Hermes Varini's Blog – May 2020 Archive (16)

I said "fiery bluid": Scottish for "fiery blood", as carving deep the stone (stane).

In their embodying two perfectly mirroring halves, my own Overman and Being as Power reveal themselves as one, within an unparalleled status and blazing territory.

All my verses in the Scottish tone thus far composed, in honour of Robert the Bruce, and of his sword.

Erat para,

Chans e condutz,

Formir

Al rei qui t'er escuoills;

Now ready I am,

To create chants, and to compose

Melodies

The king to please,

He who shall welcome thee;

Arnaut Daniel, L'aur'amara (12th…

Thus I remembered having dwelt,
Like an enchained Demon,
Deep within the core of a fiery wealth,
Mine awn Image of Gowd!

H.V.

https://philpapers.org/rec/VARSFA-5

Mine awn ghaist, He beheld me,
His Claymore gleaming, unsheathed,
Into a darkness no one could see,
I winna yield to thee!

H.V.

O’er my black tartan of war,
Far ayont the lang hame,
The word Rage was embroidered,
Finely, finely, stick-an-stowe,
In the colour of gowd.

H.V.

Now advance, quo' the Wraith,
Wi' blade down by thy side,
Thy lane, and faithfu'
To thy auld Emblem of Steel,
Whar moorlan winds gaed,
Whar Immortality gleamingly dwells.

H.V.

Thoosan times ah faced thoosan sieges,
And nyne times, boiling wapin fell
O’er that clan of skellums (Wundor Sceawian!)
Frae the white barbican, before the black well.

H.V.

Ere the rust, in robe of Time,

Shall curse thy blade,

Quo’ the Wraith,

Airn fist ye maun ay wear

To hold the Firestorm

To avenge yon star shining still

And auld Duntulm’s stane,

To bear the gree

And prove thy furious worth,

Sae ah shall be strolling…

Across yon shield wa, quo’ the Ghaist,

In tyme of war ye threw thyself,

For ye canna now extinguish, honorable Thane,

The fiery scar o’er thy ruddy cheek,

Wi’ gilded Targe and unforgiving Fury,

High flames falling athwart thy wame.

H.V.…

In the year 1332, at auld Dupplin Moor,

Wi’ a shimmering Dagger of War,

Hiddenly, and in Black Tartan Duds,

Blowing, loud and louder, intae thae Winds,

Ah pierced the looking glass,

And amid so wild a Fire Mass,

Ironclad and devastating

Mine awn enraged wraith cam.…

Play mae, auld moorlan wise,

Wi’ thy martial steel Lyre,

The enraged Sound of the Thunder,

While ah shall be, again,

In nae unworthy mare,

Wi’ Targe Shield and Dagger,

Rising nae fellow-mortal

Amid thoosan deadly onslaughts,

Ironclad frae the Fire!…

Before yon Dirleton's wa,

Quoth the Ghaist,

Wi’ Colour of Hell reddening,

And next to auld South Ruin,

Yell warlike, enraged Wha Daur!

To thy enemies, and to thy consumed flesh

Doomed I say no longer

Within a forerunning Shade of Death,

Throwing no influence intae thy…