Winterfylleth - In Silent Grace

Where freedoms damon used to keep,
In peace and awe, his folks.
Who fed, not fed upon, his sheep,
There wolves and vultures now do prey.
Herds are slain.

The herds are slain, and kinships sway,
Now reigns an artful foe,
While mothers weep, a veiling trust,
Lies present over all of the earth.

The laurelled garland, which before,
Encircled on his brow…

The spotless robes which once he wore,
And sheep-hooks which he used to sway,
The pipe whereon he loved to play,
Are seized on by the rabble,
And must be used no more.

Poor swain how thou’d laments to see,
Thy flocks o’r ruled by those,
That serve thy kinfolk all like thee,
Just as they treated you.

Where hateful vice usurps the crown,
And loyalty is trodden down,
Down crest and sceptre goes,
When foxes now, the shepherds be!


Adapted from a pastoral poem called ‘The Kings Death’
By Alexander Brome (1648)

A Damon in is ‘one who tames, overpowers, or subdues’ Открыть страницу с текстом

In the shadow of my former days,
I wander, a soul adrift, a far from home,
An exile from my kingdoms fold,
I bear the weight of earthen sorrow.

The torrid years, how they pass,
Like fragile whispers in the air,
In passing moments I reside,
A cruel dance of life and death.

The stars above, with silent grace,
Have seen the rise and fall of kin,
Across life's ephemeral art,
A silent presence
A presence for the ages.

Though exile's cold embrace,
May never wane for me,
I'll find my solace in the falling rain,
These bitter tears,
The past and present meet,
And in my wounded soul,
Memories still endure.

I must journey through this darkness,
Unafraid, to treasure in moments,
For in the tapestry of life's course,
Exile and loss need become a fleeting dream. Открыть страницу с текстом

In the shadow of my former days,
I wander, a soul adrift, a far from home,
An exile from my kingdoms fold,
I bear the weight of earthen sorrow.

The torrid years, how they pass,
Like fragile whispers in the air,
In passing moments I reside,
A cruel dance of life and death.

The stars above, with silent grace,
Have seen the rise and fall of kin,
Across life's ephemeral art,
A silent presence
A presence for the ages.

Though exile's cold embrace,
May never wane for me,
I'll find my solace in the falling rain,
These bitter tears,
The past and present meet,
And in my wounded soul,
Memories still endure.

I must journey through this darkness,
Unafraid, to treasure in moments,
For in the tapestry of life's course,
Exile and loss need become a fleeting dream. Открыть страницу с текстом

Then was known in all men’s hearts
A haughty bearing on their kin,
For there was, of ill regard,
Those power crazed o’r battle spent.

The glory of the warriors then,
By savage waters was ensnared,
A mountain-torrent fiercely flowed,
As flooding power took its war-torn path.

A boiling sea like brimming fire,
Above all men's shoulders did ascend,
A waters course of surging weight,
That weary stockades can’t protect.

Those power crazed o’r battle spent.
Above men's shoulders did ascend…

The eminent villains then,
Departed with the waves,
Into destruction, under abyss,
The war-players, stained with crime.

Could then a noble now command
A waters-way to calm, be still,
The storms to rest at once were dry
Serene then was the victory plain,

About the hills of stone,
Out then quickly stepped ,
The bold and firm of mind,
Their prison now relinquished.

For each of them was soon,
Through the stream's bold course,
A passage made, and so,
The earth was made free of flood. Открыть страницу с текстом

Beneath a blackened, midnight’s gaze,
A sombre dread assumes its form,
Its whispers on the freezing winds,
Are portents of a looming age.

Malevolence draws ever near,
A growing darkness looms afar,
Upon the distant dawn’s horizon,
Beyond the foresights of good men.

Through ravaged woods, in veils of mist,
A haunting presence rises,
Mountains shiver, and rivers bleed,
As shadows lengthen onward.

Omens telling now of terror,
Foreboding vessels shall arrive,
Premonitions are beholden
In weakened souls and restless minds.
As all hopes begin to wane.
A looming terror…
…As hopes begin to wane.

Can then courage still unite us?
Will steadfast hearts still stand and fight?
Confronting the impending age,
Where shadows battle over light. Открыть страницу с текстом

Brethren, be you now alert!
On every river’s swelling tide
Our homesteads burn and souls between,
While sacred woodland wasted lie.

Beneath the stems un-wavered,
As legions roll through soil and camp.
Warriors all, now firm and fearless,
Ascend to mighty heights and sing.

To the foes of men, defiance,
Undaunted then, no looks behind,
The voice of freedom rushing ever onwards,
As the night shall close around.

Sleep now, then wake again,
Ready for the storming maelstrom,
Gathered on the open plains,
Seething in a hellish fervour!

Loose not helm nor buckler,
Show no rest to men of war,
Brethren, be you now alert!
For tyrants sail onto our shore.

Over ridges steep of war,
Through cloven ranks of battle,
Golden tor and sword together,
Flashing then through storms of iron.

An arm with spear uplifting signs,
A beacon of rebellion burns! Открыть страницу с текстом

Like the tide, shadows flow towards the shore of light,
The night comes whirling like a maelstrom,
Warring waves of cracking clouds embrace this nightside landscape,
The heavens bleed, through open wounds, the dim light of the moon,
The winds are crying mournfully and tears fly with the gusts,
They whip my freezing skin with ice-cold burning cuts.
Too long I have suffered the desert sands of time,
But as I drown in darkness it will release the sign,
My soul will leave this mortal coil of flesh and earthly life,
To fly, into the nightside eclipse, and existence on the other side.

As a stone of scorching enthusiasm,
I refract the reflecting surface of this unfathomable sea,
Growing circles of grief and pain slides across the land,
As an omen of the horror yet to come…

The strength of a thousand fire-breathing demons,
Breed in my infernal, sinking soul,
And as I reach the surface once again,
These powers are under my control,
Now I am one with the night sky majesty! Открыть страницу с текстом

As night is closing in,
And stars are fading fast,
The world has come apart,
So, what remains to trust?

Tyrants wield their power,
The people are all but enslaved,
There’s no hope for a future,
Or so it tends to seem!

Deep within that torrid darkness,
Can a beacon reach out bright?
A fragile spark of longing hope,
That cannot meekly die.

The spark is not just an ideal,
But a burning desire for freedom!

A caustic, visceral need,
To stem the tides of oppressors,
And pull humanity back,
From the edge of tyranny. Открыть страницу с текстом

Once more I hunt the guileful fox, my ever present foe,
To unsuspecting lambs he is, so I may him depose.

“Sometimes the purest fawn, I sever from the doe,
And so the herd their young estrange.
Displacing unions and cleaving sacred bonds.
While I with baits and nets do display,
The birds to catch, or sheltered keeps beguile,
And though I weary am, I never down doth lay,
My limbs in every shade, and so shall toil away.
And drink of every brook,
And speak in every tongue,
When throat doth boil with thirst,
So shall my deeds be done…”

So then it is in each man’s self,
To fashion his estate,
Give leave awhile, upon this shore
His craft to rest, which hath been beaten late.

The storms of fortune and tempestuous fate,
Where seas of troubles and toilsome pain, now disappear,
Now shall resolve nor back to turn again,
For here may we within ourselves, some small repose obtain.


Based on excerpts of poetry from
Book VI by Edmund Spenser (1590 AD) Открыть страницу с текстом