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Farewell to the Muse
Thou Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy’s days,
Young offspring of Fancy, ’tis time we should part;
Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays,
The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.This bosom, responsive to rapture no more,
Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee to sing;
The feelings of childhood, which taught thee to soar,
Are wafted far distant on Apathy’s wing.Though simple the themes of my rude flowing Lyre,
Yet even these themes are departed for ever;
No more beam the eyes which my dream could inspire,
My visions are flown, to return,–alas, never!When drain’d is the nectar which gladdens the bowl,
How vain is the effort delight to prolong!
When cold is the beauty which dwelt in my soul,
What magic of Fancy can lengthen my song?Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone,
Of kisses and smiles which they now must resign ?
Or dwell with delight on the hours that are flown ?
Ah, no! for those hours can no longer be mine.Can they speak of the friends that I lived but to love?
Ah, surely Affection ennobles the strain!
But how can my numbers in sympathy move,
When I scarcely can hope to behold them again?Can I sing of the deeds which my Fathers have done,
And raise my loud harp to the fame of my Sires?
For glories like theirs, oh, how faint is my tone!
For Heroes’ exploits how unequal my fires!Untouch’d, then, my Lyre shall reply to the blast–
‘Tis hush’d; and my feeble endeavors are o’er;
And those who have heard it will pardon the past,
When they know that its murmurs shall vibrate no more.And soon shall its wild erring notes be forgot,
Since early affection and love is o’ercast:
Oh! blest had my Fate been, and happy my lot,
Had the first strain of love been the dearest, the last.Farewell, my young Muse! since we now can ne’er meet;
If our songs have been languid, they surely are few:
Let us hope that the present at least will be sweet–
The present–which seals our eternal Adieu.George Gordon, Lord Byron
The Sick Note
Dear Sir I write this note to you to tell you of my plight
For at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight
My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly grey
And I write this note to say why Paddy’s not at work today.Whilst working on the fourteenth floor,some bricks I had to clear
To throw them down from such a height was not a good idea
The foreman wasn’t very pleased, the bloody awkward sod
He said I had to cart them down the ladders in my hod.Now clearing all these bricks by hand, it was so very slow
So I hoisted up a barrel and secured the rope below
But in my haste to do the job, I was too blind to see
That a barrel full of building bricks was heavier than me.And so when I untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead
And clinging tightly to the rope I started up instead
I shot up like a rocket till to my dismay I found
That half way up I met the bloody barrel coming down.Well the barrel broke my shoulder, as to the ground it sped
And when I reached the top I banged the pulley with my head
I clung on tightly, numb with shock, from this almighty blow
And the barrel spilled out half the bricks, fourteen floors below.Now when these bricks had fallen from the barrel to the floor
I then outweighed the barrel and so started down once more
Still clinging tightly to the rope, my body racked with pain
When half way down, I met the bloody barrel once again.The force of this collision, half way up the office block
Caused multiple abrasions and a nasty state of shock
Still clinging tightly to the rope I fell towards the ground
And I landed on the broken bricks the barrel scattered round.I lay there groaning on the ground I thought I’d passed the worst
But the barrel hit the pulley wheel, and then the bottom burst
A shower of bricks rained down on me, I hadn’t got a hope
As I lay there bleeding on the ground, I let go the bloody rope.The barrel then being heavier then started down once more
And landed right across me as I lay upon the floor
It broke three ribs, and my left arm, and I can only say
That I hope you’ll understand why Paddy’s not at work today.I read that somewhere recently Cath, it brought a tear to my eye. Now if only I can remember where I read it…. its going to bug me now…
Brilliant words. 8)
@sharongooner wrote:
I read that somewhere recently Cath, it brought a tear to my eye. Now if only I can remember where I read it…. its going to bug me now…
Brilliant words. 8)
lol sharon i dutn even know who it was by lol xx
I think a good friend of mine may have sent me it in an email, again, no signature or anything.
Would be interesting to find out the background wouldnt it?
someone called pat cooksey sharon and i found some more irish poems while checkin lol xxx
@cath 55 wrote:
someone called pat cooksey sharon and i found some more irish poems while checkin lol xxx
Nice one, well done hun! 8) x
lol sharon nuffin else to do tonite lol hey ho ay xxx
When I go to sleep at night I think up amazing poetry.
Do you think I can remember it the next day?…. the heck I can lol… its so frustrating! :twisted:
@sharongooner wrote:
When I go to sleep at night I think up amazing poetry.
Do you think I can remember it the next day?…. the heck I can lol… its so frustrating! :twisted:
write it down hun, do it there and then, iwrite all my best stuff i think wen im drunk and late at night……. xxx
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