October Tales: Part 2 of 3

 

Hello, everyone –

 

Two years ago, on Halloween 2019, I was discussing the poems of Taliesin (fl. 6th century CE), a legendary Welsh bard, with one of our ACES James Scholars who is also a published poet. She was wondering about the meaning of a line in one of his poems, in which he says to his listeners, “Now I am come to the remnant of Troia” (i.e., Troy). Here’s the answer to that question – and thereby hangs a tale – my second October Tale for this year!

 

With the month of October now hurtling toward its inevitable conclusion – the Keltik New Year’s Eve, a/k/a Halloween – I’d like to present a story that has captivated my imagination since the late 1980s, which saw me fall in love with my Keltik heritage! Every culture has a foundational legend or cycle of legends – stories that explain how and why the culture was founded, and by whom. Such stories exemplify the values and beliefs of the people who transmit them from one generation to the next. For medieval Britons, their foundational legend is grounded in the classical poetry of Homer and Virgil, as can be seen from the story of Brutus the Trojan, the legendary first King of Britain, as retold below.

 

We begin with a summary of the legend from the first stanza of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a 14th-century Middle English poem, which is a classic of Arthurian literature:

 

Soon as the siege and assault had ceased at Troy,

the burg broken and burnt to brands and ashes,

the traitor who trammels of treason there wrought

was tried for his treachery, the foulest on earth.

It was Aeneas the noble and his high kin

who then subdued provinces, lords they became,

well-nigh of all the wealth in the Western Isles:

forth rich Romulus to Rome rapidly came,

with great business that burg he builds up first,

and names it with his name, as now it has;

Ticius to Tuscany, and townships begins;

Langobard in Lombardy lifts up homes;

and fared over the French flood Felix Brutus

on many banks all broad Britain he settles then,

            where war and wreck and wonder

            betimes have worked within,

            and oft both bliss and blunder

            have held sway swiftly since.

 

The Legend of Brutus the Trojan

By Thomas Bulfinch (1796-1867)

Excerpted from The Age of Chivalry (1858) – Chapter II: “The Mythical History of England”

 

Note: In honor of the KeltiK New Year (which falls on November 1), here is the legend of Brutus the Trojan – an exiled prince who eventually became King Brutus I Felix of Britain.  The legendary migration of the Trojan exiles from Greece to Britain is supposed to have taken place around 1100 BCE.

 

        The illustrious poet, [John] Milton, in his History of England, is the author whom we chiefly follow in this chapter. According to the earliest accounts, Albion, a giant, and son of Neptune, a contemporary of Hercules, ruled over the island, to which he gave his name. Presuming to oppose the progress of Hercules in his western march, he was slain by him. Milton gives more regard to the story of Brutus, the Trojan, which, he says, is supported by “descents of ancestry long continued, laws and exploits not plainly seeming to be borrowed or devised, which on the common belief have wrought no small impression; defended by many, denied utterly by few.” The principal authority is Geoffrey of Monmouth, whose history, written in the twelfth century, purports to be a translation of a history of Britain brought over from the opposite shore of France, which, under the name of Brittany, was chiefly peopled by natives of Britain who, from time to time, emigrated thither, driven from their own country by the inroads of the Picts and Scots.

        Brutus was the son of Silvius, and he of Ascanius, the son of Aeneas, whose flight from Troy and settlement in Italy are narrated in Stories of Gods and Heroes. Brutus, at the age of fifteen, attending his father to the chase, unfortunately killed him with an arrow. Banished therefore by his kindred, he sought refuge in that part of Greece where Helenus, with a band of Trojan exiles, had become established. But Helenus was now dead, and the descendants of the Trojans were oppressed by Pandrasus, the king of the country. Brutus, being kindly received among them, so throve in virtue and in arms as to win the regard of all the eminent of the land above all others of his age. In consequence of this, the Trojans not only began to hope, but secretly to persuade him to lead them the way to liberty. To encourage them, they had the promise of help from Assaracus, a noble Greek youth, whose mother was a Trojan. He had suffered wrong at the hands of the king, and for that reason he more willingly cast in his lot with the Trojan exiles.

        Choosing a fit opportunity, Brutus with his countrymen withdrew to the woods and hills, as the safest place from which to expostulate, and sent this message to Pandrasus: “That the Trojans, holding it unworthy of their ancestors to serve in a foreign land, had retreated to the woods, choosing rather a savage life than a slavish one. If that displeased him, then, with his leave, they would depart to some other country.” Pandrasus, not expecting so bold a message from the sons of captives, went in pursuit of them, with such forces as he could gather, and met them on the banks of the Achelous, where Brutus got the advantage and took the king captive. The result was that the terms demanded by the Trojans were granted; the king gave his daughter Imogen in marriage to Brutus and furnished shipping, money, and fit provision for them all to depart from the land.

        The marriage being solemnized, and shipping from all parts got together, the Trojans, in a fleet of no less than three hundred and twenty sail, betook themselves to the sea. On the third day, they arrived at a certain island, which they found destitute of inhabitants, though there were appearances of former habitation, and among the ruins a temple of Diana. Brutus, here performing sacrifice at the shrine of the goddess, invoked an oracle for his guidance, in these lines:

 

“Goddess of shades, and huntress, who at will

Walks on the rolling sphere, and through the deep;

On thy third realm, the Earth, look now, and tell

What land, what seat of rest, thou bids me seek;

What certain seat where I may worship thee

For aye, with temples vowed and virgin choirs.”

 

To whom, sleeping before the altar, Diana in a vision thus answered:

 

“Brutus! Far to the west, in the ocean wide,

Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,

Seat-girt it lies, where giants dwelt of old;

Now, void, it fits thy people; thither bend

Thy course; there shall thou find a lasting seat;

There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,

And kings be born of these, whose dreaded might

Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold.”

 

        Brutus, guided now, as he thought, by divine direction, sped his course towards the west, and, arriving at a place on the Tyrrhenian Sea, found there the descendants of certain Trojans who, with Antenor, came into Italy, of whom Corineus was the chief. These joined company, and the ships pursued their way till they arrived at the mouth of the river Loire, in France, where the expedition landed, with a view to a settlement; but [they] were so rudely assaulted by the inhabitants that they put to sea again and arrived at a part of the coast of Britain, now called Devonshire, where Brutus felt convinced that he had found the promised end of his voyage, landed his colony, and took possession.

        The island, not yet Britain, but Albion, was in a manner desert and inhospitable, occupied only by a remnant of the giant race whose excessive force and tyranny had destroyed the others. The Trojans encountered these and extirpated them, Corineus, in particular, signalizing himself by his exploits against them; from whom Cornwall takes its name, for that region fell to his lot, and there the hugest giants dwelt, lurking in rocks and caves, till Corineus rid the land of them. Brutus built his capital city and called it Troja Nova (New Troy), changed in time to Trinovantum, now London; and, having governed the isle 24 years, died, leaving three sons, Locrinus, Albanactus, and Camber. Locrinus had the middle part [England], Camber the west, called Cambria [Wales] from him, and Albanactus Albany, now Scotland.

 

Manuscript illumination showing Brutus the Trojan, from a 15th-century manuscript.

Be sure to tune in next weekend for installment #3 of this year’s October Tales! 😊

 

Rob

October Tales: Part 1 of 3

Hello everyone –

This month, I’m continuing a long-established tradition of sharing “October Tales” with our audience. For our first installment, I’m featuring the first of three “October Tales” for your enjoyment as Halloween is just thirty days away (and with it, the arrival of the Keltik New Year!). Our first tale is not Keltik in origin – instead, it’s a Continental tale that originated in Scandinavia and then migrated across the English Channel to England, where it was written down in epic verse by an anonymous Anglo-Saxon poet, sometime during the 8^th century CE.

 

Bulfinch’s Mythology

By Thomas Bulfinch (1796–1867)

Volume III: The Age of Chivalry (1913 Edition)

Beowulf 

        1. Notable among the names of heroes of the British race is that of Beowulf, which appeals to all English-speaking people in a very special way, since he is the one hero in whose story we may see the ideals of our English forefathers before they left their Continental home to cross to the islands of Britain.

        2. Although this hero had distinguished himself by numerous feats of strength during his boyhood and early youth, it was as the deliverer of Hrothgar, king of Denmark, from the monster Grendel that he first gained wide renown. Grendel was half monster and half man, and had his abode in the fen-fastnesses in the vicinity of Hrothgar’s residence. Night after night he would steal into the king’s great palace called Heorot and slay sometimes as many as thirty at one time of the knights sleeping there.

        3. Beowulf put himself at the head of a selected band of warriors, went against the monster, and after a terrible fight slew it. The following night Grendel’s mother, a fiend scarcely less terrible than her son, carried off one of Hrothgar’s boldest thanes. Once more Beowulf went to the help of the Danish king, followed the she-monster to her lair at the bottom of a muddy lake in the midst of the swamp, and with his good sword Hrunting and his own muscular arms broke the sea-woman’s neck.

        4. Upon his return to his own country of the Geats, loaded with honors bestowed upon him by Hrothgar. Beowulf served the king of Geatland as the latter’s most trusted counsellor and champion. When, after many years, the king fell before an enemy, the Geats unanimously chose Beowulf for their new king. His fame as a warrior kept his country free from invasion, and his wisdom as a statesman increased its prosperity and happiness.

        5. In the fiftieth year of Beowulf’s reign, however, a great terror fell upon the land in the way of a monstrous fire-dragon, which flew forth by night from its den in the rocks, lighting up the blackness with its blazing breath, and burning houses and homesteads, men and cattle, with the flames from its mouth. When the news came to Beowulf that his people were suffering and dying, and that no warrior dared to risk his life in an effort to deliver the country from this deadly devastation, the aged king took up his shield and sword and went forth to his last fight. At the entrance of the dragon’s cave Beowulf raised his voice and shouted a furious defiance to the awesome guardian of the den. Roaring hideously and flapping his glowing wings together, the dragon rushed forth and half flew, half sprang, on Beowulf. Then began a fearful combat, which ended in Beowulf’s piercing the dragon’s scaly armor and inflicting a mortal wound, but alas! in himself being given a gash in the neck by his opponent’s poisoned fangs which resulted in his death. As he lay stretched on the ground, his head supported by Wiglaf, an honored warrior who had helped in the fight with the dragon, Beowulf roused himself to say, as he grasped Wiglaf’s hand:

        “Thou must now look to    the needs of the nation;

        Here dwell I no longer,    for Destiny calleth me!

        Bid thou my warriors    after my funeral pyre

        Build me a burial-cairn    high on the sea-cliff’s head;

        So that the seafarers    Beowulf’s Barrow

        Henceforth shall name it,    they who drive far and wide

        Over the mighty flood    their foamy keels.

        Thou art the last of all    the kindred of Wagmund!

        Wyrd has swept all my kin,    all the brave chiefs away!

        Now must I follow them!”

        6. These last words spoken, the king of the Geats, brave to seek danger and brave to look on death and Fate undaunted, fell back dead. According to his last desires, his followers gathered wood and piled it on the cliff-head. Upon this funeral pyre was laid Beowulf’s body and consumed to ashes. Then, upon the same cliff of Hronesness, was erected a huge burial cairn, widespread and lofty, to be known thereafter as Beowulf’s Barrow.

The Scandinavian warrior-hero Beowulf (fl. ca. 6th century CE) battles a fire-breathing dragon in this painting by J. R. Skelton (1908).  (Image Credit: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons)

 

In our next episode, I will have another October Tale to share with you in part two of this three-part series – stay tuned! 😊

 

Rob

 

Full Harvest Moon & Autumn Equinox!

 Hello Everyone –

Exciting events are on the way over this week – with the arrival of the Full Harvest Moon tonight @ 6:55 PM (CDT) and the coming of the Autumn Equinox on Wednesday @ 2:21 PM (CDT). Here are some verses to celebrate the Sun, the Moon, and the advent of autumn, as the days grow shorter and cooler, and the trees prepare for their biggest show of the year – Autumn Splendor! 😊

 

“Autumn” (1845)

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain,
With banners, by great gales incessant fanned,
Brighter than brightest silks of Samarkand,
And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain!
Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne,
Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand
Outstretched with benedictions o’er the land,
Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain!
Thy shield is the red Harvest Moon, suspended
So long beneath the heaven’s o’er-hanging eaves;
Thy steps are by the farmer’s prayers attended;
Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves;
And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid,
Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!

 

“The Moon” (A Child’s Garden of Verses, 1885)

By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)

The Moon has a face like the clock in the hall;

She shines on thieves on the garden wall,

On streets and fields and harbor quays,

And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.

The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,

The howling dog by the door of the house,

The bat that lies in bed at noon,

All love to be out by the light of the Moon.

But all of the things that belong to the day

Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;

And flowers and children close their eyes

Till up in the morning the Sun shall arise.

 

“Welcome to the Sun”

Anonymous – Collected in Scotland (19th Century)

[Editor’s Note: In the Germanic, Keltik, and Slavic languages – as well as in Japanese – the Sun is feminine and the Moon is masculine.]

 

Welcome to you, Sun of the seasons’ turning,

In your circuit of the high heavens;

Strong are your steps on the unfurled heights,

Glad Mother are you to the constellations.

 

You sink down into the ocean of want,

Without defeat, without scathe;

You rise up on the peaceful wave

Like a Queen in her maidenhood's flower.

 

FROM THE POEMS OF H. P. LOVECRAFT (1890-1937)

[Editor’s Note: H. P. Lovecraft is regarded by literary scholars as the “Edgar Allan Poe” of the 20^th century. He was an imaginative author of “weird fiction” – a genre that combines science fiction, fantasy, and horror – and also an accomplished poet. His work has inspired, among others, the creators/writers of Babylon 5 and Doctor Who.]

 

Fungi from Yuggoth (A Sonnet Cycle)

By H. P. Lovecraft (1890-1937)

(Yuggoth is the name of Pluto in HPL’s “weird fiction” and poetic writings. Fomalhaut, known as the “Lonely Star,” is the only bright star in the southern sky on autumn evenings as seen from the Midwest. It is known to have a planetary system and two dim companion stars, too.)

 

Sonnet XIV: “Star-Winds”

It is a certain hour of twilight glooms,

Mostly in autumn, when the star-wind pours

Down hilltop streets, deserted out-of-doors,

But shewing early lamplight from snug rooms.

The dead leaves rush in strange, fantastic twists,

And chimney-smoke whirls round with alien grace,

Heeding geometries of outer space,

While Fomalhaut peers in through southward mists.

This is the hour when moonstruck poets know

What fungi sprout in Yuggoth, and what scents

And tints of flowers fill Nithon’s continents,

Such as in no poor earthly garden blow.

Yet for each dream these winds to us convey,

A dozen more of ours they sweep away!

 

Happy Fall, y’all! 😊

Rob

 

New Beginnings in September

Hello everyone –

 

New Year celebrations abound in the month of September:

• September 1^st = Medieval Byzantine Greek New Year
• September 6^th/7^th = Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah)
• September 11^th = Ancient Egyptian/Coptic New Year

 

Here are some poems to help us remember and celebrate the new month of September, looking backward to the past while also enjoying the present.

 

“Egypt” by Gerald Massey (1882)

Egypt! How I have dwelt with you in dreams,

So long, so intimately, that it seems

As if you had borne me; though I could not know

It was so many thousand years ago!

And in my gropings darkly underground

The long-lost memory at last is found

Of motherhood – you mother of us all!

And to my fellowmen I must recall

The memory too; that common motherhood

May help to make the common brotherhood.

Egypt! It lies there in the far-off past,

Opening with depths profound and growths as vast

As the great valley of Yosemite;

The birthplace out of darkness into day;

The shaping matrix of the human mind;

The cradle and the nursery of our kind.

This was the land created from the flood,

The land of Atum, made of the red mud,

Where Num sat in his Teba throned on high,

And saw the deluge once a year go by,

Each brimming with the blessing that it brought,

And by that waterway, in Egypt’s thought,

The gods descended; but they never hurled

The deluge that should desolate the world.

There the vast hewers of the early time

Built, as if that way they would surely climb

The heavens, and left their labors without name –

Colossal as their carelessness of fame –

Sole likeness of themselves – that heavenward

Forever look with statuesque regard,

As if some vision of the eternal grown

Petrific, was forever fixed in stone!

They watched the Moon re-orb, the stars go round,

And drew the circle; thought’s primordial bound.

The heavens looked into them with living eyes

To kindle starry thoughts in other skies,

For us reflected in the image-scroll,

That night by night the stars for aye unroll.

The royal heads of language bow them down

To lay in Egypt’s lap each borrowed crown.

The glory of Greece was but the afterglow

Of her forgotten greatness lying low;

Her hieroglyphics buried dark as night,

Or coal deposits filled with future light,

Are mines of meaning; by their light we see

Through many an overshadowing mystery.

The nursing Nile is living Egypt still,

And as her lowlands with its freshness fill,

And heave with double-breasted bounteousness,

So doth the old hidden source of mind yet bless

The nations; secretly she brought to birth,

And Egypt still enriches all the Earth.

 

“Back to School” by Helen H. Moore

Summer's almost gone now,

And on the streets we see

School buses filled with children

Where ice cream trucks should be.

 

“Fall Is Here” by Helen H. Moore

Fall is here. Another year is coming to an end.

Summer’s finished, summer’s gone, winter’s round the bend.

Fall is piles of crunchy leaves, orange, gold, and red.

Fall is sweaters with long sleeves and blankets on the bed.

Fall is football, fall is pumpkins, fall’s where summer ends;

And fall is coming back to school, and seeing all my friends.

 

Happy Labor Day weekend! 😊

 

Rob

 

Celebrating a Blue Moon in Capricornus

 Hello everyone –

 

This weekend, skywatchers around the world will be able to see a celestial rarity – a full Blue Moon – which will be close to Jupiter and Saturn in the constellation Capricornus! You can read all about this weekend’s lunar events at Earth & Sky, with a special feature article available from https://earthsky.org/astronomy-essentials/when-is-the-next-blue-moon/?utm_source=EarthSky+News&utm_campaign=3f8661e5f5-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2018_02_02_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_c643945d79-3f8661e5f5-393539193.

 

So just what is a Blue Moon? In this instance, it’s the third Full Moon in a season of the year that contains four (not the usual three) Full Moons. This is a truly rare phenomenon that happens only once every 2.7 years or so (hence the expression, “Once in a Blue Moon”). The Moon won’t actually appear blue in the sky this weekend – but that’s OK – it will still be bright and beautiful, like every other Full Moon that I’ve ever seen.

 

To celebrate this auspicious occasion, here are some of my favorite poems about the Moon, which has been my favorite celestial object for as long as I can remember! J

 

Introduction to Our First Poem:

            The annual cycle of the seasons and its effects on our natural surroundings are recurring themes throughout world literature. The Orphic poets – a guild of ancient Greek philosopher-bards named after their legendary founder, Orpheus – celebrated the changing of the seasons, the wonders of the natural world, and their lofty ideals in poetic chants, several dozen of which were preserved in written form after centuries of oral transmission. In the poetic forms of their protoscientific age (ca. 1000-500 BCE), the Orphic poets chose to personify the forces of Nature, the celestial orbs, and abstract ideals in order to explain how and why the natural world and the human social order function in the ways that they do.  In the following poem, we can learn how the ancient Greeks perceived the Moon, not as a dead rock in space, but as a living entity (or as a celestial orb ruled by a divine guardian – in this case, Artemis [in Greek] or Diana [in Latin]).

 

Orphic Hymn #8: TO THE MOON

(The FUMIGATION from AROMATICS)

 

Hear, divine queen, diffusing silver light,

Bull-horned and wandering through the gloom of Night.

With stars surrounded, and with circuit wide

Night’s torch extending, through the heavens you ride:

Female and Male with borrowed rays you shine,

And now full-orbed, now tending to decline.

Mother of ages, fruit-producing Moon,

Whose amber orb makes Night’s reflected noon:

Lover of horses, splendid, queen of Night,

All-seeing power bedecked with starry light.

Lover of vigilance, the foe of strife,

In peace rejoicing, and a prudent life:

Fair lamp of Night, its ornament and friend,

Who gives to Nature’s works their destined end.

Queen of the stars, all-wife Diana hail!

Decked with a graceful robe and shining veil;

Come, blessed, divine, prudent, starry, bright,

Come lunar-lamp with chaste and splendid light,

Shine on these sacred rites with prosperous rays,

And pleased accept your suppliant’s mystic praise.

 

“Faeries”

By Evaleen Stein (1863-1923)
 

Grandfather says that sometimes,
When stars are twinkling and
A New Moon shines, there come times
When folks see faery-land!

So when there’s next a New Moon,
I mean to watch all night!
Grandfather says a Blue Moon
Is best for faery light,

And in a peach-bloom, maybe,
If I look I shall see
A little faery baby
No bigger than a bee!

 

“Eldorado”

By Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

 

Gaily bedight,

A gallant knight,

In sunshine and in shadow,  

Had journeyed long,  

Singing a song,

In search of Eldorado.

 

But he grew old—

This knight so bold—  

And o’er his heart a shadow—  

Fell as he found

No spot of ground

That looked like Eldorado.

 

And, as his strength  

Failed him at length,

He met a pilgrim shadow—  

 ‘Shadow,’ said he,  

 ‘Where can it be—

This land of Eldorado?’

 

‘Over the Mountains

Of the Moon,

Down the Valley of the Shadow,  

Ride, boldly ride,’

The shade replied,—

‘If you seek for Eldorado!’

 

“The Moon” (From A Child’s Garden of Verses, 1885)

By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)

 

The Moon has a face like the clock in the hall;

She shines on thieves on the garden wall,

On streets and fields and harbor quays,

And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.

 

The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,

The howling dog by the door of the house,

The bat that lies in bed at noon,

All love to be out by the light of the Moon.

 

But all of the things that belong to the day

Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;

And flowers and children close their eyes

Till up in the morning the Sun shall arise.

 

 

Until next time – keep looking up! J

 

Rob

 

 

The planet Venus, as photographed by the Mariner X space probe in 1974.

Hello everyone –

 

The planet Venus has returned to the evening sky, visible as a brilliant starlike object above the western horizon as dusk turns into night. Venus is hard to miss, as it’s the third-brightest object in our sky, after the Sun and Moon. Here are some poems about the planet Venus in its aspect as the Evening Star, collected from some of the greatest poets of the last quarter-millennium! 😊

 

“The Evening Star”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

Lo! in the painted oriel of the West,

Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines,

Like a fair lady at her casement, shines

The evening star, the star of love and rest!

And then anon she doth herself divest

Of all her radiant garments, and reclines

Behind the somber screen of yonder pines,

With slumber and soft dreams of love oppressed.

O my beloved, my sweet Hesperus!

My morning and my evening star of love!

My best and gentlest lady! even thus,

As that fair planet in the sky above,

Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night,

And from thy darkened window fades the light.

 

“Evening Star”

Edgar Allan Poe

 

'Twas noontide of summer,

  And mid-time of night;

And stars, in their orbits,

  Shone pale, thro' the light

Of the brighter, cold moon,

  'Mid planets her slaves,

Herself in the Heavens,

  Her beam on the waves.

    I gazed awhile

    On her cold smile;

Too cold- too cold for me-

  There passed, as a shroud,

  A fleecy cloud,

And I turned away to thee,

  Proud Evening Star,

  In thy glory afar,

And dearer thy beam shall be;

  For joy to my heart

  Is the proud part

Thou bearest in Heaven at night,

  And more I admire

  Thy distant fire,

Than that colder, lowly light.

 

“To the Evening Star”

By William Blake

 

Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,

Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light

Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown

Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!

Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the

Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew

On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes

In timely sleep. Let thy west wing sleep on

The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,

And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,

 

Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,

And the lion glares through the dun forest.

The fleeces of our flocks are covered with

Thy sacred dew; protect with them with thine influence.

 

“To the Planet Venus, An Evening Star” – Composed At Loch Lomond

By William Wordsworth

 

Though joy attend Thee orient at the birth

Of dawn, it cheers the lofty spirit most

To watch thy course when Day-light, fled from earth,

In the grey sky hath left his lingering Ghost,

Perplexed as if between a splendor lost

And splendor slowly mustering. Since the Sun,

The absolute, the world-absorbing One,

Relinquished half his empire to the host

Emboldened by thy guidance, holy Star,

Holy as princely, who that looks on thee,

Touching, as now, in thy humility

The mountain borders of this seat of care,

Can question that thy countenance is bright,

Celestial Power, as much with love as light?

 

“Evening Star”

By H. P. Lovecraft

 

I saw it from that hidden, silent place

Where the old wood half shuts the meadow in.

It shone through all the sunset’s glories—thin

At first, but with a slowly brightening face.

Night came, and that lone beacon, amber-hued,

Beat on my sight as never it did of old;

The evening star—but grown a thousandfold

More haunting in this hush and solitude.

 

It traced strange pictures on the quivering air—

Half-memories that had always filled my eyes—

Vast towers and gardens; curious seas and skies

Of some dim life—I never could tell where.

But now I knew that through the cosmic dome

Those rays were calling from my far, lost home.

 

Happy stargazing! 😊

Rob