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Of that sort of Dramatic Poem which is call’d Tragedy.

Tragedy, as it was antiently compos’d, hath been ever held the
gravest, moralest, and most profitable of all other Poems:
therefore said by Aristotle to be of power by raising pity and fear,
or terror, to purge the mind of those and such like passions, that is
to temper and reduce them to just measure with a kind of delight,
stirr’d up by reading or seeing those passions well imitated. Nor is
Nature wanting in her own effects to make good his assertion: for
so in Physic things of melancholic hue and quality are us’d against
melancholy, sowr against sowr, salt to remove salt humours.
Hence Philosophers and other gravest Writers, as Cicero, Plutarch
and others, frequently cite out of Tragic Poets, both to adorn and
illustrate thir discourse.  The Apostle Paul himself thought it not
unworthy to insert a verse of Euripides into the Text of Holy
Scripture, I Cor. 15. 33. and Paraeus commenting on the
Revelation, divides the whole Book as a Tragedy, into Acts
distinguisht each by a Chorus of Heavenly Harpings and Song
between.  Heretofore Men in highest dignity have labour’d not a
little to be thought able to compose a Tragedy.  Of that honour
Dionysius the elder was no less ambitious, then before of his
attaining to the Tyranny. Augustus Caesar also had begun his
Ajax, but unable to please his own judgment with what he had
begun. left it unfinisht.  Seneca the Philosopher is by some thought
the Author of those Tragedies (at lest the best of them) that go
under that name.  Gregory Nazianzen a Father of the Church,
thought it not unbeseeming the sanctity of his person to write a
Tragedy which he entitl’d, Christ suffering. This is mention’d to
vindicate Tragedy from the small esteem, or rather infamy, which
in the account of many it undergoes at this day with other common
Interludes; hap’ning through the Poets error of intermixing Comic
stuff with Tragic sadness and gravity; or introducing trivial and
****** persons, which by all judicious hath bin counted absurd; and
brought in without discretion, corruptly to gratifie the people. And
though antient Tragedy use no Prologue, yet using sometimes, in
case of self defence, or explanation, that which Martial calls an
Epistle; in behalf of this Tragedy coming forth after the antient
manner, much different from what among us passes for best, thus
much before-hand may be Epistl’d; that Chorus is here introduc’d
after the Greek manner, not antient only but modern, and still in
use among the Italians. In the modelling therefore of this Poem
with good reason, the Antients and Italians are rather follow’d, as
of much more authority and fame. The measure of Verse us’d in
the Chorus is of all sorts, call’d by the Greeks Monostrophic, or
rather Apolelymenon, without regard had to Strophe, Antistrophe
or Epod, which were a kind of Stanza’s fram’d only for the Music,
then us’d with the Chorus that sung; not essential to the Poem, and
therefore not material; or being divided into Stanza’s or Pauses
they may be call’d Allaeostropha.  Division into Act and Scene
referring chiefly to the Stage (to which this work never was
intended) is here omitted.

It suffices if the whole Drama be found not produc’t beyond the
fift Act, of the style and uniformitie, and that commonly call’d the
Plot, whether intricate or explicit, which is nothing indeed but such
oeconomy, or disposition of the fable as may stand best with
verisimilitude and decorum; they only will best judge who are not
unacquainted with Aeschulus, Sophocles, and Euripides, the three
Tragic Poets unequall’d yet by any, and the best rule to all who
endeavour to write Tragedy. The circumscription of time wherein
the whole Drama begins and ends, is according to antient rule, and
best example, within the space of 24 hours.


Samson made Captive, Blind, and now in the Prison at Gaza, there
to labour as in a common work-house, on a Festival day, in the
general cessation from labour, comes forth into the open Air, to a
place nigh, somewhat retir’d there to sit a while and bemoan his
condition. Where he happens at length to be visited by certain
friends and equals of his tribe, which make the Chorus, who seek
to comfort him what they can ; then by his old Father Manoa, who
endeavours the like, and withal tells him his purpose to procure his
liberty by ransom; lastly, that this Feast was proclaim’d by the
Philistins as a day of Thanksgiving for thir deliverance from the
hands of Samson, which yet more troubles him.  Manoa then
departs to prosecute his endeavour with the Philistian Lords for
Samson’s redemption; who in the mean while is visited by other
persons; and lastly by a publick Officer to require coming to the
Feast before the Lords and People, to play or shew his strength in
thir presence; he at first refuses, dismissing the publick officer with
absolute denyal to come; at length perswaded inwardly that this
was from God, he yields to go along with him, who came now the
second time with great threatnings to fetch him; the Chorus yet
remaining on the place, Manoa returns full of joyful hope, to
procure e’re long his Sons deliverance: in the midst of which
discourse an Ebrew comes in haste confusedly at first; and
afterward more distinctly relating the Catastrophe, what Samson
had done to the Philistins, and by accident to himself; wherewith
the Tragedy ends.

The Persons

Manoa the father of Samson.
Dalila his wife.
Harapha of Gath.
Publick Officer.
Chorus of Danites

The Scene before the Prison in Gaza.

Sam:  A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of Sun or shade,
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toyl,
Daily in the common Prison else enjoyn’d me,
Where I a Prisoner chain’d, scarce freely draw
The air imprison’d also, close and damp,
Unwholsom draught: but here I feel amends,
The breath of Heav’n fresh-blowing, pure and sweet,
With day-spring born; here leave me to respire.
This day a solemn Feast the people hold
To Dagon thir Sea-Idol, and forbid
Laborious works, unwillingly this rest
Thir Superstition yields me; hence with leave
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease,
Ease to the body some, none to the mind
From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm
Of Hornets arm’d, no sooner found alone,
But rush upon me thronging, and present
Times past, what once I was, and what am now.
O wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold
Twice by an Angel, who at last in sight
Of both my Parents all in flames ascended
From off the Altar, where an Off’ring burn’d,
As in a fiery column charioting
His Godlike presence, and from some great act
Or benefit reveal’d to Abraham’s race?
Why was my breeding order’d and prescrib’d
As of a person separate to God,
Design’d for great exploits; if I must dye
Betray’d, Captiv’d, and both my Eyes put out,
Made of my Enemies the scorn and gaze;
To grind in Brazen Fetters under task
With this Heav’n-gifted strength? O glorious strength
Put to the labour of a Beast, debas’t
Lower then bondslave! Promise was that I
Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver;
Ask for this great Deliverer now, and find him
Eyeless in Gaza at the Mill with slaves,
Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke;
Yet stay, let me not rashly call in doubt
Divine Prediction; what if all foretold
Had been fulfilld but through mine own default,
Whom have I to complain of but my self?
Who this high gift of strength committed to me,
In what part lodg’d, how easily bereft me,
Under the Seal of silence could not keep,
But weakly to a woman must reveal it
O’recome with importunity and tears.
O impotence of mind, in body strong!
But what is strength without a double share
Of wisdom, vast, unwieldy, burdensom,
Proudly secure, yet liable to fall
By weakest suttleties, not made to rule,
But to subserve where wisdom bears command.
God, when he gave me strength, to shew withal
How slight the gift was, hung it in my Hair.
But peace, I must not quarrel with the will
Of highest dispensation, which herein
Happ’ly had ends above my reach to know:
Suffices that to me strength is my bane,
And proves the sourse of all my miseries;
So many, and so huge, that each apart
Would ask a life to wail, but chief of all,
O loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
Blind among enemies, O worse then chains,
Dungeon, or beggery, or decrepit age!
Light the prime work of God to me is extinct,
And all her various objects of delight
Annull’d, which might in part my grief have eas’d,
Inferiour to the vilest now become
Of man or worm; the vilest here excel me,
They creep, yet see, I dark in light expos’d
To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong,
Within doors, or without, still as a fool,
In power of others, never in my own;
Scarce half I seem to live, dead more then half.
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark, total Eclipse
Without all hope of day!
O first created Beam, and thou great Word,
Let there be light, and light was over all;
Why am I thus bereav’d thy prime decree?
The Sun to me is dark
And silent as the Moon,
When she deserts the night
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
Since light so necessary is to life,
And almost life itself, if it be true
That light is in the Soul,
She all in every part; why was the sight
To such a tender ball as th’ eye confin’d?
So obvious and so easie to be quench’t,
And not as feeling through all parts diffus’d,
That she might look at will through every pore?
Then had I not been thus exil’d from light;
As in the land of darkness yet in light,
To live a life half dead, a living death,
And buried; but O yet more miserable!
My self, my Sepulcher, a moving Grave,
Buried, yet not exempt
By priviledge of death and burial
From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs,
But made hereby obnoxious more
To all the miseries of life,
Life in captivity
Among inhuman foes.
But who are these? for with joint pace I hear
The tread of many feet stearing this way;
Perhaps my enemies who come to stare
At my affliction, and perhaps to insult,
Thir daily practice to afflict me more.

Chor:  This, this is he; softly a while,
Let us not break in upon him;
O change beyond report, thought, or belief!
See how he lies at random, carelessly diffus’d,
With languish’t head unpropt,
As one past hope, abandon’d
And by himself given over;
In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds
O’re worn and soild;
Or do my eyes misrepresent?  Can this be hee,
That Heroic, that Renown’d,
Irresistible Samson? whom unarm’d
No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast could withstand;
Who tore the Lion, as the Lion tears the Kid,
Ran on embattelld Armies clad in Iron,
And weaponless himself,
Made Arms ridiculous, useless the forgery
Of brazen shield and spear, the hammer’d Cuirass,
Chalybean temper’d steel, and frock of mail
Adamantean Proof;
But safest he who stood aloof,
When insupportably his foot advanc’t,
In scorn of thir proud arms and warlike tools,
Spurn’d them to death by Troops.  The bold Ascalonite
Fled from his Lion ramp, old Warriors turn’d
Thir plated backs under his heel;
Or grovling soild thir crested helmets in the dust.
Then with what trivial weapon came to Hand,
The Jaw of a dead ***, his sword of bone,
A thousand fore-skins fell, the flower of Palestin
In Ramath-lechi famous to this day:
Then by main force pull’d up, and on his shoulders bore
The Gates of Azza, Post, and massie Bar
Up to the Hill by Hebron, seat of Giants old,
No journey of a Sabbath day, and loaded so;
Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up Heav’n.
Which shall I first bewail,
Thy ******* or lost Sight,
Prison within Prison
Inseparably dark?
Thou art become (O worst imprisonment!)
The Dungeon of thy self; thy Soul
(Which Men enjoying sight oft without cause complain)
Imprison’d now indeed,
In real darkness of the body dwells,
Shut up from outward light
To incorporate with gloomy night;
For inward light alas
Puts forth no visual beam.
O mirror of our fickle state,
Since man on earth unparallel’d!
The rarer thy example stands,
By how much from the top of wondrous glory,
Strongest of mortal men,
To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fall’n.
For him I reckon not in high estate
Whom long descent of birth
Or the sphear of fortune raises;
But thee whose strength, while vertue was her mate
Might have subdu’d the Earth,
Universally crown’d with highest praises.

Sam:  I hear the sound of words, thir sense the air
Dissolves unjointed e’re it reach my ear.

Chor:  Hee speaks, let us draw nigh.  Matchless in might,
The glory late of Israel, now the grief;
We come thy friends and neighbours not unknown
From Eshtaol and Zora’s fruitful Vale
To visit or bewail thee, or if better,
Counsel or Consolation we may bring,
Salve to thy Sores, apt words have power to swage
The tumors of a troubl’d mind,
And are as Balm to fester’d wounds.

Sam:  Your coming, Friends, revives me, for I learn
Now of my own experience, not by talk,
How counterfeit a coin they are who friends
Bear in their Superscription (of the most
I would be understood) in prosperous days
They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their head
Not to be found, though sought.  Wee see, O friends.
How many evils have enclos’d me round;
Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me,
Blindness, for had I sight, confus’d with shame,
How could I once look up, or heave the head,
Who like a foolish Pilot have shipwrack’t,
My Vessel trusted to me from above,
Gloriously rigg’d; and for a word, a tear,
Fool, have divulg’d the secret gift of God
To a deceitful Woman : tell me Friends,
Am I not sung and proverbd for a Fool
In every street, do they not say, how well
Are come upon him his deserts? yet why?
Immeasurable strength they might behold
In me, of wisdom nothing more then mean;
This with the other should, at least, have paird,
These two proportiond ill drove me transverse.

Chor:  Tax not divine disposal, wisest Men
Have err’d, and by bad Women been deceiv’d;
And shall again, pretend they ne’re so wise.
Deject not then so overmuch thy self,
Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides;
Yet truth to say, I oft have heard men wonder
Why thou shouldst wed Philistian women rather
Then of thine own Tribe fairer, or as fair,
At least of thy own Nation, and as noble.

Sam:  The first I saw at Timna, and she pleas’d
Mee, not my Parents, that I sought to wed,
The daughter of an Infidel: they knew not
That what I motion’d was of God; I knew
From intimate impulse, and therefore urg’d
The Marriage on; that by occasion hence
I might begin Israel’s Deliverance,
The work to which I was divinely call’d;
She proving false, the next I took to Wife
(O that I never had! fond wish too late)
Was in the Vale of Sorec, Dalila,
That specious Monster, my accomplisht snare.
I thought it lawful from my former act,
And the same end; still watching to oppress
Israel’s oppressours: of what now I suffer
She was not the prime cause, but I my self,
Who vanquisht with a peal of words (O weakness!)
Gave up my fort of silence to a Woman.

Chor:  In seeking just occasion to provoke
The Philistine, thy Countries Enemy,
Thou never wast remiss, I hear thee witness:
Yet Israel still serves with all his Sons.

Sam:  That fault I take not on me, but transfer
On Israel’s Governours, and Heads of Tribes,
Who seeing those great acts which God had done
Singly by me against their Conquerours
Acknowledg’d not, or not at all consider’d
Deliverance offerd : I on th’ other side
Us’d no ambition to commend my deeds,
The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the dooer;
But they persisted deaf, and would not seem
To count them things worth notice, till at length
Thir Lords the Philistines with gather’d powers
Enterd Judea seeking mee, who then
Safe to the rock of Etham was retir’d,
Not flying, but fore-casting in what place
To set upon them, what advantag’d best;
Mean while the men of Judah to prevent
The harrass of thir Land, beset me round;
I willingly on some conditions came
Into thir hands, and they as gladly yield me
To the uncircumcis’d a welcom prey,
Bound with two cords; but cords to me were threds
Toucht with the flame: on thi
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen
Their baaing vanities, to browse away
The comfortable green and juicy hay
From human pastures; or, O torturing fact!
Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'd
Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe
Our gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tinge
Of sanctuary splendour, not a sight
Able to face an owl's, they still are dight
By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests,
And crowns, and turbans. With unladen *******,
Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount
To their spirit's perch, their being's high account,
Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones--
Amid the fierce intoxicating tones
Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabour'd drums,
And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums,
In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone--
Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon,
And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks.--
Are then regalities all gilded masks?
No, there are throned seats unscalable
But by a patient wing, a constant spell,
Or by ethereal things that, unconfin'd,
Can make a ladder of the eternal wind,
And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents
To watch the abysm-birth of elements.
Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd Fate
A thousand Powers keep religious state,
In water, fiery realm, and airy bourne;
And, silent as a consecrated urn,
Hold sphery sessions for a season due.
Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few!
Have bared their operations to this globe--
Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe
Our piece of heaven--whose benevolence
Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense
Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude,
As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud
'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear,
Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair
Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest.
When thy gold breath is misting in the west,
She unobserved steals unto her throne,
And there she sits most meek and most alone;
As if she had not pomp subservient;
As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent
Towards her with the Muses in thine heart;
As if the ministring stars kept not apart,
Waiting for silver-footed messages.
O Moon! the oldest shades '**** oldest trees
Feel palpitations when thou lookest in:
O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din
The while they feel thine airy fellowship.
Thou dost bless every where, with silver lip
Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine,
Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine:
Innumerable mountains rise, and rise,
Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes;
And yet thy benediction passeth not
One obscure hiding-place, one little spot
Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren
Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken,
And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf
Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief
To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps
Within its pearly house.--The mighty deeps,
The monstrous sea is thine--the myriad sea!
O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee,
And Tellus feels his forehead's cumbrous load.

  Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abode
Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine
Such utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pine
For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale
For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail
His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh?
Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper's eye,
Or what a thing is love! 'Tis She, but lo!
How chang'd, how full of ache, how gone in woe!
She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness
Is wan on Neptune's blue: yet there's a stress
Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees,
Dancing upon the waves, as if to please
The curly foam with amorous influence.
O, not so idle: for down-glancing thence
She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about
O'erwhelming water-courses; scaring out
The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright'ning
Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning.
Where will the splendor be content to reach?
O love! how potent hast thou been to teach
Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells,
In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells,
In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun,
Thou pointest out the way, and straight 'tis won.
Amid his toil thou gav'st Leander breath;
Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death;
Thou madest Pluto bear thin element;
And now, O winged Chieftain! thou hast sent
A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world,
To find Endymion.

                  On gold sand impearl'd
With lily shells, and pebbles milky white,
Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth'd her light
Against his pallid face: he felt the charm
To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm
Of his heart's blood: 'twas very sweet; he stay'd
His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid
His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds,
To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads,
Lashed from the crystal roof by fishes' tails.
And so he kept, until the rosy veils
Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand
Were lifted from the water's breast, and fann'd
Into sweet air; and sober'd morning came
Meekly through billows:--when like taper-flame
Left sudden by a dallying breath of air,
He rose in silence, and once more 'gan fare
Along his fated way.

                      Far had he roam'd,
With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam'd
Above, around, and at his feet; save things
More dead than Morpheus' imaginings:
Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast-plates large
Of gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and targe;
Rudders that for a hundred years had lost
The sway of human hand; gold vase emboss'd
With long-forgotten story, and wherein
No reveller had ever dipp'd a chin
But those of Saturn's vintage; mouldering scrolls,
Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those souls
Who first were on the earth; and sculptures rude
In ponderous stone, developing the mood
Of ancient Nox;--then skeletons of man,
Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan,
And elephant, and eagle, and huge jaw
Of nameless monster. A cold leaden awe
These secrets struck into him; and unless
Dian had chaced away that heaviness,
He might have died: but now, with cheered feel,
He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to steal
About the labyrinth in his soul of love.

  "What is there in thee, Moon! that thou shouldst move
My heart so potently? When yet a child
I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil'd.
Thou seem'dst my sister: hand in hand we went
From eve to morn across the firmament.
No apples would I gather from the tree,
Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously:
No tumbling water ever spake romance,
But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance:
No woods were green enough, no bower divine,
Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine:
In sowing time ne'er would I dibble take,
Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake;
And, in the summer tide of blossoming,
No one but thee hath heard me blithly sing
And mesh my dewy flowers all the night.
No melody was like a passing spright
If it went not to solemnize thy reign.
Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain
By thee were fashion'd to the self-same end;
And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend
With all my ardours: thou wast the deep glen;
Thou wast the mountain-top--the sage's pen--
The poet's harp--the voice of friends--the sun;
Thou wast the river--thou wast glory won;
Thou wast my clarion's blast--thou wast my steed--
My goblet full of wine--my topmost deed:--
Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon!
O what a wild and harmonized tune
My spirit struck from all the beautiful!
On some bright essence could I lean, and lull
Myself to immortality: I prest
Nature's soft pillow in a wakeful rest.
But, gentle Orb! there came a nearer bliss--
My strange love came--Felicity's abyss!
She came, and thou didst fade, and fade away--
Yet not entirely; no, thy starry sway
Has been an under-passion to this hour.
Now I begin to feel thine orby power
Is coming fresh upon me: O be kind,
Keep back thine influence, and do not blind
My sovereign vision.--Dearest love, forgive
That I can think away from thee and live!--
Pardon me, airy planet, that I prize
One thought beyond thine argent luxuries!
How far beyond!" At this a surpris'd start
Frosted the springing verdure of his heart;
For as he lifted up his eyes to swear
How his own goddess was past all things fair,
He saw far in the concave green of the sea
An old man sitting calm and peacefully.
Upon a weeded rock this old man sat,
And his white hair was awful, and a mat
Of weeds were cold beneath his cold thin feet;
And, ample as the largest winding-sheet,
A cloak of blue wrapp'd up his aged bones,
O'erwrought with symbols by the deepest groans
Of ambitious magic: every ocean-form
Was woven in with black distinctness; storm,
And calm, and whispering, and hideous roar
Were emblem'd in the woof; with every shape
That skims, or dives, or sleeps, 'twixt cape and cape.
The gulphing whale was like a dot in the spell,
Yet look upon it, and 'twould size and swell
To its huge self; and the minutest fish
Would pass the very hardest gazer's wish,
And show his little eye's anatomy.
Then there was pictur'd the regality
Of Neptune; and the sea nymphs round his state,
In beauteous vassalage, look up and wait.
Beside this old man lay a pearly wand,
And in his lap a book, the which he conn'd
So stedfastly, that the new denizen
Had time to keep him in amazed ken,
To mark these shadowings, and stand in awe.

  The old man rais'd his hoary head and saw
The wilder'd stranger--seeming not to see,
His features were so lifeless. Suddenly
He woke as from a trance; his snow-white brows
Went arching up, and like two magic ploughs
Furrow'd deep wrinkles in his forehead large,
Which kept as fixedly as rocky marge,
Till round his wither'd lips had gone a smile.
Then up he rose, like one whose tedious toil
Had watch'd for years in forlorn hermitage,
Who had not from mid-life to utmost age
Eas'd in one accent his o'er-burden'd soul,
Even to the trees. He rose: he grasp'd his stole,
With convuls'd clenches waving it abroad,
And in a voice of solemn joy, that aw'd
Echo into oblivion, he said:--

  "Thou art the man! Now shall I lay my head
In peace upon my watery pillow: now
Sleep will come smoothly to my weary brow.
O Jove! I shall be young again, be young!
O shell-borne Neptune, I am pierc'd and stung
With new-born life! What shall I do? Where go,
When I have cast this serpent-skin of woe?--
I'll swim to the syrens, and one moment listen
Their melodies, and see their long hair glisten;
Anon upon that giant's arm I'll be,
That writhes about the roots of Sicily:
To northern seas I'll in a twinkling sail,
And mount upon the snortings of a whale
To some black cloud; thence down I'll madly sweep
On forked lightning, to the deepest deep,
Where through some ******* pool I will be hurl'd
With rapture to the other side of the world!
O, I am full of gladness! Sisters three,
I bow full hearted to your old decree!
Yes, every god be thank'd, and power benign,
For I no more shall wither, droop, and pine.
Thou art the man!" Endymion started back
Dismay'd; and, like a wretch from whom the rack
Tortures hot breath, and speech of agony,
Mutter'd: "What lonely death am I to die
In this cold region? Will he let me freeze,
And float my brittle limbs o'er polar seas?
Or will he touch me with his searing hand,
And leave a black memorial on the sand?
Or tear me piece-meal with a bony saw,
And keep me as a chosen food to draw
His magian fish through hated fire and flame?
O misery of hell! resistless, tame,
Am I to be burnt up? No, I will shout,
Until the gods through heaven's blue look out!--
O Tartarus! but some few days agone
Her soft arms were entwining me, and on
Her voice I hung like fruit among green leaves:
Her lips were all my own, and--ah, ripe sheaves
Of happiness! ye on the stubble droop,
But never may be garner'd. I must stoop
My head, and kiss death's foot. Love! love, farewel!
Is there no hope from thee? This horrid spell
Would melt at thy sweet breath.--By Dian's hind
Feeding from her white fingers, on the wind
I see thy streaming hair! and now, by Pan,
I care not for this old mysterious man!"

  He spake, and walking to that aged form,
Look'd high defiance. Lo! his heart 'gan warm
With pity, for the grey-hair'd creature wept.
Had he then wrong'd a heart where sorrow kept?
Had he, though blindly contumelious, brought
Rheum to kind eyes, a sting to human thought,
Convulsion to a mouth of many years?
He had in truth; and he was ripe for tears.
The penitent shower fell, as down he knelt
Before that care-worn sage, who trembling felt
About his large dark locks, and faultering spake:

  "Arise, good youth, for sacred Phoebus' sake!
I know thine inmost *****, and I feel
A very brother's yearning for thee steal
Into mine own: for why? thou openest
The prison gates that have so long opprest
My weary watching. Though thou know'st it not,
Thou art commission'd to this fated spot
For great enfranchisement. O weep no more;
I am a friend to love, to loves of yore:
Aye, hadst thou never lov'd an unknown power
I had been grieving at this joyous hour
But even now most miserable old,
I saw thee, and my blood no longer cold
Gave mighty pulses: in this tottering case
Grew a new heart, which at this moment plays
As dancingly as thine. Be not afraid,
For thou shalt hear this secret all display'd,
Now as we speed towards our joyous task."

  So saying, this young soul in age's mask
Went forward with the Carian side by side:
Resuming quickly thus; while ocean's tide
Hung swollen at their backs, and jewel'd sands
Took silently their foot-prints. "My soul stands
Now past the midway from mortality,
And so I can prepare without a sigh
To tell thee briefly all my joy and pain.
I was a fisher once, upon this main,
And my boat danc'd in every creek and bay;
Rough billows were my home by night and day,--
The sea-gulls not more constant; for I had
No housing from the storm and tempests mad,
But hollow rocks,--and they were palaces
Of silent happiness, of slumberous ease:
Long years of misery have told me so.
Aye, thus it was one thousand years ago.
One thousand years!--Is it then possible
To look so plainly through them? to dispel
A thousand years with backward glance sublime?
To breathe away as 'twere all scummy slime
From off a crystal pool, to see its deep,
And one's own image from the bottom peep?
Yes: now I am no longer wretched thrall,
My long captivity and moanings all
Are but a slime, a thin-pervading ****,
The which I breathe away, and thronging come
Like things of yesterday my youthful pleasures.

  "I touch'd no lute, I sang not, trod no measures:
I was a lonely youth on desert shores.
My sports were lonely, 'mid continuous roars,
And craggy isles, and sea-mew's plaintive cry
Plaining discrepant between sea and sky.
Dolphins were still my playmates; shapes unseen
Would let me feel their scales of gold and green,
Nor be my desolation; and, full oft,
When a dread waterspout had rear'd aloft
Its hungry hugeness, seeming ready ripe
To burst with hoarsest thunderings, and wipe
My life away like a vast sponge of fate,
Some friendly monster, pitying my sad state,
Has dived to its foundations, gulph'd it down,
And left me tossing safely. But the crown
Of all my life was utmost quietude:
More did I love to lie in cavern rude,
Keeping in wait whole days for Neptune's voice,
And if it came at last, hark, and rejoice!
There blush'd no summer eve but I would steer
My skiff along green shelving coasts, to hear
The shepherd's pipe come clear from aery steep,
Mingled with ceaseless bleatings of his sheep:
And never was a day of summer shine,
But I beheld its birth upon the brine:
For I would watch all night to see unfold
Heaven's gates, and Aethon snort his morning gold
Wide o'er the swelling streams: and constantly
At brim of day-tide, on some grassy lea,
My nets would be spread out, and I at rest.
The poor folk of the sea-country I blest
With daily boon of fish most delicate:
They knew not whence this bounty, and elate
Would strew sweet flowers on a sterile beach.

  "Why was I not contented? Wherefore reach
At things which, but for thee, O Latmian!
Had been my dreary death? Fool! I began
To feel distemper'd longings: to desire
The utmost priv
gray rain Jun 2016
unity          of id
eas                       link
ing p                               eople
toge                          ther
to f              orm
Well then; I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne’er agree.
The very honey of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the soonest cloy;
      And they (methinks) deserve my pity
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings
      Of this great hive, the city.

  Ah, yet, ere I descend to th’ grave
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!
      And since love ne’er will from me flee,
A mistress moderately fair,
And good as guardian angels are,
      Only belov’d, and loving me.

  O fountains! when in you shall I
Myself eas’d of unpeaceful thoughts espy?
O fields! O woods! when shall I be made
The happy tenant of your shade?
      Here’s the spring-head of Pleasure’s flood:
Here’s wealthy Nature’s treasury,
Where all the riches lie that she
      Has coin’d and stamp’d for good.

  Pride and ambition here
Only in far-fetch’d metaphors appear;
Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter,
And nought but Echo flatter.
      The gods, when they descended, hither
From heaven did always choose their way:
And therefore we may boldly say
      That ’tis the way too thither.

  How happy here should I
And one dear she live, and embracing die!
She who is all the world, and can exclude
In deserts solitude.
      I should have then this only fear:
Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Should hither throng to live like me,
      And so make a city here.
Juliesen Night Apr 2014
We glided east,
Past the canyons of Trevall.
Over the lake of Ebony.

Thy long journey hath proved a struggle,
For my dragon and I.
We only seek the seer of all Dragons..

Jerusalem growls,
Smoke escaping his nostrils.
He seemed annoyed,
By a raven bird below.

"Eas Jerusalem Sa Eh."
I say with comfort.
"Our journey is long...
Conserve thy energy."

With a flourish of his massive wings,
He dives below the tree's.
Snaking his body around the oak,
Elderwood and Evergleam.

My dragon and I are weary,
for this Journey is long.

As a Dark Angel,
A betrayed Valkyrie.
What lies ahead?
For I Cannot see the Throm.
Throm- The Cave of the Dragon Library
Eas- Easy now
Sa Eh- Stop the nonsense.
Jerusalem- Massive black dragon raised by the character from a dracling.
Alicia Strong Dec 2011
And here we go again.

We're searching for an end.
A* means to stop the madness,
Kicking and screaming in spite of
Everything society has to throw at us.


Calling all police officers,
Arrest us, if you can.
Let us go, if you will, but,
Let it be known, we will be back.

Fighting for freedom
Of opinion, speech, and looking for equality.
Rebelling against

The **** that the media throws at us.
How will we know where to go if
Everything around us is fake?

My friends, we must be critical.
Actions speak louder than words.
Send out a message across the
Seas, so that
Everyone can rise and
Say this with me...

Everyone is beautiful, everyone deserves to be free,
if I am true to myself, then I will be truly happy.
Greenie Apr 2019
Watch me diss a p
pe a  r     s
     o eas

li ke  s
     tr a nger
         sto a   ju ng
*praise be to Bradbury
Craig Irving May 2017
Human, being said to be conscious
living is defined by what he does
lifes are chenged by his choices
But how could I be called human
when all I choose seems predefined
when to me, the meaning of life is unknown
Conscious I am said to be,
but how could I be more unconscious
When the world's sadness fall upon me when a loved one dies
and unaffected I am when when million other's die each day
When, at eas I sit before my TV
as one's life, in an alley is taken away
I am human, I am called conscious, living and intelligent
But not more than a sleeping lion am I aware of the child who died at birth
Not more than a walking ant am I aware of a family's hope,
whose dreams are taken away before him powerless
I sure am conscious, of how little I know
that I live, only until I die
that I choose, until I have no choices left
That being human, is knowing
that my life is but existence
and my consciousness mere awareness
before what lies beyond the midst of life
Luke R E Webster Sep 2012
Feels like lately
My life's going to hell in a hand basket
Inferno blazing out of control
I've tried but I can't fight it.
Steadily dying
I'm so sick of trying
Pour butane on my life
Then light it.

I see your colours
bending in the breeze
Laying underneath
It's with surprising eas
That we quasi breed

Working on my timing
'Cause my flaws tell you
Of a life I thought I forgot
It seems like your residing
Don't make me something I'm not
Don't make me another one lost
Light the wood match
Then drop it.

I see your colours
bending in the breeze
Laying here with me
Reaking treachery
You're never gonna see.

I'm guessing at hearsay
Clutching at myth
Believing all lies
As the truth becomes a wisp.
Begging for the truth
While spending all my youth.
Watch me burn away
Forget it.
Blood Word Oct 2011
Mornings fall
Darkness rise
Man ne’er looking to the skies
Pleading not
Suff’ring so
Wallowing in tort’rous woe
Blinded to
Their own doubt
Gnawing, chewing, hollows out
Precious souls
They don’t care
Where to go? Now what to wear?
Worthless cares
Don’t they see?
Devil’s snares of “me, me, me”
Much success
Though contrite
Robbed so eas’ly of their sight
Cry to God!
Oh, little man
Only He saves, with His plan
"Dark Days" was carefully metered out and planned. It's the only poem in which I've gotten this involved in the technical process. It was actually fun, but provided no emotional outlet.
This poem was written sometime shortly before March 8, 2011.
DieingEmbers Dec 2012
It's second hand
yet hardly used
though I have found
it's eas'ly bruised
it's bumped and bent
and deeply scarred
yet tender still
and never hard
it's had it's share
of lifes hard knocks
and been around
a dozen blocks
theres signs of cracks
and wear and tear
but it still works
of that I swear
give it a spin
enjoy the feel
of love unspoilt
from a heart that's real.
Shades31 Dec 2016
and flame
his soul
and maim
his mind
as shadows
take over
all luck
like a small
four-leaf clover
by fire,
to ash
A fool
with bounty
turned in
for cash
and left
to die
"You were
Now you wonder
"You trusted
too quickly
Trampled on
"You wanted
but got dragged
back in
to shout
but end up
in sin"
"One day
there was
a pure
little child
who, when
he passed you
always smiled
the day
he stood
in the meadow
A flame
Engulfed him
in shadow
as black
as death
his body
like crystal
It looked
to him
like help
And so
the flames
he dived
For a
short while
he took
he saw
he had been
His body
into a
His soul
into a
this world
no more
it all -
to his
he had
to eventually
to the freedom
of drugs
which made him
He lost
his sense
of feeling -
No longer
could he,
His life
was turned
round 'n
until he
wound up
in the
- emotionally -
in a hole
His very
a topic
of doubt
Lost in a
of shadow
and pain
Where the one
source of light
is the one thing
that drains
the blazing
his body -
in icy
A light
so dark
it dis-
a kid
who now
from centre
Whose body
was now
Whose soul
cannibal -
He lost
the way
a future
and smoke
that cloud
his sight
He ended
upon a
great height
He knew
that he
had lost
the fight
Below him
an ocean
of white
His only option
was to
For there was
no way
to, down
He stood
at his
The oceans
were to
about, him
A soft,
sweet land
up in
the sky
you fall
right through
and die
By water
or by
His fate
and soul
were now
The white
turned to
a sinister
This was
to be
his final
And then
to black
did they
then changed
He knew
that this
would be
a dange'
A scorching,
deep flame
from it
And just
like magma
on earth
And like
the king
But in
this fire
will cling
And no
small ant
will come
him save
No place
for him
to find
safe have'
A leap
of faith
the cliff
His body
from stiff
the flame
the river"
His strong
now slowly
to hold
the land
in the sky
He thought
to himself
"I'm too young
to die"
As slowly
through clouds
his body
the flames -
the pit
of hell
And like
the sea
that he
would drown
and be
to thought
and mem-
He wanted
die eas-
And like
Lot's wife
who turned
on back
of coals
It was
haze - black
That turned
him back
the dust
"This 's what
I get
for over-
His life
will end
in a
swift fall
The fire
all -
The world,
and fame.
it is
just flame
He trusted
and let
them steal
all his
with regret
as slowly
he sinks
It will
be over
soon 's he
It's time
to go
They took
it all
but just
for show
He was then
and from
the world
did they
him sunder
Thanks to ThePoet/Sarah Ahmed for the inspiration to part of this poem (and to many other of my poetry)
Juliesen Night Apr 2014
Alakan once said,
"To the forest.
Is where you find him."

Jerusalem believed it not to be true,
I honored thy Dragons request.

"Young one,
Surely you can detest?"

"Jerusalem Eas...
He is Master.."

My dragon growls,
quite annoyed.
He was always obstinate.
When it came to other dragons.

The Throm provided me with information,
To the Djin,
The son of fire..

As we glide east,
The current heats up.
Creating a fiery glaze.

Jerusalem dives steep,
Avoiding the fire's rays.

"Kekay duck quickly now!
He has found us!"

I jump from his back,
Extending my wings.
Soaring into the sky.

Meeting the Djin.
A journey continues
There are a very few things that anger me, they assume noth­ing makes me angry. Just because I am cheer­ful, I am not allowed to feel low. Just because I am less often seen in a bad mood, they assume noth­ing can spoil it. I don’t react to every­thing that hap­pens around me, they assume I have no opin­ions whatsoever. I am not harsh on any­one, they assume I am meek. I don’t pun­ish, they assume I can’t. I for­give, they assume I forget. I don’t brood over the past, they assume I am ‘blessed’ with mem­ory loss.

When I come across peo­ple assum­ing things about me, I try not to lose heart and tell myself, they are doing the eas­i­est thing they can do, which is ‘assum­ing’. Assum­ing is equiv­a­lent to not under­stand­ing. Those who fail to under­stand, either because they are unable to or because they don’t want to, are the ones who assume.

**So, don't judge me.
King Tutankhamun Dec 2014
I was given bad cards to deal with
so don't ask why im a misfit?
suckas on the biscuit  quick to scheme
Triple beam
floatin' in the mainstream enemies on the same team
as you me and we
can't do nothin' about it gotdamn Uncle Sam
takin' everythang from food water to pestilences
im straddlin' the fence
barely can get over these challenges big as boulder
death peepin' over my shoulder been told ya
times is runnin' before we awakin' the red dragon
stabbin' deep in ya intellect bleed through knowledge
as i hit ya intravenously it ain't no mystery
thangs aint where they suppose to be puffin' greenery
to eas my mind and soul losin' control
cuz media allegories got us in fold celebrities sold
out there lives for gold made of sand
and silvers made of clay can't find no brighter days
cuz darkness lurkin' everywhere i stare
deep into the heaven
askin' why we all gotta die? seems easier to sin then
live righteous i might just adjust my mind
but i can't
 feedin' bird off crumbs government scums o how come?
none of us start a gun bust rivals always get the best of us
while we steadily fightin' over petty aggression
i think to myself while we blastin' at each other
theyre signing' the cession big recession really a mild depression
so when we gone get together and change the scene
they takin' everything but too many love floatin' in the mainstream
thats why!!!!
Jenny Gordon Aug 2017
I suppose it was a foolish thought to broach the topic?

(sonnet #MCMLXX)

'Tis those who read between the lines with care
And canny insight who best know.  But let
The same beware, for what is hidden's set
Not for mere show and at a touch may flare
Up with the violence of the wound just there
Beneath the surface' thinness, eas'ly fret
Though held as under guard lest it forget
And give a voice to what sense would not share.
Then we shall argue whether 'tis unwise
To keep such secrets, do you say?  Well, who
Shall profit by disclosure that the prize
Kept thus unspoken's worth the interview?
I move 'tis not so needful for our eyes
To see the e'il, as to restore what it'd undo.

The only question over 4 years later is whether I've casually dropped the more veiled rendition in favour of naked lines, and so, *sigh*...well, then what?  I'll give you half an ear, how's that?
Neville Johnson Oct 2016
It went on and on
Oh so many years
We were best friends through thick and thin
With romance in arrears
When I was ready
She of course was not
Then I married someone else
She also tied the knot
I was even there for that one
It hurt a lot
I believe you call it sadness

Love sometimes feints the heart
Sometimes you gotta wait
You do the best you can
Try not to make a mistake
But I did and so did she
So we became two not so gay “divorce-eas”
Still talking to each other
Still with a lot to say
Like how about a date?
One turned into two
And then another
Until I could no longer wait
Came the day on blended knee
I asked her to be my mate
"Oh my God, it's been you along,"
That's what she said to me
Followed by, "I have always loved you,"
Which I took as yes to my deeply felt query
We are now married
Since March 25, to be exact
Our romance is permanently intact
This is based on a true story I learned about.
suicidal twitch Mar 2014
Were you not haPpy with me?
Did you not hear my pLeas?
Why did you lEave?
Will you come bAck?
Will you diSappear again?
Will you forgEt me?

I could make you Smile again,
I could love you Too,
I could bring you bAck,
We could be together forever mY love,

*ToGeThEr FoReVeR!

now say when shall we find to realize
how they keep lurin' us into their lies
we forsaken abilities of minds
now say how is it ever we shall find

by the "yes's" pronounced, tho "no" we mean
these roads we walk, but do not want to be
why bother, when we do not seem to see
proses we make, upon cliches we lean

metaphors we come up with, eas'ly done
most times not knowin', where it all comes from
for these thoughts alone keeps us reelin'
upon those mysteries 'n' real meanings

for there's more outside our understandin'
when we stop wander inside our feelings
* always...

عرفان بن يوسف © AH 02/03/1439

'a (pentameter / freestyle rhyme scheme) Sonnet'
The Dedpoet Aug 2017
Is not in my pen,
Not in these words.
Not in my breath,
Speaking broken verbs.

It not my book
Of lost sorrows,
Or writing audascious
Hopes for lost tomorrows.

It is when I fight
To get out of here,
Lost in the poem
With life oytside so near.

The curse of words
Is that we are there but not,
Writing thé moments
Where present eas forgot.

I take the time
To take the time,
A moment in its pursest
With no reason or rhyme.

Just be.
I stand on top of a rock
Sorrounded by seas,
Carrying my sorrow at my back
And waves, aren't at eas.

Time to time I face roaring waves
I freeze at dark,burned during light,
Years passed,but still my self couldn't behave
For being watched by the rising tide.

From high and beneath
Seaguls and sharks scouts,
And There I starv and soon will face death
The end of learning is to know the minds of all Deities, the souls of masters of culture and secrets of everyone, living or dead. It invokes an oblique final outcast onto this world while being reassured at one’s own newly found Holiness.  The Devil is like God, expressed in various ways and forms, spoken softly and speaking loudly, vices too easy to commit and to make profit from. Wrestling inside, mixing emotions, it’s lonely and addictive, isolating all too easily, now I’m self-centered. Breathing in rustic sin. That is ancient and I’m experiencing it in modern times. I can only experience the present, a delusion of time and personal experience, I can admit in confessions or here in literary streams. I’m reluctant to change. Fragrance of the past, memories of smiles where I experienced moments of joy and I smiled in those moments, perhaps it’s reality’s fault. Over the course of my own life, pain became normal from it’s first infliction and pressed upon my very essence, I’m slightly bitter. In layman's minds, its easy to control, either by tone of speech. Softly killing them. We’re all slaves to an extent. My voice is unfragerant, unheard, no meaning in the eas of others, I can speak truths, say things to inspire, etc, etc, and etc. humanity is twice as pretty than Angels and Demons, to a value we have that they don’t, why the spiritual war? Being alive seems so miraculous blessing in itself. I follow no spiritual or religious fate. I am my own. But I’ve learnt, reading, witnessing. Though I resemble others in some way or form. I control myself. When it comes to it, each person's is talented enough to complicate their own life and often pick the easiest way to not only correct it but a strong desire to achieve their own wants. As the Devil is too ready to provide what they want now. The price to cheap. I never think long term. The Devil is happy when one is conformed to earthly standards and thinking. Never tell another person they’re evil or  wrong.  Over the souls of people spread the condor wings of colossal monsters and all manner of evil things prey upon the heart and soul and body of Man. Yet it may be in some far day the shadows shall fade and the Prince of Darkness be chained forever in his hell. And till then mankind can but stand up stoutly to the monsters in his own heart and without, and with the aid of God he may yet triumph. A relief of existing in itself, a burden most cannot part from and most doesn’t have the courage to reach out from something healthy or even fix themselves. Utopia here on earth, is often thought of and pursued by the creed of a select few, normally results in dystopia for others, like the common person, normally a Utopia by people is superficial and only for aesthetic veils. Soul conflicts constantly. Truth is, to do the work of the Devil is easy compared to God. Humility is a virtue of the heavenly, not arrogance. Are we the most superior beast on earth? No, not in strength and not in intelligence. It is very arrogant to assume that we are the most intelligent species when we keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again. In every person, there is a doer and a devil. With every passing days, the doer dies and a devil has to rise.  I have emotional attachment to my thoughts, parting from our personal doctrines is a terror I can’t part from, if I can control my heart, I can achieve vice. I only have one life. It’s been said truth will make people free, people’s mind and hearts cannot accept it, rendering emotional entrapment. Well, and keep in mind where those Masonic Mysteries came from in the first place.
J H Webb May 2018
When the time comes
When the moment is near
And nobody's listening
Can you hear your own fear?

Can you feel the pain
That burdens your heart
Sink into your dreams
And tear them apart?

When the time comes
Like you knew it would
Will you be prepared
To do what your should?

Will you fight against the sorrow
Or will it drag you right down
All alone in the morning
When there's no one around?

Will the loneliness **** you
Like it almost did me
Or will you push it asunder
And wrestle your heart free?

They say nobody knows
Until the time comes
They say a lot of things
I don't know where they come from

But when the time comes
To make a new stand
Don't give up too eas'ly
Don't throw in your hand

Fight the same way
You did as a child
When the sorrow inside you
Made you so wild

And maybe just maybe
This time you will win
The battle's not over
Until you give in

J. H. Webb

— The End —