Thursday, February 12, 2015

Cantos 23 - Childe Harold

0

O, I know that is a vocative case,
Seldom us'd any more, except in jest,
an even that but rarely, surly, and quaint.
And who but Byron is the object of it?
As if any other name would smell as sweet.
And who but Byron could make use if it?

Canto First

1

O thou in Hellas, noble be thy name,
Muse unformed, of steady gait, and wash'd,
with bitter lavend'r and fresh behind the sense off it
with no rhyme or reason to its course,
tell me of what you will, for I will listen,
Though I may inject if fortune allows.

2

Whilone and who ne in wirtue way did grow
and even the spellcheock could not make heads
nor even tail of its, so dense was its jib.
Who was to know why it was, so long as it was?
More we could say, people  it touches all sideways,
a slideways slideblow slideways slidewards.

3

Childe Harold was he hight; - note the mispronce,
It was a snip and and a snot, way way way.
Who know surpise was coming, except 
Except, there was some about
it that means something wonderful.
Some thing wonderful indeed.

4

It is Childe Harold first needed a horse,
Not just to move his limbs, too and fro,
In The original it was to Childe Harold's
 because that's the way Byron wrote it
 but I really can't stand this disaffection
 any more,  in grades my nerves so much.

5

 hushed is the game of time -  he makes them up as he goes along
 the ere  it seemed that every kin of his
 had some blemish that is not over looked
 and explained why every time that the author knows,
 because he does not want to feel ignorant or loss,
 rather that he seems exorbitant in his way of the.

6

 child Harold a little distance still
 that was really in the home on Blanche
 not from hated harmless mirth,  though that could be reviewed,
 it was the way the poet spoke and writte his words
 and who am I to blame myself for the way the poet wrote,
 and packed his words with everyth'ng  that looks
 amiss to you and me,  and every one who finds it hard.

1

 now to make the spirit pause
 and right quickly and cleanly
 for in forfolld  letters with which I write
 there gets a mood that I cannot break.

2

 and if I capture anything right,
 it will be that childe Harold
 says good night to all
 and then some,  on the horse he leads.

3

 a page is loved blank.

 Canto  the Second

7

 this should have been in Canto one
 but how calls can onefytte  a word such as that
 in a parody of ye who writes verse
 and news  is parodied beyond normal verse.
 is this too much?  I hope my critic thinks so
 because what is parodied but eld  thinks so.

8

 childe  Harold,  astride his horse
 looked down the merry mountain
 and new that he would have two act
 because whatever course this stinking canto takes
 it must be in action as the first Canto was not,
 because I have no time to spare -  because the poem  is short.

9

 child Harold this,  child Harold that,
 the second Canto is just a bit darker than the first.
  it fits with every thing it knows  to join
uu  in with u-  just a bit more often than the verse allows.
 and with this verse  th'ngs  are forsaken by td that moves them.
 and Ritz with pan a few more puns  than one allows.

10

 little she that seeming marble heart asked in silence
 and not much he kens  do proper homage through told you mocking trope
'T  is an old lesson,  God! From the dark Harriers
 look where the second Caesar trophies rose.
 most mastic forest mountains all abound
 and no one can make the least meaning  averse..

11

 my father blessed me until I came back
 along the border lake
 and I stood and fought
 who would trust the seeming size
 knowing what thou knows of 'T
 power 12 which land by bright creation so.
 exalt despise lab weep
 is all upon this blanket the blank blank verse

12

 so this is just about the ending of the verse
 nothing has happened here,  which was our point.
 nothing could happen without a plot seeming to arise
'T  is a room alas! O! 't -  pretensions
 just the poor taste of what is to be calm,
 nothing more and nothing less.
 if he can slur Jove to Jesus -  why can't I Pantheon my way
 with sackcloth and a melancholy below
 sadder than situs nine Siam - can it be?
 it is it is it - is, it is - it - must can - be idiots.