tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-253455112024-02-20T01:46:43.314-07:00the kindlingsA sketchpad for a group of Christian writersAntiquushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07364402006681235280noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-15559252742406668552008-12-23T23:17:00.002-07:002008-12-23T23:20:03.608-07:00Bard's Delight - Christmas Special<table bg="" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" width="601" align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="2"><tbody><tr style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="left"><td><span style="color: rgb(156, 156, 99);font-size:100%;" ><b>On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity</b></span></td></tr> <tr style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="left"><td> <span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></td></tr> <tr style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" align="left"><td><span style="color: rgb(156, 156, 99);font-size:100%;" >(1629)</span></td></tr> <tr style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><td> <span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></td></tr> <!-- END CHAPTERTITLE --> </tbody></table> <!-- BEGIN CHAPTER --> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">I</span></div><br />T<span style="">HIS</span> is the month, and this the happy morn,</td><td><a name="1"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Wherein the Son of Heaven’s eternal King,</td><td><a name="2"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Of wedded maid and Virgin Mother born,</td><td><a name="3"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Our great redemption from above did bring;</td><td><a name="4"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>For so the holy sages once did sing,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="5"><i> 5</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> That he our deadly forfeit should release,</td><td><a name="6"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.</td><td><a name="7"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">II</span></div><br />That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,</td><td><a name="8"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,</td><td><a name="9"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Wherewith he wont at Heaven’s high council-table</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="10"><i> 10</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,</td><td><a name="11"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>He laid aside, and, here with us to be,</td><td><a name="12"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day,</td><td><a name="13"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.</td><td><a name="14"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">III</span></div><br />Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="15"><i> 15</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Afford a present to the Infant God?</td><td><a name="16"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,</td><td><a name="17"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>To welcome him to this his new abode,</td><td><a name="18"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Now while the heaven, by the Sun’s team untrod,</td><td><a name="19"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Hath took no print of the approaching light,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="20"><i> 20</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?</td><td><a name="21"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">IV</span></div><br />See how from far upon the Eastern road</td><td><a name="22"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>The star-led Wisards haste with odours sweet!</td><td><a name="23"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Oh! run; prevent them with thy humble ode,</td><td><a name="24"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And lay it lowly at his blessèd feet;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="25"><i> 25</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,</td><td><a name="26"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And join thy voice unto the Angel Quire,</td><td><a name="27"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire.</td><td><a name="28"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center">The Hymn<br /><span style="">I</span></div><br /> It was the winter wild,</td><td><a name="29"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> While the heaven-born child</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="30"><i> 30</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies;</td><td><a name="31"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Nature, in awe to him,</td><td><a name="32"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Had doffed her gaudy trim,</td><td><a name="33"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> With her great Master so to sympathize:</td><td><a name="34"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>It was no season then for her</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="35"><i> 35</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>To wanton with the Sun, her lusty Paramour.</td><td><a name="36"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">II</span></div><br /> Only with speeches fair</td><td><a name="37"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> She woos the gentle air</td><td><a name="38"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> To hide her guilty front with innocent snow,</td><td><a name="39"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And on her naked shame,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="40"><i> 40</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Pollute with sinful blame,</td><td><a name="41"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The saintly veil of maiden white to throw;</td><td><a name="42"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Confounded, that her Maker’s eyes</td><td><a name="43"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Should look so near upon her foul deformities.</td><td><a name="44"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">III</span></div><br /> But he, her fears to cease,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="45"><i> 45</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Sent down the meek-eyed Peace:</td><td><a name="46"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding</td><td><a name="47"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Down through the turning sphere,</td><td><a name="48"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> His ready Harbinger,</td><td><a name="49"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="50"><i> 50</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And, waving wide her myrtle wand,</td><td><a name="51"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.</td><td><a name="52"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">IV</span></div><br /> No war, or battail’s sound,</td><td><a name="53"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Was heard the world around;</td><td><a name="54"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The idle spear and shield were high uphung;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="55"><i> 55</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> The hookèd chariot stood,</td><td><a name="56"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Unstained with hostile blood;</td><td><a name="57"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng;</td><td><a name="58"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And Kings sat still with awful eye,</td><td><a name="59"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="60"><i> 60</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">V</span></div><br /> But peaceful was the night</td><td><a name="61"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Wherein the Prince of Light</td><td><a name="62"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> His reign of peace upon the earth began.</td><td><a name="63"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The winds, with wonder whist,</td><td><a name="64"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Smoothly the waters kissed,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="65"><i> 65</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean,</td><td><a name="66"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Who now hath quite forgot to rave,</td><td><a name="67"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.</td><td><a name="68"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">VI</span></div><br /> The stars, with deep amaze,</td><td><a name="69"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="70"><i> 70</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Bending one way their precious influence,</td><td><a name="71"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And will not take their flight,</td><td><a name="72"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> For all the morning light,</td><td><a name="73"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Or Lucifer that often warned them thence;</td><td><a name="74"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>But in their glimmering orbs did glow,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="75"><i> 75</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.</td><td><a name="76"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">VII</span></div><br /> And, though the shady gloom</td><td><a name="77"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Had given day her room,</td><td><a name="78"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed,</td><td><a name="79"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And hid his head of shame,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="80"><i> 80</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> As his inferior flame</td><td><a name="81"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The new-enlightened world no more should need:</td><td><a name="82"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>He saw a greater Sun appear</td><td><a name="83"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Than his bright Throne or burning axletree could bear.</td><td><a name="84"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">VIII</span></div><br /> The Shepherds on the lawn,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="85"><i> 85</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Or ere the point of dawn,</td><td><a name="86"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;</td><td><a name="87"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Full little thought they than</td><td><a name="88"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> That the mighty Pan</td><td><a name="89"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Was kindly come to live with them below:</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="90"><i> 90</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,</td><td><a name="91"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.</td><td><a name="92"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">IX</span></div><br /> When such music sweet</td><td><a name="93"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Their hearts and ears did greet</td><td><a name="94"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> As never was by mortal finger strook,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="95"><i> 95</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Divinely-warbled voice</td><td><a name="96"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Answering the stringèd noise,</td><td><a name="97"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> As all their souls in blissful rapture took:</td><td><a name="98"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>The air, such pleasure loth to lose,</td><td><a name="99"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="100"><i> 100</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">X</span></div><br /> Nature, that heard such sound</td><td><a name="101"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Beneath the hollow round</td><td><a name="102"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Of Cynthia’s seat the airy Region thrilling,</td><td><a name="103"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Now was almost won</td><td><a name="104"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> To think her part was done,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="105"><i> 105</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> And that her reign had here its last fulfilling:</td><td><a name="106"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>She knew such harmony alone</td><td><a name="107"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union.</td><td><a name="108"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XI</span></div><br /> At last surrounds their sight</td><td><a name="109"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> A globe of circular light,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="110"><i> 110</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> That with long beams the shamefaced Night arrayed;</td><td><a name="111"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The helmèd Cherubim</td><td><a name="112"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And sworded Seraphim</td><td><a name="113"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed,</td><td><a name="114"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Harping in loud and solemn quire,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="115"><i> 115</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>With unexpressive notes, to Heaven’s newborn Heir.</td><td><a name="116"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XII</span></div><br /> Such music (as ’tis said)</td><td><a name="117"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Before was never made,</td><td><a name="118"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> But when of old the Sons of Morning sung,</td><td><a name="119"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> While the Creator great</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="120"><i> 120</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> His constellations set,</td><td><a name="121"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And the well-balanced World on hinges hung,</td><td><a name="122"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And cast the dark foundations deep,</td><td><a name="123"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.</td><td><a name="124"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XIII</span></div><br /> Ring out, ye crystal spheres!</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="125"><i> 125</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Once bless our human ears,</td><td><a name="126"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> If ye have power to touch our senses so;</td><td><a name="127"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And let your silver chime</td><td><a name="128"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Move in melodious time;</td><td><a name="129"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And let the bass of heaven’s deep organ blow;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="130"><i> 130</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And with your ninefold harmony</td><td><a name="131"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Make up full consort of the angelic symphony.</td><td><a name="132"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XIV</span></div><br /> For, if such holy song</td><td><a name="133"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Enwrap our fancy long,</td><td><a name="134"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="135"><i> 135</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> And speckled Vanity</td><td><a name="136"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Will sicken soon and die,</td><td><a name="137"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;</td><td><a name="138"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And Hell itself will pass away,</td><td><a name="139"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And leave her dolorous mansions of the peering day.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="140"><i> 140</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XV</span></div><br /> Yes, Truth and Justice then</td><td><a name="141"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Will down return to men,</td><td><a name="142"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The enamelled arras of the rainbow wearing;</td><td><a name="143"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And Mercy set between,</td><td><a name="144"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Throned in celestial sheen,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="145"><i> 145</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;</td><td><a name="146"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And Heaven, as at some festival,</td><td><a name="147"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.</td><td><a name="148"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XVI</span></div><br /> But wisest Fate says No,</td><td><a name="149"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> This must not yet be so;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="150"><i> 150</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy</td><td><a name="151"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> That on the bitter cross</td><td><a name="152"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Must redeem our loss,</td><td><a name="153"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> So both himself and us to glorify:</td><td><a name="154"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Yet first, to those chained in sleep,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="155"><i> 155</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,</td><td><a name="156"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XVII</span></div><br /> With such a horrid clang</td><td><a name="157"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> As on Mount Sinai rang,</td><td><a name="158"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:</td><td><a name="159"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The aged Earth, aghast</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="160"><i> 160</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> With terror of that blast,</td><td><a name="161"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Shall from the surface to the centre shake,</td><td><a name="162"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>When, at the world’s last sessiön,</td><td><a name="163"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.</td><td><a name="164"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XVIII</span></div><br /> And then at last our bliss</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="165"><i> 165</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Full and perfect is,</td><td><a name="166"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> But now begins; for from this happy day</td><td><a name="167"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The Old Dragon under ground,</td><td><a name="168"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> In straiter limits bound,</td><td><a name="169"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Not half so far casts his usurpèd sway,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="170"><i> 170</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And, wroth to see his Kingdom fail,</td><td><a name="171"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Swindges the scaly horror of his folded tail.</td><td><a name="172"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XIX</span></div><br /> The Oracles are dumb;</td><td><a name="173"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> No voice or hideous hum</td><td><a name="174"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Runs through the archèd roof in words deceiving.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="175"><i> 175</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Apollo from his shrine</td><td><a name="176"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Can no more divine,</td><td><a name="177"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Will hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.</td><td><a name="178"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>No nightly trance, or breathèd spell,</td><td><a name="179"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Inspires the pale-eyed Priest from the prophetic cell.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="180"><i> 180</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XX</span></div><br /> The lonely mountains o’er,</td><td><a name="181"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And the resounding shore,</td><td><a name="182"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;</td><td><a name="183"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Edgèd with poplar pale,</td><td><a name="184"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> From haunted spring, and dale</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="185"><i> 185</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> The parting Genius is with sighing sent;</td><td><a name="186"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>With flower-inwoven tresses torn</td><td><a name="187"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.</td><td><a name="188"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XXI</span></div><br /> In consecrated earth,</td><td><a name="189"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And on the holy hearth,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="190"><i> 190</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint;</td><td><a name="191"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> In urns, and altars round,</td><td><a name="192"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> A drear and dying sound</td><td><a name="193"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint;</td><td><a name="194"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And the chill marble seems to sweat,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="195"><i> 195</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.</td><td><a name="196"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XXII</span></div><br /> Peor and Baälim</td><td><a name="197"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Forsake their temples dim,</td><td><a name="198"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> With that twice-battered god of Palestine;</td><td><a name="199"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And moonèd Ashtaroth,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="200"><i> 200</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Heaven’s Queen and Mother both,</td><td><a name="201"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine:</td><td><a name="202"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn;</td><td><a name="203"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.</td><td><a name="204"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XXIII</span></div><br /> And sullen Moloch, fled,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="205"><i> 205</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Hath left in shadows dread</td><td><a name="206"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> His burning idol all of blackest hue;</td><td><a name="207"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> In vain with cymbals’ ring</td><td><a name="208"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> They call the grisly king,</td><td><a name="209"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> In dismal dance about the furnace blue;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="210"><i> 210</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>The brutish gods of Nile as fast,</td><td><a name="211"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.</td><td><a name="212"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XXIV</span></div><br /> Nor is Osiris seen</td><td><a name="213"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> In Memphian grove or green,</td><td><a name="214"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="215"><i> 215</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Nor can he be at rest</td><td><a name="216"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Within his sacred chest;</td><td><a name="217"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;</td><td><a name="218"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>In vain, with timbreled anthems dark,</td><td><a name="219"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>The sable-stolèd Sorcerers bear his worshiped ark.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="220"><i> 220</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XXV</span></div><br /> He feels from Juda’s land</td><td><a name="221"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The dreaded Infant’s hand;</td><td><a name="222"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;</td><td><a name="223"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Nor all the gods beside</td><td><a name="224"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Longer dare abide,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="225"><i> 225</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:</td><td><a name="226"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,</td><td><a name="227"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew.</td><td><a name="228"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XXVI</span></div><br /> So, when the Sun in bed,</td><td><a name="229"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Curtained with cloudy red,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="230"><i> 230</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,</td><td><a name="231"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> The flocking shadows pale</td><td><a name="232"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Troop to the infernal jail,</td><td><a name="233"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave,</td><td><a name="234"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And the yellow-skirted Fays</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="235"><i> 235</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.</td><td><a name="236"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td><div align="center"><span style="">XXVII</span></div><br /> But see! the Virgin blest</td><td><a name="237"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Hath laid her Babe to rest,</td><td><a name="238"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Time is our tedious song should here have ending:</td><td><a name="239"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Heaven’s youngest-teemèd star</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="240"><i> 240</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Hath fixed her polished car,</td><td><a name="241"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending;</td><td><a name="242"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>And all about the courtly stable</td><td><a name="243"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable.</td><td><a name="244"></a></td></tr> <tr><td><br />John Milton. <span style="font-size:-1;">(1608–1674).</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-23997788870862297932008-12-12T16:43:00.002-07:002008-12-12T16:52:35.221-07:00The Bards DelightA timely reflection I think considering what may be coming over the next four years. It was written for Britain but has its applications for us on this side of the pond. Note the ordering of title.<br /><br /><br />Obligations of Civil to Religious Liberty<br /><br />Ungrateful country, if thou e'er forget<br />The sons who for thy civil rights have bled!<br />How, like a Roman, Sidney bowed his head,<br />And Russell's milder blood the scaffold wet;<br />But these had fallen for profitless regret<br />Had not thy holy Church her champions bred,<br />And claims from other worlds inspirited<br />The star of Liberty to rise. Nor yet<br />(Grave this within thy heart!) if spiritual things<br />Be lost, through apathy, or scorn, or fear,<br />Shalt thou thy humbler franchises support,<br />However hardly won or justly dear:<br />What came from heaven to heaven by nature clings,<br />And, if dissevered thence, its course is short.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br />1770 - 1850Antiquushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07364402006681235280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-27748294073661616892008-11-24T08:41:00.000-07:002008-11-24T08:41:40.909-07:00Letter of His Holiness Pope John Paul II to Artists, 1999Here is a link to Pope John Paul II's Letter to Artists. I think it would be really good for us to read this and discuss it. Perhaps we could do this asynchronously via comments on the blog, that way we don't have to wait for our next meeting.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_paul_ii/letters/documents/hf_jp-ii_let_23041999_artists_en.html">Letter of His Holiness Pope John Paul II to Artists, 1999</a>arowbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060485151513077012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-22858966965685852992008-09-17T19:11:00.004-07:002008-09-17T19:14:46.492-07:00Poem of the...Week<table bg="" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" width="601" align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="2"><tbody><tr style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" align="left"><td><span style="color: rgb(156, 156, 99);font-size:100%;" ><b>On His Being Arrived to the Age of Twenty-Three</b></span></td></tr> <tr style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" align="left"><td> by John Milton<br /></td></tr> <tr style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"><td style="vertical-align: top;"><br /></td></tr><tr style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" align="left"><td><span style="color: rgb(156, 156, 99);">(1631)</span></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <!-- END CHAPTERTITLE --> </tbody></table> <!-- BEGIN CHAPTER --> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><br /></td></tr> <tr><td>H<span style="">OW</span> soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,</td><td><a name="1"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!</td><td><a name="2"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> My hasting days fly on with full career,</td><td><a name="3"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th.</td><td><a name="4"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="5"><i> 5</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> That I to manhood am arrived so near,</td><td><a name="6"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> And inward ripeness doth much less appear,</td><td><a name="7"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> That some more timely-happy spirits indu’th.</td><td><a name="8"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,</td><td><a name="9"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> It shall be still in strictest measure even</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="10"><i> 10</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> To that same lot, however mean or high,</td><td><a name="11"></a></td></tr> <tr><td>Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven,</td><td><a name="12"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> All is, if I have grace to use it so,</td><td><a name="13"></a></td></tr> <tr><td> As ever in my great Task-master’s eye</td></tr></tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-13692314482785775732008-09-04T22:09:00.006-07:002008-09-08T22:14:20.232-07:00Antiquus, where art thou?Apparently the old mainstay of the Kindlings blog has better things to do than produce <a href="http://thekindlings.blogspot.com/2006/12/why-i-still-love-christmas-reflection.html">extended musings</a> on literature, politics and culture. I hope he has some good excuse, like getting conned out of all his money in a Dublin pub and being unable to afford an internet connection. Too bad. I'll try to start filling the massive void Antiquus has left by posting some literary inspiration, a good poem or link at least once a week. Our "sketchpad" has fallen to the wayside for now, but why not toss in some genuinely dead poets to fire up our tardy muses?<br /><br />Today I'll leave you with one of my favorite carpe diem poems, "To His Coy Mistress," by Andrew Marvell. Arowbee might pick up some good lines from this poem - for some reason I think it suits his thematic interests.<br /><br />In convincing his mistress of the urgency of love-making, Marvell paints eternity as a vast desert, where physical beauty is eradicated rather than perfected. So much for the new Heaven and the new Earth, I guess. Marvell should have picked up better theology, being raised by a Church of England clergyman...<br /><br />T.S. Eliot, a fan of these metaphysicals as most of you know, alludes to the "roll our universe into a ball" passage in his own "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."<br /><br />But enough fun facts. I'll post the poem. If you've got the time, read and enjoy. We won't discuss it unless someone really wants to. Oh, while I'm on the topic of discussion, whose idea was it to read and discuss that Orwell essay, anyhow? Whoever it was sure wasn't there, ready to talk about it. For shame!<br /><br /><table bg="" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" width="601" align="center" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="2"><tbody><tr align="left"><td><span style="color: rgb(156, 156, 99);"><span style="font-size:85%;"><b>To His Coy Mistress</b></span></span></td></tr> <tr><td><br /></td></tr> <!-- END CHAPTERTITLE --> </tbody></table> <table bg="" style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"> <!-- BEGIN CHAPTER --> <tbody><tr><td>H<span style="">AD</span> we but world enough, and time,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="1"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>This coyness, Lady, were no crime</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="2"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>We would sit down and think which way</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="3"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>To walk and pass our long love's day.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="4"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Thou by the Indian Ganges' side</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="5"><i> 5</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="6"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Of Humber would complain. I would</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="7"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Love you ten years before the Flood,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="8"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And you should, if you please, refuse</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="9"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Till the conversion of the Jews.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="10"><i> 10</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>My vegetable love should grow</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="11"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Vaster than empires, and more slow;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="12"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>An hundred years should go to praise</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="13"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="14"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Two hundred to adore each breast,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="15"><i> 15</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>But thirty thousand to the rest;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="16"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>An age at least to every part,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="17"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And the last age should show your heart.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="18"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>For, Lady, you deserve this state,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="19"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Nor would I love at lower rate.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="20"><i> 20</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> But at my back I always hear</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="21"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="22"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And yonder all before us lie</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="23"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Deserts of vast eternity.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="24"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Thy beauty shall no more be found,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="25"><i> 25</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="26"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>My echoing song: then worms shall try</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="27"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>That long preserved virginity,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="28"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And your quaint honour turn to dust,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="29"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And into ashes all my lust:</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="30"><i> 30</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>The grave 's a fine and private place,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="31"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>But none, I think, do there embrace.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="32"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td> Now therefore, while the youthful hue</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="33"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Sits on thy skin like morning dew,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="34"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And while thy willing soul transpires</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="35"><i> 35</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>At every pore with instant fires,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="36"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Now let us sport us while we may,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="37"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And now, like amorous birds of prey,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="38"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Rather at once our time devour</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="39"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Than languish in his slow-chapt power.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="40"><i> 40</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Let us roll all our strength and all</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="41"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Our sweetness up into one ball,</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="42"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>And tear our pleasures with rough strife</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="43"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Thorough the iron gates of life:</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="44"> </a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Thus, though we cannot make our sun</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="45"><i> 45</i></a></span></td></tr> <tr><td>Stand still, yet we will make him run.</td><td valign="top" align="right"><span style=""><a name="46"></a></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-81042580162846208892008-08-31T11:50:00.001-07:002008-08-31T11:51:54.453-07:00Thought of this song..."Why should the fire die?" by Nickel Creek. Reminds me of this site, for some reason.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wAOAI9gJUl0&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wAOAI9gJUl0&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-635099820111294162008-07-14T17:22:00.004-07:002008-08-22T23:26:05.804-07:00Happy Birthday, John Milton?Well, he was actually born on December 9, 1608, so it's not quite the day of his birth. Still, I think you all might enjoy Stanley Fish's latest <a href="http://fish.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/07/13/happy-birthday-milton/">article</a> on the occasion of the Ninth International Milton Symposium, celebrating 400 years of Milton's presence in the world. It's a birthday worth celebrating early.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-34851186385402469952008-04-30T17:46:00.002-07:002008-04-30T17:47:53.898-07:00"Tradition and the Individual Talent"Here's the reading for our next meeting - T.S. Eliot, <a href="http://www.bartleby.com/200/sw4.html">"Tradition and the Individual Talent"</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-37937769685939715282008-04-29T18:55:00.000-07:002008-04-29T18:57:46.815-07:00Dignum et Justum Est, Take 2It looks left nor right,<br />Observing not<br />That they observe,<br />Forging regardless<br />Of fathom.<br />Legend often spoken,<br />It draws trawlers<br />From anchor. It owns<br />Not their tenors;<br />Their scrawling<br />Wakes wash too quickly. Only<br />Their nets seem<br />Impediments. Regal<br />It moves, impervious<br />To grimy<br />Faces peering from portholes.<br />Its lidless eyes<br />Take in, yet<br />Alter not<br />Their gaze.<br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:9;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-24129439824546940272008-04-24T10:24:00.000-07:002008-04-24T10:24:16.893-07:00"Lepanto," G.K.Chesterton, 1915<a href="http://www.mtholyoke.edu/acad/intrel/lepanto.htm">"Lepanto," G.K.Chesterton, 1915</a>arowbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060485151513077012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-33352978837843035172008-03-13T23:13:00.007-07:002008-04-30T17:48:24.874-07:00Dignum et Justum EstIt looks left nor right,<br />Observing not<br />That they observe,<br />Forging regardless<br />Of fathom.<br />Legend often spoken,<br />It draws trawlers<br />From anchor.<br />It owns not their tenors; their scrawling<br />Wakes wash too quickly. Only<br />Their nets seem<br />Impediments. Regal<br />It moves, impervious<br />To the grimy faces peering<br />From portholes. Its lidless eyes<br />Take in, yet alter not<br />Their gaze.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-14899129596993254352008-02-07T23:39:00.001-07:002008-02-07T23:43:09.982-07:00GK Finally Recognized for Brilliant MustacheKindlings, for the purposes of solidarity, I call for a revival of the traditional writer's 'stache amongst our membership. What worked for Chesterton must work for us as well. See <a href="http://mustachesofthenineteenthcentury.blogspot.com/2007/12/g-k-chesterton.html">Mustaches of the Nineteenth Century</a> for the skinny on this overlooked quality of our favorite portly Catholic thinker, writer, and poet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9vpKRB44xE4/R6v4lcgJBAI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/SPBQnZYp06E/s1600-h/pa60m162_015.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9vpKRB44xE4/R6v4lcgJBAI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/SPBQnZYp06E/s320/pa60m162_015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164494719900255234" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">image licensed under <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Noncommercial Attribution 3.0 U.S.</a></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-42805805000056300132008-02-01T15:00:00.000-07:002008-02-01T15:03:28.451-07:00Culture and Catholic LiteratureA friend sent me the following link. It's an interesting interview with Greg Roper, UD alum, professor, and writer.<br /><br />Antiquus<br /><br /><a href="http://www.zenit.org/article-21636?l=english">http://www.zenit.org/article-21636?l=english</a>Antiquushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07364402006681235280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-21939030276703829942008-02-01T10:47:00.000-07:002008-02-01T11:00:39.806-07:00Online Writer's ConferenceCheck out <a href="http://www.catholicexchange.com/node/69458">this </a>article at CatholicExchange about an upcoming online writer's conference.arowbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060485151513077012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-8563213115246586642008-01-23T09:21:00.001-07:002008-01-23T09:21:13.543-07:00FYI Fellas<p><a href="http://churchofthemasses.blogspot.com/2008/01/act-one-screenwriting-and-business-of.html">This</a> looks good.</p> arowbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060485151513077012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-4982847636564801682008-01-10T15:37:00.001-07:002008-01-10T15:45:27.840-07:00Interview with Allan Carlson, author of Third WaysFound this interesting. I'm going to have to look into this guy's book. I find it particularly interesting that Belloc and Chesterton continue popping up in discussions about economy these days. The pair tend to be more recognized as Christian apologists.<br /><br />Antiquus<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.isi.org/books/bookdetail.aspx?id=5afd5e0b-5e25-4c61-9ae4-705e3c37e030#interview">http://www.isi.org/books/bookdetail.aspx?id=5afd5e0b-5e25-4c61-9ae4-705e3c37e030#interview</a>Antiquushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07364402006681235280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-64593888111303160512007-12-27T13:37:00.001-07:002007-12-27T13:59:02.884-07:00Vive le Resistence!!This is an encouraging essay about certain trends underway in the arts today. I don't know if you've heard of a group called the Derriere Guard. If not, you should check them out. I don't have link though. The Derriere Guard is a network of artists, poets, sculptors, architects, and musicians who have found new inspiration in classical realism. The group is dedicated to bringing art back to its native land of beauty. Something which the Kindlings can support with a lusty "Here, here!"<br /><br />Antiquus<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.newbohemia.net/Library/Articles/NewRenaissance.htm">www.newbohemia.net/Library/Articles/NewRenaissance.htm</a>Antiquushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07364402006681235280noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-11884572766928155922007-12-11T16:00:00.000-07:002007-12-11T16:10:59.487-07:00You're Welcome, Fellow Aged Catholic WritersJust got the following email from Dappled Things. This is good news for Antiquus and yours truly. Can anyone honestly believe the timing of this announcement was coincidental when it so nearly corresponds to my 36th birthday--the very one which would have put me over the edge of the age restriction? <br /><br />No way. <br /><br /><blockquote>Dear Friends,<br /> <br />I have some very important news to share with you about Dappled Things.<br /> <br />Since its inception, Dappled Things (www.dappledthings.org) has sought to provide a venue for emerging writers and artists to engage the culture from a Catholic perspective. In order to safeguard this mission, we have followed the policy of only receiving submissions from contributors between the ages of 18 and 35. However, throughout the past two years we have received comments from many readers and potential contributors who wish Dappled Things would accept work from persons of any age. This desire is understandable, as there are almost no other venues that specialize in creative work inspired by the Catholic tradition. Still, we have hesitated to remove our age limits because we do not want a situation in which more experienced writers and artists crowd out those who are still at the start of their careers. <br /> <br />After much deliberation, we have concluded that opening up the magazine to creative Catholics of all ages need not undermine our mission. We will remain committed to seeking out and publishing the work of emerging writers and artists, but we will now welcome submissions without regard to a person's age. By doing this, we hope Dappled Things will become a locus of the best creative talent available within the English-speaking Church. We want Dappled Things to be a magazine of which the Church can be proud (in a completely non-sinful way, that is) and through which Catholics can offer an alternative to the often confused culture that surrounds them. <br /> <br />If "The Golden Compass" and "The DaVinci Code" are works that characterize the "wisdom" of our age, we hope that Dappled Things will become a venue where those with a more profound vision -- the Tolkiens, Lewises, Waughs, and O'Connors of the future -- will be able to become known and share their work with the world. So whether you are a reader seeking material that will enrich your mind, soul, and imagination, or a writer who hopes to share some truth and beauty with the world, we hope you will join the Dappled Things community. To submit your work, please visit our website for instructions.<br /> <br />Sincerely in Christ,<br /> <br />Bernardo Aparicio<br />President, Dappled Things<br /> <br />P.S.: Now that we are in the season of giving, might you consider promoting this effort by giving your friends and family gift subscriptions to Dappled Things for Christmas? Not only will it be a completely unique and affordable Christmas present, but it will support the work of those who would win back imaginations from the Dan Browns and Philip Pullmans of our world. Or would you consider making a donation, no matter how small? Donations following our recent appeal have been incredibly scant, and we are struggling! Your support is crucial to the future of the magazine. You can subscribe or donate online via PayPal, or send us a check, payable to Dappled Things Magazine, to the following address:<br /> <br />Dappled Things Magazine<br />c/o Katherine Cybulski<br />5850 Cameron Run Terrace, # 516<br />Alexandria, VA 22303<br /> <br />Thanks and God bless!</blockquote>arowbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060485151513077012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-91911489618715594072007-12-08T15:29:00.000-07:002007-12-08T15:34:08.896-07:00Read this.Here's an <a href="http://poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2007/12/sonnetude_1.html">interesting post</a> on the 'contemporary' revival of interest in real sonnets. Not a bad trend.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-34566591614144037162007-11-02T10:21:00.001-07:002007-11-02T10:24:46.331-07:00Mark's Quote From Johann Wolfgang Van Goethe<div lang="EN-US" vlink="purple" link="blue"> <div> <p>All,</p> <p> </p> <p>I saw this, and am steeling my resolve. Why is this so hard to commit wholly?</p> <p> </p> <p>Maybe this is only my problem.</p> <p> </p> <p>Hope you find this worthwhile. Emphasis is mine.</p> <p> </p> <p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt; FONT-FAMILY: Raavi">The words of <i>Johann Wolfgang Van Goethe</i> say it all </span></p> <p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt; FONT-FAMILY: Raavi"> </span></p> <p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="FONT-SIZE: 14pt; FONT-FAMILY: Raavi">"<i>Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and <b> creation</b>, there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless deeds and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. Begin it now." </i></span></p> <p> </p> <p>Perhaps my uninspired attempts at writing have to do with my lack of commitment to it? Commitment to seeing success spring from it?</p> <p> </p> <p>It's noteworthy, if nothing else!</p></div></div>arowbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060485151513077012noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-25328081594112499702007-10-02T11:09:00.001-07:002007-10-02T11:13:32.510-07:00Good News!Today I got an email from <a href="http://www.dappledthings.org/current.html">Dappled Things</a> informing me that I'm officially published.<br /><br />Dappled Things is an online (now print as well) literary magazine for young Catholic writers/artists. As of my next birthday, I am no longer a young Catholic (I turn 36 this year). So, this was my last chance to get in.<br /><br />My poem is called "<a href="http://www.dappledthings.org/mqa07/poem12.php">Bread from Heaven</a>". I hope you enjoy it.arowbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060485151513077012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-18182175610677254152007-09-24T21:32:00.001-07:002007-09-24T21:32:59.130-07:00On the virtue of home-brew...A tyrant does not fear the critic’s pen,<br />But rather drunken words of poets, caught<br />By hungry ears—a rhythmic viral spin<br />That leaps to mind with menace fraught.<br />(It takes a little just to rhyme the truth—<br />From there, you doubt your words and turn to drink,<br />Until your words out-tumble, blunt, uncouth;<br />In unassuming minds they spread). We think<br />That poets deal in piddling privacies<br />Of loves and hates, but not the goods of states,<br />Ignoring all the petty piracies<br />That liquored lyric oft perpetuates:<br />It may improve a humble government<br />To study what the bards who drank have meant.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-54208214832359986832007-08-04T23:23:00.000-07:002007-08-04T23:28:17.754-07:00Three Mexican Directors talking to Charlie RoseWe watched this at our writer's meeting today. It was really worth the time.<br /><br /><embed style="width:400px; height:326px;" id="VideoPlayback" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docId=-8155571489738252066&hl=en" flashvars=""> </embed>arowbeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01060485151513077012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-40035573934121365862007-08-03T20:20:00.000-07:002007-08-03T20:30:19.762-07:00The Bards DelightThe following is from a collection of poems by Wordsworth entitled Ecclesiastical Sonnets.<br /><br /><br />I saw the figure of a lovely Maid<br />Seated alone beneath a darksome tree,<br />Whose fondly-overhanging canopy<br />Set off her brightness with a pleasing shade.<br />No spirit was she; that my heart betrayed,<br />For she was one I loved exceedingly;<br />But while I gazed in tender reverie<br />(Or was it sleep that with my Fancy played?)<br />The bright corporeal presence - form and face -<br />Remaining still distinct grew thin and rare,<br />Like sunny mist; - at length the golden hair,<br />Shape, limbs, and heavenly features, keeping pace<br />Each with the other in a lingering race<br />Of dissolution, melted into air.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br />1770-1850Antiquushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07364402006681235280noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25345511.post-30814967468667964702007-07-25T23:00:00.000-07:002007-07-25T23:19:59.125-07:00Book RecommendationI higly recommend a short little book by German Tomist Josef Pieper entitled Only the Lover Sings: Art and Contemplation. You may have heard of Pieper's most famous text: Leisure, the Basis of Culture. He was a post WWII German philosopher who taught in Germany and wrote a great deal on Aquinas and Plato. But he also wrote many other wonderful little books, and I do mean little. Only the Lover Sings is only 76 pages. You could knock it out in a day and it'll only cost you eight bucks.<br /><br />You can find it at www.ignatius.com<br />The reference number is OLS-P<br /><br />In succinct Pieperian style, here is his preface to Only the Lover Sings:<br /><br />"These meditations define a great arc, spanning the distance from Augustine's marvelously formulated insight that 'only he who loves can sing' all the way to the anguished cry of Holderlin's ode entitled 'Wherefore Poets in a Time of Distress?' The intent here is to make one thing clear: that music, the fine arts, poetry - anything that festively raises up human existence and thereby constitutes its true riches - all derive their life from a hidden root, and this root is a contemplation which is turned toward God and the world so as to affirm them."Antiquushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07364402006681235280noreply@blogger.com0