The Azure Sea of an alien tongue
Lures the perpetual orphan in me
Me who had never been happy or young
Always suppressed and never free
One who is always betrayed and abused
One who’s been abandoned, alone
One, never loved, and one, always used
I have so aged but alas never grown
Never grown up, still a parentless child
Never content and never at peace
It would be so nice to be gone in the wild
Just to be gone, disappear and cease.
The Nazi Germany, the predecessor of today’s European Union and of the transatlantic Fourth Reich was soundly defeated and its signed unconditional surrender in May 1945. And there should be no doubt that its’ today’s heirs and descendants, their sponsors and supporters, will be defeated and some just destroyed, smashed, and done away with for good, as well.
Happy Victory Day – May 9, 2022
Victory Day fireworks today on May 9, 2022, in St. Petersburg. I took the photograph, so the copyright is by Fledermaus(i).
William Dunbar, Done is a bottle. Illustration – a miniature from the Chansonnier Provençal (1250-1300), Bibliothèque Nationale de France (BNF Français 854)
Done is a battle on the dragon black,
Our champion Christ confoundit has his force;
The yetis of hell are broken with a crack,
The sign triumphal raisit is of the cross,
The devillis trymmillis with hiddous voce,
The saulis are borrowit and to the bliss can go,
Christ with his bloud our ransonis dois indoce:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.
Dungan is the deidly dragon Lucifer,
The cruewall serpent with the mortal stang;
The auld kene tiger, with his teith on char,
Whilk in a wait has lyen for us so lang,
Thinking to grip us in his clawis strang;
The merciful Lord wald nocht that it were so,
He made him for to failye of that fang.
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.
He for our saik that sufferit to be slane,
And lyk a lamb in sacrifice was dicht,
Is lyk a lion risen up agane,
And as a gyane raxit him on hicht;
Sprungen is Aurora radious and bricht,
On loft is gone the glorious Apollo,
The blissful day departit fro the nicht:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.
The grit victour again is rissen on hicht,
That for our querrell to the deth was woundit;
The sun that wox all pale now shynis bricht,
And, derkness clearit, our faith is now refoundit;
The knell of mercy fra the heaven is soundit,
The Christin are deliverit of their wo,
The Jowis and their errour are confoundit:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.
The fo is chasit, the battle is done ceis,
The presone broken, the jevellouris fleit and flemit;
The weir is gon, confermit is the peis,
The fetteris lowsit and the dungeon temit,
The ransoun made, the prisoneris redeemit;
The field is won, owrecomen is the fo,
Dispuilit of the treasure that he yemit:
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.
Inscription To Miss Jessy Lewars On a copy of the Scots Musical Museum, in four volumes, presented to her by Burns.
Type: Inscription
Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair, And with them take the Poet’s prayer, That Fate may, in her fairest page, With ev’ry kindliest, best presage Of future bliss, enroll thy name: With native worth and spotless fame, And wakeful caution, still aware Of ill-but chief, Man’s felon snare;
All blameless joys on earth we find, And all the treasures of the mind- These be thy guardian and reward; So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard.
O wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee; Or did Misfortune’s bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom, To share it a’, to share it a’.
Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a Paradise, If thou wert there, if thou wert there; Or were I Monarch o’ the globe, Wi’ thee to reign, wi’ thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my Crown Wad be my Queen, wad be my Queen.
Chorus-Here’s a health to ane I loe dear, Here’s a health to ane I loe dear; Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear-Jessy.
Altho’ thou maun never be mine, Altho’ even hope is denied; ‘Tis sweeter for thee despairing, Than ought in the world beside-Jessy. Here’s a health, &c.
I mourn thro’ the gay, gaudy day, As hopeless I muse on thy charms; But welcome the dream o’ sweet slumber, For then I am lockt in thine arms-Jessy. Here’s a health, &c.
I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling e’e; But why urge the tender confession, ‘Gainst Fortune’s fell, cruel decree?-Jessy. Here’s a health, &c.