Saturday, November 12, 2016

The Tempest (Epilogue) - William Shakespeare

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have’s mine own,
Which is most faint. Now, ’tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardoned the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell,
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardoned be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

Sunday, November 6, 2016

A Scottish Poetry

Come Sailin' - J.K. Annand

Come intil my boat
I'll tak ye for a sail,
We'll mabbe catch a cod
A mackerel or a whale,
We'll mebbe catch a mermaid
And we will be enthralled
But I think it far mair likely
We'll only catch the cauld.

The Bonny Butcher - Sir Walter Scott

It is the bonny butcher lad
That wears the sleeves of blue,
He sells the flesh on Saturday,
On Friday that he slew.

The Witches - Iain Crichton Smith

In crooked cottages the witches dwell.
They get their water from the crooked well
and crooked smoke from crooked chimneys rise
and if you look you'll see they have crooked eyes.

In crooked woods by crooked paths they go
With crooked feet among the crooked snow
leaving their crooked shoadows on the ground
with crooked cat and crooked crooked hound.

On crooked paper they write crooked names.
At crooked birds they take their crooked aims.
And when it's midnight they lay crooked heads
on the crooked pillows of their crooked beds.

The Fairy Man - Sydney Goodsir Smith

The nicht is mirk
The hous is toom
O gowls the wund
Atour ma room

The hous is deid
Daith's sib tae sleep
The rain dings doun
The nicht is deep.

'Come ben, ma dear
Wi' the glentan ee,
Why shud I fear
Whit thou wald dae?'

He's up the stair
But maks nae soun
He's in ma room-
An' the wund dees doun!

He taks ma haun
An' fell's his grin
The souch o his breith's
Lik a rairan lynn.

O cauld's ma hert
O mauch's ma brou
His oorie
Upo' me nou.

'G' awa', g'awa'
Ma fairy man,
Ma hert is cauld
I wald ye'd gang!'

But neer he'll gang
He's aye yir ain
Whan nichts are lang
An thochts are lane.

Alice in Wonderland (excerpts) - Lewis Carroll

She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, 'Which way? Which way?', holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.

'I can't explain MYSELF, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'