Tuesday, January 22, 2008, 12:12 AM PST [Enterainment]
The Sea
by Lord Byron
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To Mingle with the universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Roll on, thou deep and dark Ocean---roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin---his control Stops with the shore;---upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined and unknown.
His steps are not upon thy paths---thy fields Are not a spoil for him---thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply he lies His petty hope in some newar port or bay, And dashest him again to earth;---there let him lay.
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathons, whose huge ribs make Ther clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee and arbiter or war--- These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar.
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee; Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free And many a tyrant since; their shores obey Thy stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou; Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play, Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow; Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed,---in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dar-heaving; boundless, endless and sublime, The image of Eternity---the throne Of the Invisible! even from thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goes forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward; from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers---they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear; For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane---as I do here.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008, 12:25 AM PST [Enterainment]
A Ballad of John Silver
by John Edward Masefield
We were schooner-rigged and rakish, with a long and lissome hull, And we flew the pretty colours of the crossbones and the skull; We'd a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore, And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days of yore.
We'd a long brass gun amidships, like a well-conducted ship, We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the hip; It's a point which tells against us, and a fact to be deplored, But we chased the goodly merchant-men and laid their ships aboard.
Then the dead men fouled the scuppers and the wounded filled the chains, And the paint-work all was spatter dashed with other peoples brains, She was boarded, she was looted, she was scuttled till she sank. And the pale survivors left us by the medium of the plank.
O! then it was (while standing by the taffrail on the poop) We could hear the drowning folk lament the absent chicken coop; Then, having washed the blood away, we'd little else to do Than to dance a quiet hornpipe as the old salts taught us to.
O! the fiddle on the fo'c'sle, and the slapping naked soles, And the genial "Down the middle, Jake, and curtsey when she rolls!" With the silver seas around us and the pale moon overhead, And the look-out not a-looking and his pipe-bowl glowing red.
Ah! the pig-tailed, quidding pirates and the pretty pranks we played, All have since been put a stop to by the naughty Board of Trade; The schooners and the merry crews are laid away to rest, A little south the sunset in the islands of the Blest.
The following is a short history of Grace O'Malley, my faire persona, Killian O'Malley, is a descendant of hers so I thought I would share.
Grace O'Malley was born in 1530. One of my sources tells me that she was born at sea. Another source says she was born at Clare Island Castle in Ireland. She had a half brother names Donal-na-Popia.
Grace's parents were seafarers. They combined legitimate activities with piracy. her father's name was Owen O'Malley. As a child, Grace was taught to read Latin by the friars beneath the O'Malley motto "Terra Mariq Potens" (Invisible on Land and Sea). As a little girl, her family was having trouble with eagles snatching up their sheep, so one day Grace thought she would slaughter the eagles. The eagles scratched her head with their talons and left marks that never disappeared. Once Grace know how to tie a knot, she begged to sail with the fleet.
She proved herself a pirate when she saved her father's life from English pirates. When she turned sixteen in 1546, she married Donal O'Flaherty. during their marriage they had three children, named Owen, Murrough, and Margaret.
Grace was soon in charge of the O'Flaherty fleet, extracting a fee for use of the waters. If the Captain refused to pay, she signaled her men and they removed the cargo. Donal died at the hands of a rival clan. When Donal died, she was supposed to get one third of her husband's estate. She was not given her share of it, however.
Grace now picked two hundred followers who loved cards and dice as much as she did. Many of these worked for her now-deceased husband. She established a home base at Clare Island in Ireland, which was an ideal place to set up a pirate empire in the late sixteenth century. She pursued her career practicing free-lance piracy and waging a private war against England. She now had control of five castles. She wanted the last one, which was owned by a Richard Burke. It was on the northeast side of Clew Bay. She wanted it so much that she married Richard Burke. They had one son named Tibbot. Queen Elizabeth knighted Tibbot Sir Theobald. Grace was captured by the Duke of Desmond and was thrown in prison in Limerick. Lord Justice sent for her unexpectedly. Lord Justice said that she would have to stop her pirating. While in prison Richard Burke died a natural death.
Sir Richard Bingham was appointed governor by Queen Elizabeth the First. He killed Grace's son Own. Then he sent for her, but it was a trap. She was tied up like an animal. A powerful Lord asked that she be set free, so Sir Richard let her go. She then went to the queen, who let her be a pirate again. They were working together. When she returned to Ireland, she had only one castle left. She fitted up a fleet, then proceeded to win the war against Sir Richard Bengham.
When she was sixty years old, Grace won her greatest battle. She lived to be over seventy years old. She was the most flamboyant of Irish pirates. Grace O'Malley made an impression on her own age; she earned a place in Irish history.
Thursday, December 27, 2007, 01:35 AM PST [Enterainment]
The Dark Lady
The Dark Lady by Bernadette Gillece
A fierce one-eyed man named Baron LaBonne A meaner pirate had never been known And he sailed on the Dark Lady A ship strong and sound with a perilous crew And high on the mast the skull and bones flew Fleet and swift was the Dark Lady
And ever night the Baron would drink a toast He'd say, "Here's to my lovely lady host! My one true love..." "Hear, hear!" the crew replied And the Dark Lady sighed.
A rich Spanish galleon was spotted one night The Dark Lady's crew prepared for the fight Clash of swords...No Spaniard survived it Except for the maiden with dark eyes so bold Found in the hull with the jewels and the gold LaBonne laughed and took her for ransom
And ever night the Baron would drink a toast He'd say, "Here's to my lovely lady host! My one true love..." "Hear, hear!" the crew replied And the Dark Lady sighed.
The girl Carlotta was a beauty quite rare With each passing night LaBonne couldn't bear His empty bed. He brought her to it. The Baron soon found he felt more than desire His love for her grew and his soul filled with fire He proclaimed that they would marry.
That night the Baron drank with jubilee And said, "Here's to my lovely bride to be! My one true love..." "Hear, hear!" the crew replied And the Dark Lady cried.
The following night a storm brewed at sea The Dark Lady saw her chance to be free Of her rival, the beauty Carlotta The ship steered herself to the heart of the gale Where a wave swept the maiden out over the rail Sweet revenge on an unfaithful lover.
That night the Lady drank a toast And said, "Here's to your lovely lady host! Your one true love..." No voices replied And the Dark Lady smiled.
And now any night when a storm fills the sky They say that a ghost ship sails in it's eye Fleet and swift is the Dark Lady A ship strong and sound with a perilous crew And high on the mast the skull and bones flew While the captain gazes out to sea.
And every night the Baron must drink a toast He says, "Here's to our lovely lady host! My one true love..." "Hear, hear," the ghost crew replies And the Dark Lady smiles.
There are a few groups that have done this song, I suggest the Bedlam Bards version, which I think is the best one I have heard yet.
