Cruelty.
21-11-2007 14:52
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Rain.
21-11-2007 09:11
вместе они баллада о чувствах каждого, кто слушает.
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Дождь прекрасен,
каждая падающая капля создает мелодию,
вместе они баллада о чувствах каждого, кто слушает.
Когда идет дождь я чувствую себя частично дома.
Это иллюзия, но что нет ?
Это иллюзия, но что нет ?
fasten
20-11-2007 06:09
Настроение сейчас - go on, go on, just walk away.
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Настроение сейчас - go on, go on, just walk away.
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Глубокий скептицизм не дает выпустить на свободу отчаянного романтика.
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Без заголовка
20-11-2007 06:06
Когда Джеймс работал над "Вороном", то образ Эрика он составил частично под влиянием Питера Мэрфи ( "Bauhaus" ).
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Когда Джеймс работал над "Вороном", то образ Эрика он составил частично под влиянием Питера Мэрфи ( "Bauhaus" ).
[300x242]
Без заголовка
20-11-2007 06:03
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Мне очень нравится мистика, фэнтэзи, трагедии и романтика. ( Особенно, соединение всех элементов )
Но чем больше окунаешься в реалии жизни, тем больше разочаровываешься.
Пресно, практично и , как правило, никто никому не нужен.
Graveyard poets. See above and below.
20-11-2007 01:20
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К сожалению о " Graveyard poets" не много известно в наше время, когда готика стала популярна и вошла в субкультуру.
Основной аспект в наше время поставлен на музыке, что как мне кажется недостаточно для того, чтобы постичь глубину и величие темного готического мира.
В 18 веке было основано литературное течение под названием " Garaveyard poets" в него входили такие поэты как :
Thomas Parnell, Thomas Warton, Thomas Percy, Thomas Gray, James MacPherson, Robert Blair, William Collins, Mark Akenside, Joseph Warton, Henry Kirke White and Edward Young. James Thomson
его характерными чертами были мрачные воспевания моральности, героических подвигов, великих героев, покоившихся в вечной тишине, окруженные червями, философии жизни, смерти и бессмертия, призраков, страданий, глубинной боли и романтики.
Меня затрагивают многие их стихи, особенно в оригинале.
Надеюсь, вам понравятся тоже.
Без заголовка
19-11-2007 04:16
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Thomas Parnell (1679-1718)
19-11-2007 04:11
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A Night-piece on Death
1By the blue taper's trembling light,
2No more I waste the wakeful night,
3Intent with endless view to pore
4The schoolmen and the sages o'er:
5Their books from wisdom widely stray,
6Or point at best the longest way.
7I'll seek a readier path, and go
8Where wisdom's surely taught below.
9 How deep yon azure dyes the sky!
10Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie,
11While through their ranks in silver pride
12The nether crescent seems to glide!
13The slumb'ring breeze forgets to breathe,
14The lake is smooth and clear beneath,
15Where once again the spangled show
16Descends to meet our eyes below.
17The grounds which on the right aspire,
18In dimness from the view retire:
19The left presents a place of graves,
20Whose wall the silent water laves.
21That steeple guides thy doubtful sight
22Among the livid gleams of night.
23There pass with melancholy state,
24By all the solemn heaps of fate,
25And think, as softly-sad you tread
26Above the venerable dead,
27"Time was, like thee they life possest,
28And time shall be, that thou shalt rest."
29 Those graves, with bending osier bound,
30That nameless heave the crumpled ground,
Thomas Parnell (1679-1718)
19-11-2007 04:03
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The Hermit
1Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
2From youth to age a rev'rend hermit grew;
3The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
4His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well:
5Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days,
6Pray'r all his bus'ness, all his pleasure praise.
7 A life so sacred, such serene repose,
8Seem'd heav'n itself, till one suggestion rose;
9That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey,
10This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway:
11His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
12And all the tenor of his soul is lost.
13So when a smooth expanse receives imprest
14Calm nature's image on its wat'ry breast,
15Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
16And skies beneath with answering colours glow:
17But if a stone the gentle scene divide,
18Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry side,
19And glimm'ring fragments of a broken sun,
20Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.
21 To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight,
22To find if books, or swains, report it right,
23(For yet by swains alone the world he knew,
24Whose feet came wand'ring o'er the nightly dew,)
25He quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore,
26And fix'd the scallop in his hat before;
27Then with the sun a rising journey went,
28Sedate to think, and watching each event.
James Beattie (1735-1803)
19-11-2007 03:43
THE FIRST BOOK (excerpts)
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The Minstrel; or, The Progress of Genius
(excerpt)
THE FIRST BOOK (excerpts)
1 Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
2 The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!
3 Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime
4 Hath felt the influence of malignant star,
5 And wag'd with Fortune an eternal war!
6 Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,
7 And Poverty's unconquerable bar,
8 In life's low vale remote hath pin'd alone
9Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown!
10 And yet, the languor of inglorious days
11 Not equally oppressive is to all.
12 Him, who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise,
13 The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.
14 There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,
15 Would shrink to hear th' obstreperous trump of Fame;
16 Supremely blest, if to their portion fall
17 Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim
18Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim.
19 This sapient age disclaims all classic lore;
20 Else I should here in cunning phrase display,
21 How forth The Minstrel far'd in days of yore,
22 Right glad of heart, though homely in array;
23 His waving locks and beard all hoary grey:
24 And, from his bending shoulder, decent hung
25 His harp, the sole
Mark Akenside (1721-1770)
19-11-2007 03:23
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Hymn to Science
1 Science! thou fair effusive ray
2From the great source of mental day,
3 Free, generous, and refin'd!
4Descend with all thy treasures fraught,
5Illumine each bewilder'd thought,
6 And bless my lab'ring mind.
7 But first with thy resistless light,
8Disperse those phantoms from my sight,
9 Those mimic shades of thee;
10The scholiast's learning, sophist's cant,
11The visionary bigot's rant,
12 The monk's philosophy.
13 O! let thy powerful charms impart
14The patient head, the candid heart,
15 Devoted to thy sway;
16Which no weak passions e'er mislead,
17Which still with dauntless steps proceed
18 Where Reason points the way.
19 Give me to learn each secret cause;
20Let number's, figure's, motion's laws
21 Reveal'd before me stand;
22These to great Nature's scenes apply,
23And round the globe, and thro' the sky,
24 Disclose her working hand.
25 Next, to thy nobler search resign'd,
26The busy, restless, human mind
27 Thro' ev'ry maze pursue;
28Detect Perception where it lies,
Без заголовка
18-11-2007 08:49
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James Macpherson (1736-1796)
18-11-2007 08:24
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The Songs of Selma
(excerpt)
ARGUMENT
Address to the evening star. An apostrophe to Fingal and his times. Minona
sings before the king the song of the unfortunate Colma; and the bards exhibit
other specimens of their poetical talents; according to an annual custom
established by the monarchs of the ancient Caledonians.
1Star of descending night! fair is thy light in the west! thou liftest thy
2unshorn head from thy cloud: thy steps are stately on thy hill. What
3dost thou behold in the plain? The stormy winds are laid. The murmur
4of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock.
5The flies of evening are on their feeble wings; the hum of their course is
6on the field. What dost thou behold, fair light? But thou dost smile
7and depart. The waves come with joy around thee: they bathe thy
8lovely hair. Farewell, thou silent beam! Let the light of Ossian's soul
9arise!
10 And it does arise in its strength! I behold my departed friends.
11Their gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other years. Fingal comes
12like a watry column of mist; his heroes are around: And see the bards
13of song, grey-haired Ullin! stately Ryno! Alpin, with the tuneful voice!
14the soft complaint of Minona! How are ye changed, my friends, since
15the days of Selma's feast? when we contended, like gales of spring, as they
16fly along the hill, and bend by turns the feebly-whistling grass.
17 Minona came forth in her beauty; with down-cast look and tearful
18eye. Her hair flew slowly on the blast, that rushed unfrequent from the
19hill. The souls of the heroes were sad when she raised the tuneful voice.
20Often had they seen the grave of Salgar, the dark dwelling of white-
Robert Blair (1699-1746)
16-11-2007 01:25
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The Grave
(excerpt)
1 While some affect the sun, and some the shade.
2Some flee the city, some the hermitage;
3Their aims as various, as the roads they take
4In journeying thro' life;--the task be mine,
5To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb;
6Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all
7These travellers meet.--Thy succours I implore,
8Eternal King! whose potent arm sustains
9The keys of Hell and Death.--The Grave, dread thing!
10Men shiver when thou'rt named: Nature appall'd
11Shakes off her wonted firmness.--Ah ! how dark
12The long-extended realms, and rueful wastes!
13Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark night,
14Dark as was chaos, ere the infant Sun
15Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams
16Athwart the gloom profound.--The sickly taper,
17By glimm'ring thro' thy low-brow'd misty vaults,
18(Furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime)
19Lets fall a supernumerary horror,
20And only serves to make thy night more irksome.
21Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew,
22Cheerless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwell
23'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms:
24Where light-heel'd ghosts, and visionary shades,
25Beneath the wan, cold moon (as fame reports)
26Embodied thick, perform their mystic rounds,
27No other merriment, dull tree! is thine.
28 See yonder hallow'd fane;--the pious work
29Of names once
Remember
16-11-2007 01:06
Your cruelty makes me want to die.
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Your cruelty makes me want to die.
Mark Akenside
16-11-2007 00:58
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Inscription for a Column at Runnemede
Thou, who the verdant plain dost traverse here, [174x255]
While Thames among his willows from thy view
Retires, O stranger, stay thee,and the scene
Around comtemplate well. This is the place
Where England's ancient Barons, clad in arms
And stern with conquest, from their tyrant king
(Then render'd tame) did challenge and secure
The charter of thy freedom. Pass not on
Till thou hast blest their memory, and paid
Those thanks which God appointed the reward
Of public virtue. And if chance thy home
Salute thee with a father's honour'd name,
Go, call thy sons; instruct them what a dept
They owe their ancestors; and make them swear
To pay it, by transmitting down entire
Those sacred rights to which themselves were born.
Без заголовка
16-11-2007 00:52
[540x675]
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Distorted sight of noblest fight.
You never find all you deny
Your vision's blind
What can you find ?
[540x675]
Без заголовка
13-11-2007 02:46
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