Compendium of Kaldorei Songs and Poems

A Beast Called War

SHAELYSSA

Look at the great mangy beast
As he rears his ugly horned head
Laying waiting for him to be fed
His ruby platter of a misery-cooked feast.

Hear his tormented grating roar
That shreds through the emerald haven
As he lays there with his blood glazed grin
And tramples through what he has tore.

What is he but a means to an end
Of all things beautiful, pious and pure.
He is a cancerous disease with no cure
That sends our children to the heavens they ascend.
He is a beast called War,
And he is always, always hungering for more.

Stars

EMILY BRONTE

Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored our Earth to joy,
Have you departed, every one,
And left a desert sky?

All through the night, your glorious eyes
Were gazing down in mine,
And, with a full heart's thankful sighs,
I blessed that watch divine.

I was at peace, and drank your beams
As they were life to me;
And revelled in my changeful dreams,
Like petrel on the sea.

Thought followed thought, star followed star,
Through boundless regions, on;
While one sweet influence, near and far,
Thrilled through, and proved us one!

Why did the morning dawn to break
So great, so pure, a spell;
And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek,
Where your cool radiance fell?

Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight,
His fierce beams struck my brow;
The soul of nature sprang, elate,
But mine sank sad and low!

My lids closed down, yet through their veil
I saw him, blazing, still,
And steep in gold the misty dale,
And flash upon the hill.

I turned me to the pillow, then,
To call back night, and see
Your worlds of solemn light, again,
Throb with my heart, and me!

It would not do--the pillow glowed,
And glowed both roof and floor;
And birds sang loudly in the wood,
And fresh winds shook the door;

The curtains waved, the wakened flies
Were murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise,
And give them leave to roam.

Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night;
Oh, night and stars, return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn;

That drains the blood of suffering men;
Drinks tears, instead of dew;
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only wake with you!

Ode to a Nightingale

JOHN KEATS

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the draids
One minute past, and Lethe-wards ad sunk:
'Tis not through envy of the happy lot,
But being too happy in thy happiness, ---
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O for a draugt of vintage, that hath been
Cooled a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provencal song, and sun-burnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseed,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves has never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs.
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyes despairs;
Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new love pine at them beyond tomorrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Through the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Clustered around by all her starry fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast-fading violets covered up in the leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and for many a time
I have been half in love with easful Death,
Called him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou are pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
To thy high requiem become a sod

Thou was not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generation tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:---do I wake or sleep?

Endymion

JOHN KEATS

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon

For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot seaons; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast;
They always must be with us, or we die.

Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.

Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daises, vermeil rimm'd and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about gloves of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finish'd: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end.
And now, at once adventuresome, I send
My herald thought in a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.

Remorse

SHAELYSSA

I have slept undisturbed through many a long century
And as I now awake from my once eternal slumber
I find myself unable to restrain this ever-growing fury
That has risen from the scattered wreckage of spoilt lumber.

What horrors have been unleashed upon our lands!
They have swept through our once tranquil forests
As terror seeps into our now blood-soaked sands.
Can you not hear the heart-wrenching chorus?

Look, listen – feel the agonising pain within the earth;
The trees groan with aching hurt – the laughter of the streams
Has finally dulled into a sombre and morbid rebirth
Of all that had been lamented in Her warm and comforting beams.

Rise up my brothers; rise up my sisters!
And tame the unrelenting storm
Of past hurt and past blisters,
Of past regrets that have been reborn
In the thorny thicket that we will forever mourn.

The City in the Sea

EDGAR ALLEN POE

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim [East],
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.

No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently —
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free —
Up domes — up spires — up kingly halls —
Up fanes — up Nordrassil-like walls —
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers —
Up many and many a marvelous shrine
Whose wreathéd friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in the air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.

Their open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol's diamond eye —
Not the gaily-jeweled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass —
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea —
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.

But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave — there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide —
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow —
The hours are breathing faint and low —
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence.

Bright Star

JOHN KEATS

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priest-like task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake forever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

The Birch-Tree

SERGEI ESENIN

Just below my window
Stands a birch-tree white,
Under snow in winter
Gleaming silver bright.

On the fluffy branches
Sparkling in a row
Dangle pretty tassels
Of the purest snow.

There the birch in silence
Slumbers all day long
And the snow gleams brightly
In the golden sun.

And the dawn demurely
Going on its rounds
With a silver mantle
Decks again the boughs.

Indifference

SHAELYSSA

Be you blind not to see
The taint upon the snow-crowned tree?
The moon lies fair
But the trees are bare,
With the stars dying like a closing flower
As she looks down from her alabaster tower.

Lament of the Past

SHAELYSSA

Far above in the bright night sky,
Lays all of which has passed us by:
Countless struggles and countless wars
In an endless sea of terrible stars.

Far below in the deep strong earth,
Lays all of which has given birth to hurt:
Countless graves and countless aches
In an unforgiving storm that never forsakes.

Upon the ground that we plough,
Grows the tree of fruitful bough,
That bears a sour, sour fruit
Of all the flowers that have gone mute
Beneath the fiery morning sun
- that does not warm, but burn.

Composed in the Temple

SHAELYSSA

I looked over the moonlit mead,
So white, so beautiful, pure -
And saw all of which had been freed:
A crippling addiction with no cure
And a long forgotten taint, once weak
But now laying waste to all it can reach.
But still I see the silver pail,
Knowing well it will not fail
During all the dire times
In which I tell these ill-begotten rhymes.

To the White Lady

SHAELYSSA

O blessed creator of the starry height:
Your children’s everlasting light,
Elune, mother to us all,
Hear your servants’ desperate call!

You, sorrowing at the helpless cry
Of all creation doomed to die,
Yet still you come to save our fallen race,
With healing gifts of heavenly grace.

At your great name, much blessed now,
All knees in great awe do bow;
All things above and earth adore,
And admire You forevermore.

To Elune most beautiful and divine,
Grant us your blessing upon this silverline,
And cast out those who desecrate our sacred lands
With their hordes of hellish war bands!

The Eventide

SHAELYSSA

Open your hearts to the star-strewn skies,
In bathed moonlight, bestowed to our eyes;
To Elune most blessed, most loved, the Ancient of Nights,
Most beautiful, most heavenly, the greatest of sights.

Deliver us from the day, your children: the children of the stars,
Grant us strength, the power to mend our faultless scars;
To all life She gives, to both great and small;
In all life She lives, the true life of all.

Unresting, unhasting, and pure as light,
Nor wanting, nor wasting, She rules in might;
Her justice like mountains soaring high above,
Her clouds which are fountains of goodness and love.

We blossom and flourish as leaves on a tree,
And wither and vanish, but not changes thee;
O Elune! most blessed, most cherished,
Accept our love and praise from we who have not perished!

The Dwindling Light

SHAELYSSA

Cast out your voices in eternal song,
Send forth your spirits from this thorny throng,
And drink from the moon-touched beams,
That flow high above from the starry streams.

To Elune and her most blessed light,
To the Ancients of sovereign might;
As now the fiery sun departs,
Shed your sacred beams within our hearts!

Fear not the turbid ebb and flow,
But await the love she does bestow,
To all her children gone to rest,
On her warm and motherly breast.

Shield us now from this fiercest blaze,
And to you we give everlasting praise,
Of all your bountinous joy and love,
That descend from high above.

Beauty Obsessed

SHAELYSSA

Many, many moons ago,
When the stars were still aglow,
There lived a great and beautiful elf,
Pure and loving as Elune herself.

She sang of wonder and her love,
From her throne far, far above;
She spoke of her newfound power
And vanished like a dying flower.

And thus we cried in despair,
Begged Elune to hear our prayer;
O please, end this terrible dream,
Where is she, our beloved queen!
(Yet was this horror not forseen?)

The Dusking Hour

SHAELYSSA

Hail the night that sees her rise,
To her throne above the skies,
Moonlight, the blessing of her children given,
As she enters now the highest heaven!

See, she lifts her hands above,
See, she sheds her beams of love;
Listen, her gracious lips bestow,
Blessings to her children below.

O Elune, your love in ages past,
Your shelter from the stormy blast,
Were sweet blessings for years to come,
Beneath the stars and their heavenly hum.

When our world was near its dusking hour,
You came to us with your wondrous power,
And saved us from our terrible plight,
With your rays of sacred light!

Though you have parted from our sight,
Far above in the starry height,
Bless our hearts so that they may rise,
Seeking you above the skies!

Peacefully Lying

SHAELYSSA

O blessed maker of the heavens,
Grant us solace from our ancient sins,
Erase the blunders of ages past,
And soften the thunders of the stormy blast.

We sing to you with cheerful tune,
Transcending our love to the great Mother Moon,
And seeking the keeper’s blessed boon,
For the hardship that is to come soon.

Gracious are her starlit eyes,
Which gaze upon us from the skies,
With the motherly care and love,
That she does bestow from far above.

Guard us waking, guard us sleeping,
And may we be in your mighty keeping;
When the night comes for us to die,
Let us all in the skies peacefully lie.

The day you gave, Elune, has ended,
To you the evening hymns ascended,
And as the darkness falls at your behest,
Your light shall sanctify our eternal rest.

Glory to Elune

SHAELYSSA

Glory to you, Elune, upon this night,
For all the blessings of the light;
Keep us under your watchful eye,
And to the heavens our souls will cry.

Teach me to live, so that I may dread,
The grave as little as my leafy bed;
Teach me to die, so that I might
Rise glorious to this most blessed night.

O may my soul on you repose,
And may sweet sleep upon my eyelids close;
And once the sleep fades from my eyes,
My heart shall rise to you above the skies.

When in the day I sleepless lie,
My soul with heavenly thoughts supply;
Let no ill dreams disturb my rest,
No powers of darkness to me molest.

Praise Elune, from whom all blessings flow,
Praise her, all creatures here below,
Praise her above, o heavenly moon,
Praise mother, warrior, and great Elune!

Stormy Passage

HARNA

Through pass and veil
- and winter's snow
Through Mountains crying sorrow,
We seek the path to lead us Home
at ever facing morrow.

The dusk is grave, we cannot go
without the reassurance,
That Elune is here with all her glow
in dark time does Appearance.

Elune we seek, when trust forfeits
for She is our Shelter,
Through hope and fear and darkest nights,
with Her we shall not falter.

Her Word

SHAELYSSA

With your kind word, our lives began,
With your hand, started the heavenly plan,
And your glorious light was then seen,
Amidst all of your beauty serene.

Praise and love our dying race,
With the abundance of your grace,
Keep far our foes, give peace at home,
Where you dwell and no ills can roam.

Your light fills the eternal heaven,
And shines upon your children riven,
Turned asunder by wicked love betrayed,
Cursed, mocked and in watery robes arrayed.

Cast out with your motherly light,
The dullness of our hindered sight;
The white face that ascends above,
Is comfort, life and peace of love.

Cherish and love she who does not forsake,
Cherish and love the peace she does awake,
And through her the forests’ songs are said,
The last whispers of our starry dead.

The Sky With Open Volume Stands

SHAELYSSA

The sky with open volume stands,
To spread its mistress’ light away,
To shed her love with heaven’s hands,
And set our hearts out to eternal pray.

Open wide the gates of your heart,
Make it a temple to set apart,
From earthly use, for heaven’s employ,
Adorned with prayer, love and joy.

With great love we meditate the grace,
Of that beautiful, white and heavenly face;
Her heart is made of life and light,
That shines through this darkest night.

In great awe, we fall to our knees,
In great love, we seek to please;
Let us bathe in your motherly love,
And send praise to you far above.

I would forever speak her name,
And sing of the love she set aflame,
In sounds to mortal ears unknown,
With worship at her alabaster throne.

Yet what tongue in heaven’s employ,
Can speak the songs of her bounteous joy?
For she is great, she is mother, she is moon,
She is beautiful, white and mighty Elune.