Pyrandine Verses
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Variol Farseer
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Pyrandine Verses
Some of you will recall (especially you, Duchess) that a few months ago I posted a snippet from my work-in-limbo, Lord Talon's Revenge. Since poetry of various kinds seems to be rather in vogue here at the Hall of Gifts, I thought I'd offer up a few specimens of verse excerpted from my other works. Do please offer feedback, and don't be afraid to tell me to shut up.
Without the Quest, our lives will be wasted.
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Variol Farseer
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The Wheel of Tela: a Prathan spell
The Wheel of Tela
A Prathan spell
Source: The Eye of the Maker, book I
This is a portion of a spell used by Ramana Pellin, a sorceress of parts, to send Calin of Hillwarden, the hero of the book, into the underworld in a desperate attempt to recover the soul of a companion slain unjustly. It was originally composed by the prophetess Araxa, whose followers are sometimes known as witches, and translated from the speech of the ancient Pratha, her people.
The Wheel turns round, and a child is born,
Tela the Mother who gave him birth.
Tela will say, when his years are worn:
'The Wheel turns round: he returns to earth.'
The Wheel turns round, and the wheat is sown.
Tela in liquid light is steeped.
Tela will say, when the grain is grown:
'The Wheel turns round: let the wheat be reaped.'
The Wheel turns round, and a maid grows fair;
Tela has made the delight of men.
Tela will say, to the crone's despair:
'The Wheel turns round: you are mine again.'
The Wheel turns round, and a king is crowned.
Tela stands tall in the builded stones.
Tela will say, when the stones are drowned:
'The Wheel turns round: give me back his bones.'
A Prathan spell
Source: The Eye of the Maker, book I
This is a portion of a spell used by Ramana Pellin, a sorceress of parts, to send Calin of Hillwarden, the hero of the book, into the underworld in a desperate attempt to recover the soul of a companion slain unjustly. It was originally composed by the prophetess Araxa, whose followers are sometimes known as witches, and translated from the speech of the ancient Pratha, her people.
The Wheel turns round, and a child is born,
Tela the Mother who gave him birth.
Tela will say, when his years are worn:
'The Wheel turns round: he returns to earth.'
The Wheel turns round, and the wheat is sown.
Tela in liquid light is steeped.
Tela will say, when the grain is grown:
'The Wheel turns round: let the wheat be reaped.'
The Wheel turns round, and a maid grows fair;
Tela has made the delight of men.
Tela will say, to the crone's despair:
'The Wheel turns round: you are mine again.'
The Wheel turns round, and a king is crowned.
Tela stands tall in the builded stones.
Tela will say, when the stones are drowned:
'The Wheel turns round: give me back his bones.'
Last edited by Variol Farseer on Sat Nov 13, 2004 1:42 am, edited 2 times in total.
Without the Quest, our lives will be wasted.
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Variol Farseer
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The Maid of the Crescent Moon: a Pyrandine sea-shanty
The Maid of the Crescent Moon
A Pyrandine sea-shanty
Source: The Eye of the Maker, book II
These verses are taken (incomplete) from a satirical lay sung by the sailors of Pyrandain, making fun of the cardboard heroics often found in the more epic songs of the sea. It is sung by Rannoc, a privateer captain, while drinking himself under the table, after his ship is commandeered by Lord Moroll of Goldenwood and given impossible orders.
A shipshape ship and a jolly ship
was the Maid of the Crescent Moon:
she sailed on the sea to Tarakaan
from the Goldenquay lagoon.
The sea rose up and the East Wind blew
and the sky was red at dawn,
But her captain bold never feared no storm,
and he bade his men sail on,
Singing,
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
Man the sweeps and keep on bailing.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
Clear to sail on the Tarakaan Main.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
We'll be fine tomorrow,
and we've learned two hundred names for the rain.
The sea rose high and the sun fell low,
and the wind made sport with the waves.
The men cried, 'Captain, turn her back,'
but he said, 'Sail on, you knaves!
There's a purse of gold for the man who's true,
and a stripe for a lubber's back!'
So the Maid sailed on under lowering skies,
for the captain feared nor wind nor wrack,
And hey, now, the weather's all right!
Man the pumps and keep on bailing.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
Clear to sail on the Tarakaan Main.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
We'll be fine tomorrow,
and we've learned two hundred names for the rain!
Several days later, as the wreckage of Lord Moroll's defeated fleet limps into harbour, Rannoc is heard singing sadly to himself the last chorus of the song:
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
Man the boats and keep on bailing.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
'Bandon ship on the Tarakaan Main.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
There'll be no tomorrow,
but we've learned two hundred names for the rain!
A Pyrandine sea-shanty
Source: The Eye of the Maker, book II
These verses are taken (incomplete) from a satirical lay sung by the sailors of Pyrandain, making fun of the cardboard heroics often found in the more epic songs of the sea. It is sung by Rannoc, a privateer captain, while drinking himself under the table, after his ship is commandeered by Lord Moroll of Goldenwood and given impossible orders.
A shipshape ship and a jolly ship
was the Maid of the Crescent Moon:
she sailed on the sea to Tarakaan
from the Goldenquay lagoon.
The sea rose up and the East Wind blew
and the sky was red at dawn,
But her captain bold never feared no storm,
and he bade his men sail on,
Singing,
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
Man the sweeps and keep on bailing.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
Clear to sail on the Tarakaan Main.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
We'll be fine tomorrow,
and we've learned two hundred names for the rain.
The sea rose high and the sun fell low,
and the wind made sport with the waves.
The men cried, 'Captain, turn her back,'
but he said, 'Sail on, you knaves!
There's a purse of gold for the man who's true,
and a stripe for a lubber's back!'
So the Maid sailed on under lowering skies,
for the captain feared nor wind nor wrack,
And hey, now, the weather's all right!
Man the pumps and keep on bailing.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
Clear to sail on the Tarakaan Main.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
We'll be fine tomorrow,
and we've learned two hundred names for the rain!
Several days later, as the wreckage of Lord Moroll's defeated fleet limps into harbour, Rannoc is heard singing sadly to himself the last chorus of the song:
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
Man the boats and keep on bailing.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
'Bandon ship on the Tarakaan Main.
Hey, now, the weather's all right!
There'll be no tomorrow,
but we've learned two hundred names for the rain!
Without the Quest, our lives will be wasted.
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Variol Farseer
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Petrarchan sonnet by Ceryn Glade
The Mountains of the Moon
A sonnet by Ceryn Glade
Source: The Eye of the Maker, book II
This is a sonnet in fairly strict Petrarchan form (which is supposed to be impossible to do well in English, owing to the lack of rhymes). It was composed by Ceryn Glade, a young harper who attached herself to the hero's company, becoming what we would now call an 'embedded' war reporter. She wrote it as an expression of unrequited love, and sang it in the presence of her beloved, who, with his usual monumental denseness, completely failed to grasp that it was he who was being referred to, and therefore failed to requite her.
Rána is the former goddess of the Moon, which was once a living world, blasted to airless and lifeless rock in the ancient battle that destroyed the Old Gods.
My love walks in the mountains of the moon,
spurned by the earth, bowed down with needless care;
alone he dwells, and knows not he is fair.
I call to him in vain, until too soon
the moonset takes him, leaving me aswoon.
I cry at moonrise, 'Rána, hear my prayer!
Let me go up and heal his heart's despair!'
The Goddess, mourning still, denies the boon.
What joys my love has missed he cannot know,
lost in his loneness, leagues beyond the grasp
of such a low and fleshly fool as I,
cold and untouched. In mortal lands below,
clay hands clay forms to earthy bosoms clasp;
but I, earthbound, am ravished of the sky.
A sonnet by Ceryn Glade
Source: The Eye of the Maker, book II
This is a sonnet in fairly strict Petrarchan form (which is supposed to be impossible to do well in English, owing to the lack of rhymes). It was composed by Ceryn Glade, a young harper who attached herself to the hero's company, becoming what we would now call an 'embedded' war reporter. She wrote it as an expression of unrequited love, and sang it in the presence of her beloved, who, with his usual monumental denseness, completely failed to grasp that it was he who was being referred to, and therefore failed to requite her.
Rána is the former goddess of the Moon, which was once a living world, blasted to airless and lifeless rock in the ancient battle that destroyed the Old Gods.
My love walks in the mountains of the moon,
spurned by the earth, bowed down with needless care;
alone he dwells, and knows not he is fair.
I call to him in vain, until too soon
the moonset takes him, leaving me aswoon.
I cry at moonrise, 'Rána, hear my prayer!
Let me go up and heal his heart's despair!'
The Goddess, mourning still, denies the boon.
What joys my love has missed he cannot know,
lost in his loneness, leagues beyond the grasp
of such a low and fleshly fool as I,
cold and untouched. In mortal lands below,
clay hands clay forms to earthy bosoms clasp;
but I, earthbound, am ravished of the sky.
Without the Quest, our lives will be wasted.
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Dragonlily
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Variol Farseer
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Dragonlily
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Variol Farseer
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No, but I do. I feel intensely foolish for having posted them, especially when I'm almost certainly about to be banished from the Watch. They're rubbish: they must be rubbish, since I wrote them.Dragonlily wrote:Why do you want them taken down, Farseer? Does your publisher have a problem with it?
Without the Quest, our lives will be wasted.
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duchess of malfi
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As I seem to be constantly telling people, the world is full enough of those who will cheerfully put you down for no good reason, without adding yourself to them.Variol Farseer wrote:They're rubbish: they must be rubbish, since I wrote them.
Love that line. Definitely my favourite.Variol Farseer wrote:but I, earthbound, am ravished of the sky.
Chill
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