'Oscar of Alva' by Lord Byron

[joshua_y]

Dear Carol-

I forgot to tell you that I managed to track down a Byron book that has 'Oscar of Alva' in it!



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Joshua

[joshua_y]

hello everybody!

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Joshua

[Thanatos]

Yea!!!!!! You're back and bajin seems to be gone! I can step out of the warrior queen role and stop bandying words with that fascist. I can finally rest. I too have returned to the boards. If you noticed, I didn't post for awhile, I merely observed for almost a week, waiting for bajin to make his next move. But I got his e-mail address off of his profile and signed him up for a life-time of junk mail, the kind that you need the password to your accounbt to get rid of the subscription. I won't give it to him or anyone else until bajin gives a formal public apology to everyone on the boards, for insults, and wasting their time.
Isn't vengence sweet?
But it is so good to see you back again, Joshua.
And for everyone else, there is an alternative site with boards that you can go to if someone is badgering you. It's moderated by me so you needn't worry. It's at: http://www.geocities.com/thanatosoctos/index.html.
All, exepting bajin, are allowed.

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Thanatos//
"..and therefor never send to know for whom the BELL tolls; it tolls for THEE."

[joshua_y]

And now...the next installment of 'Oscar of Alva' for your reading pleasure ...enough of me being stupid...actually it is all of the poem I have transcribed thus far...

'Oscar of Alva'

How sweetly shines through azure skies,
The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore;
Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,
And hear the din of arms no more.

But often has yon rolling moon
On Alva's casques of silver play'd;
And view'd, at midnight's silent noon,
Her chiefs in gleamin mail array'd:

And on the crimson'd rocks beneath,
Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow,
Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death,
She saw the gasping warrior low;

While many an eye which ne'er again
Could mark the rising orb of day,
Turn'd feebly from the gory plain,
Beheld in death her fading ray.

Once to those eyes the lamp of Love,
They blest her dear propitious light;
But now she glimmer'd from above,
A sad, funeral torch of night.

Faded is Alva's noble race,
And gray her towers are seen afar;
No more her heroes urge the chase,
Or roll the crimson tide of war.

But who was last of Alva's clan?
Why grows the moss on Alva's stone?
Her towers resound no steps of man,
They echo to the gale alone.

And when that gale is fierce and high,
A sound is heard in yonder hall;
It rises hoarsely through the sky,
And vibrates o'er the mouldering wall.

Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs,
It shakes the shield of Oscar brave;
But there no more his banners rise,
No more his plumes of sable wave.

Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth,
When Angus hail'd his eldest born;
The vassals around their chieftain's hearth
Crowd to applaud the happy morn.

They feast upon the mountain deer,
The pibroch raised its piercing note;
To gladden more their highland cheer,
The strains in martial numbers float.

And they who heard the war notes wild,
Hoped that one day the pibroch's strain
Should play before the heroes child,
While he should lead the tartan train.

Another year is quickly past,
And Angus hails another son;
His natal day is like the last,
Nor soon th ejocund feast was done.

Taught by their sire to bend the bow,
On Alva's dusky hill of wind,
The boys in childhood chased the roe,
And left their hounds in speed behind.

But e're their years of youth are o'er,
They mingle in the ranks of war;
They lightly wheel the bright claymore,
And send the whistling arrow far.

Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair,
Wildly it stream'd along the gale;
But Allan's locks were bright and fair,
And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale.

But Oscar own'd a hero's soul,
His dark eye shone through beams of truth;
Allan had early learned control,
And smooth his words had been from youth.

Both, both were brave: the Saxon spear
Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel;
And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear,
But Oscar's bosom knew to feel;

While Allan's soul belied his form,
Unworthy with such charms to dwell;
Keen as the lightning of the storm,
On foes his deadly vengeance fell.

From high Southannon's distant tower
Arrived a young and noble dame;
With Kenneth's land to form her dower,
Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came;

And Oscar claimed the beauteous bride,
And Angus on his Oscar smiled;
It soothed the father's feudal pride
Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child.

Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note!
Hark to the swelling nuptial song!
In joyous strains the voices float,
And still the choral peal prolong.

See how the heroes' blood-red plumes
Assembled wave in Alva's hall;
Each youth his varied plaid assumes,
Attending on their chieftain's call.

It is not war their aid demands,
The pibroch plays the song of peace;
To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands,
Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease...




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Joshua

[courtney_a]

You are my sunshine...My only sunshine...you make me happy...when skies are grey. I love you sweetheart. You mean everyting to me. Without you I would fall apart. you are my one true love.
Te amo-
Courtney