Lo! ’t is a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.
--Edgar Allen Poe
Track Name: To Flee the Sacking of Ilium
Rise from equus belly bringing slaughter in the streets,
pierce the bodies of the sleeping, bury armaments hilt deep
and the blood of our dear Troy flows silent, nary sounds a weep
until dreaming he envisions grieving Hector urgently
crying "Flee ye born of goddess, from the flames bear swift retreat
seek for Troy a rebuilt city erected far 'cross the sea,
to the west! Laurentum welcome thee!"
Blazing crops, gore spilt from oxen, razing dwellings to the ground
as the screaming cries of children, men and women rise unbound,
now he raises sword and battles facing certain death and doom,
cursing Helen with his vengeance rising until Venus appeared to plead:
"Oh my boy, my dearest son, curse not the spawn of Nemesis,
turn your anger to the gods, for they guard the Greeks,
but for you I will protect and guide your fate through this ordeal,
now boost your sire on your back and swiftly flee!"
Mother Venus removed the scales, opened his eyes to the gods' ruthlessness
straight to the foundation of Troy, Neptune's trident strikes.
Spurring the foe, mustering pride, is Juno, sword at her side,
down from the clouds strikes Minerva with her Gorgon raining pain,
Hellenic troops pour from their ships, reinforcements blocking retreat,
and, worst of all, spurring them on, the king of the gods,
Jupiter pours his courage.
Then with a crash Ilium falls over the ridge, smoke rising forth,
our hero's kin, losing all hope, resolve themselves to violent death.
When suddenly Jove sends a sign, a celestial light, a star streaming down.
Bolstered by hope the family flees to arbor shrine of Ceres,
all except for loving Creusa:
"Jove blocks my escape, exile is your fate.
The great seas block your path, impass you from new Trojan lands,
but Hesperian shores will emerge, fertile lands of Latin's purged
on Tiberian soil an empire is forged
Caesarian power flows down through your seed."
Rage, scorn, revenge, all this Juno vowed against Troy, fearing their strength,
for Carthage, her beloved, Queen Lucina donned aegis.
But the heroic Aeneis was saved by Neptune through Venial intercession on Jovian fury and ire, spared by her love,
after countless years lost at sea, Trojan vessels land at Carthage
setting up the final port of call: Hesperia, Romulan dominance.
From the ashes of Troy, Roman power is born
to rise and to conquer, the world to transform,
as great empires rise, they also must fall,
the cyclical tragedy of man.
Track Name: The Dark (Crowhammer song)
embrace me with your cold graze
you smile as the wolf bays
steal the night away
engulf a lonely day
erase all pain with darkness