Gala - Concert Of Svetlana Zakharova 08.03.2008
Music: Like Spinning Plates (live) - Radiohead
Πέμπτη 10 Ιουνίου 2010
Τρίτη 8 Ιουνίου 2010
Wonderwall - Oasis
Today is gonna be the day
That they're gonna throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you gotta do
I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do about you now
Backbeat the word was on the street
That the fire in your heart is out
I'm sure you've heard it all before
But you never really had a doubt
I don't believe that anybody feels
The way I do about you now
And all the roads we have to walk are winding
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding
There are many things that I would like to say to you
But I don't know how
Because maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall
Today was gonna be the day
But they'll never throw it back to you
By now you should've somehow
Realized what you're not to do
I don't believe that anybody
Feels the way I do
About you now
And all the roads that lead you there were winding
And all the lights that light the way are blinding
There are many things that I would like to say to you
But I don't know how
I said maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall
I said maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall
I said maybe
You're gonna be the one that saves me
You're gonna be the one that saves me
You're gonna be the one that saves me...
Quote by Jack London
I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.
Δευτέρα 7 Ιουνίου 2010
"Still I rise" by Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
"If you forget me" by Pablo Neruda
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
Κυριακή 6 Ιουνίου 2010
Σάββατο 5 Ιουνίου 2010
"Eloisa to Abelard" by Alexander Pope
In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
where heavenly-pensive contemplation dwells,
and ever-musing melancholy reigns;
what means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love!- From Abelard it came,
and Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
Dear fatal name! rest ever unrevealed,
nor pass these lips in holy silence sealed.
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
where mixed with God's, his loved idea lies:
Oh write it not, my hand - the name appears
already written - wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.
Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagged with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep,
and pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmoved, and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heaven's while Abelard has part,
still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor prayers nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.
Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
that well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breathed in sighs, still ushered with a tear.
I tremble too, wherever my own I find,
some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes overflow,
led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now withering in thy bloom,
lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern religion quenched the unwilling flame,
there died the best of passions, love and fame.
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this power away;
and is any Abelard less kiss than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
love but demands what else were shed in prayer;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.
Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.
Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
some banished lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
the virgin's wish without her fears impart,
excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
and waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
Thou know best how guiltless first I met thy flame,
when love approached me under Friendship's name;
My fancy formed thee of angelic kind,
some emanation of thy all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, at tempering every day,
shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gazed; heaven listened while you sung;
and truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept failed to move?
Too soon they taught me it was no sin to love.
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
nor wished an Angel whom I loved a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
nor envy them, that heaven I lose for thee.
How oft, when pressed to marriage, have I said,
curse on all laws but those which love has made!
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies,
let wealth, let honor, wait the wedded dame,
August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
before true passion all those views remove,
fame, wealth, and honor! what are you to Love?
The jealous God, when we profane his fires,
those restless passions in revenge inspires;
and bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
who seek in love for aught but love alone.
Should at my feet the world's great master fall,
himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all;
not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove;
no, make me mistress to the man I love;
if there be yet another name more free,
more fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,
when love is liberty, and nature, law;
all then is full, possessing, and possessed,
no craving void left aching in the breast;
even thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
and each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be)
and once the lot of Abelard and me.
Alas, how changed! what sudden horrors rise!
A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand,
her poniard, had opposed the dire command.
Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
the crime was common,common be the pain.
I can no more; by shame, by rage suppressed,
let tears, and burning blushes sneak the rest.
Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
when victims at yon altar's foot we lay?
Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
when warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kissed the sacred veil,
the shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale;
heaven scarce believed the conquest it surveyed,
and saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
not on the Cross my eyes were fixed, but you;
not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
and if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
those still at least are left thee to bestow.
Still on that breast enamoured let me lie,
still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be pressed;
give all thou canst - and let me dream the rest.
Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
with other beauties charm my partial eyes,
full in my view set all the bright abode,
and make my soul quit Abelard for God.
Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
plants of thy hand, and children of thy prayer.
From the false world in early youth they fled,
by thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
You raised these hallowed walls; the desert smiled,
and Paradise was opened in the wild.
No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
no silver saints, by dying misers given,
here bribed the rage of ill-requited heaven;
but such plain roofs as piety could raise,
and only vocal with the Marker's praise.
In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
these moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crowned,
where awful arches make a noonday night,
and the dim windows shed a solemn light;
thy eyes diffused a reconciling ray,
and gleams of glory brightened all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
its' all blank sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others' prayers I try,
(Oh pious fraud of amorous charity!)
but why should I on others' prayers depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move,
and all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darksome pines that over yon rocks reclined
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
the wandering streams that shine between the hills,
the grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
the dying gales that pant upon the trees,
the lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
no more these scenes my meditation aid,
or lull to rest the visionary maid.
But over the twilight groves and dusky caves,
long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
a death-like silence, and a dread repose;
her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
shades every flower, and darkens every green,
deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
and breathes a browner horror on the woods.
Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
sad proof how well a loner can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;
and here, even then, shall my cold dust remain,
here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
and wait till it's no sin to mix with thine.
Ah wretch! believed the spouse of God in vain,
confessed within the slave of love and man.
Assist me, Heaven! but whence arose that prayer?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
Even here, where frozen chastity retires,
love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
now turned to Heaven, I weep my past offence,
now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
it's sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
and love the offender, yet detest the offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,
for hearts so touched, so pierced, so lost as mine.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
how often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
conceal, disdain - do all things but forget.
But let Heaven seize it, all at once it's fired;
not touched, but rapt; not wakened,but inspired!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
renounce my love, my life, myself - and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
alone can rival, can succeed to thee.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned;
labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
desires composed, affections ever even,
tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heaven.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
and whispering angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her the unfading rose of Eden perfumes,
for her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
for her white virgins hymeneals sing,
to sounds of heavenly harps she dies away,
and melts in visions of eternal day.
Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
far other raptures, of unholy joy;
when at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
fancy restores what vengeance snatched away,
then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
all my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
Oh cursed, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
and stir within me every source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze over all thy charms,
and round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
I wake - no more I hear, no more I view,
the phantom flies me, as unkind us you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more - methinks we wandering go
through dreary wastes, and weep each others' woe,
where round some mouldering tower pale ivy creeps,
and low-browned rocks hang nodding over the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
and wake to all the griefs I left behind.
For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
a cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
thy life a long, dead calm of fixed repose;
no pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
or moving spirit bade the waters flow;
soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiven,
and mild as opening gleams of promised heaven.
Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature stands checked; religion disapproves;
even thou art cold - yet Eloisa loves.
Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
to light the dead, and warm the unfaithful urn.
What scenes appear wherever I turn my view?
The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
thy image steals between my God and me,
thy voice I seem in every hymn to hear,
with every bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
and swelling organs lift the rising soul,
one thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight;
in seas of flame my plugging soul is drowned,
while altars blaze, and angels tremble round.
With prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
kind, virtuous drops just gathering in my eye,
while praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
and dawning grace is opening on my soul;
Come, if thou dearest, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to Heaven; dispute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
blot out each bright idea o the skies;
take back my fruitless penitence and prayers;
snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!
No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
Rise Alps between us! and hole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whatever was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
long loved, adored ideas, all adieu!
Oh Grace serene! Oh virtue heavenly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable quest;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!
See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
propped on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,
and more than echoes talk along the walls.
Here, as I watched the dying lamps around,
from yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound.
"Come, sister, come!" (it said, or seemed to say)
"Thy place is here, sad sister, come away!
Once like thyself, I trembled,wept, and prayed,
love's victim then, though now a sainted maid;
but all is calm in this eternal sleep;
here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
even superstition loses every fear;
for God, not man, absolves our frailties here."
I come, I come! Prepare your roseate bowers,
celestial palms, and ever-blooming flowers.
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
where flames refined in breasts seraphic glow;
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
and smooth my passage to the realms of day;
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
Ah no - in sacred vestments may thou stand,
the hallowed taper trembling in thy hand,
Present the cross before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn me of to die.
Ah then,thy once-loved Eloisa see!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
Till every motion, pulse, and breath be over;
and even my Abelard be loved no more.
Oh Death all-eloquent! you only prove
what dust we dote on, when its man we love.
Then too, when fate shall thy fear frame destroy,
(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy)
in trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drowned,
bright clouds descend, and angels watch tree round,
from opening skies may streaming glories shine,
and saints embrace thee with a love like mine.
May one kind of grave unite each hapless name,
and graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are over,
when this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
if ever chance two wandering lovers brings
to Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
over the pale marble shall they join their heads,
and drink the falling tears each other sheds;
then sadly say, with mutual pity moved,
"Oh may we never love as these have loved!"
From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
and swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene if some relenting eye
glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heaven,
one human tear shall drop and be forgiven.
And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
in sad similitude of griefs to mine,
condemned whole years in absence to deplore,
and image charms he must behold no more;
such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
the well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
he best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em the most.
where heavenly-pensive contemplation dwells,
and ever-musing melancholy reigns;
what means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love!- From Abelard it came,
and Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
Dear fatal name! rest ever unrevealed,
nor pass these lips in holy silence sealed.
Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
where mixed with God's, his loved idea lies:
Oh write it not, my hand - the name appears
already written - wash it out, my tears!
In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.
Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
Ye grots and caverns shagged with horrid thorn!
Shrines! where their vigils pale-eyed virgins keep,
and pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
Though cold like you, unmoved, and silent grown,
I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
All is not Heaven's while Abelard has part,
still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
Nor prayers nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.
Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
that well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breathed in sighs, still ushered with a tear.
I tremble too, wherever my own I find,
some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes overflow,
led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now withering in thy bloom,
lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern religion quenched the unwilling flame,
there died the best of passions, love and fame.
Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
Nor foes nor fortune take this power away;
and is any Abelard less kiss than they?
Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
love but demands what else were shed in prayer;
No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.
Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.
Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
some banished lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
the virgin's wish without her fears impart,
excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
and waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
Thou know best how guiltless first I met thy flame,
when love approached me under Friendship's name;
My fancy formed thee of angelic kind,
some emanation of thy all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, at tempering every day,
shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gazed; heaven listened while you sung;
and truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept failed to move?
Too soon they taught me it was no sin to love.
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
nor wished an Angel whom I loved a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
nor envy them, that heaven I lose for thee.
How oft, when pressed to marriage, have I said,
curse on all laws but those which love has made!
Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies,
let wealth, let honor, wait the wedded dame,
August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
before true passion all those views remove,
fame, wealth, and honor! what are you to Love?
The jealous God, when we profane his fires,
those restless passions in revenge inspires;
and bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
who seek in love for aught but love alone.
Should at my feet the world's great master fall,
himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all;
not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove;
no, make me mistress to the man I love;
if there be yet another name more free,
more fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,
when love is liberty, and nature, law;
all then is full, possessing, and possessed,
no craving void left aching in the breast;
even thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
and each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be)
and once the lot of Abelard and me.
Alas, how changed! what sudden horrors rise!
A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand,
her poniard, had opposed the dire command.
Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
the crime was common,common be the pain.
I can no more; by shame, by rage suppressed,
let tears, and burning blushes sneak the rest.
Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
when victims at yon altar's foot we lay?
Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
when warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
As with cold lips I kissed the sacred veil,
the shrines all trembled, and the lamps grew pale;
heaven scarce believed the conquest it surveyed,
and saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
not on the Cross my eyes were fixed, but you;
not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
and if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
those still at least are left thee to bestow.
Still on that breast enamoured let me lie,
still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be pressed;
give all thou canst - and let me dream the rest.
Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
with other beauties charm my partial eyes,
full in my view set all the bright abode,
and make my soul quit Abelard for God.
Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
plants of thy hand, and children of thy prayer.
From the false world in early youth they fled,
by thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
You raised these hallowed walls; the desert smiled,
and Paradise was opened in the wild.
No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
no silver saints, by dying misers given,
here bribed the rage of ill-requited heaven;
but such plain roofs as piety could raise,
and only vocal with the Marker's praise.
In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
these moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crowned,
where awful arches make a noonday night,
and the dim windows shed a solemn light;
thy eyes diffused a reconciling ray,
and gleams of glory brightened all the day.
But now no face divine contentment wears,
its' all blank sadness, or continual tears.
See how the force of others' prayers I try,
(Oh pious fraud of amorous charity!)
but why should I on others' prayers depend?
Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move,
and all those tender names in one, thy love!
The darksome pines that over yon rocks reclined
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
the wandering streams that shine between the hills,
the grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
the dying gales that pant upon the trees,
the lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
no more these scenes my meditation aid,
or lull to rest the visionary maid.
But over the twilight groves and dusky caves,
long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
a death-like silence, and a dread repose;
her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
shades every flower, and darkens every green,
deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
and breathes a browner horror on the woods.
Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
sad proof how well a loner can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;
and here, even then, shall my cold dust remain,
here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
and wait till it's no sin to mix with thine.
Ah wretch! believed the spouse of God in vain,
confessed within the slave of love and man.
Assist me, Heaven! but whence arose that prayer?
Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
Even here, where frozen chastity retires,
love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
now turned to Heaven, I weep my past offence,
now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
it's sure the hardest science to forget!
How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
and love the offender, yet detest the offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
or how distinguish penitence from love?
Unequal task! a passion to resign,
for hearts so touched, so pierced, so lost as mine.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
how often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
conceal, disdain - do all things but forget.
But let Heaven seize it, all at once it's fired;
not touched, but rapt; not wakened,but inspired!
Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
renounce my love, my life, myself - and you.
Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
alone can rival, can succeed to thee.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot?
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned;
labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
desires composed, affections ever even,
tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heaven.
Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
and whispering angels prompt her golden dreams.
For her the unfading rose of Eden perfumes,
for her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
for her white virgins hymeneals sing,
to sounds of heavenly harps she dies away,
and melts in visions of eternal day.
Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
far other raptures, of unholy joy;
when at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
fancy restores what vengeance snatched away,
then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
all my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
Oh cursed, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
and stir within me every source of love.
I hear thee, view thee, gaze over all thy charms,
and round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
I wake - no more I hear, no more I view,
the phantom flies me, as unkind us you.
I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
Alas, no more - methinks we wandering go
through dreary wastes, and weep each others' woe,
where round some mouldering tower pale ivy creeps,
and low-browned rocks hang nodding over the deeps.
Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
and wake to all the griefs I left behind.
For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
a cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
thy life a long, dead calm of fixed repose;
no pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
or moving spirit bade the waters flow;
soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiven,
and mild as opening gleams of promised heaven.
Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread?
The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
Nature stands checked; religion disapproves;
even thou art cold - yet Eloisa loves.
Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
to light the dead, and warm the unfaithful urn.
What scenes appear wherever I turn my view?
The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
thy image steals between my God and me,
thy voice I seem in every hymn to hear,
with every bead I drop too soft a tear.
When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
and swelling organs lift the rising soul,
one thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight;
in seas of flame my plugging soul is drowned,
while altars blaze, and angels tremble round.
With prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
kind, virtuous drops just gathering in my eye,
while praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
and dawning grace is opening on my soul;
Come, if thou dearest, all charming as thou art!
Oppose thyself to Heaven; dispute my heart;
Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
blot out each bright idea o the skies;
take back my fruitless penitence and prayers;
snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!
No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
Rise Alps between us! and hole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
Forget, renounce me, hate whatever was mine.
Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
long loved, adored ideas, all adieu!
Oh Grace serene! Oh virtue heavenly fair!
Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
And faith, our early immortality!
Enter, each mild, each amicable quest;
Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!
See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
propped on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,
and more than echoes talk along the walls.
Here, as I watched the dying lamps around,
from yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound.
"Come, sister, come!" (it said, or seemed to say)
"Thy place is here, sad sister, come away!
Once like thyself, I trembled,wept, and prayed,
love's victim then, though now a sainted maid;
but all is calm in this eternal sleep;
here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
even superstition loses every fear;
for God, not man, absolves our frailties here."
I come, I come! Prepare your roseate bowers,
celestial palms, and ever-blooming flowers.
Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
where flames refined in breasts seraphic glow;
Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
and smooth my passage to the realms of day;
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
Ah no - in sacred vestments may thou stand,
the hallowed taper trembling in thy hand,
Present the cross before my lifted eye,
Teach me at once, and learn me of to die.
Ah then,thy once-loved Eloisa see!
It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
Till every motion, pulse, and breath be over;
and even my Abelard be loved no more.
Oh Death all-eloquent! you only prove
what dust we dote on, when its man we love.
Then too, when fate shall thy fear frame destroy,
(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy)
in trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drowned,
bright clouds descend, and angels watch tree round,
from opening skies may streaming glories shine,
and saints embrace thee with a love like mine.
May one kind of grave unite each hapless name,
and graft my love immortal on thy fame!
Then, ages hence, when all my woes are over,
when this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
if ever chance two wandering lovers brings
to Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
over the pale marble shall they join their heads,
and drink the falling tears each other sheds;
then sadly say, with mutual pity moved,
"Oh may we never love as these have loved!"
From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
and swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene if some relenting eye
glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heaven,
one human tear shall drop and be forgiven.
And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
in sad similitude of griefs to mine,
condemned whole years in absence to deplore,
and image charms he must behold no more;
such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
the well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
he best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em the most.
Blind - Placebo
If I could tear you from the ceiling,
and guarantee a source divine,
rid you of possessions fleeting,
remain your funny valentine...
Don't go and leave me
and please don't drive me blind,
Don't go and leave me
and please don't drive me blind...
If I could tear you from the ceiling,
I know the best have tried,
I'd fill your every breath with meaning,
and find a place we both could hide...
Don't go and leave me
and please don't drive me blind,
Don't go and leave me
and please don't drive me blind...
You don't believe me
but you do this every time...
Please don't drive me blind...
Please don't drive me blind...
I know you're broken..
I know you're broken..
I know you're broken...
If I could tear you from the ceiling,
I'd freeze us both in time,
and find a brand new way of seeing,
your eyes forever glued to mine...
Don't go and leave me
and please don't drive me blind,
Don't go and leave me
and please don't drive me blind...
Please don't drive me blind..
Please don't drive me blind..
Please don't drive me blind..
Please don't drive me blind...
I know you're broken..
I know you're broken..
I know you're broken..
I know you're broken...
