had made even children pass through the fire to Moloch. Their Scottish brethren, adopting[Pg 52] implicitly the creed of their continental prototypes, transplanted to our own country, a soil unfortunately but too well prepared for such a seed, the whole doctrine of Satan’s visible agency on earth, with all the grotesque horrors of his commerce with mankind. The aid of the sword of justice was immediately found to be indispensable to the weapons of the spirit; and the verse of Moses which declares that a witch shall not be suffered to live, was forthwith made the groundwork of the Act 73 of the ninth parliament of Queen Mary, which enacted the punishment of death against witches or consulters with witches. The consequences of this authoritative recognition of the creed of witchcraft became immediately obvious with the reign of James which followed. Witchcraft became the all-engrossing topic of the day, and the ordinary accusation resorted to whenever it was the object of one individual to ruin another, just as certain other offences were during the reign of Justinian, and during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in Italy. In Scotland the evil was not less busy in high places, than among the humbler beings, who had generally been professors of the art magic. A sort of relation of clientage seems to have been established between the operative performers, and those noble patrons (chiefly, we regret to say, of the fair sex) by whom their services were put in requisition. The Lady Buccleugh, of Branxholm Hall, whose spells have[Pg 53] furnished our own Northern Wizard with some of his most striking pictures,—the Countess of Athol, the Countess of Huntly, the wife of the Chancellor Arran, the Lady Ker, wife of James, Master of Requests, the Countess of Lothian, the Countess of Angus, (more fortunate in her generation than her grandmother Lady Glammis), were all, if we are to believe the scandal of Scotstarvet, either protectors of witches or themselves dabblers in the art[43]. Even Knox himself did not escape the accusation of witchcraft; the power and energy of mind with which Providence had gifted him, the enemies of the Reformation attributed to a darker source. He was accused of having attempted to raise “some sanctes” in the churchyard of St. Andrew’s; but in the course of this resuscitation upstarted the devil himself, having a huge pair of horns on his head, at which terrible sight Knox’s secretary became mad with fear, and shortly after died. Nay, to such a height had the mania gone, that Scot of Scotstarvet mentions that Sir Lewis Ballantyne, Lord Justice Clerk of Scotland, “by curiosity dealt with a warlock called Richard Grahame,” (the same person who figures in the trial of Alison Balfour, as a confederate of Bothwell), “to raise the devil, who having raised him in his own yard in the Canongate, he was thereby so terrified that he took sickness and thereof died.” This was a “staggering state of Scots[Pg 54] statesmen” indeed, when even the supreme criminal judge of Scotland was thus at the head of the delinquents. Well might any unfortunate criminal have said with Angelo— “Thieves for their robbery have authority, When judges steal themselves.” Measure f. Measure, ii. 2. Nor, in fact, was the Church less deeply implicated than the court and the hall of justice; for in the case of Alison Pearson (1588) we find the celebrated Patrick Adamson, Archbishop of St. Andrew’s, laying aside the fear of the Act of Parliament, and condescending to apply to this poor wretch for a potion to cure him of his sickness! A faith so strong and so general could not be long in manifesting itself in works. In 1572 occurs the first entry in the Justiciary Record, the trial of Janet Bowman, of which no particulars are given, except the emphatic sentence “Convict: and Brynt.” No fewer than thirty-five trials appear to have taken place before the Court of Justiciary during the remainder of James’s reign, (to 1625), in almost all of which the result is the same as in the case of Bowman. Two or three of these are peculiarly interesting; one, from the difference between its details and those which form the usual materials of the witch trials; the others, from the high rank of some of those involved in them, and the strange and almost inexplicable extent of the delusion. The first to[Pg 55] which we allude is that of Bessie Dunlop[44], convicted on her own confession; the peculiarity in this case is that, instead of the devil himself in propriâ personâ, the spiritual beings to whom we are introduced are our old friends the fairies, the same sweet elves whom Paracelsus defends, and old Aubrey delighted to honour. Bessie’s familiar was a being whom she calls Thom Reed, and whom she describes in her judicial declaration[45] as “an honest weel elderlie man, gray bairdit, and had ane gray coitt with Lumbard sleeves of the auld fassoun, ane pair of gray brekis, and quhyte schankis gartarrit abone the kne.” Their first meeting took place as she was going to the pasture, “gretand (weeping) verrie fast for her kow that was dead, and her husband and child that were lyand sick in the land-ill (some epidemic of the time), and she new risen out of gissane (childbed).” Thom, who took care that his character should open upon her in a favourable light, chid her for her distrust in Providence, and told her that her sheep and her child would both die, but that her husband should recover, which comforted her a little. His true character, however, appeared at a second “forgathering,” when he unblushingly urged her “to denye her christendom and renounce her baptism, and the faith she took at the fount stane.” The poor witch answered, that “though[Pg 56] she should be riven at horse-tails she would never do that,” but promised him obedience in all things else,—a qualified concession with which he rather grumblingly departed. His third appearance took place in her own house, in presence of her husband and three tailors (three!). To the infinite consternation of this trio and of the gudeman, he took her by the apron and led her out of the house to the kiln-end, where she saw eight women and four men sitting; the men in gentlemen’s clothing, and the women with plaids round about them, and “very seemly to see.” They said to her, “Welcome Bessie, wilt thou go with us?” but as she made no answer to this invitation, they, after some conversation among themselves which she could not understand, disappeared of a sudden, and “a hideous ugly sough of wind followed them.” She was told by Thom, after their departure, that these “were the gude wights that wonned in the Court of Elfane,” and that she ought to have accepted their invitation. She afterwards received a visit from the Queen of Elfane in person, who condescendingly asked a drink of her, and prophesied the death of her child and the recovery of her husband. The use which poor Bessie made of her privileges was of the most harmless kind, for her spells seem to have been all exerted to cure, and not to kill. Most of the articles of her indictment are for cures performed, nor is there any charge against her of exerting her powers for a malicious[Pg 57] purpose. As usual however she was convicted and burnt. This was evidently a pure case of mental delusion, but it was soon followed by one of a darker and more complex character, in which, as far as the principal actor was concerned, it seems doubtful whether the mummery of witchcraft formed anything more than a mere pageant in the dark drama of human passions and crimes. We allude to the trials of Lady Fowlis and of Hector Munro of Fowlis, for witchcraft and poisoning, in 1590. This is one of those cases which might plausibly be quoted in support of the ground on which the witch trials have been defended by Selden, Bayle, and the writers of the Encyclopédie,—namely, the necessity of punishing the pretensions to such powers, or the belief in their existence, with as great rigour as if their exercise had been real. “The law against witches,” says Selden, “does not prove there be any, but it punishes the malice of those people that use such means to take away men’s lives. If one should profess that, by turning his hat and crying buz, he could take away a man’s life, though in truth he could do no such thing, yet this were a just law made by the state, that whoever should turn his hat thrice and cry buz, with an intention to take away a man’s life, shall be put to death.” We shall hardly stop to expose the absurdity of this doctrine of Selden in the abstract, which thus makes the will universally[Pg 58] equal to the deed; but when we read such cases as that of Lady Fowlis, it cannot at the same time be denied, that the power which the pretended professor of such arts thus obtained over the popular mind, and the relaxation of moral principle with which it was naturally accompanied in the individual himself, rendered him a most dangerous member of society. In general, the profession of sorcery was associated with other crimes, and was frequently employed as a mere cover by which these might with the more security and effect be perpetrated. The philters and love-potions of La Voisin and Forman, the private court calendar of the latter, containing “what ladies loved what lords best,” (which the Chief Justice prudently would not allow to be read in court), are sufficiently well known. Charms of a more disgusting nature appear to have been supplied by our own witches, as in the case of Roy, tried before the sheriff of Perth, in 1601[46], and in that of Colquhoun, of Luss, tried for sorcery and incest, 1633, where the instrument of seduction was a jewel obtained from a necromancer. In short, wherever any flagitious purpose was to be effected, nothing more was necessary than to have recourse to some notorious witch. In poisoning, in particular, they were accomplished adepts, as was naturally to be expected from the power which[Pg 59] it gave them of realizing their own prophecies. Poisoners and witches are classed together in the conclusion of Louis XIV.’s edict; and the trials before the Chambre Ardente prove that the two trades were generally found in harmonious juxtaposition. Our own Mrs. Turner, in England, affords us no bad specimen of this union of the poisoner with the procuress and the witch; while the prevalence of the same connection in Scotland appears from the details of the case of Robert Erskine, of Dun, from that of the daughter of Lord Cliftonhall, Euphemia Macalzean, and still more from the singular case of Lady Fowlis. The object of the conspirators in this last case was the destruction of the young lady of Balnagown, which would have enabled George Ross, of Balnagown, to marry the young Lady Fowlis. But in order to entitle them to the succession of Fowlis, supposing the alliance to be effected, a more extensive slaughter was required. Lady Fowlis’s stepsons, Robert and Hector, with their families, stood in the way, and these were next to be removed. Nay, the indictment goes the length of charging her with projecting the murder of more than thirty individuals, including an accomplice of her own, Katharine Ross, the daughter of Sir David Ross, whom she had seduced into her schemes, a woman apparently of the most resolute temper, and obviously of an acute and penetrating intellect; there seems reason to doubt whether she[Pg 60] had any faith in the power of the charms and sorceries to which she resorted, but she probably thought that, in availing herself of the services of those hags whom she employed, the more prudent course would be to allow them to play off their mummeries in their own way, while she combined them with more effective human means. Accordingly the work of destruction commenced with the common spell of making two pictures of clay, representing the intended victims; but instead of exposing them to the fire, or burying them with their heads downward, the pictures were in this case hung up on the north side of the room, and the lady, with her familiars, shot several arrows, shod with elf-arrow heads, at them, but without effect. Though the Lady Fowlis gave orders that other two pictures should be prepared, in order to renew the attempt, she seems forthwith to have resorted to more vigorous measures, and to have associated Katharine Ross and her brother George in her plans. The first composition prepared for her victims was a stoupful of poisoned ale, but this ran out in making. She then gave orders to prepare “a pig of ranker poison, that would kill shortly,” and this she dispatched by her nurse to the young Laird of Fowlis. Providence however again protected him: the “pig” fell and was broken by the way, and the nurse, who could not resist the temptation of tasting the contents, paid the penalty of her curiosity with her life. So corrosive[Pg 61] was the nature of the potion, that the very grass on which it fell was destroyed. Nothing however could move Lady Fowlis from her purpose. Like Mrs. Turner, who treated Overbury with spiders, cantharides, and arsenic, alternately, that she might be able to “hit his complexion,” she now proceeded to try the effect of “ratton poyson,” (ratsbane,) of which she seems to have administered several doses to the young laird, “in eggs, browis, or kale,” but still without effect, his constitution apparently proving too strong for them. She had more nearly succeeded, however, with her sister-in-law, her female victim. The “ratton poyson” which she had prepared for Lady Balnagown, she contrived, by means of one of her subsidiary hags, to mix in a dish of kidneys, on which Lady Balnagown and her company supped; and its effects were so violent, that even the wretch by whom it was administered revolted at the sight. At the date of the trial, however, it would seem the unfortunate lady was still alive. Lady Fowlis was at last apprehended, on the confession of several of the witches she had employed, and more than one of whom had been executed before her own trial took place. The proceedings after all terminated in an acquittal, a result which is only explicable by observing that the jury was evidently a packed one, and consisted principally of the dependants of the houses of Munro and Fowlis. This scene of diablerie and poisoning, however,[Pg 62] did not terminate here. It now appeared that Mr. Hector, one of his stepmother’s intended victims, had himself been the principal performer in a witch underplot directed against the life of his brother George. Unlike his more energetic stepmother, credulous to the last degree, he seems to have been entirely under the control of the hags by whom he was surrounded, and who harassed and terrified him with fearful predictions and ghastly exhibitions of all kinds. He does not appear to have been naturally a wicked man, for the very same witches who were afterwards leagued with him against the life of George, he had consulted with a view of curing his elder brother Robert, by whose death he would have succeeded to the estates. But being seized with a lingering illness, and told by his familiars that the only chance he had of recovering his health was that his brother should die for him, he seems quietly to have devoted him to death, under the strong instinct of self-preservation. In order to prevent suspicion, it was agreed that his death should be lingering and gradual, and the officiating witch, who seemed to have the same confidence in her own nicety of calculation as the celebrated inventress of the poudre de successions, warranted the victim until the 17th of April following. It must be admitted that the incantations which followed were well calculated to produce a strong effect, both moral and physical, on the weak and credulous being on whom they were played off.[Pg 63] Shortly after midnight, in the month of January, the witches left the house in which Mr. Hector was lying sick at the time, and passed to a piece of ground lying betwixt the lands of two feudal superiors, where they dug a large grave. Hector Munro, wrapped in blankets, was then carried forth, the bearers all the time remaining dumb, and silently deposited in the grave, the turf being laid over him and pressed down with staves. His foster-mother, Christian Neill, was then ordered to run the breadth of nine riggs, and returning to the grave, to ask the chief witch “which was her choice.” She answered that Mr. Hector was her choice to live, and his brother George to die for him. This cooling ceremony being three times repeated, the patient, frozen with cold and terror, was carried back to bed. Mr. Hector’s witches were more successful than the hags employed by his stepmother. George died in the month of April, as had been predicted, doubtless by other spells than the force of sympathy, and Hector appears to have recovered. He had the advantage, however, of a selected jury on his trial, as well as Lady Fowlis, and had the good fortune to be acquitted.

Some only for not being drown’d, And some for sitting above ground Whole nights and days upon their breeches, And feeling pain, were hanged for witches.” Hudibras, part ii. canto 
What would the Doctor have said to the list of THREE THOUSAND victims executed during the dynasty of the Long Parliament alone, which Zachary Grey, the editor of Hudibras, says he himself perused? What absurdities can exceed those sworn to in the trials of the witches of Warboys, whose fate was, in Dr. Hutchinson’s days, and[Pg 46] perhaps is still, annually “improved” in a commemoration sermon at Cambridge? or in the case of the luckless Lancashire witches, sacrificed, as afterwards appeared, to the villany of the impostor Robinson, whose story furnished materials to the dramatic muse of Heywood and Shadwell? How melancholy is the spectacle of a man like Hale, condemning Amy Duny and Rose Cullender, in 1664, on evidence which, though corroborated by the opinion of Sir Thomas Browne, a child would now be disposed to laugh at? A better order of things, it is true, commences with the Chief-justiceship of Holt. The evidence against Mother Munnings, in 1694, would, with a man of weaker intellect, have sealed the fate of the unfortunate old woman; but Holt charged the jury with such firmness and good sense, that a verdict of Not Guilty, almost the first then on record in a trial for witchcraft, was found. In about ten other trials before Holt, from 1694 to 1701, the result was the same. Wenham’s case, which followed in 1711, sufficiently evinced the change which had taken place in the feelings of judges. Throughout the whole trial, Chief Justice Powell seems to have sneered openly at the absurdities which the witnesses, and in particular the clergymen who were examined, were endeavouring to press upon the jury; but, with all his exertions, a verdict of guilty was found against the prisoner. With the view however of securing her pardon, by showing[Pg 47] how far the prejudices of the jury had gone, he asked, when the verdict was given in, “whether they found her guilty upon the indictment for conversing with the devil in the shape of a cat?” The foreman answered, “We find her guilty of that!” It is almost needless to add that a pardon was procured for her. And yet after all this, in 1716, Mrs. Hicks and her daughter, aged nine, were hanged at Huntingdon for selling their souls to the devil, and raising a storm, by pulling off their stockings and making a lather of soap!
With this crowning atrocity, the catalogue of murders in England closes; the penal statutes against witchcraft being repealed in 1736, and the pretended exercise of such arts being punished in future by imprisonment and pillory. Even yet however the case of Rex v. Weldon, in 1809, and the still later case of Barker v. Ray, in Chancery (August 2, 1827), proves that the popular belief in such practices has by no means ceased; and it is not very long ago that a poor woman narrowly escaped with her life from a revival of Hopkins’s trial by water. Barrington, in his observations on the statute 20 Henry VI., does not hesitate to estimate the numbers of those put to death in England on this charge at 30,000!
[Pg 48]We now turn to Scotland. Much light has been thrown on the rise and progress, decline and fall, of the delusion in that country by the valuable work of Mr. Pitcairn, which contains abstracts of every trial in the supreme Criminal Court of Scotland: the author has given a faithful and minute view of the procedure in each case, accompanied with full extracts from the original documents, where they contained anything of interest.
In no country perhaps did this gloomy superstition assume a darker or bloodier character than in Scotland. Wild, mountainous, and pastoral countries, partly from the striking, varied, and sometimes terrible phenomena which they present,—partly from the habits and manner of life, the tendency to thought and meditation which they create and foster,—have always been the great haunts in which superstition finds its cradle and home. The temper of the Scots, combining reflection with enthusiasm—their mode of life in earlier days, which amidst the occasional bustle of wild and agitating exertion, left many intervals of mental vacuity in solitude—their night watches by the cave on the hill-side—their uncertain climate, of sunshine and vapour and storm—all[Pg 49] contributed to exalt and keep alive that superstitions fear with which ignorance looks on every extraordinary movement of nature. From the earliest period of the Scottish annals, “All was bot gaistis, and eldrich phantasie;” the meteors and auroræ boreales which prevailed in this mountainous region were tortured into apparitions of horsemen combating in the air, or corpse-candles burning on the hill-tops. Skeletons danced as familiar guests at the nuptials of our kings: spectres warned them back from the battle-field of Flodden, and visionary heralds proclaimed from the market-cross the long catalogue of the slain.

“Figures that seemed to rise and die, Gibber and sign, advance and fly, While nought confirmed, could ear or eye Discern of sound or mien; Yet darkly did it seem as there Heralds and pursuivants appear, With trumpet sound and blazon fair, A summons to proclaim.” Marmion, canto v.

Incubi and succubi wandered about in all directions, with a degree of assurance and plausibility which would have deceived the very elect[39]; and wicked churchmen were cited by audible voices and an accompaniment of thunder before the[Pg 50] tribunal of Heaven[40]. The annals of the thirteenth century are dignified with the exploits of three wizards, before whom Nostradamus and Merlin must stoop their crests, Thomas of Ercildoune, Sir Michael Scott, and Lord Soulis. The Tramontane fame of the second had even crossed the Alps, for Dante[41] accommodates him with a place in Hell, between Bonatto, the astrologer of Guido di Monte Feltro, and Asdente of Parma.
But previous to the Reformation, these superstitious notions, though generally prevalent, had hardly assumed a form much calculated to disturb the peace of society. Though in some cases, where these powers had been supposed to have been exercised for treasonable purposes, the punishment of death had been inflicted on the witches, men did not as yet think it necessary, merely for the supposed possession of such powers, or their benevolent exercise, to apply the purifying power of fire to eradicate the disorder. Sir Michael and the Rhymer lived and died peaceably; and the tragical fate of the tyrant Soulis on the Nine Stane Rigg[Pg 51] was owing, not to the supposed sorceries which had polluted his Castle of Hermitage, but to those more palpable atrocities which had been dictated by the demon of his own evil conscience, and executed by those iron-handed and iron-hearted agents, who were so readily evoked by the simpler spell of feudal despotism.
From the commencement of the Records of the Scottish Justiciary Court, down to the reign of Mary, no trial properly for witchcraft appears on the record. For though in the case of the unfortunate Countess of Glammis, executed in 1536, during the reign of James V., on an accusation of treasonably conspiring the king’s death by poison, some hints of sorcery are thrown into the dittay, probably with the view of exciting a popular prejudice against one whose personal beauty and high spirit rendered her a favourite with the people, it is obvious that nothing was really rested on this charge.
But with the introduction of the Reformation “novus rerum nascitur ordo.” Far from divesting themselves of the dark and bloody superstitions which Innocent’s bull had systematized and propagated, the German reformers had preserved this, while they demolished every other idol, and moving
“In dismal dance around the furnace blue

DA ANÁLISE DAS PALAVRAS ...Take a master petroleum chemist, infinitely skilled in the separation of crude oil into its fractions. Strap him down, probe into his brain with searching electronic needles. The machine scans the patterns of the mind, translates what it sees into charts and sine waves. Impress these same waves on a robot computer and you have your chemist. Or a thousand copies of your chemist, if you wish, with all of his knowledge and skill, and no human limitations at all. Put a dozen copies of him into a plant and they will run it all, twenty-four hours a day, seven days of every week, never tiring, never overlooking anything, never forgetting....You're a robot," he said. The girl tried to nod. The twitching lips said, "I am. And so are you."There was an out-of-season chill to the air, more like October than June; but the scent was normal enough—except for the sound-truck that squatted at curbside halfway down the block. Its speaker horns blared: "Are you a coward? Are you a fool? Are you going to let crooked politicians steal the country from you? NO! Are you going to put up with four more years of graft and crime? NO! Are you going to vote straight Federal Party all up and down the ballot? YES! You just bet you are!" Sometimes he screams, sometimes he wheedles, threatens, begs, cajoles ... but his voice goes on and on through one June 15th after another.AS PALAVRAS TÊM UMA PALATABILIDADE UM SABOR...UM ARCO ÍRIS FEITO DE TERMOS THE DAY THE ICICLE WORKS CLOSED É UMA HISTÓRIA ACTUAL PARA O FIM DO SÉCULO XX UMA SOCIEDADE INCAPAZ DE CRIAR EMPREGOS PARA OS MILHARES DE MILHÕES QUE SE AVIZINHAM E OS SERES HUMANOS DESEMPREGADOS SÃO ALUGADOS A CONSUMOS MARGINAIS DE OPIÁCEOS OU A CULTOS E MOVIMENTOS POLÍTICOS QUE CERTAMENTE NASCERÃO COMO NASCEU O DA REPÚBLICA ISLÂMICA PÓS REZA PAHLEVI OU O RENASCIMENTO ISLÃMICO QUE MATOU ANWAR SADAT E LUTA VAI PARA CINCO OU SEIS ANOS NO NOVO VIETNAME SOVIÉTICO O ESPÍRITO DOS HOMENS DESEMPREGADOS NÃO É POSTO EM MÁQUINAS COMO NO LIVRO DE PHOL NÃO EM TÁXIS OU EM MÁQUINAS DE MINERAÇÃO MAS EM CAUSAS ....EM PEQUENOS LIVROS VERMELHOS E VERDES EM AL CORÕES EM UMA MIRÍADE DE CAUSAS NACIONALISTAS E PARTIDÁRIAS PÓS COLONIAIS POIS A MAIOR PARTE DO EMPREGO NA DÉCADA DE 80 E PROVAVELMENTE NA DE 90 E SEGUINTES SERÁ FEITA NOS SERVIÇOS E NOS BENS IMATERIAIS PRODUZIDOS PELA RELIGIÃO OU PELA POLÍTICA NO FUNDO POUCO FAZ ABRIU UM CURSO DE PESOS E MEDIDAS ....PARA OS ALUNOS COM O 12º OU MENOS E É ESTA FORMAÇÃO PROFISSIONAL QUE ASSEGURA UM FUTURO MUITO POUCO INDUSTRIAL ONDE TALVEZ AS AGULHAS E AS SERINGAS E A HEROA O CAVALO RESUMINDO OS OPIÁCEOS DOS ANOS 80 QUE PREDOMINAM SOBRE A MALDITA COCAÍNA DOS ANOS 20 SEJAM SUBSTITUIDAS POR OUTRAS QUE MANTENHAM O CONSUMIDOR VIVO MAIS TEMPO ...FARMACOGRAFIA MODERNA 1899 PASTILHAS POLIAMIDAS DELL DOTTORE LLETGOT ...TETRABORATO BISÓDICO ACÓNITO COCAÍNA E MENTOL.....É DE FACTO UMA INDÚSTRIA COM SUCESSO PARA O FUTURO (DE RESTO NADA DE NOVO É UM TEMA UTILIZADO EM LIVROS DESDE FU-MANCHU AO ADMIRÁVEL MUNDO NOVO TRATA-SE DE NARCOTIZAR TODA UMA SOCIEDADE COM TELEVISÃO COM MEDICAMENTOS OU COM IDEOLOGIAS VAZIAS QUE NO FUNDO SÃO AS MAIS BARATAS NÃO TÊM CUSTOS DE PRODUÇÃO

ABRASTOL ...NAFTOL SULFATO DE CAL

POIS SE OBTIENE CALENTANDO 

EL NAFTOL COM EL ÁCIDO SULFÚRICO 

Y COMBURANDO DESPUÉS COM EL CAL

 PROPRIEDADES ANTITÉRMICAS 

E ANALGÉSICAS

NO REUMATISMO POLIARTICULAR

É TODO UM MUNDO DE CONSUMOS 

PRETÉRITOS 

QUE RENASCERÃO NO FUTURO

É APOSTAR VALIUM NISSO

E COM O CRESCIMENTO DOS 

DESEMPREGADOS LICENCIADOS 

E DOS VELHINHOS REFORMADOS 

É ALGO DE FACTO COM FUTURO

UM MERCADO SECUNDÁRIO

DE DROGAS E PLACEBOS 

PRINCIPALMENTE EM PAÍSES 

COM ALTA INFLAÇÃO E UM ESCUDO 

DESLIZANTE 

NO FUNDO NUM MUNDO COM 7 MIL 

MILHÕES OU MESMO 6 MIL MILHÕES 

E PICOS ACHO QUE ESSES CONSUMOS 

MARGINAIS DURANTE SÉCULOS

VIERAM PARA FICAR E ESTENDEREM-SE

 A FRANJAS SIGNIFICATIVAS

 DA POPULAÇÃO OS ANOS 60 E OS 70 

SÃO APENAS A PONTA DO ICEBERG

DE RESTO NUM PAÍS QUE SE ENFRASCOU

COM VINHO DURANTE SÉCULOS 

A DIFERENÇA NEM SE VAI NOTAR 

O FACTO DO WHISKY E DO GIN E DO ...

SER EM MOEDA FORTE 

TEM RETARDADO EM PORTUGAL 

O CONSUMO DE BEBIDAS ALCOÓLATRAS

DE GRANDE GRAU ....A PRODUÇÃO 

NACIONAL DE AGUARDENTE E VINHOS 

LICOROSOS É OU PARA EXPORTAÇÃO

OU PARA ADICIONAR AO PORT WINE 

DAÍ ALCOÓLICOS ACIMA DOS 13º SEREM 

RAROS .....HOUVE O CIGANO QUE AOS 12

OU 13 ANOS PULOU A CERCA DA ESCOLA 

COM UMA GARRAFA DE WHISKY NUMA 

MÃO E UMA FACA NA OUTRA 

E ISSO FEZ-ME PENSAR QUE NUM PAÍS 

ONDE O STATUS RESIDE NO ÁLCOOL 

E EM COUSAS DE IMPORTAÇÃO

COM CEE OU SEM ELA ESTAMOS FODIDOS 

A CURTO OU A LONGO PRAZO LOGO 

SE VERÁ .....A FILEIRA INDUSTRIAL

ATRASADA TEM DECAÍDO DESDE 1981 

AS FÁBRICAS EM RUÍNAS E AS LOJAS

FECHADAS TÊM AUMENTADO NESTES

ANOS ....E PROVAVELMENTE É ALGO 

QUE SE AGRAVARÁ NO FUTURO

(DA FALTA DE JEITO PARA SER O PRÓXIMO

BANDARRA....SALES DE COCAÍNA 

CLORHIDRATO SAL EXTERIOR 5%

AL INTERIOR 1 A 5 CENTIGRAMOS 

CITRATO APLICADO ENTRE ALGODONES 

EN LA CAVIDAD DE LOS DIENTES 

ÁCIDO SALICÍLICO Y COCA

NOS TROÇOS DOS CARREIROS COM DESTROÇOS HÁ BERREIROS NOS HOMENS QUASE INTEIROS E MORTOS MOÇOS EM CAMPOS DE TREMOÇOS ATRAVESSADOS POR CARREIROS DE DESTROÇOS ATRAVANCADOS

Nos passos moços de curtos espaços em esboços

E NOS CARREIROS ELEITORAIS

OS CARNEIROS E SÁ CARNEIROS

DE OLHAR FECHADO OBSTINADO

SEMI-ESGAZEADO

MAU E SERVIL E SIMULTANEAMENTE

HUMILHADO

E DEMENTE

EXALA UM CHEIRO GORDO

E ÁCIDO A SUOR

UM CHEIRO COM QUE CONCORDO

QUANDO ACORDO

PROLETÁRIO OU SENHOR

NO MELHOR DOS MUNDOS OU NO PIOR

E AGORA SE FAZ FAVOR

IDE LEVAR NAS PREGAS

DO VIEGAS

não sejais piegas secai todas as adegas

em ondas vagas com adagas....somos todos char lie in american pie

Birt af OS CARNEIROS LOUCEIROS NOS CARREIROS EM BERREIROS CHEGARAM POR VIAS FALSAS AOS TERREIROS DOS PAÇOS ONDE VAGOS PASSOS LAMPEIROS PERCORRIAM AS RELVAS D'ELVAS

Un souffle ébranle sa couronne ; Une mouche nous troublait tous. Ne craignons plus qu'elle bourdonne , Qu'elle bourdonne autour de nous. LA COMÈTE DE 1832". Air : A soixante ans il ne faut pas remettre. Dieu contre nous envoie une comète; A ce grand choc nous n'échapperons pas. Je sens déjà crouler notre planète ; L'Observatoire y perdra ses compas, {bis.) Avec la table adieu tous les convives ! Pour peu de gens le banquet fut joyeux, [bis.) Vite à confesse allez, âmes craintives. bis. Finissons-en : le monde est assez vieux , ) Le monde est assez vieux, {bis,) Oui, pauvre globe égaré dans l'espace, Embrouille en6n tes nuits avec tes jours, Et, cerf- volant dont la ficelle casse. Tourne en tombant, tourne et tombe toujours. Va, franchissant des routes qu'on ignore. Contre un soleil te briser dans les cieux. Tu l'éteindrais ; que de soleils encore ! Finissons-en : le monde est assez vieux , Le monde est assez vieux.LE TOMBEAU DE MANUEL. Air : Te souviens-tu? etc. Tout est fini ; la foule se disperse ; A son cercueil un peuple a dit adieu , Et Tamitié des larmes qu'elle verse Ne fera plus confidence qu'à Dieu. J'entends sur lui la terre qui retombe. Hélas! Français, vous l'allez oublier. A vos enfants, pour indiquer sa tombe, Prêtez secours au pauvre chansonnier. Je quête ici pour honorer les restes D'un citoyen votre plus ferme appui. J'eus le secret de ses vertus modestes : Bras, tête et cœur, tout était peuple en lui. L'humble tombeau qui sied à sa dépouille Est par nous tous un tribut à payer. Près de sa fosse un ami s'agenouille : Prêtez secours au pauvre chansonnier. Mon cœur lui doit ces soins pieux et tendres. Voilà douze ans qu'en des jours désastreux , Sur les débris de la patrie en cendres, Nous nous étions rencontrés tous les deux.

N'est-on pas las d'ambitions vulgaires, 
De sots parés de pompeux sobriquets, 
D'abus, d'erreurs, de rapines, de guerres, 
De laquais-rois, de peuples de laquais? 
N'est-on pas las de tous nos dieux de plâtre ; 
Vers l'avenir las de tourner les yeux? 
Ah! c'en est trop pour si petit théâtre. 
Finissons^n : le monde est assez vieux , 
Le monde est assez vieux. 

Les jeunes gens me disent : Tout chemine ; 
A petit bruit chacun lime ses fers ; 
La presse éclaire , et le gaz illumine , 
Et la vapeur vole aplanir les mers. 
Vingt ans au plus , bon homme , attends encore ; 
L'œuf éclôra sous un rayon des cieux. 
Trente ans, amis, j'ai cru le voir éclore. 
Finissons-en : le monde est assez vieux , 
Le monde est assez vieux. 

por Moita de Deus, 30.03.15

Bien autrement je parlais quand la vie 
Gonflait mon cœur et de joie et d'amour. 
Terre, disais-je, ah! jamais ne dévie 
Du cercle heureux où Dieu sema le jour, (bis.) 
Mais je vieillis , la beauté me rejette ; 
Ma voix s'éteint; plus de concerts joyeux, (ftts.) 
Arrive donc, implacable comète. 1 

Finissons-en : le monde est assez vieux. 
Le monde est assez vieux, {bis.) 

Il Mercante Armeno (1741) The Armenian Merchant (1741) D'Armenia vegnira e stara mercanta, de gioia tegnira in quantità tanta e de China porcelana: chi voler comprar? Bela puta veneziana piaxer tanto, che, per diana, se ela mi amar tuto quanto mi donar. There was once a merchant who came from Armenia. He had such a great quantity of jewelry and porcelain from China. Who wants to buy? The beautiful Venetian girl pleases me so much that, by Diana, if she loves me, I will give her whatever she wants. Diamanta e rubina, smeralda e topaza, diaspra e turchina e piera paonazza, con perla oriantala, ambra nigra e anca zala, chi voler comprar? Bela puta veneziana piaxer tanto, che, per diana, se ela mi amar tuto quanto mi donar. Diamonds and rubies, emeralds and topaz, jasper, and deep blue and violet stones, with oriental pearls, black amber -- and salt too. Who wants to buy? The beautiful Venetian girl pleases me so much that, by Diana, if she loves me, I will give her whatever she wants. Safilla e granata coralla e amatista con ochia de gata che fa bèla vista; e aver tela fina, bona e bela bombasina; chi voler comprar? Bela puta veneziana piaxer tanto, che, per diana, se ela mi amar tuto quanto mi donar. Sapphire and garnet, coral and amethyst, with cats' eyes which look beautiful. I have also fine linen, and good and beautiful silk. Who wants to buy? The beautiful Venetian girl pleases me so much that, by Diana, if she loves me, I will give her whatever she wants. Carboncia preziosa, brilanta pagiesca, cristala vistosa e pitra grotesca: persiana fazzoleta, cana, pipa, camineta. Chi voler comprar? Bela puta veneziana piaxer tanto, che, per diana, se ela mi amar tuto quanto mi donar. Pretty carbuncles, straw-colored diamonds, gaudy crystal and extravagant paintings, Persian kerchiefs, canes [for smoking hashish], pipes and hookahs. Who wants to buy? The beautiful Venetian girl pleases me so much that, by Diana, if she loves me, I will give her whatever she wants. Insoma mi avera de gioia ogni sorte; parlara sinçera, vegnir a le corte; per poco dar via tuta la mia mercanzia. Chi voler comprar? Bela puta veneziana piaxer tanto, che, per diana, se ela mi amar tuto quanto mi donar. To sum up, I have every kind of jewelry. I tell you sincerely, I go to the courts. I will give you all my merchandise for very little! The beautiful Venetian girl pleases me so much that, by Diana, if she loves me, I will give her whatever she wants. Un Turco Inamorà A Turk in Love Per mi aver Catina amor, mi voleri maridar, star contento in sena el cuor, tic e toc sentiri far; tarapatà ta ta ta d'alegrezza cuor mi fa; tarapatà ta ta ta oh mi quanto inamorà! Katie is in love with me! She wants to marry me! I am happy, deep in my heart (or: my heart is happy in my breast); I feel it making tic and toc. Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! My heart jumps with merriment. Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! Oh, how deeply I'm in love! A sposeta aver comprà perla, zogia che lusér; dar cechina quantità, tanto, cara, mi piaxer; tarapatà ta ta ta d'alegrezza cuor mi fa; tarapatà ta ta ta oh mi quanto inamorà! A bride I have purchased; pearls, gems that shine; I gave many sequins, so much I like you, dear; Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! My heart jumps with merriment. Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! Oh, how deeply I'm in love! A italiana mi marciar, de papuzza far scapin, barba zuffia mi tagiar, vestir tuto paregin; tarapatà ta ta ta d'alegrezza cuor mi fa; tarapatà ta ta ta oh mi quanto inamorà! I am departing to Italy [lit: Italian], to make babooshes into slippers. I shall cut my beard and locks, all Parisian I shall dress! Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! My heart jumps with merriment. Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! Oh, how deeply I'm in love! Mi mercanta venezian mio negozio stabilir, e per zorno de dar man gran palazza mi fornir; tarapatà ta ta ta d'alegrezza cuor mi fa; tarapatà ta ta ta oh mi quanto inamorà! I shall establish my business with Venetian merchants, and some day, through their help, I will get a great palace. Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! My heart jumps with merriment. Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! Oh, how deeply I'm in love! Andrinopola mai più non andar a veder mi, e se andar, vardar in su, sia impalà da Muffeti; tarapatà ta ta ta d'alegrezza cuor mi fa; tarapatà ta ta ta oh mi quanto inamorà! Adrianople (Edirne) never again shall I see; and if I go, do heed me – may I be impaled by the Mufti! Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! My heart jumps with merriment. Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! Oh, how deeply I'm in love! Far fortuna de mio aver, lassar scrigna in libertà far de mi quel che voler pur che aver de mi pietà; tarapatà ta ta ta d'alegrezza cuor mi fa; tarapatà ta ta ta oh mi quanto inamorà! Make a fortune from what I have; let my coffer go free; do what you want with me, provided only you pity me! Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! My heart jumps with merriment. Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! Oh, how deeply I'm in love! Donca, Cate, cossa dir? mi prometter de sposar, presto mi voler morir, sola ti voler amar; tarapatà ta ta ta d'alegrezza cuor mi fa; tarapatà ta ta ta oh mi quanto inamorà! So, Kate, what do you say? Promise you will marry me! Soon would I die, for you alone will I love. Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! My heart jumps with merriment. Tarapata, ta-ta-ta! Oh, how deeply I'm in love! Ti dar segno de to amor, far mi alegro, caro ben; mi ascoltari far el cuor tich e toch in mezo al sen. Tarapatà ta ta ta d'alegrezza cuor mi fa; tarapatà ta ta ta oh mi quanto inamorà!

ambra nigra e anca zala,
chi voler comprar?
Bela puta veneziana
piaxer tanto, che, per diana,
se ela mi amar
tuto quanto mi donar.

 D'Armenia vegnira
e stara mercanta,
de gioia tegnira
in quantità tanta
e de China porcelana:
chi voler comprar?
Bela puta veneziana
piaxer tanto, che,
 per diana,
se ela mi amar
tuto quanto mi donar.

To groves where stiliness sat supreme, Flee seers in quest of lagging rest: To regions where giant echos roar, Haste begotten sons in this lair: There man-born wrecks lie down and dream Of sea-winds that foam-billows bless'd, Of auric realms where censers pour Violaceous fumes thro' the air. And in the deep-hued depths of gore, (Blind bowels in Betelguese's hold) Gyte vandals that a Dragon bore Sleep with one eye as Midnight rules These sons of Circe whom pyres adore; Their thoughts vie with the luring fold, Each sleepless orb glares like a boar— Infernal hounds of shambling ghouls! Porphyry mounts where crystals glare— Twin carcants strung on idols' thighs Whereon stones, blaze like fire bright, And moonstones add their silver sheen, A Circean draught, boiled in the air, Is poured on cippus where Set lies; Where vanquished Soldans sleep each night, A greenish fungus-torch doth gleam. Giant battles have been fought in hell, Principalities rot in dust, The tombs of kings speak of the past When Incubi reigned with a rod. Unnumberéd bones adorn each dell— Where Rulers lie there stands a bust; Blood-stainéd the hands of him whose task Is blasting varlets like a god. And when some spirit stalks thro' space In quest of vaults—Temporal lees! Treads in the grandeur of dank hell, A batter'd shape that shakes its frame, Spacious regions Courage chase, Winds drive it to Misery's seas, Laughs ascend from sequesteréd well, Thro' shadows vague it hears its shame. And tomb-thrown groans and sighs we hear— Tho' midnight's near and afrite's sleep: An Owl, perturbéd at some strange sound, Scares bats in space and wings for domes. All signs of woe hath flown with fear, No maidens heave their breasts and weep, All wrecks of Flesh lie on the ground, Removed from shoals where Terror moans. On skulls that some in Death hath left, Croak toads to lizards in a well; In cajons that the Ancient's digged, Swim snakes that hiss at burning oils: And bats and owls that offal cleft, Proclaim their burdens to a dell, Whilst crafts that some strange witch hath rigged, Bring slaves unto this Cesspool's coils. When carcants gleam like scarlet foam, And hiss of pyres froth at each light In dongas vext as jazels flare From splinter'd tombs of Kings in dust, A straggling mist that cleft Hell's dome, Peers at the gloom and strobic sight Of charnel shard as vypers blare Wrathfully at each Monarch's bust. And doleful dirges rake the gloom, A whisper'd sin sobs at the wrecks; Graven imps clasp papyrus old And rant each Body's deeds of shame. Come from a dank and sunken womb All stranded ghouls on keels and decks Where Cyclops fought as Vellum told In cyphers bright, sprung from each flame, Make hideous eyes at the night. And terrors that Tartarus bred Assail each kingdom treblefold: A gangrel clan that someone flayed, Skirr thro' the dungeoned halls in flight And seek the caverns of the dead. Where tapers gleam like virgin gold The tombs of dead queens are arrayed: There, too, a witch unfurls her cowl And scans the shambling hordes to curse, And with the light that cyclones split, She juggles secrets of her lust, And hurls her voice at Néphele's owl, Past portals dark, where harlots nurse Their skinless limbs that Torture bit, And stamps her feet into the dust As, into olpes she pours a tear: And, musing at the clouds of gloom, She wrinkles face and lifts her hands To mutter words unto the night. Whereon a ghoul-king hath writ Fear, And changes gloom to purple bloom, The shoals to opal-sanded strands That reach, past wrecks to crystal light, Where mossy vales with poppies bloom, And hastes her flight from Terror's urn, To onyx seas where agates glow, And feats her eyes on woes of hell, Upon the foam-dreams of king Doom, Where monsters in red cauldrons burn, 'Mid shrieks that from their vitals flow With airs that rasp each bone-strewn dell. And sea-linkt skies of charnel black— A savage dome! streaked scarlet red, Where maids for demon lovers mourn; And caskets spew a dusky foam That quench the thirst of yon lone wrack That holds the sultry, naked dead, Who caught the eyes of waves forlorn, Now bathed in blood in Hecate's home. There garnet wrought and purple lights Shine thro' poisoned vials of age On churning pomps of casements old, Where, when lofty aisles and halls Ring rich with tenor runes in nights Made solemn by a hoary sage With darkling eyes that gleam like gold, A prowling vandal storms the walls, Nursed with dank venom broths and oils. A blood-shot minx hunts for a man; In stys and broken pyxs she peers For him who ruined her honour, soul; A harlot doomed in clinging coils That now her longings curse and damn, Squats on a skull and pulls her ears: Or, just when she finds her life-goal,— A cow'ring cur hid from the sight Beneath a putrid mount of bone, And tombs grow dank as rising sun Makes red each dragon in the West, She splits his heart and rasps with might, A curse that rides the surging foam, A message that this dastard son Dies longing for a fatal quest— Surcease of soul and conscience lost! Then rants she sins unto each tomb That sweat the lusts of those in dust, And scarlet foam and hiss of oils That her black deed to domes hath tossed, Break into writhing life and bloom As iron crowns and ceptres rust Of fall'n monarchs crossed in coils. Anear, two carcants glare like gold; Afar, a ruby's light of red Straggles thro' the pellicléd mist, And to its vinewed dell haste I, To catch the fleeting whispers told To marble-lamps and head-stones, said, By demon-husbands as I list, To hold each mongrel harlot's sigh. There, then, in tatter'd rags and hair, Coarse-grained of features once so fine, She spews her evil wrath and rage Into the wriggling hands and face Of him who lifts his voice to swear A curse that stirs the air, whose time (Tho' to king Satan speeds a page) Hath come as Vengeance wins the race. When crimson skies and stellor eyes Swathed palace domes and turrets strong, Her lips kiss'd mine, and mine did hers, Ere evil smote her virgin soul. And livid lights of bleeding dyes (Whenas she prods him with her prong) Make terrible her words so terse That brands this scoundrel on this shoal. And mutt'ring quick a ghastly oath As turgid mists veil shadows vague, She plucks his lying tongue that stole Her husband's love and honour old, And smites him stark and cold, tho' loath, It peers to me her demon-ague That binds her to this perjured soul, She drinks his gore from carvels cold And leers with fiendish lips at him, Now tossed in phosphorescent holes. And as I list to aspen cries, Veiled augueries in vapours hie And spell these tokens to each Inn: Kingdoms, empires, nations, souls, Shall miss the haunts of Paradise, And in Subjection, crumbling, lie. And when the regions, wrapped in light By pillared dreams and pomps supreme As curses stir the charnel air That hide dank caverns deep and bold, A battling monster smites the night As lepers wink their orbs and dream Of maidens that the men forswear, Of templed vaults now stiff in cold. And when a dim, unholy tomb, Wreathes odours damp and vapours strong— Heirs of the Doomed! as savage domes Drip palsied sweat and carnal howls Assail the stationed halls of gloom, Where imps and devils march along Beside a monarch's crumbling bones As witches don their filthy cowls And rant their sins thro' whistling halls, Shake women fists at fleeing souls And wail for bâtard children dead; Whilst quickly from the burning dust Ascends an oath that storms the walls And rasps the distant mounts and shoals Until each pyre glows scarlet red, Each idol leers with wicked lust. Forth from rubies flare scented fumes As beacons glare and bubbles hiss To crimson strands and altars' glow Of burning oils in carvels deep, Where; when Torture's bloody dome looms Cold as shambling shapes of men kiss Trembling women before the show, Wraiths point to where their daughters weep.

To lie in vaults and chambers cold
'Mid tombs that ghouls in hatred wrought!
To sleep in dank Subjection's shard
'Mid hanuts of purple sins and shales
A Thirst gyre! as bleak, untold,
As ever haunted woman sought
For incubi on scented sward
As bleary owls and vulpine wails
Rake stationed nights and seas forlorn,
Until, when star-linkt domes are red,
And Oceans' shells and sands grow white,
Dusky isles and lights—Twins of the Gloom!
Betray each soul cursed and forsworn;
Or awed, at Twilights' scarlet bed,
When nightshades blot the conjured light
As javels vomit death and doom,
Dank vapours veil the seaward flight
Of Satellites gray 'gainst the night,
Till, eyes in fear peer at profounds
Unfathomed and, in vales unsunned,
See Cyclops battling in the light,
'Mid scarlet foam and gorey sight
Of bloody domes and hybrid hounds
Of Titan's forges, cold, unstunned.
Oh, vain each sinner's prayer of hope!
Alas, alas, all thoughts of future trust!
The bloody lanes of reigning Doom
Are lasting tombs for souls accurst.
When in a pool we lie and mope
As vaulted temples rot in dust,
Vague shapes and forms ascend to spell
Infernal chasms of black gloom.
When crested waves of billowed sea
Are lashed by winds from foreign shoal,
And foam-set breasts are dashed on high
As silence holds the voiceless air,
Unsavoury dreams haunt each lee—
The maw of Hell receives a soul!
A leering fiend blinks at the sky.

Beyond the realm of rulling Care,
Caressed by suns and moons most fair,
We fain would hye, all wrecks, and lie
In dusky forests dells and vales;
Beyond the Asian skies of blue,
Where sports an elf, mayhap a hare,
We fain would haste, each soul, and die,
Unfurl all dreams and pinioned sails,
And sleep unmourned in haunts we knew,
Now wracks and domes stare at each soul,
Giant goddards leak a rubic foam;
Blind forges hold Contagion's breath;
A Morgan longs for earthly home.
,Tis so with hell's eternal shoal
Where skinks eat flesh from wenches' bone;
Tis thus with us purloined by Death,
Infernal doom that spells a moan.
Ten thousand years was Doom crown'd King;
Sporadic prayers each gnarl'd one lisped;
Despotic sway all subjects curs'd
When Hell was new and Earth unborn:
Now souls of man in torture sing,
Each Idol's glyph by damn'd one's kiss'd,
Who then shall say who is the worst,
A vyper's brood or man forsworn?

Rapine, The spawn of ancient Wrong, With all the hosts of slaughter That our own sins must breed- Cold Hate, Oppression's daughter, And Rage, the child of Greed. Then, though we stand to battle As men have ever stood, Down, down shall crash our temples, The Evil and the Good; Yea, all that now we cherish Must pass--but not in vain. The gods we love shall perish; The sons of the gods shall reign! So, strong in faith, or weak in doubt, Or berserk-mad, we range Our spears in that long battle Which means not Death, but Change.

Ragnarok {The Twilight OF The Gods}

HO! Heimdal sounds the Gjallar-horn:
The hosts of Hel rush forth
And Fenris rages redly
From his shackles in the North
Unleashed is Garm, and Lok is loosed,
And freed is Giant Rime;
The Rainbow-bridge is broken
By the hordes of Muspelheim.
The wild Valkyries ride the wind
With spear and clanging shield
Where all the Hates embattled
Are met on Vigrid-field;
For there shall fall the Mighty Ones
By valiant men adored--
Great Odin, Tyr the fearless,
And Frey that sold his sword. .
And Thor shall slay the dragon
Whose breath shall be his bane.
The gods themselves shall perish:
The sons of the gods shall reign!

Old Time shall sound the boding horn
Again and yet again, rouse the warring passions
That swell the hearts of men.
Revolt shall wake, and Anarchy,
With all their horrid throng--
Revenge, Destruction Rapine,
The spawn of ancient Wrong,
With all the hosts of slaughter
That our own sins must breed-
Cold Hate, Oppression's daughter,
And Rage, the child of Greed.
Then, though we stand to battle
As men have ever stood,
Down, down shall crash our temples,
The Evil and the Good;
Yea, all that now we cherish
Must pass--but not in vain.
The gods we love shall perish;
The sons of the gods shall reign!

So, strong in faith, or weak in doubt,
Or berserk-mad, we range
Our spears in that long battle
Which means not Death, but Change.
Our highest with our lowest
Must own the grim behest,
And Good shall yield for Better--
Else how should come the Best?
Yet if we win our portion
How dare we crave the whole?
And if we still press forward,
Why need we know the goal?
But those whose hearts are constant
And those whose souls are wise
Have said that from our ashes .
A nobler race shall rise
From shreds of shattered altars
To rear the Perfect Fane.
Our little gods must perish
That God I himself shall reign!