Quite enjoyed the triolet, Robert. The refrains were well-chosen and the writing as always was top-notch.
It seems Romans had much in common with the Vikings in terms of viewing religion as transactional, along with their willingness to try whatever might provide them with the results they sought. I wonder how many of us might have a touch of that ourselves.
Thanks James. I think you're hinting at the truth there. We're probably no different practically speaking, except that we try very hard not to think of it as religious behavior.
Like Cassius, "I am glad that my weak words have struck but this much show of fire from Tullius."
Your feelings toward the trochaic line were exactly mine. And the blasphemy of the line. And I could read your musings on theogony all day (not to mention the flattery!) The idea of the unity of Man and God in the Image. Sublime.
Quite enjoyed the triolet, Robert. The refrains were well-chosen and the writing as always was top-notch.
It seems Romans had much in common with the Vikings in terms of viewing religion as transactional, along with their willingness to try whatever might provide them with the results they sought. I wonder how many of us might have a touch of that ourselves.
Thanks James. I think you're hinting at the truth there. We're probably no different practically speaking, except that we try very hard not to think of it as religious behavior.
Some great insight added here. What do you think—did I overtax your poem with my reading?
Like Cassius, "I am glad that my weak words have struck but this much show of fire from Tullius."
Your feelings toward the trochaic line were exactly mine. And the blasphemy of the line. And I could read your musings on theogony all day (not to mention the flattery!) The idea of the unity of Man and God in the Image. Sublime.
Oh good! And what's a little flattery between friends? Ha!
WHo thinks to equal Pindar tries
With waxen wings to breach the Skies,
And falling crashes to wann wave,
And watry grave,
As a proud stream swollen with rain,
Comes pouring down the hills amain,
So Pindar flows, and fears no drouth,
Speak’s the deep’s mouth;
Worthy the Bayes, whither he powre,
From unexhausted Springs the showre
Of lawless Dytherambs, and thunders,
In bolder numbers:
Or sings of Gods, and Heroes rage,
Whose just swords did the tyrants slay,
and Centaures, and Chimera Gout,
Their flames put out:
Or mourns some youth, who bawls his spouse
Unkindly torn, whose strength and prowes
In golden mind he lifts on high,
And lets not die.
and levins rouse, thy open mouth,
And parts the clouds, then sun is Out,
I like the Bee,
Of Calabrie,
Which sucks belovèd Flowers,
About the Thymie Groves and Skowrs,
Of Tyber’s Fount,
shout a terse,
But humble verse,
My minor sounds,
Thy Anthony in higher strains,
Chaunt Caesar, when he leads in chains,
Fierce Germains, his victorious brows,
Crown'd with boughs of bays,
Then whom a greater grace, or good,
Heaven hath not lent the earth, nor shou'd,
Though it refin'd the age to th'old,
Saturnian gold.
But break, and Bow!
sing to the publick playes,
To his return, and Holy-dayes,
Coronet Crowns,
we layeth down,
For our prayers yearn, and wrangling pleas,
To boundless peace,
And I (if i be heard)
Happy by thy restoring word,
Will joyn ith' close, and ô! (Ile say)
O Sun-shine day!
And (thou proceeding) we'll all sing,
Io Triumph! And amazed!
Io Triumph! At each turning,
Incense burning.
A Hecatomb's requir'd of thee,
And weaned Calf excuses me,
In high grass fat and frisking now,
To pay my vow.
Resembled in whose shining horns,
The increasing Moon his brow adorns;
Save a white feather in his head,
All sorrel red.