wi’ Bluish Skye-Gore, frae Thae Cauld Heights
Unco! Verra, Verra Guid O'erhuman,
Hynne, neist tae the Forgotten Firey Ruin!
Totally 'Yont-Human! The DAZZLIN' OVERMAN'S AIN!
Ah noo say! Ah noo tae the Moorlan Stormy Cluds yell! Orrah!
Skye-Imbued

Thundir-Bluid:

NORÐÞUNRES WÆLDRÉOR

Tae feel IT hynne! Tae unco feel IT:
Great Guid Warlike Orrah!
Total, unco Total, in Full New Skye-Gore IT!
Verra, Verra Thor-Hye!
Frae afarre! yet tae me Verra, Verra Skye-Close!
Rumblin' Skye-Destruction o’ mine!
Hynne Total Skye-Rebirth O'erhuman,
An' the Roaran', unco Skye-Roaran', IT!
Great Kvasir's Warlike Orrah!
Afore the Verra Disc o' the Full Mowne Murky,
Orra, unco, IT! in the East Dreary skye-risin', IT!
'Yont-Human, Great Jörð's Orrah!
Supreme Transformation!

WULFES GENIWUNG,

Wi' the New Skye-Knowledge Scorchin'
Owre, owre imbued!
An' in the Soarin' Zenith-Fyre
Deeply, deeply hawkan IT, hynne!
Thro' Thad Cauld Moorlan Secret
Ah am noo about to owre yell,
Frae the Thundir's yon Rumblin'
Verra, Verra Skye-Pride!
Intae my Veins Fiery
Fore’er an’ e’er, wi’ Ragin’ Skye-Bluish Hue
Noo flowin’,
Com on! Com on, hynne!
Dearest Mountayn-Thunderbolt o’ mine!
Taukin’ Ah noo am to ye stylle!
Struck me deep! struck me noo, Ah yell!
Great Fair Thor's Orrah! deep,

ÍSENSCÚR,

For fully Covered! orra Skye-Covered hynne!
In Feudal Skye-Airn Indestructible
Am Ah heare! for ye noo!
Tae attract hynne! out o' Thad Norland Verra Blue!
As the Skye-Magnet attracts the Rare Shinin' Metal,
Yer deadly Skye-Rage wpon Airn-Skynne o' mine!
Tae catalyze hynne yer loudly tellin',
Frae Yon Abysmal Distance! Lone Skye-Voice,

SCÍRHAM IC! BEADWE LÍGETUNG,

Whyle Ah stylle! intae Hye Lowes unco climb
Thad Cauld Rocky Soil,
Whyle Ah stylle unco tell
Thad Vision, most Solitarie o’ mine,
Whyle Ah stylle restlessly, implacably seek
My ain Lost Skye-Sel!
The Hye, Verra Hye! Adamantine Person o' the OVERMAN!

SUNSCÍNE SEOLF OND LINDGEBORGA,

Want Ah! truly unco, want Ah! owre want Ah, hynne!
Beguid an’ Great Guid! Hôm Loga Himna Orrah!
Noo, richte noo!
This kin Ah! still noo unco truly yell!
'Yont yon Whunstane Stronghold's Mirk Well!
Feel, unco o'erhumanly live, hynne!
Thad Continual Flashin’
Frae the Grayish Leaden Moorlan Cluds
Noo the Zenith-Sunne Invisible behynde
Hye-glorifyin’!
Thro’ the Verra Tundir Voice o'er an' o'er echoin,
In shape o’ Norland Hammer frae the Battle, IT!
Intae Veins Skye-Bluish o’ mine!

NORÐANWINDE! BLÓDWRACU OND FÆHÞ,

Next tae my Feudal Airn-Side noo still wounded
By Enemy an' Cowardly, tae Human, tae Cowardly!
Frae the Distance, hynne! shot at me!
Still Mortal Arrows!
Nae Fear, hynne! tae Earthly! tae Miserable,
Surpassingly Miserable, IT! unto the Verra Core!
To the Hye Fair-Haired Gods,
In Strang Norland Dignity an' Supreme Pow'r,
An' Skye-Vengeance frae Enraged Sacral Thule blowin'!
Noo! thro' Noble an' Future Skye-Gore o' mine schawe!
In my stylle the Verra Lightnin':

VICTORIAE SANGUINISQUE SIGNUM
OVERMAN

Noo implacably approachin'!
An’ ye! Sweyt an’ Scaur Enemies, not Quhone all ye!
Ye still cannae, cannae hear?
Yell an’ Furious Bellum, aye!
Frae Loud Thundir-Voice o’ mine?
Skye-Crash frae my Battle-Wounds IT:

MĪN HEORUDREÓR GLADAÞ,

Wi'in yer ignoble ears noo!
Wnto the Sacral Open Blue
Risin’ unco Freed!
Ye still want to *** to orra Heaven?
Hynne, heyre Ah am!
Com on! Com on! All ye Cowards!
Thys is whate Ah orra cam for!
Fecht me! Hand-to-Hand Strang!
Do signal the Attack!

ÞINE UNEARH GÚÐÞRACU OND GEWEALC,
ÞUNORRÁDE, MĪN HILDERÆS!

Glitterin’ Skye Axe-Blade o’ mine winna, IT
Cease to wait to orra shatter,
In a single Thundir-Blow, all yer Targes!
Com on! Com on hynne! ye Cowards!
Do noo hae the Warlike Verra Guts to taste
Gleamin' VARGS UNDA Alone o' mine!
O'er ye thys single Thundir-Blow pourin'!
Ye want still to unco give
Unto Enraged Airn o’ mine, Wonner IT, lo!
Yer Hand-to-Hand, hynne Feudal an’ Essential
Battle-Bluid?

HEOLFRE ANWIG,

Wha hynne want to be the First?
Wha hynne ready is noo to unco suffer
Frae my Verra Skye-Airn noo Skye-Flashin'!
Gunnþinga Called, IT!
Hys, alongside the Skye-Foreign, Nadir's ain!
Miserable, tae earthly, tae human orra Defeat?
Fecht Ah! for the Glare an’ Hye Glory O'erhuman
Frae Bein’ as Pow’r, Bluish-Firey IT!

ÞUNORES HAMOR,

Hynne heyre glowran at ye Ah unco stand!
Wi’ Great Clan-Vermillion Wyld Wraith o’ mine
Hye, Norland-Fair, an’ orra Warlike!
Wi’ Battle-Axe o’ mine gleamin’,
Unner yon War-Glare, ne’er, ne’er settin’,
An’ the Sunne’s ain Disc Refulgent,

BLŌDE ANWEALD, HWÍTE HEAÐUSIGEL,

Wnto deep the Wanwordie World, Mirk hynne, IT!
Richte, orra Ancestral an' Warlike Richte!
Greatly, unco greatly! Flamin'-Firey an' Zenith-Supreme, IT!
Verra Iron-Curse Blindin'!
An’ He cam! the Thunderbolt at length
Unto me He orra cam!
Thus struck waes Ah!
My Flesh, an' Bluid, an' Spirit!
Intae Thor's ain Skye-Force
At once turnin'
Tae greatly, tae unco! Verra Guid Orrah! see
Thro' Nyow Total Skye-Blindness O'erhuman o' mine!
Altogether hynne noo, Great Guid Saxon Orrah!
The Forerunnin’ Presence noo Devastatin’
Wnto me, stick-an-stowe, noo orra IT! comin',

IRSERN-SCÉAWERE IC,
CWIOFYRES BURHWEARD,
BÆLÞRACE OND BRYNEWIELMA GEBORGA,

Frae thowa, IT! in Primal Wreððe

Skye-Essences
Or
Twæȝe Strang Sunnes

Hwenne! Beguid an’ Great, Great Warlike Orrah!
Out-owre Hye Mountayn Glade, sic unco Wide:
The Cauld Vitrified Fort  
Wha's Sharp Surroundin' Gleamin' Wa
Thro' Hye Heat Monumental generated!
TAP O' NOTH waes:

FÆRBRYNE GLÆSFÆTES STANWEORC,

In Thundir-Bluid an’ Frame,
An' further unco Skye-Imbued Ah!
Wi' the Earthly Unidentified Energy
Frae thad Towerin' Verra Steid,
Noo still walkin’,
At length thare surveyed hynne Ah!
Wi’ Fyre-Sight, Deep-Penetratin’ IT,
An’ Auldfarran, Lucid Reason o’ mine,
The Heaven’s Blue Verra Vault:
Proud Storm-Shrine, Dearest o’ mine!
Ane wi’ my Skye-Rage Hye,  
An’ the Atmosphere, waes IT, waes IT,
Intolerably close, yet unco Potent, Heimdall-Divine!
Hynne beheld Ah, lo!
TWA ESSENCES O’ FYRE!

BRYNEWIELMUM CAMPWUDA,

Intangible, Untouchable, Impenetrable, baith Thay,
O’er the Whole Uranic Skye-Arch,
Their Skye-Dominion an’ Primordial Skye-Dignity
Unco haudin’:
The Essence o’ the ΛOΓΟΣ an’ the Essence o’ the REAL, Thay:

STĪELENRA-HEÁÐUSIGELA FÝRBÆREAN
GÆDERSCYPE OND GLÉDEGESA
ÞĀ HLŪDE BECWÆDON,

Twa! Tangible, Visible MICHTY SRANG SUNNES!
Twa, hynne! Let me stylle noo distinctly remember!
Unco Martially an' Norland Colourful!
Great Orrah! Rotatin', Thay A'! Thay A'!
Great Lone Sight o' mine!
Splintered nae! Round Shields o' War Dazzlin':
Ský Skǫglar frae the Auld Wondie Hólmganga, Thay!
Frae Auld! Verra, indeed Verra primevaly Auld!
Thro' Deep the Firey Tyme Conquerin', an' Ruthless,
An' towardis the Fleysche, Fallacious hynne Mortal, unforgivin'!
Crucial Gory Soil in yon 537 A.D. CAMLANN called
Thad haes bin, IT! a Witness tae my ain Shed Battle-Bluid!

BRYTENCYNING,
IC WIÞGEHÆFTE HINE, BLÁCAN ÁNWÍGE,
EFENLÍCAN GÚÐHERE BLÆDE,

Meany, Meany Kingdomes, an' Onslaughts,
A' Bluish-Ironclad Thay, ago!   
Hynne noo, whileas Ah stylle speak, Immortal am, an' waes awready!
Yet Thad nae, nae enough IT proved
Afore the Presence Devastatin' o' the OVERMAN!
Stylle, Ah knew, HE noo in waitin'!
HE WHA! HE WHA! HE WHA unco:
The Verra ENS! thro' the Dazzlin' Skye-Bluish Revenge o' HYS,  
Hynne Mine!
Tae the Yieldin' Ground o'ershadows! an' in an Ultimate Whyte War
Flashin' tae Fathomless Eternity, in Gore Shinin' defeats!
Intense Meanin' Primordial o' Battle Fierce baith Thae!
Hynne unco embodyin',
Afore thys, thro’ Verra Lowe penetratin’,
An’ wi’ Hye, Verra, Verra Skye-Hye!
Thundir-Bluid Thunderous
Awa, awa flowin’ IT, orra!
Loneliest Vision o’ mine:

GEBYLD,

When, Great Thundir’s Orrah!
Wi’ a speed Wicked yet Prodigious, lo! Sublime,
Closer, closer, wi’ the Impetus frae Twa Skye-Rams Wyld
They orra cam!
An’ in a Common Skye-Embrace!
Their Dazzlin’ Blades o’ Vibrant Steel!
Hynne crossin’,
Thus unco, owre imbued waes, waes Ah!
Wi' Thad Verra Hye Steel-Glare, Ah!
Wi' Thad intae Deep Fyre afore Wounded Step o' Mine meltin',
Feudal, unco Feudal Skye-Knowledge, an' Airn-Revenge!
An' advanced wi' Firm Martial Gait hynne, towardis
The Lonely Gleamin', Flashingly Firey,
Rewb-Gem o' Moorlan War Forgotten,
Thro' ITS Sheer Inner Foirce hynne unco Reddenin'!

HERECIRME, RÉOD GIMCYNN,

Whileas the Stellar Wynde silently ensued
Frae Thad Last Titanic Encounter an’ Battle,
Wi’ unco deafenin’ Core-Clash,
Frae Thor’s His-sel, again,
The Whispered Warlike Voice!
Hynne intae Ane Nucleus Whyte
At length blendin’, afore wnto me
Noo orra comin’ IT:

The Shield-Blinding:

DÆGSCIELD GEBLENDAÞ

For rendered orra, orra sightless!
Waes Ah noo,
Yet still able to distinctly behold,
An’ e’en deeper, unco deeper! Great Warlike Orrah!
The Verra Dazzlin’ Core, IT!
Wi’ Verra Bluish Flash, an’ the Skye-Gore
Frae Thundir-Eyes noo o’ mine
Sheer Sharp, IT!
For Thad Sudden Thundir-Blindin’ o’ Mine!
Ah am noo taukin’ abowt,
Great Dunnottar’s an’ Tantallon’s Orrah!
Gift Supreme frae Hye the Zenith-Skye!
Orra Skye-Generous hynne, IT!
Intae an All-Powerful, unco All-Powerful, Ah say!
An’ All-Seein’ Thundir-Force
Thundir-O’erhuman, hynne frae the Thundir ‘Yont-Human!
IT, in Hye Fyre! Skye-turned,
An’ New Unknown Fiery Demons IT
Orra, orra! unveiled:

ÁGLÆCAN WUNDORSÉON,

Athwart Noble Airn-Person o’ mine,
Thro’ the Cauld Blast frae Thad Moorlan Wynde
O’er an’ o’er fallin’,
For the Verra Skye-Vision o’ the OVERMAN,
Guid Orrah! Great Warlike Thundir’s Orrah!
Unco Profound IT waes!
An’ unco killed IT the Unprepared,
For waes IT for nae Unworthy Skellum  
To Feud an’ Sword Foreign!
An’ the Whole Wnivers, in a Verra Flash,
Thro’ the Same Auld an’ New Thunderbolt
Ah waes lookin’ for,
Penetrated IT orra waes:
THE HERACLITEAN, DEVASTATINGLY PROPHETIC, IT!
FIERY SKYE-FORCE!
FRAE THE VERRA AIRN-PERSON
STEEL-CONCRETE, IT!
DAZZLINGLY 'YONT-TELLURIAN AN' SKYE-CENTRAL!
O' THE OVERMAN:
THE 'YONT-HUMAN HYNNE NAE HUMAN!
THAD LIKE CONQUERIN', RAGIN' WHYTE-FYRE,
WI'IN THE YIELDIN' MURKY MIRK VOID SHINES!
INCANDESCENT O'ERHUMAN VERRA BODY!
THAD MINE AIN, AH KNEW,
SUNE AN' SYNE! UPON THAE BENS DREARY,
IT SHALL, GREAT GUID ORRAH! BE!
AN' WHA'S NOBLE AN' SOLEMN NAIM
HYE! HYE! THE ETHER'S AIN SKYE-SUBSTANCE
INTAE ALL-FERVID LOWES AN' METALLIC BRILLIANCY
TURNIN'

ΥΠΕΡ-ΚΕΡΑΥΝOΣ

WAES! THUNDIR-CONSCIOUS, AN’ DIRECTIN’,
THUNDIR-DESTROYIN’, HYNNE CRAETIN',
O’ER ALL THUNDIR-DOMINATIN’,
TO THE INFINITE UNCO THUNDIR-GROWIN’,
MINE AIN BLUISH MOORLAN BLUID
TO THE INFINITE ORRA THUNDIR-FEEDIN’,
Together hynne wi’ my Arteries o’ Skye-Blue
In Baith Spirit an’ the Verra Flow,
When orra struck again waes Ah!
Wnto Verra Death, an’ e’en ‘yont! waur e’en waur!
Skye-Waur, Great Warlike Orrah!
Towardis the Verra Dazzlin’
Skye-Weregild o’ Gowd:

GOLDWEARDA FORNÉÐAN,

For the Loneliest Vision o’ mine
To in Fyre, still unco blinded Ah!
Distinctly behold,
At bein’ hynne, Great Warlike Orrah!
The Sole Ironclad Witness
O’ my by-gone Path Aflame,
Intae ‘Yont-Human Will o’ mine!
Noo unco forged, Great Hye Orrah!
Wnto the Auld Bluid-Rock o’ Rebel Sacrifice
Far awa! in the Snowy Caucasus
Nae longer IT chained!

HRINGUM SWEORCAN,

Meanwhile, lo! At my Mirk Cloaked Back,
Behold ye! Another Identical Skye-Fusion!
For Twa Dazzlin’ Whyte Glows,
Symmetrical Unco Mirrors They,
As if frae Myrddin’s ain Magic,
To View o’ mine orra appeared:
Perfect Pow’r o’ Infinite Reflection, They!
Mine ain Past, my ain Future!
Baith embodyin’,
An’ waes stylle Ah!
Intae the Verra Middle o’ the Glare
Standin’
Wi’ Gleamin’ Claymore drawn, Dearest o’ mine!
Thundir-Hurt stylle, afore noo the

Destroyer of the Past:

ÍSIGE CWYLMING

An’ noo, Guid, Verra, Verra Guid o’ Gowd
Warlike Orrah!
Thus willed Ah! the OVERMAN!

BISENE WRECEND,

Freish an’ Auld! Airn-Feudal an’ Strang!

DUGUÞMIHTUM OND HEORUSWENGE,
ĒACEN BIÞ ŌFER-MANN,

Wi’ Michty Inner Energy o’ mine
Great Feudal Orrah! unco Alone!
Wha's Sole Hye Naim Firey OVERWILL!
IT unco, oan the Gory Battlefield, Ah weall knew IT waes!
Frae the Verra Skye-Dragun! A' Destroyin' hynne HE!
Intae the Deep Fyre, wi' HYS Beastly Wings thus orra spread,
Unco, prodigiously o'er A' HE hoverin',
Towardis the Past allwayes Dreadful e'en, hynne!
Wi’ HYS Scales o’ Enraged Gowd,
The Shinin’ Horror wi’in the Skye, IT!

FÝRDRACAN GLÆD GRYREBRÓGA
SÉ FORÞGEWITENNESSE UNWYRCÐ,

Skye-Perfect! intae the Mirror-Glare Image o' mine, HE!
The OVERMAN o' Deep Fyre,
Th'gither wi' my ain Reflected Bluid, hynne!
Noo, in Feudal Tartane-War stylle thundir-flowin'!
More intensely! o'er an' o'er in Steel hynne,
HYS Supreme Presence greatly tae the Infinite!
Orra skye-increasing!
Intae the noo Unleashed Skye-Pow’r!
Unto my Wounded Spirit o'er an' o'er
Hynne HE skye-returnin’!
As ane wi’ the Moorlan Rumblin’ Thunderbolt
Ah waes lookin’ for,
The Sacral Dazzlin’ Chain Mail Ablaze:

SCÉAWERE-HRÉOH,

In the Skye-Identity e'en most Skye-Asolute IT!
My ain! HE orra, unco flashingly wearin’,
Thus willed Ah! Past o’ mine back IT!
In Feudal Person o’ HYS, my ain! empowered:
GORY GHAIST! by-gone Immortal o’ mine IT!
Still orra Alive an’ Fiery!
Flowin’ an’ flashin’
Thad not Identical unto ITSELF IT waes!
Hynne unto ITSELF most identical!
Quhenne! in Feudal Airn-Flesh o’ HYS,
Great Warlike Orrah!
Thro’ Ragin’ Skye an’ Earthly Pride at once IT,
Most fleshily, intae Hye Fyre Purifin’
Waes incarnated,
Thus willed Ah, Future o’ mine, tae, hynne!
Wi’ the Iyce Cross o’er Moorlan Coat o’ Arms,
Frae Noble Dundarg’s Hye Wa,
In Feudal Steel, Greater, unco Greater IT!
Shimmerin’,
For the Past lived in the Verra Bluid o’ HYS,
Thynce thro' Hye Firey Gore Immortal:  

FULMINE VICTOR
MAGNUS INVICTUSQUE
OVERMAN

Let me Thys, NOBLE GLAMIS’ GREAT ORRAH!
Truly, unco truly yell! waes IT potentiated,
An’ sae waes the Future, stylle my Verra, Verra Ain!
Wnto Dazzlin’ Airn-***** o’ mine  
Wi’ Increasin’ Ocean’s Rage Tempestuous
Fore’er returnin’,

CRÆFTUM OND RÝNE STÍELE!
BEADUWÆPEN,

Intae Single Will O’erhuman
An’ Unforgivin’ Continuum, as Ane,
Whare Ye! Dearest Hye Thundir o’ mine!
At the Verra Skye-Zenith,
Still silently dwell!  
Hynne willed Ah! my ain Image
Frae the Past! Frae the Future! wi’ unco Force,
At once IT emergin’,
Towardis the Past! Towardis the Future! wi’ orra Dignity,
At once IT rushin’,
Intae the Implacable Spiral o’ Becomin’
Thad Ane wi’ the Verra Vortex o’ Return
IT! Great Warlike Orrah! waes,
The Past burnin’, the Future hynne IT affirmin’,
An’ unto the Verra Skye-Core!
GREAT HÖÐR’S AN’ WOTAN’S ORRAH!
Directed,
Noo afore my ain wi’ Fyre Wounded Eyes,
Thro’ each Revolution, ITS unco Strength,
Great Warlike Norland Orrah!
Unto the Fathomless Fiery Infinite
Increasin’:
The Verra Mountayn Thunderbolt!
Ah waes lookin’ for,
For the Increase o’ Pow’r ne’er Identical
Unto itself IT waes,
Hynne waes unto Itself most identical!
As noo met wi’ Ah

THE DESTROYER O’ THE PAST,
THE CREATOR O’ THE FUTURE,
O’ LYFE FORE’ER CHANGIN’
THE GREAT AFFIRMATOR,
HYE SKYE-VEINS O’ HYS
O’ERHUMAN, MY AIN!
THE IRONCLAD INCARNATOR
AN’ THE FEUDAL WITNESS!
O’ MY BURNAN MOUNTAYN-PATH
DYIN’:
THUNDIR-FRAME O’ MINE, HE!
STRONGER! STRONGER!
O’ER AN’ O’ER,
UNTO MY BY-GONE DAYS BLEEZAN,
AN’ THE ROARAN’ FUTURE!
AS MOLTEN SKYE-GOWD INCORRUPTIBLE
NOO RETURNIN’,
WHAR IMMORTALITY ITSELF HYNNE,
IN FORE’ER INCRESIN’
HYE FYRE AN’ BATTLE-GORE,
O’ERSHADOWED IT WAES,  
INTAE DEEP THE WHYTE SPIRAL,
SKYE-RECURRENCE INCANDESCENT, IT!
ANE WI’ THE LONE IRONCLAD IMAGE
UNTO VERRA, VERRA PERFECTION!
SKYE-SPECULAR O' MINE!
SCORCHIN' AN' SHININ' AN' UNCO TANGIBLE, HE!
THE CLOAKED SKYE-FIGURE
THAD WAES NOO
'YONT THAD AULD FORGOTTEN WA,
MY BLEEDIN' SKYE-COURAGE
IN WARLIKE SILENCE AWAITIN',
FRAE THE DEPTHS O' THE ROTATIN’ SKYE-ENERGY,

WEALHFÆRELDES DÆGWÓMA,

PROUDLY AN' INVINCIBLY SKYE-STANDIN'!
WHAR, GUID SKYE ORRAH!
FIERY WOE INTAE FEUDAL STEEL MELTIN',
DEEPER AN' NOBLER IT PROVED!
AN’ WI’ DAZZLIN' SKYE-REVENGE
O'ER AN' O'ER, GREAT THOR'S ORRAH!
IT SUPREMELY, IN BLUISH NORLAND AIRN FLASHED!

For, lo! the Verra Blank frae the Past
Together wi’ ITS Inevitable Feud-Foreign Woe
Hauntin’
Thad cannae be avoided hynne!
Mirk an’ Invisible, IT!
It nae longer existed! It nae longer existed!
For unco filled noo IT waes
By the Devourin’ Lone Lowe an’ the Verra Frame:
The Chain-Mailed, Heated in Airn War-Wame
O’ THE OVERMAN! HE:
WILL, AS THE VERRA INNER ENERGY!
VIGOUR, AS THE VERRA INNER WILL!
FRAE THE PAST, FRAE THE FUTURE!
TANGIBLE, VISIBLE, INCARNATED,
NOBLE WYLD DRAGON,
SKYE-BEAST O’ MINE,

GRYREBRÓGA OND FÆRGRYRE,
WUNDORA WYRM! ÚHT-SCEAÞA HÉ!

FYRE-WOUNDED IN NAE GOWD-CAGE, HE!
O'ER SKYE-SPIRIT O' MINE,
HE! HYNNE, UNCO SKYE-FLYIN'!
WI’ HYS SKYE-GORE O’ER THE BARS INVISIBLE
TRULY MINE AIN! GREAT GUID ORRAH!
DOWNE, DOWNE! NOO
LIKE THE PUREST RHODIUM
WI' THE FYRE-BLUISH
SKYE-ARTERIES O' THE LONE THUNDERBOLT
AH WAES LOOKIN' FOR
AGAIN UNCO BLENDIN',
Unto at Braemar the Verra Battle-Gore,
Afore the Lang Hour, in Kyng Eochaid’s
Martial Hidden Lore,
By the Force o’ Flowin’ Lava
Frae the Cauld an’ Dreary Highlands Implacable
Echoin’
Thad Becomin’ as Increase in Pow’r
IT, Great, Great Orrah! waes,
Backwards intae Tyme! Intae the Future hynne!
For the OVERWILL kan IT!
Destroye the Feud-Foreign Gory Bygane!
When o’er the Gleamin’ Skye-Cuirass
O’ the HYE OVERMAN ALONE!
IT lies visible an’ yieldin’ an’ razed an’ burnin'!
When o’er the New Soil o’ Dazzlin’ Alabaster
Conquerin’
Intae Deep the Future, thro’ Renewed Rage
An' yon Incandescent Skye-Thundir!
Ah waes lookin' for,
HE! My Specular Skye-Incarnation!
Fore'er orra creates!
Whileas thae words, in Roaran’ Wreððe,
Flame-Wounded,
Ah still loudly whisper,
But lo! Great Warlike Orrah!
THE IYCE CROSS FIREY
O’er Mirk War-Tartan, Dearest o’ mine!
Next to Dundarg’s Hye Wa, Ah well remember!
Embroidered,
Close to my Ruby Brooch strangely IT,
Unco strangely, like a Verra Premonition
Gleamed, afore noo

The Mirror-Fusion:

WĒOHES MELTAN

When, lo! Airn an’ Thundir!
Great Immortal Warlike Orrah!
Thro’ the Loud Whisper o’ the Thundir
Ah waes lookin’ for,  
The Image o’ the OVERMAN
Detached ITSELF, lo!
Frae baith the Surfaces in the Twa Opposed Mirrors:
Frae baith thae Reflectin' Skye-Furnaces Gleamin'!
Afore Noble Feudal Person o' mine,
Unco Sightless! Still unco Skye-Sightless!
E'en more! noo unco Sightless!
HE hynne, orra Ah beheld cam!
Wha’s Supreme Hieland Emanatin’ Force
Frae the Directin’ Skye-Lightnin’, IT!
Ah waes lookin’ for,
Na orra, orra Prodigious Sight!
Nae e’en Vör’s, or Heimdallur’s, or Snotra’s Ain!
If nae in Thundir Skye-Blinded as noo Mine!
Cuid, cuid IT! humanly, still tae humanly!  
This noo Ah! in Thad Skye-Fyre ‘Yont-Human!
Soarin’ heare in Dignity o’er Tap o’ Noth’s
Black Vitreous Smeddum an’ Cauld Martial Sand,
Cannae, cannae doubt!
Thro’ Thad Flashin’ Skye-Reflection withstand,
Frae the Past! frae the Future, hynne!
Great Warlike Orrah!
To encounter Spirit Ablaze o’ mine,
To Unleash Wyld Beast Immortal
Thad My Verra Mountayn Path  
Guarded still,
Some Bluish Bluid Stains IT leavin’
O’er the Michty an’ Pure Glass still:
My ain! frae the Clash o’ Life,  
An’ noo! Great, Great Warlike Orrah!
A LIGHNIN’-SHADE IRONCLAD!
Unto me, ITS Skye-Bluish Garb o’ Hye Skye-War!
In an Identity an’ Heat, e’en the Most Absolute!
To Verra Perfection reflectin',
Towardis Feudal Person o’ mine IT noo!
Wi’ Slow Skye-Gait,
Devastatingly, IT advanced,
An’ when afore me at length
IT standin’,
Thro’ the Loud Sound o’ the Thundir, lo!
Ah waes still lookin’ for,
In a Great Whoosh an’ Roaran’ Rumble
Non-Human Deep Voice, IT!
Frae the Past! Frae the Future!
Frae the Verra Brunan’ Throat
O’ the LIGHTNIN’ HIS-SEL!
Ah waes still looking for,
Wi’ Spiral Exhalations unner the Form, schorcin’ IT!
O’ Just Anger frae Primeval hynne Most Real
Forgotten Feudal Lore
The Hand-to-hand Wapin-Storm Harsh!
An’ Skye-Revenge, still Mine Ain!
Unco an’ owre loaded,
As Maddenin’ Heated-Airn, IT again!
Unto the Cauld Blue Vault o’ the Verra Skye
Wi’ orra, orra Dignity
Lonely risin’,  
Thae Verra Syllables!
The VERRA SKYE-INCARNATOR O'ERHUMAN!
Intae Deep noo, Great Orrah!
The Abysmal Skye-Core Bluish-Aflame, IT! o' the

Total Specular Skye-Force:

BRYNEWELMES WORDHLÉOÐOR

The Skye-Conscience, Víðarr-Hye o’ mine!
Most distinctly! Great Warlike Orrah!
HE, THE BLUISH INCARNATION HYE
O' THE HYE LIGHTNIN' ITSELF!
Ah waes lookin' for,
Wi' a Skye-Cowntenance Storm-Hidden
Flashin’ frae Deep the Obscured Skye-Mirk
Thro’ a Battle-Scar intae the Fyre gleamin'
O'er HYS left Sword-Offended Cheek:
Thys cuid Ah! unco Blinded, see!
Intae Deep the Skye-Unknown,
Still, Great Guid Glamis’ Orrah!
Stick-an-stowe a Wonner, Mine Ain!
Thro' HYS remarkably Echoin',
Non-human, hynne 'Yont human!
VERRA SKYE-RUMBLIN'!
Noo unco earthily uttered:

YE, WOLF-WOUNDED!
AN’ PROUD, IN BLACK TARTAN O’ WAR
MUFFLED,
KEEK AT ME! KEEK AT ME NOO!
IN NAE TAE EARTHLY TOWMOND!
DO NOO HYNNE LISTEN TAE ME!
YE, NOO FYRE-IRONCLAD WOUNDED!
THE HYE NORLAND GODS INTAE OWRE FYRE
STYLLE HYNNE HONORIN'!
BETTYR BIDE AN' DIE OAN THE NOBLE BATTLEFIELD GORY,
AN' STYLLE, 'YONT BAITH LIEFES AN' DEATH,
FORE'ER ALIVE HYNNE BE!
THEYNE BIDE A MISERABLE LIEFES!

WULFE BLŌDGA HEONAN!
ÞŪ BLADESUNGA OND LÉOMENA HEOFONFYR,
WACA BYRNSWEORDES WIÐ GEHATUM!

FOR DAINGEROUS! VERRA, INTAE THE FEUDAL FYRE DEEP, IT! DAINGEROUS!
MUST TREOWE IDEAS, IN VERRA HYE LOWES, BE!
FOR THE VERRA MICHTY, WHYTE ZENITH-SUNNE
AN' THE ALLWAYES UNKOWN MIRK DEATH!
THE SAME THAY! GREAT THOR'S NORLAND ORRAH! ARE,
FOR THE SELECTED FEUDAL MAN, IRONCLAD HE!
AS YE, IN THAE HYE LOWES, UNCO ARE!
NOO AFORE ME! INTAE THE AULD LONE TARGE-REFLECTION
THAD IS, WAES, AN' SHALL IT BE, THINE!
HYNNE, HEARE AH AM! FOR FRAE THE AULD SHIELD-MIRROR YER RICHTE SKYE-VENGENCE!
FOR YER AIN SKYE-FORM AFORE YE HATH RISEN NOO!
FOR FREISH VALUES ARE NOO OWRE NEEDED!
WI'IN DEEP PRIMAL SKYE-FYRE UNCO SKYE-LIVED!
SAE, SKYE-LIVE THAIM! UNCO DRAM THAIM A’!
WHATE'ER THE RISK INFERNAL, AN' MOORLAN AMBUSH!

GÁSTCWALE HELRÚNENA FORNÉÐAN,

THRO’ HYE BLUISH SKYE-LOWES, SKYE-DESTROYIN’ THAY
WI’IN YER AIN LONE SKYE-VOICE IT NOO!
FRAE AFARRE! FRAE UNCO AFARRE RUMBLIN’,
FOR CURSED IS THE FLEETIN' HOUR!
AN' SAE MUST BE CONQUERED, IT! GREAT ORRAH! AYE!
IN YER SUPERIOR BLUID NOO O'ERHUMAN, MINE AIN!
FOR BRANDED HAE AH
RUDDY SKYE-FLESH O’ MINE
THAD WAES, IS, AN’ SHALL IT BE!
BY THYS VERRA, VERRA SKYE-IMAGE HYNNE,
YER AIN!
WI’ THE IYCE-CROSS FIERY
FRAE HYE THE THUNDIR’S LOUD VOICE,
IN NAE WHISPER DAMNABLE, NOR AIRN-FOREIGN!
AH NOO ORRA TELL:
YER SYMMETRICAL LONE SKYE-FORCE:
THE VERRA LONE THUNDIR-BLUID!
YER AIN LONE SKYE-WRAITH IRONCLAD!
THRO' ETERNAL SKYE-POW’R,
AN' OUT O’ THE BLUISH LONE SKYE-REVENGE
O’ER AN’ O’ER UNCO, O’ERHUMANLY MIRRORIN’!
TO YE HYNNE OWRE IN DEEP FYRE RETURNIN’,
YER AIN WANTIN’ SKYE-HALF, HYNNE!
TH'GITHER WI’ YER SKYE-SPIRIT!
IN HYE LOWES NOO UNTO THE CORE SKYE-DABBED!
A' THIS! A’ THIS! AH SAY! AH TRULY YELL!
TH'GITHER WI' THE LAST SKYE-PRIZE!
INTAE HYE THE SKYE-BLAZE,
THE HAIL ENEMY LAND HARSH NOO
FRAE CAULD HORIZON TO CAULD HORIZON
OWRE CROSSIN’,
A' THIS! A' THIS! AH ALLON, TRULY!
YER MIRROR SKYE-DOWBILL IMMORTAL!
THRO' STEEL CORE-METALLIC, IN HYE SKYE-FYRE AM!
ABYSMAL LAVA-BLUID O’ MINE!
FLOWIN’
FRAE HYE RED HEL, IT! THY LANE BEHOLD!
YER AIN!
INTAE DEEP THE FUSION-GLARE,
BLASTED SKYE-FURNACE IT!
UNREACHABLE, UNFATHOMABLE, MOST TANGIBLE, IT!
THE VERRA FRAME
LESURELY, NEXT TO YE IN BATTLE
STROLLIN’!
THE LONE INCARNATION
AN’ THE SKYE-ROAR
FRAE THE VERRA THUNDERBOLT
YE WERE LOOKIN’ FOR
HYNNE YER FUTURE, YER BYGANE:
NAE DIFFERENCE! THAA ARE MINE AIN!
INTAE THE HYE FYRE, FRAE YER TANGIBLE
SKYE-WILL! THAD AH NOO HEARE AM,
FOR SKYE-ENERGY CANNAE DERIVE FRAE NOTHINGNESS!
NOR UNTO NOTHINGNESS KIN IT RETURN!
HYNNE WILL, 'YONT DEATH,
THRO' THE LANG AN’ BLUISH
SKYE-LOWE
YE WERE LOOKIN’ FOR,
IMMORTAL AS CONQUERIN' PROVES,
STILL, WI'IN RAGIN' AN' VISCERAL
DEEP PRIMAL FYRE, YER AIN!
FOR YE SHALL STILL LIVE YER LIFE AGAIN,  
THIS TYME INTAE THE HYE SKYE-POW'R!
WI' ITS NEW ESSENCE SELF-OVERCOME,
HYNNE DO UNCO LIVE NOO!
THAD VERRA GORE HEARE,
FRAE MY BLEEZAN OPEN SCARS, YER AIN!
FOR THE WORN PAST DWELLS DEFEATED
IN THE FUTURE AS EMPOW'RED!
INTAE THE STEEL-BLUISH IMAGE AH HEARE AM!
NOO AFORE THINE SKYE-BLINDED EYES
THRO' THE LONE HYE LOWE WOUNDED,
THAD ARE ALSO MINE!
IN NAE SPECTRAL FYRE, HYNNE!
STICK-AN-STOWE, AN' VERRA VERRA SUNE!
YER AIN!
WI'IN THE HYE ZENITH-THUNDIR HYNNE,
YE WERE LOOKIN' FOR,
O'ER AN' O'ER FORE'ER LIVIN',  
AN' THRO' THE HIELAND FLOWIN 'LAVA:
THE BECOMIN' IN POW'R FORE'ER RENEWED
THRO' THAD SKYE-BLUID HYNNE!  
FLASHINGLY STREAMIN'
AS A CONQUERIN' WYLD FYRE-RIVER
FRAE NOBLE HYNNE SUPERIOR GORE,
DOWNE, DOWNE!
INTAE THE VERRA WHYTE CHASM, AN' FLASHIN' ABYSS!
FRAE YON SHARP AN' SHININ' AN' TOWERIN' MIRK ROCKS!
AN' THIS SACRIFICIAL BLUISH BLUID INCANDESCENT
FRAE O'ERHUMAN LIFE STILL WOUNDED, MINE!
WAES, AN' IS, AN' SHALL IT BE!
BEHOLD YE! UNCO SEE YE, NOO!
YE, O'ERHUMANLY BLINDED!
HE WHA! THE DREARY VOID O' DARKNESS
CANNAE, CANNAE! IN ANY MANNER NOO KNOW!
HYNNE IN HIELAND SKYE-RAGE,
AN' HYE! O'ER THE FEUDAL THRONE IMMORTAL,
AN' HEARE! OAN THE SURFACE O' THIS SKYE-MIRROR!
WAES, AN' IS, AN' SHALL IT BE!
WI'IN THE MELTIN' UNTO THE COSMIC CORE
SKYE-GLARE, YER AIN!
AN' NOO! DO ADVANCE!
DO TAKE A STROLL INTAE THE HYE SKYE-GORE!
GANG AYONT! GANG AYONT! AH SAY!
'YONT EVERYTHING! ‘YONT LIFE AN’ DEATH E’EN!
GANG AYONT!
AN' WHATE SHALL YE IN THE END SEE?
AT THE BOTTOM O' THE WHYTE CHASM FIERY?
YER FLASHIN' IN AIRN IMAGE ALONE!
THAD IS MINE AIN!
HEE HAW, HEE HAW ELSE, AH SAY!
WI’IN THE SPECULAR SKYE-POW'R INCARNATED,
THE VERRA SUM AN’ COMMUNION O’ THE ETERNAL TENSIONS
IN BECOMIN’ DWELLIN’ AH HEARE AM!
THRO’ THE LOUD SING FRAE THE THUNDIR HYNNE!
BY HYE SKYE-VENGEANCE FORE’ER INCREASIN',
O'ER AN' O'ER TO YER SPIRIT HYNNE RETURNIN',
YERS HYNNE MINE!

When noo, Great Warlike Orrah!
Upon thae Verra Words, thro’ my Ain
By noo Thundir-Voice!
In an' unco Skye-Rumblin',
Wi'in Thad O'erhuman Blaze wi' hye force condensin'
Intae a NEW THUNDIR-FRAME Skye-Concrete
In aspects o' PURE BLUISH HEAT!
HUMAN ALTOGETHER NAE LONGER, IT! tone,
Ah distinctly hearin’,
When noo, Guid Sundrum's Orrah!

The Fyre-Bringer:

FÝRHEARD HEREWULF OND HEREWÆÐA

A Thoosan Black Banners, in Hye Glorious Lowes,
Orra issuin’,
An’ wnto yon Whyte Chasm the Salute wavin’,
Wi’ the Hue o’ Red-Hel IT imbuin’,
HE, Hynne Ah: the Freish an’ Auld Titan
Far awa, far awa! wi'in the Dreary Caucasus!
Frae ayont yon Suthron, hynne!
Ah kin clearly see!
Rebel hynne Creator, HE!
HE, Creator hynne Rebel!
The OVERMAN! comin’ o’er, still approachin’,
Intae noo deep the Skye-Dance Everlastin’
Thro’ HYS AIN hynne MINE
Skye-Thunderous Sound
Ah waes lookin’ for,
Dominatin’,
Frae Thae Simmetrical Verra Fyre-Mirrors!
Still glarin’
Ne’er e’er to yield, the Twa Skye-Surfaces!
Nor in human, tae human!
Unco Gory Misery, nor Skye-Foreign Blasphemy,
Nor Damnable an' Cowardly Affront
To e'er wane!
At length thro' the Hye Vigour Supreme
Frae the Overwill Alone!
Dearest o’ Mine! Inner Energy Abysmal:
Still Uknown, IT!
An’ in Skye-Reverge freed!
A Thoosan Black Banners, in Fyre, Ah say!
HE, hynne Ah issuin’,
When noo, Great Guid Orrah!
The Skye-Bluid o' the OVERMAN:
Theis! oan Thae Countless Mirk Banners floatin'
In Hye Honour o' the Zenith-Sunne!
Wi'in abysmal whyte runes waes noo graven,
Hye Selective an' Skye-Supreme proved!
Nae, nae IT, for all!
For nae everybody is worth withstandin'
The Return o' Pow'r's Noble, an' Flashin'
Supreme Force, an' Infinite Speed, an' Spiral Revolution!

CÁFNES ÞRÝÞBORD,

Tae the Skye-Limitless fore’er,
In the Form o’ Hye Steel Feudal
Skye-soarin’,
ITS Verra Great, Verra Guid,
Great Guid Auld Carham’s Orrah!
Burnan Wheill o’ Universal Core-Energy
Skye-Central, Skye-Abysmal, IT!
Alongside the Rational Force frae the Thundir-Impetus
Thad waes, is, an’ shall IT be the OVERMAN’S AIN!
In Hye Lowes increasin’,
Tae the Skye-Infinite, hynne!
Most Renewed, most Identical,
Intae the Verra Spiral most Empowered!
The Worthy ENS, unco hynne Joyful, IT!
Immortal owre feastin’,
For intae Thae Rapid Coils o' Glorious Fyre hynne,
Frae Thys MICHTY TARGE O' SKYE-ENERGY PERENNIAL!
Nae for all! Immortality is solemnly worth
Thro' Thad Increasingly Growin'
Feudal Skye-Rebirth Steel-Mirrorin'!
Wnto ragefully Bluish-Ablaze an' Core-Feudal
Noble Hye Perfection!
An' in Eternal Steel Unconditional, IT!
Dwellin',
The Human, tae Human!
Gory Chains o’ Promethean Slavery
Bluish wi’ the Verra Reverberation
Frae the Lightnin’ O’erhuman
Ah waes lookin’ for,
They suddely becam!
An’ at length, Great Warlike Orrah!
The Lonesome Blindin’ Frame o’ Gowd,
Wha’s Sole Hye Thundir-Naim

Overman Skye:

SCEAWERES IREN-EALWEALDA

IT orra waes! Frae the Twa Dazzlin' Mirrors
In Perfect Symmetry emanated wi’in
The RETURN O’ POW’R!
Burnan’ Vortex-Event Universal, IT!
In Slender Lines o’ Whyte Fyre,
The Verra Core Heat
Reachin’,
Intae Infinite Reflections o’ Primordial Pow’r
Frae the Twa Lookin' Glasses, Blindin' They!
O’er All, Great, Great IT!
Njörður's ain Battle Orrah!
Limitless Dominion, an’ the Feudal Rule
Steel-haudin’,
WHILEAS WAES AH! WAES AH!
GUID, VERRA GUID EILEAN DONAN'S
WAR-TARTAN ORRAH!
STYLLE CHAINED IN BLUISH GORE, MY AIN!
HYNNE THE OVERMAN'S AIN, TAE!
WNTO THE AULD AN' HYE! VERRA SKYE-HYE, IT!
THUNDIR-GLEAMIN' BLUID-ROCK O' SKYE-SACRIFYCE:
NAE LONGER! NAE ORRA SKYE-LONGER!
An’ ITS central Rays an’ the Verra Lowes
Intae Ane Flashin’ Ironclad *****
Polarizin’,
A Thoosan Tymes Greater, Mightier hynne:
The OVERMAN!
O’er an’ o’er unto me returnin’,
‘Yont the Reddenin’ Pillars o’ Immortal
Skye-Renown!
‘Yont Death, the Mirk Unknown!
An’ ITS Feud-Foreign Fear,
Whyle, lo! the Steel-Vibration gleamin’
Frae Máni's ain Verra Crescent,
Dusky-Red, IT!
Waes, waes, in yon Murky West
Still IT unco risin',
Unfathomable, an' Potent, an' Dreary,
Unto the Stane Circles’ Builders
Wounded frae Life, at Skara Brae,
Appearin’,
At right angles to the Chain-Mailed *****
Noo orra descedin’
To cross the Region o’ the Heart:
Let IT fall intae the Verra Abyss!
Yet the Sceadewe! Great Wotan's Orrah!

ÓÐENES HÁLIGE CRAWE,

IT stylle leisurely stood,
In Hys Mirk Bluid Bleedin’,
Crossed hynne by the Verra Thunderbolt!
Ah waes lookin’ for,
An’ Hys, frae Kyng Rædwald the Gift!
Mask o’ War IT, lo!
Wi’ Black Fyre bleedin’,
Upon the Cauld Soil, together wi’ Hys Cloak,
Waes IT thrown,
Hynne Hys Mirk Warlike Self unveilin’,
Still Mine Ain!
Nae Gory Fear! tae owre hide:

SCEAD UNDER HELME HEARD BIÞ,
MĪN FORESCÝWA RÉADAÞ.

The road seen, then not seen, the hillside hiding
then revealing the way you should take,
the road dropping away from you as if leaving you
to walk on thin air, then catching you, holding you up,
when you thought you would fall, and the way forward
always in the end the way that you came, the way
that you followed, the way that carried you into your future,
that brought you to this place, no matter that it sometimes
took your promise from you, no matter that it always
had to break your heart along the way, the sense
of having walked from far inside yourself out into the revelation,
to have risked yourself for something that seemed
to stand both inside you and far beyond you,
that called you back in the end to the only road
you could follow, walking as you did, in your
rags of love and speaking in the voice
that by night, became a prayer for safe arrival…

by: David Whyte
excerpt from SANTIAGO

All this petty worry
while the great cloak
of the sky grows dark
and intense
round every living thing.

All this trying
to know
who we are
and all this
wanting to know
exactly
what we must do.

But what is precious
inside us does not
care to be known
by the mind
in ways that diminish
its presence.

What we strive for
in perfection
is not what turns us
into the lit angel
we desire.

What disturbs
and then nourishes
has everything we need.

What we hate
in ourselves
is what we cannot know
in ourselves
but what is true to the pattern
does not need
to be explained.

Inside everyone
is a great shout of joy
waiting to be born…

Incipit Prohemium Secundi Libri.

Out of these blake wawes for to sayle,
O wind, O wind, the weder ginneth clere;
For in this see the boot hath swich travayle,
Of my conning, that unnethe I it stere:
This see clepe I the tempestous matere  
Of desespeyr that Troilus was inne:
But now of hope the calendes biginne.
O lady myn, that called art Cleo,
Thou be my speed fro this forth, and my muse,
To ryme wel this book, til I have do;  
Me nedeth here noon other art to use.
For-why to every lovere I me excuse,
That of no sentement I this endyte,
But out of Latin in my tonge it wryte.

Wherfore I nil have neither thank ne blame  
Of al this werk, but prey yow mekely,
Disblameth me if any word be lame,
For as myn auctor seyde, so seye I.
Eek though I speke of love unfelingly,
No wondre is, for it no-thing of newe is;  
A blind man can nat Iuggen wel in hewis.

Ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaunge
With-inne a thousand yeer, and wordes tho
That hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straunge
Us thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so,  
And spedde as wel in love as men now do;
Eek for to winne love in sondry ages,
In sondry londes, sondry ben usages.

And for-thy if it happe in any wyse,
That here be any lovere in this place  
That herkneth, as the storie wol devyse,
How Troilus com to his lady grace,
And thenketh, so nolde I nat love purchace,
Or wondreth on his speche or his doinge,
I noot; but it is me no wonderinge;  

For every wight which that to Rome went,
Halt nat o path, or alwey o manere;
Eek in som lond were al the gamen shent,
If that they ferde in love as men don here,
As thus, in open doing or in chere,  
In visitinge, in forme, or seyde hire sawes;
For-thy men seyn, ech contree hath his lawes.

Eek scarsly been ther in this place three
That han in love seid lyk and doon in al;
For to thy purpos this may lyken thee,  
And thee right nought, yet al is seyd or shal;
Eek som men grave in tree, som in stoon wal,
As it bitit; but sin I have begonne,
Myn auctor shal I folwen, if I conne.

Exclipit prohemium Secundi Libri.

Incipit Liber Secundus.

In May, that moder is of monthes glade,  
That fresshe floures, blewe, and whyte, and rede,
Ben quike agayn, that winter dede made,
And ful of bawme is fleting every mede;
Whan Phebus doth his brighte bemes sprede
Right in the whyte Bole, it so bitidde  
As I shal singe, on Mayes day the thridde,

That Pandarus, for al his wyse speche,
Felt eek his part of loves shottes kene,
That, coude he never so wel of loving preche,
It made his hewe a-day ful ofte grene;  
So shoop it, that hym fil that day a tene
In love, for which in wo to bedde he wente,
And made, er it was day, ful many a wente.

The swalwe Proigne, with a sorwful lay,
Whan morwe com, gan make hir waymentinge,  
Why she forshapen was; and ever lay
Pandare a-bedde, half in a slomeringe,
Til she so neigh him made hir chiteringe
How Tereus gan forth hir suster take,
That with the noyse of hir he gan a-wake;  

And gan to calle, and dresse him up to ryse,
Remembringe him his erand was to done
From Troilus, and eek his greet empryse;
And caste and knew in good plyt was the mone
To doon viage, and took his wey ful sone  
Un-to his neces paleys ther bi-syde;
Now Ianus, god of entree, thou him gyde!

Whan he was come un-to his neces place,
'Wher is my lady?' to hir folk seyde he;
And they him tolde; and he forth in gan pace,  
And fond, two othere ladyes sete and she,
With-inne a paved parlour; and they three
Herden a mayden reden hem the geste
Of the Sege of Thebes, whyl hem leste.

Quod Pandarus, 'Ma dame, god yow see,  
With al your book and al the companye!'
'Ey, uncle myn, welcome y-wis,' quod she,
And up she roos, and by the hond in hye
She took him faste, and seyde, 'This night thrye,
To goode mote it turne, of yow I mette!'  
And with that word she doun on bench him sette.

'Ye, nece, ye shal fare wel the bet,
If god wole, al this yeer,' quod Pandarus;
'But I am sory that I have yow let
To herknen of your book ye preysen thus;  
For goddes love, what seith it? tel it us.
Is it of love? O, som good ye me lere!'
'Uncle,' quod she, 'your maistresse is not here!'

With that they gonnen laughe, and tho she seyde,
'This romaunce is of Thebes, that we rede;  
And we han herd how that king Laius deyde
Thurgh Edippus his sone, and al that dede;
And here we stenten at these lettres rede,
How the bisshop, as the book can telle,
Amphiorax, fil thurgh the ground to helle.'  

Quod Pandarus, 'Al this knowe I my-selve,
And al the assege of Thebes and the care;
For her-of been ther maked bokes twelve: --
But lat be this, and tel me how ye fare;
Do wey your barbe, and shew your face bare;  
Do wey your book, rys up, and lat us daunce,
And lat us don to May som observaunce.'

'A! God forbede!' quod she. 'Be ye mad?
Is that a widewes lyf, so god you save?
By god, ye maken me right sore a-drad,  
Ye ben so wilde, it semeth as ye rave!
It sete me wel bet ay in a cave
To bidde, and rede on holy seyntes lyves;
Lat maydens gon to daunce, and yonge wyves.'

'As ever thryve I,' quod this Pandarus,  
'Yet coude I telle a thing to doon you pleye.'
'Now, uncle dere,' quod she, 'tel it us
For goddes love; is than the assege aweye?
I am of Grekes so ferd that I deye.'
'Nay, nay,' quod he, 'as ever mote I thryve!  
It is a thing wel bet than swiche fyve.'

'Ye, holy god,' quod she, 'what thing is that?
What! Bet than swiche fyve? Ey, nay, y-wis!
For al this world ne can I reden what
It sholde been; som Iape, I trowe, is this;  
And but your-selven telle us what it is,
My wit is for to arede it al to lene;
As help me god, I noot nat what ye meene.'

'And I your borow, ne never shal, for me,
This thing be told to yow, as mote I thryve!'  
'And why so, uncle myn? Why so?' quod she.
'By god,' quod he, 'that wole I telle as blyve;
For prouder womman were ther noon on-lyve,
And ye it wiste, in al the toun of Troye;
I iape nought, as ever have I Ioye!'  

Tho gan she wondren more than biforn
A thousand fold, and doun hir eyen caste;
For never, sith the tyme that she was born,
To knowe thing desired she so faste;
And with a syk she seyde him at the laste,  
'Now, uncle myn, I nil yow nought displese,
Nor axen more, that may do yow disese.'

So after this, with many wordes glade,
And freendly tales, and with mery chere,
Of this and that they pleyde, and gunnen wade  
In many an unkouth glad and deep matere,
As freendes doon, whan they ben met y-fere;
Til she gan axen him how Ector ferde,
That was the tounes wal and Grekes yerde.

'Ful wel, I thanke it god,' quod Pandarus,  
'Save in his arm he hath a litel wounde;
And eek his fresshe brother Troilus,
The wyse worthy Ector the secounde,
In whom that ever vertu list abounde,
As alle trouthe and alle gentillesse,  
Wysdom, honour, fredom, and worthinesse.'

'In good feith, eem,' quod she, 'that lyketh me;
They faren wel, god save hem bothe two!
For trewely I holde it greet deyntee
A kinges sone in armes wel to do,  
And been of good condiciouns ther-to;
For greet power and moral vertu here
Is selde y-seye in o persone y-fere.'

'In good feith, that is sooth,' quod Pandarus;
'But, by my trouthe, the king hath sones tweye,  
That is to mene, Ector and Troilus,
That certainly, though that I sholde deye,
They been as voyde of vyces, dar I seye,
As any men that liveth under the sonne,
Hir might is wyde y-knowe, and what they conne.  

'Of Ector nedeth it nought for to telle:
In al this world ther nis a bettre knight
Than he, that is of worthinesse welle;
And he wel more vertu hath than might.
This knoweth many a wys and worthy wight.  
The same prys of Troilus I seye,
God help me so, I knowe not swiche tweye.'

'By god,' quod she, 'of Ector that is sooth;
Of Troilus the same thing trowe I;
For, dredelees, men tellen that he dooth  
In armes day by day so worthily,
And bereth him here at hoom so gentilly
To every wight, that al the prys hath he
Of hem that me were levest preysed be.'

'Ye sey right sooth, y-wis,' quod Pandarus;  
'For yesterday, who-so hadde with him been,
He might have wondred up-on Troilus;
For never yet so thikke a swarm of been
Ne fleigh, as Grekes fro him gonne fleen;
And thorugh the feld, in everi wightes ere,  
Ther nas no cry but "Troilus is there!"

'Now here, now there, he hunted hem so faste,
Ther nas but Grekes blood; and Troilus,
Now hem he hurte, and hem alle doun he caste;
Ay where he wente, it was arayed thus:  
He was hir deeth, and sheld and lyf for us;
That as that day ther dorste noon with-stonde,
Whyl that he held his blody swerd in honde.

'Therto he is the freendlieste man
Of grete estat, that ever I saw my lyve;  
And wher him list, best felawshipe can
To suche as him thinketh able for to thryve.'
And with that word tho Pandarus, as blyve,
He took his leve, and seyde, 'I wol go henne.'
'Nay, blame have I, myn uncle,' quod she thenne.  

'What eyleth yow to be thus wery sone,
And namelich of wommen? Wol ye so?
Nay, sitteth down; by god, I have to done
With yow, to speke of wisdom er ye go.'
And every wight that was a-boute hem tho,  
That herde that, gan fer a-wey to stonde,
Whyl they two hadde al that hem liste in honde.

Whan that hir tale al brought was to an ende,
Of hire estat and of hir governaunce,
Quod Pandarus, 'Now is it tyme I wende;  
But yet, I seye, aryseth, lat us daunce,
And cast your widwes habit to mischaunce:
What list yow thus your-self to disfigure,
Sith yow is tid thus fair an aventure?'

'A! Wel bithought! For love of god,' quod she,  
'Shal I not witen what ye mene of this?'
'No, this thing axeth layser,' tho quod he,
'And eek me wolde muche greve, y-wis,
If I it tolde, and ye it **** amis.
Yet were it bet my tonge for to stille  
Than seye a sooth that were ayeins your wille.

'For, nece, by the goddesse Minerve,
And Iuppiter, that maketh the thonder ringe,
And by the blisful Venus that I serve,
Ye been the womman in this world livinge,  
With-oute paramours, to my wittinge,
That I best love, and lothest am to greve,
And that ye witen wel your-self, I leve.'

'Y-wis, myn uncle,' quod she, 'grant mercy;
Your freendship have I founden ever yit;  
I am to no man holden trewely,
So muche as yow, and have so litel quit;
And, with the grace of god, emforth my wit,
As in my gilt I shal you never offende;
And if I have er this, I wol amende.  

'But, for the love of god, I yow beseche,
As ye ben he that I love most and triste,
Lat be to me your fremde manere speche,
And sey to me, your nece, what yow liste:'
And with that word hir uncle anoon hir kiste,  
And seyde, 'Gladly, leve nece dere,
Tak it for good that I shal seye yow here.'

With that she gan hir eiyen doun to caste,
And Pandarus to coghe gan a lyte,
And seyde, 'Nece, alwey, lo! To the laste,  
How-so it be that som men hem delyte
With subtil art hir tales for to endyte,
Yet for al that, in hir entencioun
Hir tale is al for som conclusioun.

'And sithen thende is every tales strengthe,  
And this matere is so bihovely,
What sholde I peynte or drawen it on lengthe
To yow, that been my freend so feithfully?'
And with that word he gan right inwardly
Biholden hir, and loken on hir face,  
And seyde, 'On suche a mirour goode grace!'

Than thoughte he thus: 'If I my tale endyte
Ought hard, or make a proces any whyle,
She shal no savour han ther-in but lyte,
And trowe I wolde hir in my wil bigyle.  
For tendre wittes wenen al be wyle
Ther-as they can nat pleynly understonde;
For-thy hir wit to serven wol I fonde --'

And loked on hir in a besy wyse,
And she was war that he byheld hir so,  
And seyde, 'Lord! So faste ye me avyse!
Sey ye me never er now? What sey ye, no?'
'Yes, yes,' quod he, 'and bet wole er I go;
But, by my trouthe, I thoughte now if ye
Be fortunat, for now men shal it see.  

'For to every wight som goodly aventure
Som tyme is shape, if he it can receyven;
And if that he wol take of it no cure,
Whan that it commeth, but wilfully it weyven,
Lo, neither cas nor fortune him deceyven,  
But right his verray slouthe and wrecchednesse;
And swich a wight is for to blame, I gesse.

'Good aventure, O bele nece, have ye
Ful lightly founden, and ye conne it take;
And, for the love of god, and eek of me,  
Cacche it anoon, lest aventure slake.
What sholde I lenger proces of it make?
Yif me your hond, for in this world is noon,
If that yow list, a wight so wel begoon.

'And sith I speke of good entencioun,  
As I to yow have told wel here-biforn,
And love as wel your honour and renoun
As creature in al this world y-born;
By alle the othes that I have yow sworn,
And ye be wrooth therfore, or wene I lye,  
Ne shal I never seen yow eft with ye.

'Beth nought agast, ne quaketh nat; wher-to?
Ne chaungeth nat for fere so your hewe;
For hardely the werste of this is do;
And though my tale as now be to yow newe,  
Yet trist alwey, ye shal me finde trewe;
And were it thing that me thoughte unsittinge,
To yow nolde I no swiche tales bringe.'

'Now, my good eem, for goddes love, I preye,'
Quod she, 'com of, and tel me what it is;  
For bothe I am agast what ye wol seye,
And eek me longeth it to wite, y-wis.
For whether it be wel or be amis,
Say on, lat me not in this fere dwelle:'
'So wol I doon; now herkneth, I shal telle:  

'Now, nece myn, the kinges dere sone,
The goode, wyse, worthy, fresshe, and free,
Which alwey for to do wel is his wone,
The noble Troilus, so loveth thee,
That, bot ye helpe, it wol his bane be.  
Lo, here is al, what sholde I more seye?
Doth what yow list, to make him live or deye.

'But if ye lete him deye, I wol sterve;
Have her my trouthe, nece, I nil not lyen;
Al sholde I with this knyf my throte kerve --'  
With that the teres braste out of his yen,
And seyde, 'If that ye doon us bothe dyen,
Thus giltelees, than have ye fisshed faire;
What mende ye, though that we bothe apeyre?

'Allas! He which that is my lord so dere,  
That trewe man, that noble gentil knight,
That nought desireth but your freendly chere,
I see him deye, ther he goth up-right,
And hasteth him, with al his fulle might,
For to be slayn, if fortune wol assente;  
Allas! That god yow swich a beautee sente!

'If it be so that ye so cruel be,
That of his deeth yow liste nought to recche,
That is so trewe and worthy, as ye see,
No more than of a Iapere or a wrecche,  
If ye be swich, your beautee may not strecche
To make amendes of so cruel a dede;
Avysement is good bifore the nede.

'Wo worth the faire gemme vertulees!
Wo worth that herbe also that dooth no bote!  
Wo worth that beautee that is routhelees!
Wo worth that wight that tret ech under fote!
And ye, that been of beautee crop and rote,
If therwith-al in you ther be no routhe,
Than is it harm ye liven, by my trouthe!  

'And also thenk wel that this is no gaude;
For me were lever, thou and I and he
Were hanged, than I sholde been his baude,
As heyghe, as men mighte on us alle y-see:
I am thyn eem, the shame were to me,  
As wel as thee, if that I sholde assente,
Thorugh myn abet, that he thyn honour shente.

'Now understond, for I yow nought requere,
To binde yow to him thorugh no beheste,
But only that ye make him bettre chere  
Than ye han doon er this, and more feste,
So that his lyf be saved, at the leste;
This al and som, and playnly our entente;
God help me so, I never other mente.

'Lo, this request is not but skile, y-wis,  
Ne doute of reson, pardee, is ther noon.
I sette the worste that ye dredden this,
Men wolden wondren seen him come or goon:
Ther-ayeins answere I thus a-noon,
That every wight, but he be fool of kinde,  
Wol deme it love of freendship in his minde.

'What? Who wol deme, though he see a man
To temple go, that he the images eteth?
Thenk eek how wel and wy

The double 12 sorwe of Troilus to tellen,  
That was the king Priamus sone of Troye,
In lovinge, how his aventures fellen
Fro wo to wele, and after out of Ioye,
My purpos is, er that I parte fro ye.  
Thesiphone, thou help me for tendyte
Thise woful vers, that wepen as I wryte!

To thee clepe I, thou goddesse of torment,
Thou cruel Furie, sorwing ever in peyne;
Help me, that am the sorwful instrument  
That helpeth lovers, as I can, to pleyne!
For wel sit it, the sothe for to seyne,
A woful wight to han a drery fere,
And, to a sorwful tale, a sory chere.

For I, that god of Loves servaunts serve,  
Ne dar to Love, for myn unlyklinesse,
Preyen for speed, al sholde I therfor sterve,
So fer am I fro his help in derknesse;
But nathelees, if this may doon gladnesse
To any lover, and his cause avayle,  
Have he my thank, and myn be this travayle!

But ye loveres, that bathen in gladnesse,
If any drope of pitee in yow be,
Remembreth yow on passed hevinesse
That ye han felt, and on the adversitee  
Of othere folk, and thenketh how that ye
Han felt that Love dorste yow displese;
Or ye han wonne hym with to greet an ese.

And preyeth for hem that ben in the cas
Of Troilus, as ye may after here,  
That love hem bringe in hevene to solas,
And eek for me preyeth to god so dere,
That I have might to shewe, in som manere,
Swich peyne and wo as Loves folk endure,
In Troilus unsely aventure.  

And biddeth eek for hem that been despeyred
In love, that never nil recovered be,
And eek for hem that falsly been apeyred
Thorugh wikked tonges, be it he or she;
Thus biddeth god, for his benignitee,  
So graunte hem sone out of this world to pace,
That been despeyred out of Loves grace.

And biddeth eek for hem that been at ese,
That god hem graunte ay good perseveraunce,
And sende hem might hir ladies so to plese,  
That it to Love be worship and plesaunce.
For so hope I my soule best avaunce,
To preye for hem that Loves servaunts be,
And wryte hir wo, and live in charitee.

And for to have of hem compassioun  
As though I were hir owene brother dere.
Now herkeneth with a gode entencioun,
For now wol I gon streight to my matere,
In whiche ye may the double sorwes here
Of Troilus, in loving of Criseyde,  
And how that she forsook him er she deyde.

It is wel wist, how that the Grekes stronge
In armes with a thousand shippes wente
To Troyewardes, and the citee longe
Assegeden neigh ten yeer er they stente,  
And, in diverse wyse and oon entente,
The ravisshing to wreken of Eleyne,
By Paris doon, they wroughten al hir peyne.

Now fil it so, that in the toun ther was
Dwellinge a lord of greet auctoritee,  
A gret devyn that cleped was Calkas,
That in science so expert was, that he
Knew wel that Troye sholde destroyed be,
By answere of his god, that highte thus,
Daun Phebus or Apollo Delphicus.  

So whan this Calkas knew by calculinge,
And eek by answere of this Appollo,
That Grekes sholden swich a peple bringe,
Thorugh which that Troye moste been for-do,
He caste anoon out of the toun to go;  
For wel wiste he, by sort, that Troye sholde
Destroyed ben, ye, wolde who-so nolde.

For which, for to departen softely
Took purpos ful this forknowinge wyse,
And to the Grekes ost ful prively  
He stal anoon; and they, in curteys wyse,
Hym deden bothe worship and servyse,
In trust that he hath conning hem to rede
In every peril which that is to drede.

The noyse up roos, whan it was first aspyed,  
Thorugh al the toun, and generally was spoken,
That Calkas traytor fled was, and allyed
With hem of Grece; and casten to ben wroken
On him that falsly hadde his feith so broken;
And seyden, he and al his kin at ones  
Ben worthy for to brennen, fel and bones.

Now hadde Calkas left, in this meschaunce,
Al unwist of this false and wikked dede,
His doughter, which that was in gret penaunce,
For of hir lyf she was ful sore in drede,  
As she that niste what was best to rede;
For bothe a widowe was she, and allone
Of any freend to whom she dorste hir mone.

Criseyde was this lady name a-right;
As to my dome, in al Troyes citee  
Nas noon so fair, for passing every wight
So aungellyk was hir natyf beautee,
That lyk a thing immortal semed she,
As doth an hevenish parfit creature,
That doun were sent in scorning of nature.  

This lady, which that al-day herde at ere
Hir fadres shame, his falsnesse and tresoun,
Wel nigh out of hir wit for sorwe and fere,
In widewes habit large of samit broun,
On knees she fil biforn Ector a-doun;  
With pitous voys, and tendrely wepinge,
His mercy bad, hir-selven excusinge.

Now was this Ector pitous of nature,
And saw that she was sorwfully bigoon,
And that she was so fair a creature;  
Of his goodnesse he gladed hir anoon,
And seyde, 'Lat your fadres treson goon
Forth with mischaunce, and ye your-self, in Ioye,
Dwelleth with us, whyl you good list, in Troye.

'And al thonour that men may doon yow have,  
As ferforth as your fader dwelled here,
Ye shul han, and your body shal men save,
As fer as I may ought enquere or here.'
And she him thonked with ful humble chere,
And ofter wolde, and it hadde ben his wille,  
And took hir leve, and hoom, and held hir stille.

And in hir hous she abood with swich meynee
As to hir honour nede was to holde;
And whyl she was dwellinge in that citee,
Kepte hir estat, and bothe of yonge and olde  
Ful wel beloved, and wel men of hir tolde.
But whether that she children hadde or noon,
I rede it naught; therfore I late it goon.

The thinges fellen, as they doon of werre,
Bitwixen hem of Troye and Grekes ofte;  
For som day boughten they of Troye it derre,
And eft the Grekes founden no thing softe
The folk of Troye; and thus fortune on-lofte,
And under eft, gan hem to wheelen bothe
After hir cours, ay whyl they were wrothe.  

But how this toun com to destruccioun
Ne falleth nought to purpos me to telle;
For it were a long digressioun
Fro my matere, and yow to longe dwelle.
But the Troyane gestes, as they felle,  
In Omer, or in Dares, or in Dyte,
Who-so that can, may rede hem as they wryte.

But though that Grekes hem of Troye shetten,
And hir citee bisegede al a-boute,
Hir olde usage wolde they not letten,  
As for to honoure hir goddes ful devoute;
But aldermost in honour, out of doute,
They hadde a relik hight Palladion,
That was hir trist a-boven everichon.

And so bifel, whan comen was the tyme  
Of Aperil, whan clothed is the mede
With newe grene, of ***** Ver the pryme,
And swote smellen floures whyte and rede,
In sondry wyses shewed, as I rede,
The folk of Troye hir observaunces olde,  
Palladiones feste for to holde.

And to the temple, in al hir beste wyse,
In general, ther wente many a wight,
To herknen of Palladion servyse;
And namely, so many a ***** knight,  
So many a lady fresh and mayden bright,
Ful wel arayed, bothe moste and leste,
Ye, bothe for the seson and the feste.

Among thise othere folk was Criseyda,
In widewes habite blak; but nathelees,  
Right as our firste lettre is now an A,
In beautee first so stood she, makelees;
Hir godly looking gladede al the prees.
Nas never seyn thing to ben preysed derre,
Nor under cloude blak so bright a sterre  

As was Criseyde, as folk seyde everichoon
That hir behelden in hir blake wede;
And yet she stood ful lowe and stille alloon,
Bihinden othere folk, in litel brede,
And neigh the dore, ay under shames drede,  
Simple of a-tyr, and debonaire of chere,
With ful assured loking and manere.

This Troilus, as he was wont to gyde
His yonge knightes, ladde hem up and doun
In thilke large temple on every syde,  
Biholding ay the ladyes of the toun,
Now here, now there, for no devocioun
Hadde he to noon, to reven him his reste,
But gan to preyse and lakken whom him leste.

And in his walk ful fast he gan to wayten  
If knight or squyer of his companye
Gan for to syke, or lete his eyen bayten
On any woman that he coude aspye;
He wolde smyle, and holden it folye,
And seye him thus, 'god wot, she slepeth softe  
For love of thee, whan thou tornest ful ofte!

'I have herd told, pardieux, of your livinge,
Ye lovers, and your lewede observaunces,
And which a labour folk han in winninge
Of love, and, in the keping, which doutaunces;  
And whan your preye is lost, wo and penaunces;
O verrey foles! nyce and blinde be ye;
Ther nis not oon can war by other be.'

And with that word he gan cast up the browe,
Ascaunces, 'Lo! is this nought wysly spoken?'  
At which the god of love gan loken rowe
Right for despyt, and shoop for to ben wroken;
He kidde anoon his bowe nas not broken;
For sodeynly he hit him at the fulle;
And yet as proud a pekok can he pulle.  

O blinde world, O blinde entencioun!
How ofte falleth al theffect contraire
Of surquidrye and foul presumpcioun;
For caught is proud, and caught is debonaire.
This Troilus is clomben on the staire,  
And litel weneth that he moot descenden.
But al-day falleth thing that foles ne wenden.

As proude Bayard ginneth for to skippe
Out of the wey, so priketh him his corn,
Til he a lash have of the longe whippe,  
Than thenketh he, 'Though I praunce al biforn
First in the trays, ful fat and newe shorn,
Yet am I but an hors, and horses lawe
I moot endure, and with my feres drawe.'

So ferde it by this fers and proude knight;  
Though he a worthy kinges sone were,
And wende nothing hadde had swiche might
Ayens his wil that sholde his herte stere,
Yet with a look his herte wex a-fere,
That he, that now was most in pryde above,  
Wex sodeynly most subget un-to love.

For-thy ensample taketh of this man,
Ye wyse, proude, and worthy folkes alle,
To scornen Love, which that so sone can
The freedom of your hertes to him thralle;  
For ever it was, and ever it shal bifalle,
That Love is he that alle thing may binde;
For may no man for-do the lawe of kinde.

That this be sooth, hath preved and doth yet;
For this trowe I ye knowen, alle or some,  
Men reden not that folk han gretter wit
Than they that han be most with love y-nome;
And strengest folk ben therwith overcome,
The worthiest and grettest of degree:
This was, and is, and yet men shal it see.  

And trewelich it sit wel to be so;
For alderwysest han ther-with ben plesed;
And they that han ben aldermost in wo,
With love han ben conforted most and esed;
And ofte it hath the cruel herte apesed,  
And worthy folk maad worthier of name,
And causeth most to dreden vyce and shame.

Now sith it may not goodly be withstonde,
And is a thing so vertuous in kinde,
Refuseth not to Love for to be bonde,  
Sin, as him-selven list, he may yow binde.
The yerde is bet that bowen wole and winde
Than that that brest; and therfor I yow rede
To folwen him that so wel can yow lede.

But for to tellen forth in special  
As of this kinges sone of which I tolde,
And leten other thing collateral,
Of him thenke I my tale for to holde,
Both of his Ioye, and of his cares colde;
And al his werk, as touching this matere,  
For I it gan, I wol ther-to refere.

With-inne the temple he wente him forth pleyinge,
This Troilus, of every wight aboute,
On this lady and now on that lokinge,
Wher-so she were of toune, or of with-oute:  
And up-on cas bifel, that thorugh a route
His eye perced, and so depe it wente,
Til on Criseyde it smoot, and ther it stente.

And sodeynly he wax ther-with astoned,
And gan hire bet biholde in thrifty wyse:  
'O mercy, god!' thoughte he, 'wher hastow woned,
That art so fair and goodly to devyse?'
Ther-with his herte gan to sprede and ryse,
And softe sighed, lest men mighte him here,
And caughte a-yein his firste pleyinge chere.  

She nas nat with the leste of hir stature,
But alle hir limes so wel answeringe
Weren to womanhode, that creature
Was neuer lasse mannish in seminge.
And eek the pure wyse of here meninge  
Shewede wel, that men might in hir gesse
Honour, estat, and wommanly noblesse.

To Troilus right wonder wel with-alle
Gan for to lyke hir meninge and hir chere,
Which somdel deynous was, for she leet falle  
Hir look a lite a-side, in swich manere,
Ascaunces, 'What! May I not stonden here?'
And after that hir loking gan she lighte,
That never thoughte him seen so good a sighte.

And of hir look in him ther gan to quiken  
So greet desir, and swich affeccioun,
That in his herte botme gan to stiken
Of hir his fixe and depe impressioun:
And though he erst hadde poured up and doun,
He was tho glad his hornes in to shrinke;  
Unnethes wiste he how to loke or winke.

Lo, he that leet him-selven so konninge,
And scorned hem that loves peynes dryen,
Was ful unwar that love hadde his dwellinge
With-inne the subtile stremes of hir yen;  
That sodeynly him thoughte he felte dyen,
Right with hir look, the spirit in his herte;
Blissed be love, that thus can folk converte!

She, this in blak, likinge to Troylus,
Over alle thyng, he stood for to biholde;  
Ne his desir, ne wherfor he stood thus,
He neither chere made, ne worde tolde;
But from a-fer, his maner for to holde,
On other thing his look som-tyme he caste,
And eft on hir, whyl that servyse laste.  

And after this, not fulliche al awhaped,
Out of the temple al esiliche he wente,
Repentinge him that he hadde ever y-iaped
Of loves folk, lest fully the descente
Of scorn fille on him-self; but, what he mente,  
Lest it were wist on any maner syde,
His wo he gan dissimulen and hyde.

Whan he was fro the temple thus departed,
He streyght anoon un-to his paleys torneth,
Right with hir look thurgh-shoten and thurgh-darted,  
Al feyneth he in lust that he soiorneth;
And al his chere and speche also he borneth;
And ay, of loves servants every whyle,
Him-self to wrye, at hem he gan to smyle.

And seyde, 'Lord, so ye live al in lest,  
Ye loveres! For the conningest of yow,
That serveth most ententiflich and best,
Him *** as often harm ther-of as prow;
Your hyre is quit ayein, ye, god wot how!
Nought wel for wel, but scorn for good servyse;  
In feith, your ordre is ruled in good wyse!

'In noun-certeyn ben alle your observaunces,
But it a sely fewe poyntes be;
Ne no-thing asketh so grete attendaunces
As doth youre lay, and that knowe alle ye;  
But that is not the worste, as mote I thee;
But, tolde I yow the worste poynt, I leve,
Al seyde I sooth, ye wolden at me greve!

'But tak this, that ye loveres ofte eschuwe,
Or elles doon of good entencioun,  
Ful ofte thy lady wole it misconstrue,
And deme it harm in hir opinioun;
And yet if she, for other enchesoun,
Be wrooth, than shalt thou han a groyn anoon:
Lord! wel is him that may be of yow oon!'  

But for al this, whan that he say his tyme,
He held his pees, non other bote him gayned;
For love bigan his fetheres so to lyme,
That wel unnethe un-to his folk he fayned
That othere besye nedes him destrayned;  
For wo was him, that what to doon he niste,
But bad his folk to goon wher that hem liste.

And whan that he in chaumbre was allone,
He doun up-on his beddes feet him sette,
And first be gan to syke, and eft to grone,  
And thoughte ay on hir so, with-outen lette,
That, as he sat and wook, his spirit mette
That he hir saw a temple, and al the wyse
Right of hir loke, and gan it newe avyse.

Thus gan he make a mirour of his minde,  
In which he saugh al hoolly hir figure;
And that he wel coude in his herte finde,
It was to him a right good aventure
To love swich oon, and if he dide his cure
To serven hir, yet mighte he falle in grace,  
Or elles, for oon of hir servaunts pace.

Imagininge that travaille nor grame
Ne mighte, for so goodly oon, be lorn
As she, ne him for his desir ne shame,
Al were it wist, but in prys and up-born  
Of alle lovers wel more than biforn;
Thus argumented he in his ginninge,
Ful unavysed of his wo cominge.

Thus took he purpos loves craft to suwe,
And thou

I sew therefore I am. This is what women do she thought, even with the television on, muttering and flickering in the corner. But its turning on was but a reflex action to being alone when she came down stairs after reading to her child, and the sitting room empty of his presence. Only the cats occupied her chair where she now sat and sewed.

For once her sewing pile had his nightshirt, a tear at the bottom, a missing button. It was old, well-worn, of a light blue stripe. That was what he wore in bed, and, as he invariably read to her each night, she would slip her hand inside the shirt, across his stomach to a place she had discovered at the top of his pelvis that seemed to be there for her hand to rest. One night she had felt the tear and thought, I must mend this.

She knew something of the feminist canon: Rozsika Parker's Subversive Stitch lay browsed but unread on her bookshelf. The impact of the book was enough: that the relationship between women’s lives and embroidery had brought sewing out from the private world of female domesticity into the fine arts and created a breakthrough in art history and criticism. She remembered writing that somewhere in a student essay. But mending clothes was hardly fine art. And then she remembered Sashiko, the ‘little stabs’, that functional stitching of clothes in Japan.

They had met at the station for a 30-mile train journey to a nearby city. It was a blue-cold December day and they had felt warmed by seeing from the train window a covering of snow on the ploughed fields. She had worn her grey coat with the green lining and an indigo blue-pattern scarf, a swinging denim skirt and orange-patterned top. Tights and boots. He: she had forgotten. Funny that, remembering what she had worn, but for the man she was beginning to feel so hopelessly in love with, and by the end of that day, hold in her heart, seemingly, for evermore, she could not remember. His old brown jacket perhaps . . . No, she couldn’t be certain.

He had loved the exhibition. It was an unencountered world, though he had experienced Japan, but not, as he said (at length), the rural fastness of an offshore island where women were loggers and men were firemen. It was the simplicity of the stitch that captured his attention, the running white-cotton stitch on the blue indigo workware, occasionally a red thread on a decorative piece – a fireman’s tunic. This was stitching about mending, reinforcing a worn area by stitching on a new patch, and in doing so novel patterns evolved, so novel that this traditional stitch became an inspiration for Reiko Sudo, Hideko Takahshi, and the cutting edge textile designers of 20C Japan. It was reuse that made sense.

He had loved the names of the stitches: passes in the mountain, fishing nets, the interlaced circles of two birds in flight, woven bamboo, the seven treasures of Buddha.  She remembered the proximity of him, touching his arm to show, and sometimes just to touch his arm – yes, he was wearing that old brown coat. It was before they were lovers, but she was sure then they were in love, and it seemed impossible and quite wrong to be in this large gallery, flowing too and fro, apart then together, apart then together. She thought: he knows how I want to be when looking at such things; I need space. And she supposed he needed space too because the moment they entered the gallery he left her alone. But that coming together was, and remained ever after, a warm thing, and she remembered that day being a little aroused by it being so.

Later, they had walked a short way from the gallery to a tiny cottage-like bookshop he knew, a bookshop full of impossibly large books on art and architecture. He had something to find: The Crystal Chain Letters – architectural fantasies Bruno Taut and his circle by Ian Boyd Whyte. There had been her favourite  Mark Hearld cards and his collaged pictures in the window. She went upstairs and knelt on the wooden floor to take out the books on gardens on the lowest shelves. The winter sun had poured through a nearby window, warming her face till it glowed. But she was already glowing inside. And he came and knelt behind her. He rested his head on her shoulder and she had turned and put her arms around him. They had kissed, a delicate, exploratory, yet to be lovers kiss that had made her feel weaker than she already felt. She knew she would remember that moment, and she had, here on her chair years later, now in a different sitting room from the one she had returned to that evening without him, returning to her husband and children. And she had missed him beyond any measure and written to him the next day, a letter written in her head before she had slept, and then the following morning, with the children at school, she had lain on her bed and calmly touched herself to remember his kiss, their kiss.

Incipit Liber Quintus.

Aprochen gan the fatal destinee
That Ioves hath in disposicioun,
And to yow, angry Parcas, sustren three,
Committeth, to don execucioun;
For which Criseyde moste out of the toun,  
And Troilus shal dwelle forth in pyne
Til Lachesis his threed no lenger twyne. --

The golden-tressed Phebus heighe on-lofte
Thryes hadde alle with his bemes shene
The snowes molte, and Zephirus as ofte  
Y-brought ayein the tendre leves grene,
Sin that the sone of Ecuba the quene
Bigan to love hir first, for whom his sorwe
Was al, that she departe sholde a-morwe.

Ful redy was at pryme Dyomede,  
Criseyde un-to the Grekes ost to lede,
For sorwe of which she felt hir herte blede,
As she that niste what was best to rede.
And trewely, as men in bokes rede,
Men wiste never womman han the care,  
Ne was so looth out of a toun to fare.

This Troilus, with-outen reed or lore,
As man that hath his Ioyes eek forlore,
Was waytinge on his lady ever-more
As she that was the soothfast crop and more  
Of al his lust, or Ioyes here-tofore.
But Troilus, now farewel al thy Ioye,
For shaltow never seen hir eft in Troye!

Soth is, that whyl he bood in this manere,
He gan his wo ful manly for to hyde.  
That wel unnethe it seen was in his chere;
But at the yate ther she sholde oute ryde
With certeyn folk, he hoved hir tabyde,
So wo bigoon, al wolde he nought him pleyne,
That on his hors unnethe he sat for peyne.  

For ire he quook, so gan his herte gnawe,
Whan Diomede on horse gan him dresse,
And seyde un-to him-self this ilke sawe,
'Allas,' quod he, 'thus foul a wrecchednesse
Why suffre ich it, why nil ich it redresse?  
Were it not bet at ones for to dye
Than ever-more in langour thus to drye?

'Why nil I make at ones riche and pore
To have y-nough to done, er that she go?
Why nil I bringe al Troye upon a rore?  
Why nil I sleen this Diomede also?
Why nil I rather with a man or two
Stele hir a-way? Why wol I this endure?
Why nil I helpen to myn owene cure?'

But why he nolde doon so fel a dede,  
That shal I seyn, and why him liste it spare;
He hadde in herte alweyes a maner drede,
Lest that Criseyde, in rumour of this fare,
Sholde han ben slayn; lo, this was al his care.
And ellis, certeyn, as I seyde yore,  
He hadde it doon, with-outen wordes more.

Criseyde, whan she redy was to ryde,
Ful sorwfully she sighte, and seyde 'Allas!'
But forth she moot, for ought that may bityde,
And forth she rit ful sorwfully a pas.  
Ther nis non other remedie in this cas.
What wonder is though that hir sore smerte,
Whan she forgoth hir owene swete herte?

This Troilus, in wyse of curteisye,
With hauke on hond, and with an huge route  
Of knightes, rood and dide hir companye,
Passinge al the valey fer with-oute,
And ferther wolde han riden, out of doute,
Ful fayn, and wo was him to goon so sone;
But torne he moste, and it was eek to done.  

And right with that was Antenor y-come
Out of the Grekes ost, and every wight
Was of it glad, and seyde he was wel-come.
And Troilus, al nere his herte light,
He peyned him with al his fulle might  
Him to with-holde of wepinge at the leste,
And Antenor he kiste, and made feste.

And ther-with-al he moste his leve take,
And caste his eye upon hir pitously,
And neer he rood, his cause for to make,  
To take hir by the honde al sobrely.
And lord! So she gan wepen tendrely!
And he ful softe and sleighly gan hir seye,
'Now hold your day, and dooth me not to deye.'

With that his courser torned he a-boute  
With face pale, and un-to Diomede
No word he spak, ne noon of al his route;
Of which the sone of Tydeus took hede,
As he that coude more than the crede
In swich a craft, and by the reyne hir hente;  
And Troilus to Troye homwarde he wente.

This Diomede, that ladde hir by the brydel,
Whan that he saw the folk of Troye aweye,
Thoughte, 'Al my labour shal not been on ydel,
If that I may, for somwhat shal I seye,  
For at the worste it may yet shorte our weye.
I have herd seyd, eek tymes twyes twelve,
"He is a fool that wol for-yete him-selve."'

But natheles this thoughte he wel ynough,
'That certaynly I am aboute nought,  
If that I speke of love, or make it tough;
For douteles, if she have in hir thought
Him that I gesse, he may not been y-brought
So sone awey; but I shal finde a mene,
That she not wite as yet shal what I mene.'  

This Diomede, as he that coude his good,
Whan this was doon, gan fallen forth in speche
Of this and that, and asked why she stood
In swich disese, and gan hir eek biseche,
That if that he encrese mighte or eche  
With any thing hir ese, that she sholde
Comaunde it him, and seyde he doon it wolde.

For trewely he swoor hir, as a knight,
That ther nas thing with whiche he mighte hir plese,
That he nolde doon his peyne and al his might  
To doon it, for to doon hir herte an ese.
And preyede hir, she wolde hir sorwe apese,
And seyde, 'Y-wis, we Grekes con have Ioye
To honouren yow, as wel as folk of Troye.'

He seyde eek thus, 'I woot, yow thinketh straunge,  
No wonder is, for it is to yow newe,
Thaqueintaunce of these Troianis to chaunge,
For folk of Grece, that ye never knewe.
But wolde never god but-if as trewe
A Greek ye shulde among us alle finde  
As any Troian is, and eek as kinde.

'And by the cause I swoor yow right, lo, now,
To been your freend, and helply, to my might,
And for that more aqueintaunce eek of yow
Have ich had than another straunger wight,  
So fro this forth, I pray yow, day and night,
Comaundeth me, how sore that me smerte,
To doon al that may lyke un-to your herte;

'And that ye me wolde as your brother trete,
And taketh not my frendship in despyt;  
And though your sorwes be for thinges grete,
Noot I not why, but out of more respyt,
Myn herte hath for to amende it greet delyt.
And if I may your harmes not redresse,
I am right sory for your hevinesse,  

'And though ye Troians with us Grekes wrothe
Han many a day be, alwey yet, pardee,
O god of love in sooth we serven bothe.
And, for the love of god, my lady free,
Whom so ye hate, as beth not wroth with me.  
For trewely, ther can no wight yow serve,
That half so looth your wraththe wolde deserve.

'And nere it that we been so neigh the tente
Of Calkas, which that seen us bothe may,
I wolde of this yow telle al myn entente;  
But this enseled til another day.
Yeve me your hond, I am, and shal ben ay,
God help me so, whyl that my lyf may dure,
Your owene aboven every creature.

'Thus seyde I never er now to womman born;  
For god myn herte as wisly glade so,
I lovede never womman here-biforn
As paramours, ne never shal no mo.
And, for the love of god, beth not my fo;
Al can I not to yow, my lady dere,  
Compleyne aright, for I am yet to lere.

'And wondreth not, myn owene lady bright,
Though that I speke of love to you thus blyve;
For I have herd or this of many a wight,
Hath loved thing he never saugh his lyve.  
Eek I am not of power for to stryve
Ayens the god of love, but him obeye
I wol alwey, and mercy I yow preye.

'Ther been so worthy knightes in this place,
And ye so fair, that everich of hem alle  
Wol peynen him to stonden in your grace.
But mighte me so fair a grace falle,
That ye me for your servaunt wolde calle,
So lowly ne so trewely you serve
Nil noon of hem, as I shal, til I sterve.'  

Criseide un-to that purpos lyte answerde,
As she that was with sorwe oppressed so
That, in effect, she nought his tales herde,
But here and there, now here a word or two.
Hir thoughte hir sorwful herte brast a-two.  
For whan she gan hir fader fer aspye,
Wel neigh doun of hir hors she gan to sye.

But natheles she thonked Diomede
Of al his travaile, and his goode chere,
And that him liste his friendship hir to bede;  
And she accepteth it in good manere,
And wolde do fayn that is him leef and dere;
And trusten him she wolde, and wel she mighte,
As seyde she, and from hir hors she alighte.

Hir fader hath hir in his armes nome,  
And tweynty tyme he kiste his doughter swete,
And seyde, 'O dere doughter myn, wel-come!'
She seyde eek, she was fayn with him to mete,
And stood forth mewet, milde, and mansuete.
But here I leve hir with hir fader dwelle,  
And forth I wol of Troilus yow telle.

To Troye is come this woful Troilus,
In sorwe aboven alle sorwes smerte,
With felon look, and face dispitous.
Tho sodeinly doun from his hors he sterte,  
And thorugh his paleys, with a swollen herte,
To chambre he wente; of no-thing took he hede,
Ne noon to him dar speke a word for drede.

And there his sorwes that he spared hadde
He yaf an issue large, and 'Deeth!' he cryde;  
And in his throwes frenetyk and madde
He cursed Iove, Appollo, and eek Cupyde,
He cursed Ceres, Bacus, and Cipryde,
His burthe, him-self, his fate, and eek nature,
And, save his lady, every creature.  

To bedde he goth, and weyleth there and torneth
In furie, as dooth he, Ixion in helle;
And in this wyse he neigh til day soiorneth.
But tho bigan his herte a lyte unswelle
Thorugh teres which that gonnen up to welle;  
And pitously he cryde up-on Criseyde,
And to him-self right thus he spak, and seyde: --

'Wher is myn owene lady lief and dere,
Wher is hir whyte brest, wher is it, where?
Wher ben hir armes and hir eyen clere,  
That yesternight this tyme with me were?
Now may I wepe allone many a tere,
And graspe aboute I may, but in this place,
Save a pilowe, I finde nought tenbrace.

'How shal I do? Whan shal she com ayeyn?  
I noot, allas! Why leet ich hir to go?
As wolde god, ich hadde as tho be sleyn!
O herte myn, Criseyde, O swete fo!
O lady myn, that I love and no mo!
To whom for ever-mo myn herte I dowe;  
See how I deye, ye nil me not rescowe!

'Who seeth yow now, my righte lode-sterre?
Who sit right now or stant in your presence?
Who can conforten now your hertes werre?
Now I am gon, whom yeve ye audience?  
Who speketh for me right now in myn absence?
Allas, no wight; and that is al my care;
For wel wot I, as yvel as I ye fare.

'How sholde I thus ten dayes ful endure,
Whan I the firste night have al this tene?  
How shal she doon eek, sorwful creature?
For tendernesse, how shal she this sustene,
Swich wo for me? O pitous, pale, and grene
Shal been your fresshe wommanliche face
For langour, er ye torne un-to this place.'  

And whan he fil in any slomeringes,
Anoon biginne he sholde for to grone,
And dremen of the dredfulleste thinges
That mighte been; as, mete he were allone
In place horrible, makinge ay his mone,  
Or meten that he was amonges alle
His enemys, and in hir hondes falle.

And ther-with-al his body sholde sterte,
And with the stert al sodeinliche awake,
And swich a tremour fele aboute his herte,  
That of the feer his body sholde quake;
And there-with-al he sholde a noyse make,
And seme as though he sholde falle depe
From heighe a-lofte; and than he wolde wepe,

And rewen on him-self so pitously,  
That wonder was to here his fantasye.
Another tyme he sholde mightily
Conforte him-self, and seyn it was folye,
So causeles swich drede for to drye,
And eft biginne his aspre sorwes newe,  
That every man mighte on his sorwes rewe.

Who coude telle aright or ful discryve
His wo, his pleynt, his langour, and his pyne?
Nought al the men that han or been on-lyve.
Thou, redere, mayst thy-self ful wel devyne  
That swich a wo my wit can not defyne.
On ydel for to wryte it sholde I swinke,
Whan that my wit is wery it to thinke.

On hevene yet the sterres were sene,
Al-though ful pale y-waxen was the mone;  
And whyten gan the orisonte shene
Al estward, as it woned is for to done.
And Phebus with his rosy carte sone
Gan after that to dresse him up to fare,
Whan Troilus hath sent after Pandare.  

This Pandare, that of al the day biforn
Ne mighte han comen Troilus to see,
Al-though he on his heed it hadde y-sworn,
For with the king Pryam alday was he,
So that it lay not in his libertee  
No-wher to gon, but on the morwe he wente
To Troilus, whan that he for him sente.

For in his herte he coude wel devyne,
That Troilus al night for sorwe wook;
And that he wolde telle him of his pyne,  
This knew he wel y-nough, with-oute book.
For which to chaumbre streight the wey he took,
And Troilus tho sobreliche he grette,
And on the bed ful sone he gan him sette.

'My Pandarus,' quod Troilus, 'the sorwe  
Which that I drye, I may not longe endure.
I trowe I shal not liven til to-morwe;
For whiche I wolde alwey, on aventure,
To thee devysen of my sepulture
The forme, and of my moeble thou dispone  
Right as thee semeth best is for to done.

'But of the fyr and flaumbe funeral
In whiche my body brenne shal to glede,
And of the feste and pleyes palestral
At my vigile, I prey thee tak good hede  
That be wel; and offre Mars my stede,
My swerd, myn helm, and, leve brother dere,
My sheld to Pallas yef, that shyneth clere.

'The poudre in which myn herte y-brend shal torne,
That preye I thee thou take and it conserve  
In a vessel, that men clepeth an urne,
Of gold, and to my lady that I serve,
For love of whom thus pitously I sterve,
So yeve it hir, and do me this plesaunce,
To preye hir kepe it for a remembraunce.  

'For wel I fele, by my maladye,
And by my dremes now and yore ago,
Al certeinly, that I mot nedes dye.
The owle eek, which that hight Ascaphilo,
Hath after me shright alle thise nightes two.  
And, god Mercurie! Of me now, woful wrecche,
The soule gyde, and, whan thee list, it fecche!'

Pandare answerde, and seyde, 'Troilus,
My dere freend, as I have told thee yore,
That it is folye for to sorwen thus,  
And causeles, for whiche I can no-more.
But who-so wol not trowen reed ne lore,
I can not seen in him no remedye,
But lete him worthen with his fantasye.

'But Troilus, I pray thee tel me now,  
If that thou trowe, er this, that any wight
Hath loved paramours as wel as thou?
Ye, god wot, and fro many a worthy knight
Hath his lady goon a fourtenight,
And he not yet made halvendel the fare.  
What nede is thee to maken al this care?

'Sin day by day thou mayst thy-selven see
That from his love, or elles from his wyf,
A man mot twinnen of necessitee,
Ye, though he love hir as his owene lyf;  
Yet nil he with him-self thus maken stryf.
For wel thow wost, my leve brother dere,
That alwey freendes may nought been y-fere.

'How doon this folk that seen hir loves wedded
By freendes might, as it bi-*** ful ofte,  
And seen hem in hir spouses bed y-bedded?
God woot, they take it wysly, faire and softe.
For-why good hope halt up hir herte on-lofte,
And for they can a tyme of sorwe endure;
As tyme hem hurt, a tyme doth hem cure.  

'So sholdestow endure, and late slyde
The tyme, and fonde to ben glad and light.
Ten dayes nis so longe not tabyde.
And sin she thee to comen hath bihight,
She nil hir hestes breken for no wight.  
For dred thee not that she nil finden weye
To come ayein, my lyf that dorste I leye.

'Thy swevenes eek and al swich fantasye
Dryf out, and lat hem faren to mischaunce;
For they procede of thy malencolye,  
That doth thee fele in sleep al this penaunce.
A straw for alle swevenes signifiaunce!
God helpe me so, I counte hem not a bene,
Ther woot no man aright what dremes mene.

'For prestes of the temple tellen this,  
That dremes been the revelaciouns
Of goddes, and as wel they telle, y-wis,
That they ben infernals illusiouns;
And leches seyn, that of complexiouns
Proceden they, or fast, or glotonye.  
Who woot in sooth thus what they signifye?

'Eek othere seyn that thorugh impressiouns,
As if a wight hath faste a thing in minde,
That ther-of cometh swiche avisiouns;
And othere seyn, as they in bokes finde,  
That, after tymes of the yeer by kinde,
Men dreme, and that theffect goth by the mone;
But leve no dreem, for it is nought to done.

'Wel worth o

This is not
the age of information.

This is not
the age of information.

Forget the news,
and the radio,
and the blurred screen.

This is the time
of loaves
and fishes.

People are hungry
and one good word is bread
for a thousand.

  -- David Whyte
      from The House of Belonging
     ©1996 Many Rivers Press

Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into
the conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.

  -- David Whyte
      from Everything is Waiting for You
     ©2003 Many Rivers Press

In that first
hardly noticed
moment
to which you wake,
coming back
to this life
from the other
more secret,
moveable
and frighteningly
honest
world
where everything
began,
there is a small
opening
into the new day
which closes
the moment
you begin
your plans.

What you can plan
is too small
for you to live.

What you can live
wholeheartedly
will make plans
enough
for the vitality
hidden in your sleep.

To be human
is to become visible
while carrying
what is hidden
as a gift to others.

To remember
the other world
in this world
is to live in your
true inheritance.

You are not
a troubled guest
on this earth,
you are not
an accident
amidst other accidents
you were invited
from another and greater
night
than the one
from which
you have just emerged.

Now, looking through
the slanting light
of the morning
window toward
the mountain
presence
of everything
that can be,
what urgency
calls you to your
one love?  What shape
waits in the seed
of you to grow
and spread
its branches
against a future sky?

Is it waiting
in the fertile sea?
In the trees
beyond the house?
In the life
you can imagine
for yourself?
In the open
and lovely
white page
on the waiting desk?

~ David Whyte ~

ÆFRE SWĀ DÆGES, ĪSERNUM-BORDHREÓÐUM
GRYRELÉOÐ OND HLÉOÞCWIDE SWĀ! 
FÉÐEWÍGUM SĒ EFTCYME! SWĀ SĒ WIELM BLŌD!

Thae Verra Wordis o' Battle Auld! an' Verra Prelude War-Hye o' mine! 
Tae ye a' ageyne tell Ah! afor yondir Forgotten Myrk Whunstane!
Fore cannae ye a' see? frae ma Verra Vision, Thais Immortal Battle-Landis, 
Fore let mee Thais War-Sange, ne'er tae e'er, wi'in Anie Quiet Loch, wane!
Nowe ageyne, weall! thro' Hye-Boilin' Steel-Bluid Eternal Ȝell:

Cauld an' Feudal Battle-Yeir, Sacral o' mine A.D. MXVII hynne! 
Let mee weall, weall! stick-an-stowe intae Thais Deep Past Bluid-Fyre, 
O'er Thais Hoat Airn, ma Guid Auld Swaird Feathfull! 
Ays a Distinct War-Vision Ah nowe stylle see! unco radiatin', 
Dogydder wae Thad Bygane Shower o' Arrows nowe ay War-Invisible:

MĪN HEAÐUWÆD!

An' afore Thae Hye Lowes! ma Stane-Hearth, nowe hynne remember, 
Fore ageyne! ay maun nowe Thais Bluid-Vision o' mine tallid unco Ah! 
Ays Supreme Fyre-Wylle! o'er an' 'yont th' Cauld Lang Hame, 
Meanie Feudal Towmonts ago, hynne, wae ma Airn-Wame, 
An' th' War-Mask o'er ma Swaird-Cut Cheek Bane
Unco haiwin', a Feudal Rebel an' Wulde Brooch-Wearer, Ah!

DOLHWUND OND BORDRANDE, 
EFT WLWULF SWIÞE WÆS IC!

Intae CARHAM'S BATTLE MAYHEM AULD! an' th' Scyld-Horror
Ne'er, IT! thro' th' Murky Moorlan Nicht tae unco wane! 
Wae ITS Open Jaws, an' Het Braith, an' Whyte Teeth Dazzlin', 
Thro' Thoosan Cries Norland an' Clashes Micht hynne! 
Frae Thoosan Battle-Scheldes unco Wooden-Colorful Thay A'!

BORDWUDA MĪN HRÍÐ,

Across yondir Scyld-Wauch found masell hynne Ah! 
Verra, Verra Guid Vision! Verra, Verra Guid Wunner!

NORÐÞUNRES SCIELDWEALL,

An' th' Steel-Spirit, verra Gleamin' IT unco haiwin'
Thad deep thro' ma Battle-Veins in Deep Moorlan Gore, 
Yondir! o'er Thae Blacklyn Hylles, wae ma Guid Claymore-Lore:

LĪEĠÞRACUM NÆGLING!

Ays a Storne Micht! Þenne an' nowe stylle unco flowed, 
Hwenne, IT! Great Þunor's an' Bauds' Warlike Orrah! 
Th' Daye-Luminarie at ITS Zenith-Trune Sacral, 
Verra, Verra Hye IT! waes, wae Rid Lowes Invincible
In nae, nae hynne! Hye Skye-Agony dwellin':

ĒACEN DÆGSCIELD,

Invisible, IT! intae Thae Deep Cauld Norland Skyes
Whare Thais Sunne! allwayes unco owre Wee, 
O'er Thais Horizon Harsh an' Warlike an' Dreary
Wae Fiery Skye-Dignity Primordial unco rules, 
Hwenne, IT! weall, weall Ah nowe stylle in Fyre Thad see!

STĪELENE GLYDERING,

Great Kvaysir's Orrah! th' Swaird-Hurt Schawdu! 
HYS Ghastly Apparition o'er Whin-Rock devastatingly makyt
Wae HYS Bluid Mirk! downe, downe! descendin', 
Hwenne, IT! ****** Hel's Guid Battle Orrah! 
Th' Enraged Ocean spake nae, nae IT laanger!

OFERȲÞUM BRIMRAD,

Wae HYS Whispered Woirds o' War intae HYS Storne Rageful, 
Hwenne hynne, at length IT! Airn an' Guid Thundir's Orrah! 
Th' Gore Sacrificial o' thoosan enemies o' mine! 
Quhame faced a' Ah! th' Lone Wolf-Feeder! ay nae Age-Worn! 
Wae ma War-Blade Dearest, THOROLF GIED called:

DYNGES BEADULÉOMA!

Red-Boilin' IT becam! an' frae Cauld Horizon tae Cauld Horizon extendin', 
An' Þenne a Vortex Feudal o' Coagulatin' Energy Micht! 
Indistinguishable frae thais Battle-Mass frae Auld Carham,

A LONE CRIMSON WAR-FIGURE UNCO MICHT
WAE THAIS BOILIN' BLUID BATTLE-SACRIFICIAL
UNCO! IN WAR-GORE PERENNIAL MAKYT! 
FRAE THAIS CAULD PROWID BATTLE-LANDIS
O'ER A'! TAE TH' WOUNDED SKYES HYE SOARIN'
WHA'S FEUDAL NAIM GORY, TH' OWAR-MANN! 
AYS WYLLE O' MINE BLUID-INCARNATED! 
FRAE DEEP TH' BYGANE, TOWARDIS YONDIR FUTURE, 
NOWE AFORE MINE SCARS O' WAR WAES
O'ER AN' O'ER, GUID BRUNANBURH'S ORRAH! 
TAE MEE! WAE MA SOLITARYE VISION
WAR-BLINDED UNCO RETURNIN',

Weall Ah hynne remember! An' nowe play mair, mair for mee! 
Yer Steel-Lyre Auld Wise! Fore Ah e'en mair distinctly see! 
Thro' Wreaths o' Bluid-Vapor Sacrificial, th' Heat o' th' Strywe! 
Theare cam forth, Ah say, an' TH' THYNGE! soared, unco free,

HEAHÞRYM OND DRĒOR-HÉAHSÆ,

O'er Thais Swaird-Encounter an' a' th' fallen afore mine eyes, 
Bye wha's Naim neither Ullr in Airn Enraged hynne, 
Nor Kvaysir Micht! nor Auld Vargs Unda gleamin'
Nor o' Hôm Loga Himna Hye! waes IT called, 
An' IT swayed nae, o'er th' Battle-Mass Gory!

CAMPWÍGES CWEALMDRÉOR,

Nor thro' HYS Feudal Bluid soarin', IT spake in any Battle-Ȝell, 
An' theare IT unco remained! o'er Thais Perennial o' mine Swaird-Hel:

MĪN GEMYNDIG GIET ÞUNRODE!

Wha's HYS ROUND SCYLD O' WAR held hye! towardis th' Sunne! 
A Continual Lowe o' Dense Fyre hynne a' gatherin', an' a
Luminous Rain frae th' Zenith-Sunne Invisible, thad waes IT

WAE REASON THUNDIR-FORCE A' STEERIN', 
DAZZLIN' LIGHTNIN' PERENNIAL A' CONQUERIN', 
TAE TH' INFINITE ITS WAR-BLUID INCREASIN', 
O'ER TH' SCYLD O' TH' OWAR-MANN
AYS A FYRE-RAY AN' MICHT STAR FLASHIN', 
AN' IN FEUDAL AIRN DWELLIN',

Hwenne! HYS Substance frae Bluid Sacrificial intae Gleamin' Steel turned, 
Thro' Loud Cries frae th' Battle thad stylle heard Ah:

WULFUM BEARHTM!

Stylle Liquid Metal o' War Dazzlin'! Feudal Wapin Formidable! 
Weaponized Airn-Soul Fetch'in-Micht o' mine! 
Wha's naim, in loud cries stylle! ays a BLINDIN' STAR O' WAR SUPREME,

HEOFONSTEORRA-GEBYLD,

Frae th' Remote Zone Mirk o' th' Luminous Skye nowe appearin'
Waes! Þenne Distinct a Titan Steel-Colossal IT becam, 
Whileas Thae Auld Woirds o' War Whispered Thay!

BLÓDWRACU,

Wee, ewyre-remembered, an' nae at a' Damnable Thay! 
Thad winna Thay a' ne'er, ne'er fade awa! stylle
Wi'in ear o' mine thro' th' Whooshin' Wynde
An' o'er th' whole Kintra rulin', stick-an'-stowe felt Ah:

ENDELĒAS MANFULTUM OND MÆGENÞISE
MĪN GEWILL ÆT SĒ ŌFER-MANN BIÞ, 
FORWEARD OND ÆGHWÆR STÍELE SWĀ, 
ÞA ÍSENWYRHTAN SĒ ŌFER-MANN,

Th' Frame! The Verra Frame o' Hye Conquerin' Steel-Feudal! 
Frae yondir Norþan-hymbre auld an' verra colorful! 
Wae th' War-Blade Bleezan intae deep Thais Battle-Storne, 
Th' Scarred in th' Cheek! th' Lone Scyld-Fighter:

BORDHREÓÐAN SCEADUGENGA OND WRECEND!

Nowe unco! Great Orrah! o' Soarin' War-Airn Empowered! 
Wi'in Thoosan Hye Skye-Clashes! Wi'in Thoosan Onslaughts, A' Rairan o' mine! 
Tae nowe in Airn schawe ye a'! HYE HEL:

EFTWYRD-GEWILL OND ÆLÍFES GEWIDERE, 
MĪN HEOFONFYRE WÆPENÞRACU! 
NU LÍGETSLIEHTUM SĒ ÞEGN, 
SWĀ STÍELE ĒACEN SĒ ŌFER-MANN,

Frae th' Bygane ays allwayis a Blank intae th' Gore dabbed, 
Towardis th' Future ays allwayis a Dangerus Landis! 
Whare th' cowardly enemies allwayis lurk an' await:

BEADOLEÓMAN UNWEORÐE!

Th' same wae TH' WYLLE TAE TH' HYE OVERMAN waes! 
Richte Nowe! Thais Steel-Titan Micht afore mine eyes
O'er th' corpses o' th' fallen an' intae th' Core-Fyre Sacrificial
Thad HYS SOLAR SCYLD held hye! stylle receivin' IT waes:

AHWÆR OND BALDLICE, 
EFT HEAÐUSIGLES ÁNWÍG,

Fore willin' th' Bygane ays IT haes bin in th' Overman Hye! 
Th' future ays empowered in HYS Feudal Person waes tae, 
Fore Willin' waes, IT! willin' th' Person o' Overman alone! 
Lyke a Verra Destination Tangible o' mine, IT! 
Intae thais Colossus o' Battle-Gore boilin' ays Cast Steel, Thad Wylle!

ÞYRSUM HEAÐUWÆD,

Thad th' Rational Firey Ah say, Continuum o' Lowes waes IT haudin! 
Wpon th' Scyld o'er an' o'er Flashin' IT, hynne Steel-Crucial! 
Increasin' IT! ITS Force Micht an' the Ray! tae th' Endless Skye! 
An' th' Frame! Th' Verra Noble Frame IRONCLAD-FEUDAL!

AD ALTA SIDERA INVICTO METALLO
NUPER SUPREMUM ARTIFICIUM BELLI
FLAMMISQUE CORPUS EXTRAMUNDANUM
QUOD GEWILL OVERMAN NUNC NOMINATUR
ERIT FERRO MAGNO SANGUINEQUE ET SCUTO
IN PROELIO APUD CAMPUM CARHAM
RUBRA VEXILLA REDITUS IGNEA SPIRAQUE
INVICTO METALLO VOLUNTAS MEA,

Fore, ageyne! Beguid Great, Great Orrah! 
Th' willin' Ane Thynge waes! wae Thais Steel-Titan O'erhuman! 
Thad GEWILL OVERMAN o'er Carham's Gory Landis waes IT called Auld:

SWEOLUNGA OND ÆLINGUM SWIÞE SWĀ! 
ÞÆR MĪN GLOWENDE-ÆDREGEARD ĀRĀS,

Fore, ageyne! Great Glamis' Wae Orrah! 
Willin' backiewards th' Bygane ays IT allwayis in Gore haes bin, 
Waes IT! willin'th' Overman ays nae laanger a Blank an' a War-Cauld:

HEÁFODWYLME OND SWEOLOÐAN HLEO!

Fore, ageyne! Þunores Fair an' Wounded Orrah! 
Willin' th' Bygane ays Want o' Pow'r waes willin' th' future ays Pow'r, 
Intae th' Verra Steel-Person o' Thais O'erhuman Steel-Avenger untold:

SĒ ĪSERN-HEREWÆÐA,

Fore, ageyne! Dagur's Guid Orrah o' mine! 
Willin' backiewards intae th' Tyme Irreversible, hynne unco Unforgivin' IT! 
Waes IT! willin' th' future ays Skye-Empowered nowe! 
Intae th' Person o' th' Overman Thais Steel-Titan o'er th' Scyld-Wa Micht, 
Thro' th' Spiral-Continuum thad Becomin' ays Increase in Pow'r waes: 

TH' SEL-RETURNIN' RAY CONDENSATIN' FYRE-JOYFUL:
FULLMÆGENES BRYNELEÓMA,
WPON TH' COLOSSAL SCYLD HELD IT, wae th' arm VERRA HYE! 

Fore ageyne! Devastatin' frae Cauld Thule Orrah! 
Th' bygane intae th' Airn-Person o' th' Overman ays IT haes bin! 
Must be IT willed! Fore thus different IT shall agyne be! 
Ays empow'red intae th' Central an' unco Firey-Abysmal IT, 
An' wae Rid Lowes hynne Rid! Return o' Pow'r Event:

BÆLÞRACE WUDUROSE!

Firm Thynge! an' Verra Core wi'in continual Becomin' ays Pow'r, 
Fore, ageyne! Thoosan Thundirs' Skye-Orrah! 
Tae affirm Lyife tae affirm th' OVERMAN nesisarie IT waes! 
Ays Wylle Superior, hynne True Wylle IT provin'! 
Ma Final Inner Strength! Ma Ultimate Inner Vision!

ÞUNORUM OND BEADWE GRYRELÉOÐE, 
MĪN WIGSIGOR-GESIHÐNES HLÍFEDE!

Thad ainlie Thais Steel-Jǫtunn o' War cannae, wi'in Battle-Lowes Hye! 
Across Auld Carham's Colorful, verra Colorful Scyld Wa Micht nae be! 

BREIÐØX-DRENGR ÆN ATGANGA!

Frae th' Past allwayis bleedin'! intae th' Future allwayis Dangerus! 
An' nae for a' wi'in th' Great Spiral o' Strife, o'er th' Battlefield
Ah nowe stylle see, Thais Steel-Spirit unco waes!

ÁGLÆCAN WUNDORSÉON, HĀL! 
NU MĪN FEORHBOLD BRǢDEÞ SWIÞE, 
RANDWÍGA WÆS IC! SĒ BISENE WRECEND! 
SWURD ON HANDA! HEORU-DRĒORE NACOD! 
HILDE-GRĪMAN! RÝNE STÍELE OND CRÆFTUM
BEADU WÆPEN, BRYNEWELMES STÁNTORR, 
HEAÐUWYLME OND STIELE SWĀ, 
GEWILL ÆT SĒ ŌFER-MANN HÂTEN,

Þenne, och! Great Guid Orrah! Tae nae mere War-Legend nowe fullefylle! 
Let mee ma Vision lastly recollect! THRIE SKYE-GLOBES O' SKYE-FYRE Fwlle! 
Tae ma Battle-Scarred Sight appeared out-owre th' Conquerin' Sunne! 
Intimately blended Thay A'! intae Thais Soarin' Metal-Fusion Gleamin' stylle: 
TH' OVERMAN! AN' TH' BEIN' AYS POW'R, unco Magnificent Thynge! 
AN' TH' RETURN AYS INCREASE IN POW'R! a Reingȝe formin' o'er yondir Hylle! 
Flashin' A' Thay! wae Thais STEEL-TITAN ays hynne ma Verra Guid Battle-Wylle!

GEGYLDEN HRINCG GEWILLE!

A poet that floweth like a slow pour o Moët
over the ***** and *** of these ****** that
I gladly leave gushy in the deep of forest
To the bass pumped out by Skiitour its
About ******* time I got on my grind
My mind's on God but got money on my mind
Playwright lay pipe in any fine honey I find
No slob she won't slob the **** unless she a nine
The way my hands rest you'd think I carry a nine
No Luger don't confuse ya my response is nien
I'll machine my own drum with an automatic hum
Finna craft a set of meteoric iron guns
Got iron lungs ya son I **** chung
Never been bankrupt thank God when I wake up
Now this life is a dream hope I never wake up
Y'all thought I changed up I just kept doing my thang bruh

Hit the Green On Whyte out the Killa Bee
**** with me I'll know who your killas be
Take a **** of these trees if ya feelin free
They choke on the D when they ******* with me
Hit the Green On Whyte out the Killa Bee
**** with me I'll know who your killas be
Take a **** of these trees if ya feelin free
They choke on the D when they ******* with me

Water is for my plants Moët for when I pant
Ya heard me we drinking champagne when we thirsty
Hoes get wet when I dance, they check at my lance
Ya heard me feet burn like their eyes at girth of Yehud meat
I'm balling up they fall in love when our eyes meet
I ask where we goin for brunch she replied "surprise me"
Haven't even got her name yet this is not surprising
The absolute height of player is the surmising true glory
Of my biography made to movie based on true story
Bard cookin soft right, off white the sheen is all bright
This **** lookin hard like the all spark get lit all night
Bring your girl back to mines I live 5 blocks off Whyte
***** poppin pushing hot keys you can't stop me
Do not knock me or trust I just might rock three
Shots to your dome blaow return your *** home
You just a kid to this *** now get your *** grown

Hit the Green On Whyte out the Killa Bee
**** with me I'll know who your killas be
Take a **** of these trees if ya feelin free
They choke on the D when they ******* with me
Hit the Green On Whyte out the Killa Bee
**** with me I'll know who your killas be
Take a **** of these trees if ya feelin free
They choke on the D when they ******* with me

Krishnakov spittin that avtomat kalashnikov
Phone try and auto it yeah that ****** me off
Made me miss my bars getting hit by cars
Forgave still bear a scar "I'd never fare this far"
Is what I'll say to my ma if she ever pick up my calls
A bad and bodacious Badger's twerk had me lose a ball
Sad and loquacious had to work or I would lose it all
Never lose my calling I know God is offering
Won't listen to Satan and his calls for slaughtering
Although that's what I oughtta be doing, bartering
For style and influence the currency is Tegridy
You gotta survive through sewers, life is hella gritty
You could smell the city on them Jewel boys
But I pity the chains that they live and die for, fool ploys
Slave to the lower man, am I the last reporter in
This sorta wind swept world we take orders in

Hit the Green On Whyte out the Killa Bee
**** with me I'll know who your killas be
Take a **** of these trees if ya feelin free
They choke on the D when they ******* with me

Your *** chokes on Kosher Salami when you **** with me
I beat on her Ocher pastrami while I roll up my trees
Pour Moët on the pink though **** leave it glistening
Your *** wet after a wink and 10 seconds of listening

Feudal, an’ Deep Swaird Scar-Faced Ah,

Th’ Lone Skye-Horror

Thad heare Ah once gleamingly wore,
Nowe! intae Theis Abysmal ay Past Fyre-Lore,
Ye a’ Skellums, see! Theis Rage o’ mine thad Ah bore
Heare! wae mah Thundir-Airn tirlin’, nae a Woe,
Taukin’ nowe Ah! wae th’ Wynde-Tone O’erhuman, fore
Abön th’ Skye-Storne wæs ay yondir Friendly Shore,
Wae a Pause wi’in mah strugglin’, nae ay any more,
Th’ Scyld Ah haudin’ unco glowin’, ‘yont th’ Castle Dore,
Whatna! Theis Airn-Wame o’ mine, Rageful ays nae afore,
Thro’ th’ Skye-Pruid ay Lightnings, an’ e’en skye-more,
*** ay standin’, ‘yont th’ Drakkar Ablaze, wae th’ Burnan Ore,
Thus Ðhunder-Imbued, Bluish Fyre becam mah flowin’ Gore,
O’er th’ Rid Rock soarin’, wrapped in th’ Auld taukin’ Lowe,
Revenge oan th’ Dust, wi’in theis Hill graven! stick-an-stowe,
Quhain! th’ Ocean abowt mah Person, th’ Gale intae twa it tore,
Quhain! th’ Return o’ Pow’r gaed tae its Guid Hel o’ Yore,
Quhain! a Firey Ember wæs mah Rubye Brooch ay hynne nowe,
‘Yont th’ Seven-Headed Beast Winged, wha Grim He swore,
Mah Frame Axe-Wounded, Rays emittin’ frae ilka pore,
Deep intae theis ay Norland Janwar’s bitin’ owre Frore,
An’ a Mirror appeared! thro’ th’ Thunderbolts, nae thair Chore,
Nae Gode bit th’ Owar-Mann! mah Steel-Ghaist, nae tae adore,
Quher! mah Battle-Scars Rid wur stylle thais unco a Soare,
Quher! th’ Cauld theare wæs tae mah Throat aye smore,
Quher! mah Sel-Reflection dazzlin’ it wæs, thro’ th’ Aurore,
Togiddir wae mah Chain Mail flashin’, tae th’ Whyte Core!

ŌFER-MANNES BEADULÉOMAN WÆLGRYRE,
NIHTES HRÍÐUM SĊĒAWERE OND WÆPENÞRACUM
UNDER HERE-GRĪMAN OÞÍEWEDE SE DWIMOR,
HWÆR SWĀ MISGEWIDERE ECGÞRACU MAÞELODE,

SIGRSÆLL EK AFSKRÆMI-LIGA MIS-YRKI,
ÞÁ EN GINSTAN MEÐ MJÖK FRÆKNLIGA
VIND-ǪLD ÞVÍ NÆST ALMÁTTIGR ALFÖÐR,

QVA RE

ALTO A SEPTENTRIONE VINTICTÆ CVM FVLMINE

DEVS RVBRA FEVDORVM SECVRE THOR NOMINE MEORVM
SPECVLO CHALIBE SIVE SCVTO MEO SOLISQVE POLITISSIMO
RVBRO IN TEMPLO CVM ILLE NVNC AIT MIHI ALTOQVE
MEA REX SIVE BELLATOR OVERMAN NOMINE SPATHA
VT INGNEVS SIT MAXIME HOC TONITRVO MEVS VIGOR
AC FVGIENDA FVLMINE ESSE CÆRVLEO HIC VMBRA
ET INTRA FLAMMAS AC RVBRA EX FEODALE VLTIONE
ALBO HIC FVLMINE AC HYDRA SEPTEM CAPITIBVS RVBRA
LIVIDO EX IGNE GRÆCO PROFVNDE HIC FACETE DICTO

ENΘΔE KAI ΔE ETI
AΦΘONΩΣ Ω OVERMAN

OΛΩΣ ΔE ΠΟΚΑΤΑΣΤΑΣIΣ ΠANTH
KAI ΔYNAMIΣ ΓE KAI AΛHΘEIA TEΩΣ
NYN ΔOΞA KAI ΔE KAI ΔAIMΩN

STAT DEMVM ILLE HIC NOMINE REX I

QVA RE

FERRO AMICTVS FEODALE IMMORTALIQVE TOTALITER EGO CVM SPATHA
VBI LIVIDA MEA SPECVLI REFLECTIONE AC VESTE CONCREVERVNT CHALYBIS FVLMINA

QVOAD

AD INFINITVM PERPETVO RECVRRENS POTENTIÆ INCREMENTO SICVT IGNEA ROTA HÆC IMAGO
FEODALIS SIVE O ΔΑIΜΩΝ GRÆCO VERBO MEA EX FVLMINIBVS IN SPECVLO LIVIDA
AC POST DE BRVNANBVRH PROELIVM ASSIDVE DE OVERMAN CRVORE POTENTIOR IGNEA

QVIA

VENIT RECVRSV POTENTIÆ HOC IDVLVM IVGITER SIVE TO EIΔΩΛON EXTRAMVNDANVM MIHI
AC HÆ SVNT LEX RATIOQVE DE OVERMAN INVIOLABILITER HAC IN LAPIDE INSCRIPTÆ

QVOMODO

FVLGORIS NATVRA OVERMAN SIVE ENAPXIKH TPIAΣ EXCELLENTIA ESSENTIÆ
HOC FVLMINORVM INCREMENTO SINE FINE AC SINE INITIO HVIVS TEMPESTATIS MAGNI AC IRÆ MEÆ

QVAQVMQVE

SVMMA EST IN SCVTO SIVE SPECVLO CONTINVATIONEM ILLE GENERANS ET VLTOR
AC MVTATIONIS INCREMENTVM TONITRVO SICVT ΔEYPO TΩ EMΩ AIMATI PERSEVERANS

QVONIAM

SIT DENVO GRÆCA CVM VOCE AC TONITRVO EX SANGVINE MEO IGNEO
FEODALE HORVM FVLMINORVM METALLICO CORPORE MEA VINDICTA SICVT

ΜOΝΗ EΣTI ΚΑΙ ΠΡOΟΔΟΣ ΚΑI ΔH ΚΑI ΕΠΙΣΤΡΟΦH
EΝ ΤΩ ΧΡOΝΩ ΦΑΣΜΑΤΑ

QVONDAM

ΤA ΠAΝΤΑ AEI ΚOΣΜΟΣ-ΛOΓΟΣ ΚΑΙ ΜEΤΡΟΝ
ΤO ΓΕ ΝYΝ ΓΝΩΣΙΣ

AC RELVCENTEM MAGNVMQVE IN SPECVLO LAVDO ET CANO VINDICEM
ET PERGITE RVBRA HAC IN ALTISSIMA RVPE HVIVS HIEMIS FVLMINA

AD QVEM

IRA CVM EXTRAMVNDANA MEA ET FEODALE CORPORE

LOCVM  FERRO AMICTVS SPATHA SCVTOQVE PERVENIEBAM NATANS
INTRA OCEANVM AD VERGENTIS OCCASVM CALEDONIÆ REGNI SICVT

OVERMAN ECGÞRACU.

I heard of a man
who never owned a
television.  
Instead he bought
a set of solid oak
bookshelves stained
like mahogany.

With the money
he saved on cable,
he filled them with
classics like Plato,
Aristotle, and Dostoyevsky.
He studied Darwin
and Descartes, and
memorized poems by
Whyte and O'Donohue

Because he never
made the switch to
high definition, he
could afford trips to
Rome and Tuscany.
Walking those ancient
streets and resting
in those heavenly fields,

he learned the art
of attentiveness,
minding the
genius loci
of a place,
and setting
one's cadence to
the breath of the wind.

And in the end,
he had a few books
of his own,
but they taught
nothing new
other than
how to truly live.

.
The sails, the wind the deep blue sea...
Life untethered is the life for me--
War is brutal upon the raging swells
the clashing sword and cannonball...
we pray against a bitter wind
the tattered sails, they rise and fall...
Rare to touch the earth below our feet
to always heed the sirens call...
The smell of death on salty air
their final dance in this aquatic realm...
Liquid dreamers hoard their take
while whiskey eyed captains clench their helm...
Sailing through the Isle of Whyte
shattering its' mirrored waters...
taking all the gold we can find
to raise our sails and daughters...
The goblets of gold we raise each night
are toasts to leaving Rome...
We'll make new trails across old wakes,
we'll crash through seas of foam...
You can take pirates off the sea
but it will always be their home...

John James Stanley Whyte
why would you not
do what was right
man of the cloth
man of the sea
(at least in uniformity)
privileged hypocrite
evader of consequence
Doctor of Divinity
all that's divine
about you, is me

Used my mother
because you could
refused to acknowledge
you're in my blood
was it due to the class divide
that you found it so easy
to throw us aside?

Whenever she wanted
to punish me
she'd list the ways
I took after you
say I was created
in your image
say that your visage
was mirrored in me
that the nose I hated
was exactly like yours
and that was hard to take

She showed me a cutting
someone sent to her
from the Scotsman I think
or perhaps some local rag
from Edinburgh, where you were
saying you'd been bound over
for indecent exposure
from the window of your Manse
where you stood naked
though whether ***** it did not say

And she'd beg me
not to turn out like you
and I would ask
in my innocence
what she meant by that
"He's a ladies' man" she'd reply
and I had no clue
what she meant by this
yet even then
the idea of nakedness
sent a tingle up my spine
though I didn't like
what I had to show
felt it wasn't really mine

You had a life of comfort
while ours was hand to mouth
did anything ever stick to you
did your conscience ever twinge
did you ever even wonder
what became of me?
I'm not sure why I never yet
tried to track you down
perhaps it shows my utter contempt
or on the other hand
maybe I felt being rejected once
was once more than enough
and a second time would be
two more than I should take
yet at times I wonder
what fate had in store for you
because if your karma
didn't catch up with you
it sure as hell got me

Cynthia Pauline Jones 23/9/2013

"When the Thin Whyte Duke
And the Prince lay colde
When the fools stande talle
And the bigots bolde
The man of orange shall seize the throne
From the one they calle "The Clyntoone Crone"
Then men wille weepe and children waile
(The internete declare a "FAILE")
To no availe fore I have seene
The worlde will ende in twenty hundrede and sixteene!"

SANTIAGO
The road seen, then not seen, the hillside hiding
then revealing the way you should take,
the road dropping away from you
as if leaving you to walk
on thin air, then catching you,
holding you up,
when you thought you would fall,

David Whyte.

The Covid Pilgrimage

Walking in the red dust
Made of the remains of the many dead.
There is still a path between
The broken walls and dying trees.
Black swans flying over me.
The sky is uncomfortable,
Twisting grey and dark clouds, tumbling.

The pestilence covers the low hills like fog.
Tendrils and squalls blowing towards me,
Leaving me afraid, masked, and cloaked.

There are others, masked and covered.
Mostly they avoid me like I am dangerous,
Because I am

For a seemingly never-ending time
The Orange King cavorted ahead.
Lying, shaking his scepter
Then he stumbled and fell away
Leading the unwary far into the wilderness.
I can still hear their cries,
That now sound much more like screaming.

After an impossible time
I have reached the crest of a low hill.
And there—could it be—so far away,
there is a light, a beacon on the trail.
I feel a roaring in my ears,
My eyes blurred with tears.
It changes colors but it is still there,
A light shining at the end of this Camino.

I am still walking in the red dust,
Still mostly alone, cloaked and masked,
But now I feel lighter, stronger.
I hear a child laughing, a bird singing,
And the relief of Joy comes to me.

The pestilence still crouches on the ridges
Coils of menacing clouds approach.
But I find myself hoping and reaching out a hand
To those I love.
I am learning a lesson from the pilgrimage.
Today my heart is open.

Gary Gibbens, Jan 2021