Black, White, & Read All Over

Original Anglo-Saxon:

Nu we sculon herigean    heofonrices weard,
meotodes meahte    and his modgeþanc,
weorc wuldorfæder,    swa he wundra gehwæs,
ece drihten,    or onstealde.
He ærest sceop    eorðan bearnum
heofon to hrofe,    halig scyppend;
þa middangeard    moncynnes weard,
ece drihten,    æfter teode
firum foldan,    frea ælmihtig.

English Translation:

Now we must praise    the Protector of the heavenly kingdom,
the might of the Measurer    and His mind’s purpose,
the work of the Father of Glory,    as He for each of the wonders,
the eternal Lord,    established a beginning.
He shaped first    for the sons of the Earth
heaven as a roof,    the Holy Maker;
then the Middle-World,    mankind’s Guardian,
the eternal Lord,    made afterwards,
solid ground for men,    the almighty Lord.

The Anglo-Saxon people that conquered what is now Great Britian in the year 450 CE (Common Era) were an illiterate people. Most of the literature from these people was passed down orally (just like with many of the Greek works). This particular work is the earliest known piece of Anglo-Saxon literature dating from approximately the late 600s CE. A farmer slept one night, dreamt this song, and when he awoke the next morning he retained the song. He went to a monastary where his song so moved the monks and they wrote it down.

The following video is a gentleman singing the Hymn in the original Anglo-Saxon. This piece so moved me that I could not help but tear up. I hope that you all can see the beauty in this most simplest of works that I saw.

They say it is where dreams are made
Where Pirates roam the seas
Crocodiles tick-tock
Native Americans live without time
Boys get lost
Pixies glow
Mermaids have their own lagoon
And Peter can fly

It is a land of adventure
A land of mystery
A land where anything can happen
It is beautiful
It is dangerous
It is where I belong

You can lose your shadow
Rise from the dead
But you must believe in Fairies
Never ever say you don’t
You never have to grow up
But you must always be on guard

Always remember
To get there
Just follow “The second star straight on through till morning”
And that is where you will find Neverland

whyvienna:

I

Hear the sledges with the bells - 
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells - 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II

Hear the mellow wedding bells - 
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! -how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells - 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III

Hear the loud alarum bells - 
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now -now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells - 
Of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells - 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV

Hear the tolling of the bells - 
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people -ah, the people - 
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone - 
They are neither man nor woman - 
They are neither brute nor human - 
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells,
Of the bells - 
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells - 
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells - 
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells - 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

pepperminttulip:

I was always one for being alone,
Seeking in my own way, eternal purpose;
At the edge of the field waiting for the pure moment;
Standing, silent, on sandy beaches or walking along green embankments;
Knowing the sinuousness of small waters:
As a chip or shell, floating lazily with a slow current...

Was it yesterday I stretched out the thin bones of my innocence?
O the songs we hide, singing only to ourselves!
Once I could touch my shadow, and be happy;
In the white kingdoms, I was light as a seed,
Drifting with the blossoms,
A pensive petal.

I think of the self-involved:
The ritualists of the mirror, the lonely drinkers,
The minions of benzedrine and paraldehyde,
And those who submerge themselves deliberately in trivia...

What do they need?
O more than a roaring boy,
For the sleek captains of intuition cannot reach them;
They feel neither the tearing iron
Nor the sound of another footstep--
How I wish them awake!
May the high flower of the hay climb into their hearts;
May they lean into light and live;
May they sleep in robes of green, among the ancient ferns...
May the sun gild them a worm;
May they be taken by the true burning;
May they flame into being!-...."

(via scooterpiebanana)

swallowsamazonsandriotgrrrls:

chibiwaja:

homemadedarkmark:

crimsun:

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this is actually harder than i thought

I’m never seen a couple of those words… So, yeah. I’m pretty awful.

When I was reading that I started speaking really poshly.

That is actually pretty cool!

(via artmirrorsthespecator-deactivat)

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?

I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.

Nor had I time to love, but since
Some industry must be,
The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.