My heart aches, & a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, & Lethe-wards had sunk:'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, & shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,Tasting of Flora & the country green, Dance, & Provençal song, & sunburnt mirth!O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, & purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, & leave the world unseen, & with thee fade away into the forest dim:Fade far away, dissolve, & quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known,The weariness, the fever, & the fret Here, where men sit & hear each other groan;Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, & spectre-thin, & dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow & leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus & his pards,But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes & retards:Already with thee! tender is the night, & haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms & 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 endowsThe grass, the thicket, & the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, & the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; & mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.Darkling I listen; &, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death,Call'd 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 art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, & I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod.Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down;The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor & 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 Charm'd 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 fam'd to do, deceiving elf.Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; & 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?
In Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin’,
Made every youth cry Well-a-way!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swellin’,
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man in to her then,
To the town where she was dwellin’;
“O haste and come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.”
So slowly, slowly rase she up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And when she drew the curtain by—
“Young man, I think you’re dyin’.”
“O it’s I am sick and very very sick,
And it’s all for Barbara Allen.”—
O the better for me ye’se never be,
Tho’ your heart’s blood were a-spillin’!
“O dinna ye mind, young man,” says she,
“When the red wine ye were fillin’,
That ye made the healths go round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allen?”
He turned his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealin’:
“Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allen!”
As she was walking o’er the fields,
She heard the dead-bell knellin’;
And every jow the dead-bell gave
Cried “Woe to Barbara Allen.”
“O mother, mother, make my bed,
O make it saft and narrow:
My love has died for me today,
I’ll die for him tomorrow.”
“Farewell,” she said, “ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barbara Allen.”
Brought to you by: Imposter Productions
Performance by: Jessica Munna
Research/Assistant Producer: Sharon Sybill Gatt
Intro & Episode music by ELPHNT: https://elphnt.io/youtube-audio (search for ELPHNT & download for free from the Youtube Audio Library) https://elphnt.io/
Brought to you by: Imposter Productions
Performance by: Jessica Munna
Research/Assistant Producer: Sharon Sybill Gatt
Intro & Episode music by ELPHNT: https://elphnt.io/youtube-audio (search for ELPHNT & download for free from the Youtube Audio Library) https://elphnt.io/
learn more about the Embodied Voice Class HERE
Link: https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/o/jessica-munna-30558885220#events
Brought to you by: Imposter Productions
Performance by: Jessica Munna
Research/Assistant Producer: Sharon Sybill Gatt
Intro & Episode music by ELPHNT: https://elphnt.io/youtube-audio (search for ELPHNT & download for free from the Youtube Audio Library) https://elphnt.io/
learn more about the Embodied Voice Class HERE
Link: https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/o/jessica-munna-30558885220#events
Brought to you by: Imposter Productions
Performance by: Jessica Munna
Research/Assistant Producer: Sharon Sybill Gatt
Intro & Episode music by ELPHNT: https://elphnt.io/youtube-audio (search for ELPHNT & download for free from the Youtube Audio Library) https://elphnt.io/
Making Life Worthwhile by George Eliot
Every soul that touches yours –
Be it the slightest contact–
Get there from some good;
Some little grace; one kindly thought;
One aspiration yet unfelt;
One bit of courage
For the darkening sky;
One gleam of faith
To brave the thickening ills of life;
One glimpse of brighter skies
–To make this life worthwhile
And heaven a surer heritage.
Brought to you by: Imposter Productions
Performance by: Jessica Munna
Research/Assistant Producer: Sharon Sybill Gatt
Intro & Episode music by ELPHNT: https://elphnt.io/youtube-audio (search for ELPHNT & download for free from the Youtube Audio Library) https://elphnt.io/
Revenge by Eliza Acton
I would not, in the wildness of revenge,
Give poison to mine enemy, nor strike
My dagger to his heart, but I would plant
Love--burning--hopeless--and unquenchable--
Within the inmost foldings of his breast,
And bid him die the dark, and ling'ring death,
Of the pale victims, who expire beneath
The pow'r of that deep passion. Earth can show
No bitterness like this !--The shroud of thought
Which gathers round them, gloomy as the grave;--
The wasting, but unpitied pangs, which wear
The frame away, and make the tortur'd mind
Almost a chaos in its agony;--
The writhings of the spirit, doom'd to see
A rival bless'd;-and utter, cold, despair :-
These are its torments !-Are they not enough
To satisfy the most remorseless hate?
Brought to you by: Imposter Productions
Performance by: Jessica Munna
Research/Assistant Producer: Sharon Sybill Gatt
Intro & Episode music by ELPHNT: https://elphnt.io/youtube-audio (search for ELPHNT & download for free from the Youtube Audio Library) https://elphnt.io/
When latest autumn spreads her evening veil,
And the gray mists from these dim waves arise,
I love to listen to the hollow sighs
Through the half leafless wood that breathes the gale.
For at such hours the shadowy phantom pale,
Oft seems to fleet before the poet's eyes;
Strange sounds are heard, and mournful melodies
As of night-wanderers who their woes bewail.
Here by his native stream, at such an hour,
Pity's own Otway I methinks could meet
And hear his deep sighs swell the saddened wind!
O Melancholy, such thy magic power
That to the soul these dreams are often sweet
And soothe the pensive visionary mind.
Brought to you by: Imposter Productions
Performance by: Jessica Munna
Research/Assistant Producer: Sharon Sybill Gatt
Intro music by ELPHNT: https://elphnt.io/youtube-audio (search for ELPHNT & download for free from the Youtube Audio Library) https://elphnt.io/
Episode music by The Lights: https://thelights.bandcamp.com/
LETTER VI (excerpt) from Letters written during a short residence in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark by Mary Wollstonecraft
Nature is the nurse of sentiment, the true source of taste; yet what misery, as well as rapture, is produced by a quick perception of the beautiful and sublime when it is exercised in observing animated nature, when every beauteous feeling and emotion excites responsive sympathy, and the harmonised soul sinks into melancholy or rises to ecstasy, just as the chords are touched, like the Æolian harp agitated by the changing wind. But how dangerous is it to foster these sentiments in such an imperfect state of existence, and how difficult to eradicate them when an affection for mankind, a passion for an individual, is but the unfolding of that love which embraces all that is great and beautiful!
When a warm heart has received strong impressions, they are not to be effaced. Emotions become sentiments, and the imagination renders even transient sensations permanent by fondly retracing them. I cannot, without a thrill of delight, recollect views I have seen, which are not to be forgotten, nor looks I have felt in every nerve, which I shall never more meet. The grave has closed over a dear friend, the friend of my youth. Still she is present with me, and I hear her soft voice warbling as I stray over the heath. Fate has separated me from another, the fire of whose eyes, tempered by infantine tenderness, still warms my breast; even when gazing on these tremendous cliffs sublime emotions absorb my soul. And, smile not, if I add that the rosy tint of morning reminds me of a suffusion which will never more charm my senses, unless it reappears on the cheeks of my child. Her sweet blushes I may yet hide in my bosom, and she is still too young to ask why starts the tear so near akin to pleasure and pain.
Brought to you by: Imposter Productions
Performance by: Jessica Munna
Researcher /Assistant Producer: Sharon Sybill Gatt
Intro music by ELPHNT: https://elphnt.io/youtube-audio (search for ELPHNT) https://elphnt.io/
Episode music by The Lights: https://thelights.bandcamp.com/
Good morning,
Even in bed my ideas yearn towards you, my Immortal Beloved, here and there joyfully, then again sadly, awaiting from Fate, whether it will listen to us. I can only live, either altogether with you or not at all. Yes, I have determined to wander about for so long far away, until I can fly into your arms and call myself quite at home with you, can send my soul enveloped by yours into the realm of spirits — yes, I regret, it must be. You will get over it all the more as you know my faithfulness to you; never another one can own my heart, never — never! O God, why must one go away from what one loves so, and yet my life in W. as it is now is a miserable life. Your love made me the happiest and unhappiest at the same time. At my actual age I should need some continuity, sameness of life — can that exist under our circumstances? Angel, I just hear that the post goes out every day — and must close therefore, so that you get the L. at once. Be calm — love me — today — yesterday.
What longing in tears for you — You — my Life — my All — farewell. Oh, go on loving me — never doubt the faithfullest heart
Of your beloved
L
Ever thine.
Ever mine.
Ever ours.
Winter Stars
I went out at night alone;
The young blood flowing beyond the sea
Seemed to have drenched my spirit’s wings—
I bore my sorrow heavily.
But when I lifted up my head
From shadows shaken on the snow,
I saw Orion in the east
Burn steadily as long ago.
From windows in my father’s house,
Dreaming my dreams on winter nights,
I watched Orion as a girl
Above another city’s lights.
Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,
The world’s heart breaks beneath its wars,
All things are changed, save in the east
The faithful beauty of the stars.
I
Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth, —
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?
II
Thou chosen sister of the Spirit,
That gazes on thee till in thee it pities ...
HOME: "The place where you are treated best and grumble most. Here’s a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And whatever sky’s above me, Here’s a heart for every fate. Were’t the last drop in the well, As I gasped upon the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell, ’Tis to thee that I would drink." -Byron https://archive.org/details/toastsforallocca00bost/page/18/mode/2up