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The Fair Maid(en) is a Maiden of Beauty Fair
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Author:  Mission Orange [ 07-02-2005, 07:34 PM ]
Post subject:  The Fair Maid(en) is a Maiden of Beauty Fair

The Fair Maid

When I was a fair maid about seventeen
I listed in the Navy for to serve the queen
I listed in the Navy a sailor lad to stand
For to hear the cannons rattle and the music so grand
The music so grand, the music so grand
For to hear the cannons rattle and the music so grand

The officer that listed me was a tall and handsome man
He said You'll make a sailor so come along my man
My waist been tall and slender my fingers long and thin
And the very soon they learned me I soon exceeded them
I soon exceeded them, I soon exceeded them
And the very soon they learned me I soon exceeded them

They sent me to my bed they sent me to my bunk
To lie with a sailor I never was afraid
But taking off me bluecoat shirt often made me smile
For to think I was a sailor and a maiden all the while
A maiden all the while, a maiden all the while
For to think I was a maiden and a sailor all the while

They sent me up to London for to guard the tower
And I thought I might be there till my very dying hour
But a lady fell in love with me I told her I was a maid
She went up to the captain and my secret she betrayed
My secret she betrayed, my secret she betrayed
She went up to the captain and my secret she betrayed

The captain he came up to me and asked if this was so
I dare not I dare not I dare not say no
It's a pity we should lose you such a sailor lad you made
It's a pity we should lose you such a handsome young maid
Such a handsome young maid such a handsome young maid
It's a pity we should lose you such a handsome young maid

So fare thee well my captain you've been so kind to me
And likewise my shipmates I'm sorry to part with thee
But if ever he Navy needs a lad a sailor I'll remain
I'll put on me cap and feathers and I'll run the rigging again
I'll run the rigging again, I'll run the rigging again
I'll put on me cap and feathers and I'll run the rigging again

;)

Author:  TheAuldGrump [ 07-03-2005, 09:15 AM ]
Post subject: 

The Fair Maid On the Shore

There was a fair damsel all crossed in love
And she fell very deep in despair
All the way she could find to ease her sad mind
Was to walk all along on the shore
O, the shore, to walk all along on the shore.

There was a sea-captain who sailed the seas 'round
And he fell very deep into love-o
"I'll die, I'll die!" the sea-captain cried
"If l can't get that maid on the shore,
O the shore, if l can't get that maid on the shore"

"Your captain has jewels and your captain has gold
And your captain has costly array-o
All these he'll give to his jolly seamen
If they'll bring him that maid on the shore,
O the shore, if they'll bring him that maid on the shore."

"Our captain has jewels, and our captain has gold.
And our captain has costly array-o
All these he'll give, and we'll please it we can
And we'll bring him that maid on the shore,
O, the shore, we'll bring him that maid on the shore."

After much persuasion on board she did come
And the captain he set her a chair-o
He invited her down to his cabin below
Singing, "Farewell, sorrow and care,
O care, farewell, sorrow and care."

The captain he poured out the richery wine
That sparked so bright and so clear-o
Saying "First you will lie in my arms all this night,
And then I'll hand you to my crew my crew"
And then I'll hand you to my crew my crew"

"I'll sing you a song if you all think it best"
And how she made them all stare-o
She sang it so sweet, so neat and complete
That she sang all the seamen asleep,
O asleep, sang all the seamen asleep.

She robbed them of jewels, she robbed them of gold
She robbed them of costly array-o
Of the captain's broadsword, she made her an oar
And she paddled her boat to the shore
O, the shore, she paddled her boat to the shore.

"Oh, were my men sleeping, or were my men mad
Or were they sank in despair-o?
She deluded my men and myself also
And again she's a maid on the shore,
O, the shore, again she's a maid on the shore."

"Your men were not sleeping, your men were not mad
Nor were they sank in despair-o
l deluded your men and yourself also
And again I'm a maid on the shore,
O, the shore, again I'm a maid on the shore..'

Childe #43 :P

Author:  Mission Orange [ 07-04-2005, 06:31 AM ]
Post subject: 

Two Magicians

A lady sits at her own front door, waiting on her man
when by there came a lusty smith, with his hammer in his hand

Saying,"You are such a maiden fair, all in your robes of red,
will ya take me in yer arms, and have me in your bed?"

"Away, away you cold blacksmith, what you do say is wrong,
Does thou think a lass like me can be had for just a song?"

He sang, "Bide, lady bide, your lust for me don't hide,
this dusty smith will be your love, so lay aside your pride."

So the lady she took out her wand, held it high in her hand,
she turned herself into a cloud, said "Catch me if you can!"

So the blacksmith shook his hammer, and it turned to a magic stick,
so he became a lightning bolt for to zap into her quick.

He sang, "Bide, lady bide, your lust for me don't hide,
this dusty smith will be your love, so lay aside your pride."

So the lady she turned into a fish, a-swimmin' in the brook,
So he became a fishing rod for to catch her with his hook

But the lady she turned into a fly, flew up into the air,
So he became a hairy spider for to drag her into his lair

Singin', "Bide, lady bide, your lust for me don't hide,
this dusty smith will be your love, so lay aside your pride."

Then the lady she turned into a rose, rosebud in the wood,
So he became a bumble bee for to sting her where she stood (Ouch!)

But the lady she turned into a horse, dark as the night is black
So he became a golden saddle for to climb onto her back

Singin'"Bide, lady bide, your lust for me don't hide,
this dusty smith will be your love, so lay aside your pride."

So the lady she turned into a man, leered up on him good,
So he became a bonny lass, and she took him where he stood, singin -

"Bide, lady bide, your lust for me don't hide,
this dusty smith will be your love, so lay aside your pride."

*winkin' at The Auld Grump*

Author:  TheAuldGrump [ 07-04-2005, 06:59 AM ]
Post subject: 

What should I be but a prophet and a liar,
Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar?
Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water,
What should I be but the fiend's god-daughter?

And who should be my playmates but the adder and the frog,
That was got beneath a furze-bush and born in a bog?
And what should be my singing, that was christened at an altar,
But Aves and Credos and Psalms out of the Psalter?

You will see such webs on the wet grass, maybe,
As a pixie-mother weaves for her baby,
You will find such flame at the wave's weedy ebb
As flashes in the meshes of a mer-mother's web,

But there comes to birth no common spawn
From the love a a priest for a leprechaun,
And you never have seen and you never will see
Such things as the things that swaddled me!

After all's said and after all's done,
What should I be but a harlot and a nun?

In through the bushes, on any foggy day,
My Da would come a-swishing of the drops away,
With a prayer for my death and a groan for my birth,
A-mumbling of his beads for all that he was worth.

And there'd sit my Ma, with her knees beneath her chin,
A-looking in his face and a-drinking of it in,
And a-marking in the moss some funny little saying
That would mean just the opposite of all that he was praying!

He taught me the holy-talk of Vesper and of Matin,
He heard me my Greek and he heard me my Latin,
He blessed me and crossed me to keep my soul from evil,
And we watched him out of sight, and we conjured up the devil!

Oh, the things I haven't seen and the things I haven't known,
What with hedges and ditches till after I was grown,
And yanked both way by my mother and my father,
With a "Which would you better?" and a " Which would you
rather?"

With him for a sire and her for a dam,
What should I be but just what I am?

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Author:  Mission Orange [ 07-04-2005, 01:28 PM ]
Post subject: 

The Broomfield Hill

There was a knight and a lady bright
Had a true tryste at the broom;
The ane gaed early in the morning,
The other in the afternoon.

And ay she sat in her mother's bower door
And ay she made her mane;
O whether should I gane to the broomfield Hill
Or should I stay at hame?

For if I gane go the Broomfield Hill
My maidenhed is gone;
And if I chance to stay at hame
My love will ca' me mansworn.

Up then spake a witch woman,
Ay from the room aboon;
O ye may gang the Broomfield Hill
And yet come maiden home.

For when ye gang to the Broomfield Hill
Ye'll find your love asleep
With a silver belt about his head
And a broom-cow at his feet.

Take ye the blossom of the broom,
The blossom it smells sweet,
And strew it at your true love's head
And likewise at his feet.

Take ye the rings off your fingrs,
Put them on his right hand,
To let him know,m when he doth awake,
His love was at his command.

She pu'd the broom blower on Hive Hill
And strew'd on's white hals bane,
And that was to wittering true
That maiden she had gane.

O where were ye, my milk-white steed,
That I hae coft sae dear,
That wadna watch and waken me
When there was maiden here?

I stamped wi' my foot, master,
And gar'd my bridle ring,
But na kin thing wald waken ye
Till she was past and gane.

And wae betide ye, my gay goss hawk,
That I did love sae dear,
That wadna watch and waken me
When there was maiden here.

I clapped wi' my wings, master,
And ay my bells I rang,
And aye cry'd, Waken, waken, master,
Before the ladye gane.

But haste and haste, my gude white steed,
To come the maiden till,
Or a' the birds of gude green wood
Of your flesh shall have their fill.

Ye need na burst your gude white steed
Wi' racing o'er the the howm;
Nae bird flies faster through the wood
Than she fled through the broom.

Author:  TheAuldGrump [ 07-04-2005, 04:41 PM ]
Post subject: 

"Abide, abide, true love," she said,
"Beg and stay all night,
You shall have pleasure in my room
With a coal and a candle light, light,
With a coal and a candle light."

"I won't abide, you false lady,
And beg and stay all night,
For I have a far better love to enjoy,
When I go home, than you. "

As he stooped over saddle bow
To kiss her lips so sweet,
And with a penknife in her hand,
She wounded him full deep.

"Why woundest me, you false lady,
Why woundest me so sore?
There's not a doctor in all Scotland
Can heal my mortal wound."

She awoke her maids in the morning,
Just at the break of day,
Saying, "There's a dead man in my bed-chamber,
I wish he was away."

Some took him by the lily-white hands,
And others by the feet,
They threw him into a very deep well,
Full fifty fathoms deep.

"Lie there, lie there, you false young man,
Lie there, lie there alone,
And let the one that you love best
Think you long a-coming home."

Oh, then up spoke a pretty little bird,
Sitting in a tree:
"An ill death may you die, lady,
For he had no love but thee."

"Come down, come down, my pretty little bird,
Sit upon my knee,
For I have a golden cage at home
That I will give to thee."

"I won't come down, you false lady,
And sit upon your knee,
For you hove slain your own true love,
And I'm sure you would slay me,"

"I wish I had my bow to bend,
My arrow and my string,
I'd shoot you through the very heart,
Among the leaves so green."

"Well, if you had your bow to bend,
Your arrow and your string,
I'd take my wings and away I'd fly,
You'd never see me again."

Do I detect a Roberts & Barrand fan?

The Auld Grump

Author:  magsman [ 07-05-2005, 02:34 AM ]
Post subject:  No contest!...

- And how can an ordinary paper-folder compete with you two? :shock: :D

Miss O. I trust you realise that getting the Grump to wax-lyrical in such a profligate fashion is injurious to his health? Nothing good can come of this. 'Tears before bedtime... :wink:

FTR: I know both of you will be well aware of the extraordinary number of women who went as matelots in the Royal Navy. What larks!

MAGSMAN

(I've been poorly y'know :( )

Author:  Conaill [ 07-05-2005, 08:08 AM ]
Post subject: 

Ooh... Battle of the Maidens! ;) :D

Author:  Mission Orange [ 07-05-2005, 08:22 AM ]
Post subject: 

Conaill wrote:
Ooh... Battle of the Maidens! ;) :D


Not a battle ... we are singing romantic ballads to each other. :wink:

Author:  magsman [ 07-05-2005, 10:41 AM ]
Post subject: 

Conaill wrote:
Ooh... Battle of the Maidens! ;) :D


Yup, Conaill. I reckon these two need a firm hand at the helm. Or a firm handbag around the heads -

(Am I allowed to say that? :oops: )

MAGS :wink:

Author:  Mission Orange [ 07-05-2005, 01:00 PM ]
Post subject: 

Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight

False Sir John a wooing came
To a maid of beauty fair;
May Colven was this lady’s name,
Her father’s only heir.

He wood her butt, he wood her ben,
He wood her in the ha,
Until he got this lady’s consent
To mount and ride awa.

He went down to her father’s bower,
Where all the steeds did stand,
And he’s taken one of the best steeds
That was in her father’s land.

He’s got on and she’s got on,
And fast as they could flee,
Until they came to a lonesome part,
A rock by the side of the sea.

‘Loup off the steed,’ says false Sir John,
‘Your bridal bed you see;
For I have drowned seven young ladies,
The eight one you shall be.

‘Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
All and your silken gown,
For it’s oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.

‘Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
All and your embroiderd shoen,
For they’re oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.’

‘O turn you about, O false Sir John,
And look to the leaf of the tree,
For it never became a gentleman
A naked woman to see.’

He turnd himself straight round about,
To look to the leaf of the tree;
So swift as May Colven was
To throw him in the sea.

‘O help, O help, my May Colven,
O help, or else I’ll drown;
I’ll take you home to your father’s bower,
And set you down safe and sound.’

‘No help, no help, O false Sir John,
No help, nor pity thee;
Tho seven king’s-daughters you have drownd,
But the eight shall not be me.’

So she went on her father’s steed,
As swift as she could flee,
And she came home to her father’s bower
Before it was break of day.

Up then and spoke the pretty parrot:
‘May Colven, where have you been?
What has become of false Sir John,
That woo’d you so late the streen?

‘He woo’d you butt, he woo’d you ben,
He woo’d you in the ha,
Until he got your own consent
For to mount and gang awa.’

‘O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot,
Lay not the blame upon me;
Your cup shall be of the flowered gold,
Your cage of the root of the tree.’

Up then spake the king himself,
In the bed-chamber where he lay:
‘What ails the pretty parrot,
That prattles so long or day?’

‘There came a cat to my cage door,
It almost a worried me,
And I was calling on May Colven
To take the cat from me.’

Child #4C

Author:  TheAuldGrump [ 07-05-2005, 06:44 PM ]
Post subject: 

THERE were three sisters fair and bright,
Over the hill love, and far awa',
And they three loved one elphin knight—
The cold wind blows my plaid awa'.

II

The eldest sister let him in, 5
And barr’d the door with a silver pin.

III

The second sister made his bed,
And placed soft pillows under his head.

IV

The youngest sister that same night
Was resolved for to wed wi’ this elphin knight. 10

V

‘And if you can answer questions three,
O then, fair maid, I’ll marry wi’ thee.

VI

‘O what is louder nor a horn,
Or what is sharper nor a thorn?

VII

‘Or what is heavier nor the lead, 15
Or what is better nor the bread?

VIII

‘Or what is longer nor the way,
Or what is deeper nor the sea?’—

IX

‘O shame is louder nor a horn,
And hunger is sharper nor a thorn. 20

X

‘O sin is heavier nor the lead,
The blessing’s better nor the bread.

XI

‘O the wind is longer nor the way
And love is deeper nor the sea.’

XII
My curse on she who learned thee
For I've a wife, and babies three'

XIII

My maiden head I'll keep then still,
Over the hill love, and far awa'
Let Elphin Knight do an' he will!
The cold wind blows my plaid awa'

Child 1B (variant)

Author:  TheAuldGrump [ 07-17-2005, 08:15 AM ]
Post subject: 

And a lady of a different sort...

From the wide Pacific Ocean, to the grey Atlantic shore,
From sunny California, to ice bound Labrador,
She's tall, and dark, and handsome, Right well loved by one and all,
She's the modern combination called The Wabash Cannonball!

Chorus: Won't you listen to the rumble, to the rattle and the roar,
As she glides across the woodlands, by the hills, and by the shores.
Hear the roar, hear the hiss of the engines! Hear the lonesome hoboes squall,
Gliding through the jungles on the Wabash Cannonball!

Chorus:

Well the eastern states are dandy, so the western preople say,
From New York to Miami, and Chicago by the way,
From the hills of Minnesota, where the rustling waters fall,
No changes may be taken on the Wabash Cannonball!

Chorus:

This train, she runs to Memphis, Mattoon, and Mexico,
She rolls through East St. Louis, And she never does it slow,
As she flies through Colorado, She gives an awful squawl,
They tell her by her whistle, She's the Wabash Cannonball!

Chorus:

I rode the IC Limited, also the Royal Blue
Across the Eastern counties on the Elkhorn number two
I rode these trains from coast to coast, I think I rode them all,
But I have found no equal to the Wabash Cannonball!

Chorus:

She pulled in to the station one cold December day,
As she rolled up to the platform you could hear all the people say,
There's a fellow here from Bangor Maine, he's spare and he is tall,
He's come in from Aroostook on the Wabash Cannonball!

Chorus:

(Slowly) Well, here's to Boston Blackie, may his name forever stand,
May he always be remembered, by the 'boes throughout this land.
Though his Earthly race is over, and the curtain 'round him falls,
We'll carry him home to victory on the Wabash Cannonball!

Chorus (slowly):

"The youngest of the Bunyan boys, (Paul's family), Cal S. Bunyan, built the most wondrous railroad in the world: The Ireland, Jerusalem, Australian & Southern Michigan Line. It took the largest steel mill in the country two years operating on a schedule of 36-hour days and a nine-day week to produce one rail for Cal. Each tie was made from an entire redwood tree. The train had 700 cars. It was so long that the conductor rode on a twin-cylinder, super deluxe motorcycle to check tickets. The train went so fast that, after it was brought to a dead stop it was still making 65 miles an hour. After two months of service, the schedule was speeded up, so that the train arrived at its destination an hour before it left its starting point.

"One day Cal said to the engineer, "Give 'er all she's got!" That was the end of the I.J.A.&S.M. Railroad. The train traveled so fast that the friction melted the steel rails and burned the ties to ashes. When it reached the top of the grade, the engine took off just like an airplane and carried itself and the 700 cars so far into the stratosphere that the law of gravity quit working. That was years and years ago, but the I.J.A.&S.M. is still rushing through space, probably making overnight jumps between the stars.

"Old time hoboes had a name for this Flying Dutchman of a train. They called her 'The Wabash Cannonball', and they said there was no station in America that had not heard her lonesome whistle."


I just finished running a Changeling game based on this song.

The Auld Grump

Author:  TheAuldGrump [ 09-15-2005, 08:14 PM ]
Post subject: 

And one that I am just waiting to use in game... Paddy West.

As I was walkin' down London Street,
I come to Paddy West's house,
He gave me a dish of American hash;
he called it Liverpool scouse,
He said, There's a ship and she's wantin' hands,
and on her you must sign,
The mate's a bastard, the captain's worse,
but she will suit you fine.

Chorus:
Take off yer dungaree jacket,
and give yerself a rest,
And we'll think on them cold nor'westers
that we had at Paddy West's.

When we had finished our dinner, boys,
the wind began to blow.
Paddy sent me to the attic,
the main-royal for to stow,
But when I got to the attic,
no main-royal could I find,
So I turned myself 'round to the window,
and I furled the window blind.

Now Paddy he pipes all hands on deck,
their stations for to man.
His wife she stood in the doorway,
a bucket in her hand;
And Paddy he cries, Now let 'er rip!
and she throws the water our way,
Cryin', Clew in the fore t'gan'sl, boys,
she's takin on the spray!

Now seein' she's bound for the south'ard,
to Frisco she was bound;
Paddy he takes a length of rope,
and he lays it on the ground,
We all steps over, and back again,
and he says to me That's fine,
And if ever they ask were you ever at sea
you can say you crossed the line.

To every two men that graduates,
I'll give one outfit free,
For two good men on watch at once,
ye never need to see,
Oilskins, me boys, ye'll never want,
carpet slippers made of felt,
I'll dish out to the pair o' you,
and a rope yarn for a belt.

Paddy says Now pay attention,
these lessons you will learn.
The starboard is where the ship she points,
the right is called the stern,
So look ye aft, to yer starboard port
and you will find northwest.
And that's the way they teach you
at the school of Paddy West.

There's just one thing for you to do
before you sail away,
Just step around the table,
where the bullock's horn do lay Tenn
And if ever they ask Were you ever at sea?
you can say Ten times 'round the Horn
And BeJesus but you're an old sailor man
from the day that you were born.

Put on yer dungaree jacket,
And walk out lookin' yer best,
And tell 'em that you're an old sailor man
That's come from Paddy West's.

The tune is the same as "Young Man From Canada" for you folks up north...

The Auld Grump

Author:  TheAuldGrump [ 12-01-2005, 09:27 PM ]
Post subject: 

And now that 'Christmas time is drawing nigh'...

The Wife of Ushers Well

There lived a lady in merry Scotland
And she had sons all three
And she sent them away into merry England
To learn some English dee'

They had not been in merry England
For twelve months and one day
When the news came back to their own mother dear
Their bodies were in cold clay

I will not believe in God, she said
Nor Christ in eternity
Till they send me back my own three sons
The same as they went from me

Old Christmas time was drawing near
With the nights so dark and long
This mother's own three sons came home
Walking by the light of the moon

And soon as they reached their own mothers gate
So loud did the bell they ring
There's none so ready as their own mother dear
To loose these children in

The cloth was spread, the meat put on.
No meat, Lord, can we take.
It's been so long, been so many a day
Since you our dinner did make

The bed was made, the sheets put on
No rest, Lord, can we take
It's been so long, been so many a day
Since you or bed did make

Then Christ did call for the roasted cock
Feathered with His holy hand
It crowed three times, all in the dish
In the place where he did stand.

He crowed three times, all in the dish
Set at the table head
And isn't it a pity, they all did say
The quick should part from the dead

So farewell stick, farewell stone
Farewell to the maidens all
Farewell to the nurse that gave us suck
And down the tears did fall.

Child #79

Other odd Christmas songs that might inspire scenarios?

The Auld Grump, who may have one or two more to contribute... :p

Author:  Mission Orange [ 12-01-2005, 09:55 PM ]
Post subject: 

You're All I Want For Christmas

I want my arms around you for Christmas
I need no presents under the tree
You're all I want, my darling
And that will be the world to me.

I want to share your kisses for Christmas
The rest is only tinsel and show
You're all I want, my darling
At candle glow and mistletoe.

As far as I'm concerned
Santa doesn't have to load his sleigh
He can mark my other gifts 'returned'
Or give them all away.

I only want your lovin' for Christmas
No other kind of present will do
You're all I want, my darling

Please want me too
Please want me too
Please want me too
As I want you.

Song By Brook Benton

*blows The Auld Grump a kiss to warm his cockles on a cold wintry night*

Author:  Deathreaver999 [ 12-07-2005, 06:24 PM ]
Post subject: 

The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe, 1850
A Dream Within A Dream
by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.


I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

O.K. I felt left out of this poetry battle :wink:

Author:  Deathreaver999 [ 12-07-2005, 06:37 PM ]
Post subject: 

1846
The Cask of Amontillado
by Edgar Allan Poe


THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled --but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.

It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my in to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my to smile now was at the thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point --this Fortunato --although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; --I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.

It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.

I said to him --"My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."

"How?" said he. "Amontillado, A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!"

"I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."

"Amontillado!"

"I have my doubts."

"Amontillado!"

"And I must satisfy them."

"Amontillado!"

"As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me --"


"Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry."


"And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own.


"Come, let us go."


"Whither?"

"To your vaults."

"My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi--"

"I have no engagement; --come."

"My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre."

"Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado."

Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.

There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.

I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.

The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode.

"The pipe," he said.

"It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls."

He turned towards me, and looked into my eves with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication.


"Nitre?" he asked, at length.


"Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough?"


"Ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh!"


My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.


"It is nothing," he said, at last.

"Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi --"

"Enough," he said; "the cough's a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough."

"True --true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily --but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps.

Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.

"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.

He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.

"I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us."

"And I to your long life."

He again took my arm, and we proceeded.

"These vaults," he said, "are extensive."

"The Montresors," I replied, "were a great and numerous family."

"I forget your arms."

"A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel."

"And the motto?"

"Nemo me impune lacessit."

"Good!" he said.

The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.

"The nitre!" I said; "see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough --"

"It is nothing," he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc."


I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.

I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement --a grotesque one.

"You do not comprehend?" he said.

"Not I," I replied.

"Then you are not of the brotherhood."

"How?"

"You are not of the masons."

"Yes, yes," I said; "yes, yes."

"You? Impossible! A mason?"

"A mason," I replied.

"A sign," he said, "a sign."

"It is this," I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my roquelaire a trowel.

"You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado."

"Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.

It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see.

"Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchresi --"

"He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In niche, and finding an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess.

"Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power."

"The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.

"True," I replied; "the Amontillado."

As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.

I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.

A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall; I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said--

"Ha! ha! ha! --he! he! he! --a very good joke, indeed --an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo --he! he! he! --over our wine --he! he! he!"

"The Amontillado!" I said.

"He! he! he! --he! he! he! --yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone."

"Yes," I said, "let us be gone."

"For the love of God, Montresor!"

"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"

But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud --

"Fortunato!"

No answer. I called again --

"Fortunato!"

No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick; it was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!

Edgar Allan Poe is one of the most talented poetry writers of all time!(Well that's what I think :wink:, but it could just be me :roll: )

Author:  Conaill [ 12-07-2005, 07:27 PM ]
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Gee thanks - It was getting decidedly too sappy in here! :lol: ;)

Author:  Deathreaver999 [ 12-07-2005, 07:41 PM ]
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The Role-Players Life - Writen By: Carrie Taggart

The Dungeon Master
is your guide
can bend the rules
won't pick a side

Handbooks, manuals
and a character sheet
creating the right one
is no easy feat

Classes and levels
tables, a chart
scores and points
get ready to start

Elves and Dwarves
maybe a Gnome
be the character
wherever he roam

Kingdoms and castles
Ladies and Lords
Dungeons and Dragons
Knights with swords

Rogues and Mages
Wizards and Rangers
Warriors as well
to protect you from dangers

Astral planes
a dimension door
magic spells
and so much more

Forgotten Realms
worlds unexplored
adventures like this
who could be bored

Monsters and creatures
wherever you look
that crafty DM
got 'em outta the "book"

Trolls and Goblins
Giant spiders too
Elementals and Orcs
even the Kendu

Roll the dice
for the attack
be prepared
and watch your back

Adding proficiencies
learning a trade
working hard
to earn the grade

Role playing is fantasy
the imagination game
come join the adventure
you'll be glad you came

Author:  Deathreaver999 [ 12-07-2005, 07:43 PM ]
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Flee - Writen By: Brian Riley

Flee
Metal on metal I hear the sound...
I wait in fear all around.
To my left and to my right...
I free my blade and prepare to fight.
O'er yonder across the field
A man in black a sword he weilds.
He cuts the air to and fro
His eyes they dart, like a crow.
Thy silken tunic shines with light
I see undead hordes with unholy might.
I raise my blade my tears my power.
There he looks, I begin to cower.
I see me sword leave me hand
Drop to the ground and caress the sand.
Wondering his powers key
I turn my legs and begin to flee.

Author:  Deathreaver999 [ 12-07-2005, 07:44 PM ]
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Cold Steel - Writen By: Arthur Keller

They're not just blades
Yet they're labeled, no good
So they're rejected, called tools for evil
Meant for blood shed

There produced from nature's skin
Shaped by the love of the smith's hand
Products of the blood and sweat of the artisan
They are not mere cold steel
They're gifts, extensions of self
Use to awaken the fire that lies in my depth

Igniting a new singes of power and self
There smooth steel extensions of my hands
That all will be able to see
When me and these blades sing

Author:  Deathreaver999 [ 12-07-2005, 07:45 PM ]
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The Journey, A song of Rym-Rakkor - Writen By: Will Rockwell

My walking boots are calling me,
my staff has gone unused.
I cannot stand here idly by,
and watch them so abused.
Now I lean against the wall
where my lovely sword is hung...
How can I leave her hanging there,
while the battle's being won?

As long as there are fights to fight,
and there are sights to see,
I must wander this lonely road,
for adventure calls to me.
I cannot stay in one place for long
while there are sights I haven't seen.
I can't stay here, I must go to
some place I've never been.

Once again, I am leaving
to live upon the road.
Adventure's calling to my heart:
it tells me where to go.
You know I am a wanderer,
and now I must depart;
Some grand design's unfolding,
and I must play my part.

As long as there are treasures
and far off land unknown,
There I soon must journey
and usually alone.
Wherever they haven't heard my name,
it's there I next must go...
As sure as I'm a wanderer
I'll live upon the road.
When my friends abandon me
and it seems I am alone...
When this cruel world laughs at me
with a heart that's made of stone...
There's one who'll never leave me:
she's always at my side...
She's four feet tall and made of steel,
and sure to turn the tide!
One time alone she failed me,
but that was quite enough...
Adventure still is calling me,
but the traveling is rough.
One last road beckons...
and in my heart I know
That still I am a wanderer...
and once again I go.

As long as there are fights to fight
and there are sights to see,
I must wander this lonely road
for adventure calls to me.
I cannot stay in one place for long
while there are sights I haven't seen...
I can't stay here...
I must go to

Some place I've never been.

Author:  Deathreaver999 [ 12-07-2005, 07:46 PM ]
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The Plain of Bloody Tears - Writen By: Trahe

The battle began, the flights were launched as the horses ran. The banners unfurled, snapping and popping.

Iron men on iron shrouded mounts with long metal lances canting, screaming to the clear sky as their war dogs ran panting.

Their sheilds held loosely, they charged with no thought of stopping. The ground trembled, the swaying grasses trampled, the hidden creatures dying, the distance closing, the enemy nearing, the horses flying.

Onward they sped, death and destiny ahead.

With muscles clinched, hearts pounding, the men engaged, most slaying, turning, twisting, striking, screaming, the enemy line was soon collapsing.

Their weapons killing, maiming, swiftly turning red. The charge was blunted by green-clad bodies, the iron men on their iron horses, with their blood soaked weapons turned, then charged again.

The dirt of the field, bllod-red, was littered with the dying and the dead.

Twice, thrice the clash of the charge resounded across the plain, the screaming now only moaning, the rising sun drying voices and parching all the same.

Survivors running without their dead, the cool safety of the forest ahead. Horses nearing, survivors running, gaining safety with bows awaiting, the iron men without their iron horses entered the forest with the survivors now hunting.

Elven archers in the forest darkening, swiftly climbing to the safety above.

Iron men running, scrambling, falling, surviving, mount their ironclad horses weeping, galloping away, away from the forest and the dying.

Blood and death, honor and dishonor, victor and loser... until tomorrow.

Author:  Deathreaver999 [ 12-07-2005, 07:47 PM ]
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Knowledge - Writen By: DarkDream

A pink mist floats into the air,
The scent of blood upon it;
For him life had never been fair,
It was time that someone took it.


His hands tied up behind his back,
A bullet fired through his head.
Looking like meat tied and on the rack,
And just like the meat he is dead.


He questioned too much,
He had asked for it,
He knew too much,
And he knew it.


He had expected his late night visitors,
They had come in robed in black.
They told him they were poll inquisitors,
But he knew the secret behind their mask.


He put up no resistance,
He knew what they would do.
They noticed not that they needed no persistence,
They knew not what he would do.


He died with a child’s smile,
One that cared not of the blame.
There would never be not a common trial,
But instead the house exploded into flames.


The trial had ended,
The murders had been punished.
And the man whom they condescended,
He had had the last laugh!

________________________________________


Last Stand - Writen By: DarkDream

His blood flowed freely from his hands,
But he would die like a man.
He breathed in deep the battle-beaten wind,
He hated the scent of the blood in the wind,
It was of his loyal soldiers who would not win.


Out in front of the castle gate,
There he would meet his fate.
He drove a pole into the ground,
He pounded it deep into the ground.
He tied himself to it so that he may die standing,
And not become a corpse upon the ground.

He cleaved the cavalry with his sword,
Cut them like a woodsman’s axe through a board.
But when so many fell upon him,
He was torn limb from limb.
And all that was ever left of him,
Was his torso still tied to the pole

Author:  TheAuldGrump [ 12-14-2005, 09:26 AM ]
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And Back to odd songs of the Christmas Season -

The Cutty Wren

"Where are we going?" says Milder to Melder.
"Where are we going?" says the younger to the elder.
"We may not tell you," says vassal to foe.
"Away to the green wood!" says John the Red Nose.

2. "What shall we do there?" says Milder to Melder.
"What shall we do there?" says the younger to the elder.
"We may not tell you," says vassal to foe.
"Hunt for the Cutty Wren!" says John the Red Nose.

3. "How shall we shoot her?" says Milder to Melder.
"With bows and with arrows," says the younger to the elder.
"That will not do, then," says vassal to foe.
"With big guns and with cannon!" says John the Red Nose.

4. "How shall we fetch her home?" says Milder to Melder.
"On four strong men's shoulders," says the younger to the elder.
"That will not do, then," says vassal to foe.
"In oxcarts and in wagons!" says John the Red Nose.

5. "How shall we cut her up?" says Milder to Melder.
"With forks and with knives," says the younger to the elder.
"That will not do, then," says vassal to foe.
"With hatchets and with cleavers!" says John the Red Nose.

6. "How shall we cook her?" says Milder to Melder.
"In pots and in kettles," says the younger to the elder.
"That will not do, then," says vassal to foe.
"In a bloody great brass cauldron!" says John the Red Nose.

7. "Who'll get the spare ribs?" says Milder to Melder.
"Who'll get the spare ribs?" says the younger to the elder.
"We may not tell you," says vassal to foe.
"We'll give 'em all to the poor!" says John the Red Nose.

The Auld Grump

Author:  Mission Orange [ 01-09-2006, 07:04 PM ]
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Westwärts
schweift der Blick;
ostwärts
streicht das Schiff.
Frisch weht der Wind
der Heimat zu:
mein irisch Kind,
wo weilest du?
Sind's deiner Seufzer Wehen,
die mir die Segel blähen?
Wehe, wehe, du Wind! -
Weh, ach wehe, mein Kind! -
Irische Maid,
du wilde, minnige Maid!

Westward
strays the eye,
eastward
flies our ship.
Fresh blows the wind
homeward:
my Irish maid,
where do you linger?
Is it the breath of your sighs
that fills our sails?
Blow, blow, o wind!
Woe, ah woe, my child,
my Irish maid,
you headstrong, winsome maid!

Tristan und Isolde, Act One, Scene One
Libretto by Richard Wagner

Author:  TheAuldGrump [ 01-09-2006, 07:26 PM ]
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Lowlands (sung low and slow)

Lowlands, Lowlands, away, my John,
Lowlands away I heard them say,
My Lowlands away.

1. I dreamed a dream the other night,
Ch. Lowlands, Lowlands, away, my John.
My love she came dressed all in white,
Ch. My Lowlands away.

2. I dreamed my love came in my sleep,
Her cheeks were wet, her eyes did weep.

3. She came to me as my best bride (at my bed-side),
All dressed in white like some fair bride.

4. And bravely in her bosom fair,
A red, red rose did my love wear.

5. She made no sound-no word she said,
And then I knew my love was dead.

6. I bound the weeper round my head,
For now I knew my love was dead.

7. She waved her hand-she said goodbye,
I wiped the tear from out my eye.

8. And then awoke to hear the cry,
'Oh, watch on deck, oh, watch ahoy!'


Capstain Shanty by Hugill aka The Last Shantyman, one of my childhood heroes..

Author:  Mission Orange [ 01-28-2006, 03:02 PM ]
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ROBIN HOOD AND MAID MARIAN

A bonny fine maid of a noble degree,
With a hey down down a down down
Maid Marian calld by name,
Did live in the North, of excellent worth,
For she was a gallant dame.

For favour and face, and beauty most rare,
Queen Hellen shee did excell;
For Marian then was praisd of all men
That did in the country dwell.

'Twas neither Rosamond nor Jane Shore,
Whose beauty was clear and bright,
That could surpass this country lass,
Beloved of lord and knight.

The Earl of Huntington, nobly born,
That came of noble blood,
To Marian went, with a good intent,
By the name of Robin Hood.

With kisses sweet their red lips meet,
For shee and the earl did agree;
In every place, they kindly imbrace,
With love and sweet unity.

But fortune bearing these lovers a spight,
That soon they were forced to part;
To the merry green wood then went Robin Hood,
With a sad and sorrowfull heart.

And Marian, poor soul, was troubled in mind,
For the absence of her friend;
With finger in eye, shee often did cry,
And his person did much comend.

Perplexed and vexed, and troubled in mind,
Shee drest her self like a page,
And ranged the wood to find Robin Hood,
The bravest of men in that age.

With quiver and bow, sword, buckler, and all,
Thus armed was Marian most bold,
Still wandering about to find Robin out,
Whose person was better then gold.

But Robin Hood, hee, himself had disguisd,
And Marian was strangly attir'd,
That they provd foes, and so fell to blowes,
Whose vallour bold Robin admir'd.

They drew out their swords, and to cutting they went,
At least an hour or more,
That the blood ran apace from bold Robins face,
And Marian was wounded sore.

"O hold thy hand, hold thy hand," said Robin Hood,
"And thou shalt be one of my string,
To range in the wood with bold Robin Hood,
To hear the sweet nightingall sing."

When Marian did hear the voice of her love,
Her self shee did quickly discover,
And with kisses sweet she did him greet,
Like to a most loyall lover.

When bold Robin Hood his Marian did see,
Good lord, what clipping was there!
With kind imbraces, and jobbing of faces,
Providing of gallant cheer.

For Little John took his bow in his hand,
And wandring in the wood,
To kill the deer, and make good chear,
For Marian and Robin Hood.

A stately banquet they had full soon,
All in a shaded bower,
Where venison sweet they had to eat,
And were merry that present hour.

Great flaggons of wine were set on the board,
And merrily they drunk round
Their boules of sack, to strengthen the back,
Whilst their knees did touch the ground.

First Robin Hood began a health
To Marian his onely dear,
And his yeomen all, both comly and tall,
Did quickly bring up the rear.

For in a brave veine they tost off the bouls,
Whilst thus they did remain,
And every cup, as they drunk up,
They filled with speed again.

At last they ended their merryment,
And went to walk in the wood,
Where Little John and Maid Marian
Attended on bold Robin Hood.

In sollid content together they livd,
With all their yeomen gay;
They livd by their hands, without any lands,
And so they did many a day.

But now to conclude, an end I will make
In time, as I think it good,
For the people that dwell in the North can tell
Of Marian and bold Robin Hood.

Author:  TheAuldGrump [ 01-28-2006, 07:54 PM ]
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One of my all time favorites, and one of the reasons I am glad to live in Maine, for it is home of the songwriter Gordon Bok (though I first heard this being sung by the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem).

It is said that the seals have the ability to take on human form. The seal people, though the like to live near the sea, dare not ever go back into it, or else they immediately revert to their original form and lose the ability ever to take on human form again.
Peter Kagan and the Wind

Peter Kagan was a lonely man in the summer of his years. One day he got tired of being lonely, and he went away, off to the east. And when he came again he had a wife. She was strange, but she was kind and people liked her. She was good for Kagan. She kept him company and winter come to summer they were happy.

Kagan had a dory then, with a lugsail on her mast. He used to go offshore three, maybe four, days at a time setting out for the fish. Oh his wife was sad then. She didn't like to see him go. She'd go down to the sea sometimes and call to him:

(Sung) Kagan, Kagan, Kagan,
Bring the dory home.
Wind and sea do follow thee,
And all the ledges calling thee.

He said he could hear her calling twenty miles to sea, and when he heard her, he would come home, whether he had fish or none.

She was a seal, of course, everybody knew it. Even Kagan. He knew that, but no one said anything to him.

Then, one day, in that year's autumn , Kagan said ``I've got to go now. Go offshore and get some fish.'' But his wife said ``No! Please don't go!'' She started crying. ``The winds are coming and the snows are coming.''

(Sung) Kagan, Kagan, Kagan,
Don't go out to sea,
Stormy winds and snows do come,
And, oh, but I do fear for thee.


But Kagan wasn't afraid of snow, and it was early in the year. So Kagan put in his oars and went out to sea. Kagan sailed in the middle ground. The Wind was west all day and the fish were coming to him. Kagan read the writing on the water and in the sky. He saw haze very high up above the clouds and said ``That's all right for autumn -- only a change of wind. I'm not afraid of wind.''

But Kagan read it wrong, this time. The Wind went away, and then it came back, Southeast. And the fog came round.

Kagan said, ``I've got to go now. I'll find that gong buoy off the sunken ledges and then I'll know the best way home.'' So Kagan put up a sail and bore away to the Nor'ard for the gong.

But, oh, the Wind was watching.

The Wind backed around to the East'ard and came breezing on, against him. He sailed for a long time. The sail was pulling very hard. Finally the Wind was so strong that the sail tore out, so Kagan took it down and the dory went drifting.

He thought he could hear that gong buoy. It wasn't very far away.

(Sung) Kagan, Kagan, Kagan,
Bring the dory home.
Wind and sea do follow thee,
And all the ledges calling thee.


But the dory went drifting, and by and by the gong buoy went away. Kagan said, ``All right then.'' He put in his oars and started to row back up for the gong.

But, oh, the Wind was watching. The Wind back around Northeast, making the seas confused. The Wind said, ``Listen! I have something to tell you.''

Kagan, rowing, ``I don't want to hear it.''

The Wind humps up then, making the sea short, making it hard for Kagan to row. Finally the seas are so steep that Kagan knows he isn't getting anywhere. So Kagan takes in the oars and again the dory goes drifting...

Kagan said, ``All right then. Now I've got something to show you.'' He took a slip of wood for a needle and waxed up a hand line for a thread and he sewed the sail up smaller -- sewed a reef in it.

The Wind said, ``What're you doing?''

Kagan said, ``You keeping watching.''

So Kagan put up a sail and again he bore away to to the Nor'ard for the gong.

But, oh, the Wind was watching.

The Wind backed around North-Nor'east. Kagan can't hold his course now. Kagan said, ``All right then.'' He brought the boat about. Now he's steering East'ard.

``You're heading out to sea.''

``I'm not afraid of water. I'll bring this boat about when I can fetch that gong buoy.''

``I'll veer on you; I'll go East.''

``You do that and I can hold my course.''

``I'll back on you.''

``You back too far and you've got a clear. You know that. I can keep ahead of you.''

``You may be smarter but I'm stronger.'' The Wind grew bigger then and the Wind blew harder. Finally the wind was so strong that the Sail said, ``I can't make it, Kagan!'' And Kagan said, ``I know that. Thank you.''

So Kagan took down the sail, and the dory went drifting.

Kagan took the sail off the yard and put it about him. ``Sail, keep me warm!''

``The sail can't keep you warm.''

The Wind snatched off North by East. ``I'll freeze you.''

``I'm not afraid of cold!''

But Kagan was afraid. He didn't know what to do. And oh, the Wind is working now. The Wind brings ice and snow. The Wind blows long and long and black.

Kagan says, "I'm dying. Sail, keep me warm!" and the sail said, "I can't do it Kagan."

Kagan dying, and the wind blowing.


(Sung) Kagan, Kagan, Kagan,
Bring the dory home.
Wind and sea do follow thee,
And all the ledges calling thee.

Kagan, Kagan, Kagan,
Lay ye down to sleep.
For I do come to comfort thee
All and thy dear body keep.



So Kagan lay on the bottom of the boat, and he tried not to be afraid of the dying, and he dreamed of her then, his wife. He dreamed she was coming to him, and he heard a long calling down the wind and he raised himself up, and he saw her. Down the smoking, storming sea she came. Over the rail of the dory she came, laughing to his arms.

And all in the night and in the storm they did lay, and the Wind went away, and the storm went away, and in the morning they found him...

...asleep, with a sail wrapped around him. And there was a seal, lying there with him, curled over him like a blanket, and the snow was upon the seal's back.

Sung) Kagan, Kagan, Kagan,
Bring the dory home.
Wind and sea do follow thee,
And all the ledges calling thee.


Gordon Bok

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