Of God and of the instruments of his will, I sing,
With celestial influence and passion from the deep,
A man, no less, myself, an organ of the Lord of Hosts,
Spurred on by the applause of fate and by the music,
Which ever intones the curves of the earth,
And enchants the feet of those proud wanderers
Whose legs provide the measure of its soil.
I sing, then, by divine decree, not as a self,
But simply as a poet, supplied with an ephemeral voice,
As I descend into the hearth of Erebos,
And crawl into the decaying pages of history,
Which once opened the manifest Book of Life.
That by resurrecting the story of another,
I may, for a moment, experience the suspension of my own,
And unite what was with what is yet to be.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Some Epic Introduction
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