text: Hi, Glad to meet you. I have an 8-node cluster and 3Com SuperStack Switch 4900 which supports Link Aggregation. Each node has 512 MB SDRAM (133 Mhz) and Intel Server Board SDS2 with dual Pentium III 1.4 GHz. Also It has two Intel 82544 (known as e1000) Gigabit Ethernet cards which use 64 bit/66 Mhz PCI bus. I performed some experiments with NetPIPE benchmark under Linux kernel 2.4.19. When I use one Gigabit Ethernet, the maximum bandwidth is approximately 863 Mbps. But, When I use the channel bonding for two Gigabit Ethernets, the maximum bandwidth is approximately 650 Mbps. How can I achieve the bandwidth of 1Gbps? What is a bottleneck for my channel bonding configuration? Is channel bonding for Gigabit Ethernet useful? But when I transfer bulk data of 400MBytes using FTP program, the bonding has better performance than one Gigabit Ethernet. Thanks.


text:
The U.S. Chamber of Commerce asked Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner to give up his efforts to bring about reforms to regulations governing money market funds, the Hill reports. In a letter to Geithner yesterday, David Hirschmann, head of the Chamber's Center for Capital Markets Competitiveness, argues that the push to overhaul regulations could jeopardize money funds.
After Securities and Exchange Commission Chairman Mary Schapiro called off the commission's vote on proposed regulatory changes in August because she didn't have enough votes to pass the changes, Geithner called on the Financial Stability Oversight Council (FSOC) to push the SEC to enact changes.
Hirschmann's letter argues that regulators haven't done the research necessary to determine the what changes should be made in regulations.
See the full story here and the Chamber's letter here.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
A dividend cut and poor first-quarter results didn't drop the price of SuperValu Inc. far enough, according to Charles Rotblut, editor of AAII Journal, who made the grocery retailer his "Sell of the Week" on MoneyLife with Chuck Jaffe.
Rotblut noted that in suspending its dividend and announcing cuts to capital expenditures, SuperValu CEO Craig Herkert said, \"It is essential that we move even more aggressively to lower prices, and anticipate and respond to competitor actions.\"
Said Rotblut: "That's a sign that basically says 'We're getting beat by the competition, we need to cut prices and, oh, by the way, that may not be enough.' If you're a shareholder, those are words you don't want to hear. This is a company that is losing out to its competitors and it really doesn't have a good way of gaining back its traction."
Rotblut noted that a debt-heavy balance sheet, downgrades from ratings agencies and more lead him to believe that SuperValu won't rebound. "We can make jokes about 'Clean-up on Aisle 3,\'" he said, "but this is a much bigger mess."
On Tuesday, Rotblut made Chemed Corp. his "Buy of the Week."
You can listen to the interview at www.moneylifeshow.com.
-Chuck Jaffe


text:
Indictment says Army veteran claimed to be blind, drove car
Indictment claims man received $63,000 in benefits but maintained a valid Kansas driver's license
Indictment claims man received $63,000 in benefits but maintained a valid Kansas driver's license
An Army veteran from Kansas is facing conspiracy and theft charges after he allegedly pretended to be blind and received compensation for it.
The federal indictment claims that Billy J. Alumbaugh, 61, collected $63,000 in benefits from the government while pretending to be blind.
Alumbaugh made periodic trips to the Veterans Administration hospital in Wichita, where specialists were unable to identify medical reasons for his blindness, according to the indictment. He received supplemental assistance for this from 2009 until 2016, even though he was maintaining a valid Kansas driver's license that did not require corrective lenses.
The indictment claims Alumbaugh routinely drove his vehicle during this time period. In October 2016, Alumbaugh and his ex-wife, Debra K. Alumbaugh, were seen at the VA hospital in Wichita. She drove to the appointment, and after it was over, drove away from the building. After they got a few blocks away from the VA, they switched seats so he could drive, according to the indictment.
The Alumbaughs are charged with one count of conspiracy to defraud the government and one count of theft of government funds. If convicted they face up to 5 years in federal prison and $250,000 fine on the first charge and up to 10 years in prison and a $250,000 fine on the second charge.


text:
Lebanon's craft beer brand, 961, started exporting to the U.S. last week, bringing Hamra hipsters' favorite beverage to the world's most crowded microbrew market.
Chief operating officer Ilyas Kanaan told The Daily Star that 5,000 cases, or 120,000 bottles, of 961 had arrived in the U.S. around Christmas and had been available in liquor stores and upscale grocery chains in Brooklyn, Chicago and multiple other cities on the East Coast for a little over a week. It is 961's biggest international order yet, Kanaan said, and he expected the U.S. to remain the brand's biggest export market in the long term.
The target U.S. market for 961, and most craft beer, is "urban types; the kind of beer drinkers who care what they eat."
In other words, the type of people who shop at Whole Foods in Massachusetts, where 961 will now be sold, along with other microbrews, geared toward image-conscious, hipster-yuppie-hybrid-consumers.
Since 961 has only been for sale in the U.S. for a week, state-by-state sales figures are not available, but the early reception has been positive and 961 is planning to send another 5,000-case shipment in about a month.
A particularly sui generis variety of 961, brewed with Zaatar, Sumaac and four other Middle Easter herbs and spices, has been the most popular in the U.S. market.
Though 961 exports 60 percent of the 200,000 cases of beer it produces annually to countries across Europe and Asia, including Dubai, Hong Kong, Syria, France, and the U.K., the U.S. market is the largest, most competitive beer market in the world, with over 2,000 brands for sale.
Kanaan seems unconcerned about how 961 will fare in such an overcrowded, niche market. "In a market like that, getting a distributor interested in the process is feedback in itself," he said.
961 will expand into other new export markets this year as well – Spain has filed an order for which the brewery lacks the capacity to fill right now – and is planning to double its production capacity at its plant in Lebanon to meet demand. Kanaan said 961 had just secured $1.5 million in financing from a Lebanese investor.
Meanwhile, U.S. beer experts believe there's plenty of room for a Lebanese microbrew in the crowded artisanal market.
"It would appear to be the perfect time to debut a new import in the American marketplace," said Tom Acitelli, author of the forthcoming craft-beer history book "The Audacity of Hops." "[Consumers are] always on the lookout for new brands, especially novel ones like 961," he added.
Via SyndiGate.info
Copyright © 2019, The Daily Star. All rights reserved.


text:
Colorado State shocks Washington State, 48-45
Jared Roberts made a 41-yard field goal as time expired and
Colorado State overcame a 22-point deficit to beat Washington State
48-45 on Saturday in the New Mexico Bowl.
With less than 2 minutes left, Colorado State's Shaquil Barrett
forced Cougars running back Jeremiah Laufasa to fumble at the
Cougars 33. That set up Kapri Bibbs' 1-yard run scoring and Donnell
Alexander's two-point conversion run that tied it with 33 seconds
left. Then, Washington State's Teondray Caldwell fumbled the
kickoff return at the 24, setting up the winning field goal.
Garrett Grayson threw for 369 yards and Bibbs ran for 169 yards
and three touchdowns for Colorado State (8-6). The Rams overcame
three early turnovers, but were helped by Washington State's two
fumbles with less than 3 minutes remaining.
Connor Halliday threw touchdown passes to six receivers and
finished with 410 yards for Washington State (6-7).


text:
We have specialized in pedalboats and small watercraft since 1975.
We offer canoes, pedalboats (paddleboats), small fishing boats
and mini pontoon boats, shipped direct from the factory to your door.
We work with the leading manufacturers in the industry.
This enables us to offer the best quality and the largest selection of
accessories and parts available on the web.
Nobody carries more parts or a broader choice of accessories for
all the major brands than we do.
We have included as much information as is available for every model so that you can compare the features, select the accessories right for you, and make your decision in the comfort of your home.
Our online shopping cart provides safe, secure and convenient purchasing or you may call us to place your order. We accept Visa, MasterCard, Discover and AmericanExpress cards and unlike some, there is never an extra charge for using the card of your choice.
We stock and ship parts from our own warehouse. If the part is listed with a price, it is in stock and ready to ship. We have seen other websites offering parts - most used our drawings and photos and they have the parts drop shipped from someone else. Anyone can put up a website, offering items for sale, but very few stock parts or can back it up with the and experience that comes from handling pedal boats and parts for almost 40 years.
Most orders ship the next business day, and several ship the same day.
If it's on our parts list with a price, it is in our warehouse and ready to ship.
We can also supply you with quantity pricing for church camps, resorts, lodges or marinas.
Please contact us to discuss your needs.
We now have a simple and reliable way to patch your boat! Click here for a demo
Now offering online ordering to more countries:
Austria, Australia, Canada, Germany, Finland, Ireland,
Netherlands, New Zealand, Sweden, United Kingdom and USA.
We Gladly Accept


text: Gift Shop Bridgeport Hospital's Gift Shop, located in the Main Lobby, offers affordable gifts for patients, families and visitors. Your purchases are tax free; all proceeds benefit the Bridgeport Hospital Auxiliary's special projects. Hours: Monday to Friday, 9 a.m. to 8 p.m. Saturday and Sunday, 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. Weekends: Hours vary. Please call first. Credit cards accepted: Mastercard, Visa, Discover and American Express Telephone: (203) 384-3701 Visit the Online Shop Note: Before purchasing flowers, ask the nursing unit where your loved one is located if flowers are allowed. If you are ordering balloons, only Mylar balloons are allowed in Bridgeport Hospital. Please check with the nursing unit to make sure that balloons are allowed.


text: Ugg bootsIf you are looking for some trend equipment, you're cognizant of turn make your way a brand that's for along with holds quite a number of reliable makers. When you wear them you will feel as if you're wandering on a cloud. The collection of footwear in the retail outlet consist of Gents Boots, Females Boots, Trendy Boots, Teenagers Boots, House slippers together with Sandals.


text:
Popcorn Texture Removal
Drywall Contractor:
About Me
Site Map
Image Gallery
Link Partners
Link Exchange
Service Areas
Popcorn Texture Scraping
Popcorn Texture Removed
Ceiling Texture Removal
Popcorn Ceiling Removal
Texture Removal Chatham
Popcorn Scraping Youtube
Popcorn Removal Google+
Drywall Specialist Face Book
NC Drywall Twitter
Popcorn Scraping Yellow Pages
Durham North Carolina Drywall 919-742-2030
Professional texture repair and popcorn texture removal or
patch work in Durham, NC. An expert, highly skilled,
experienced contractor with 47 years of pro experience & a do
it right attitude.
Popcorn Texture Removal Refinish Service For Over 27 Years
have provided service in
, North Carolina for nearly three
decades and offer quality workmanship for reasonable prices.
Settle For Just Any Drywall Contractor, Call The Best.
Your Home The Biggest Investment You Will Ever Make
Many people try to remove popcorn texture themselves which in the
overall process is the easy part. No matter how many articles you
read or videos you watch the refinish work is where skill level and
experience come into play. If the skim coating, sanding and touch-up
work are not done properly by a knowledgeable contractor your
ceilings will look worse than ever. Call a top notch and highly skilled
expert, your ceilings will look great when friends or neighbors visit.
The Work Area Will Be Left Clean When The Job Is
Complete And All Debris Will Be Hauled Away
A professional drywall contractor never leaves a mess for the
home owner to clean up. Floors and walls will be throughly covered
with heavy gage plastic, removed and hauled away when the work
on your home in Durham is completed. Removals Start At $1.25 PSF
Texture Repair Durham NC Popcorn Textured
Ceiling Removal
Professional Drywall Repair In
Durham, NC Or Any Of The Surrounding Areas. Specializing
In Removing Popcorn Texture And Refinishing The Ceilings
Of Your Home.
Jimmy Holmes Owner
Drywall Specialist
Jimmy came in and fixed a 10 year-old crack in my drywall ceiling by ripping out the poorly hung drywall, reattaching new drywall properly, securing the areas with reinforcement, mudding and finishing. Did a great job, and his warranty means a lot to me. Been struggling with this problem since the modular builder put my home together. Relieved it has been finally taken care of. His flexible schedule made it possible to have the job done within one week.
Stephanie D
Drywall Repair
Sunday Closed
Monday 9:00 am–5:00 pm
Tuesday 9:00 am–5:00 pm
Wednesday 9:00 am–5:00 pm
Thursday 9:00 am–5:00 pm
Friday 9:00 am–5:00 pm
Saturday 9:00 am–5:00 pm
Popcorn Texture Removal Copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved 919-742-2030


text:
- Immediate shipping
-50%39,16 €
SPRING TIME Refund of 10%of your purchases > Show promo
Sign up for our newsletter and get a discount coupon of 6 €* for your next purchase higher than 100 €.
*Does not apply to Outlet, Clearance or Special Deals. Online purchases only. Not valid for professional register or shops
Thank you for registering
Within a few minutes you will receive an email to get your discount.


text:
|Thread Tools
|Search this Thread
|Display Modes
|10th January 2010
Join Date: July 2005
Posts: 1,784
''One must learn to love''
(Originally posted on the Judgment of Paris Forum, September 25, 2004.)
As many visitors to this site are well aware, the ideas on which this Web project is based are not "new" concepts, but principles that are as old as the Western world. These precepts have been passed down through the centuries in philosophy, literature, art, and folklore.
The notion of "aesthetic conversion"--the process by which images of timeless femininity can transform an individual's perception of beauty--is just one example of concept pertaining to size celebration which has a noble pedigree.
Consider the following passage from Nietzsche's seminal masterwork, Die fröhliche Wissenschaft--the book in which the philosopher famously exhorted his readers to "live dangerously." In the following excerpt, Nietzsche uses an analogy based on music to explain how one "learns to love." But try substituting the text's example of a musical figure with the notion of a womanly figure, and consider how the treatise then delineates the exact process by which one learns to love the full-figured ideal--even in the midst of a media world that opposes it:
This is what happens to us in music: First one has to learn to hear a figure and melody at all, to detect and distinguish it, to isolate it and delimit it as a separate life.
Similarly, anyone progressing along the path to size celebration must first identify plus-size beauty as a separate aesthetic ideal, distinct from the media's underweight standard.
Next, this "new" idea of beauty provides the viewer with an aesthetic challenge, something that stirs him into awareness. He cannot ignore it. It attracts his full attention.
Subsequently, it displaces the underweight paradigm in the viewer's perception as the aesthetic norm of feminine appearance.
And finally, at the "celebration" stage--the stage of true body love--the viewer acknowledges his preference for this ideal, compared to which the old media standard looks unattractive and unnatural.
But this process is more than just an exercise in abstraction. Nietzsche also explains how it enables a plus-size goddess to appreciate her own beauty:
But that is what happens to us not only in music. That is how we have learned to love all things that we now love . . . Even those who love themselves will have learned it in this way; for there is no other way. Love, too, has to be learned. (262)
Know yourself. Learn to love yourself. How different this counsel sounds from the self-destructive "Change yourself" message that the mass media trumpets unendingly.
Time and again, we see that the best way to shatter modern myths about weight and beauty is to look past the distortions of the current age, and to contemplate the ideals of the past, which shine on, clear and undimmed, providing a beacon for the future.
Barbara Brickner embodying the once-and-future aesthetic (at Eddie Bauer, Fall 2004):
|Thread Tools
|Search this Thread
|Display Modes
Linear Mode


text:
I mean, she's already got the costumes ...If I had it my way, the Dancing With the Stars cast would be made up entirely of the Real World Road Rules Challenge contestants, former American Vice Presidents, and the whole Honey Boo Boo family. It's too bad ABC won't consult me for casting decisions, isn't it. Even if they did, though, it sounds like my selections would be harshly disputed by some of their pro dancers. Karina Smirnoff was caught on camera leaving New York's Dream Hotel, and when asked if DWTS should lower their age-requirement so that Honey Boo Boo could star on the show, girl did not mince her words.
Karina agreed that Honey Boo Boo deserved to be one of Barbara Walters's most fascinating people this year, but that's where her love for the HBB stopped.
She went on to say that, no, they should not lower the age-limit, and no, Mama June shouldn't be on the show, either, because the cast is good just as it is, thankyouverymuch.
Aw, c'mon, Karina! Where's your sense of redneck spirit?
I'll just have to agree to disagree with Ms. Smirnoff because I think every last member of the Honey Boo Boo clan should be on Dancing With the Stars. I'd love to see them hoof around on stage in tight, glittery clothing. In fact, Honey Boo Boo herself wouldn't be so bad -- her pageant experience would give her a leg up, not to mention that damn Go Go Juice. Woo-wee! She'd dance circles around the competition. I'm happy and dizzy and nauseated just thinking about it.
HBB on DWTS FTW!
Watch Karina rebuff the Honey Boo Boo suggestion:
What do you think -- wanna see Honey Boo Boo on Dancing With the Stars?
Photo via tlc.com


text:
Scott Marshburn wrote:Hi. Guys. I just finished the first video on making a time tracking application in excel.
https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=P ... A2cYsbVtvA
In my previous post, I gave you guys a workbook that I started on. In the intro video, I asked for any suggestions and/ or feedback. One suggestion was to make it look and act like an actual application. So I am starting a completely new program. You can download that workbook here. https://dl.orangedox.com/H2fsbMP7mMSixNaqY9Then click on the video link and follow along. Please let me know what you think.
My Bad. The link to the workbook seems to be not working. so please try this one. https://dl.orangedox.com/urUWU9BgvFQXUB8fEz
Also here is the link to the video again. Just in case I screwed it up too. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcWStIq ... vA&index=1


text:
MONT SAINT MICHEL, (Reuters) – Britain's Chris Froome extended his overall lead in the Tour de France after finishing second in the stage 11 time trial behind hot favourite Tony Martin.
German world time trial champion Martin, who suffered concussion in a mass crash on the race's first stage, blasted round the flat 33-km course in 36 minutes 29 seconds.
Froome, adorned in the race leader's yellow jersey, was the last man down the start ramp and was two seconds quicker than Martin at 22km. But the Team Sky rider could not maintain the pace pedalling into a headwind over the latter part of the stage and finished 12 seconds down on Martin, with Belgian Thomas De Gendt third. Froome, Olympic time trial bronze medallist, was the big winner of the day, though, gaining two minutes on his nearest rival in the race standings and now leads Spain's Alejandro Valverde by 3:25.
Bauke Mollema of the Netherlands remains third overall 3:37 back with twice Tour champion Alberto Contador fourth at 3:54.


text:
Three Recipes For The Late- Summer Tomato
Just look at those beautiful supermarket tomatoes. Perfectly shaped, perfectly smooth, perfectly red. Perfectly awful!
They're just one step up from those four-in-a-row, hard, pink tomatoes packed in a plastic corral and wrapped in cellophane. Those babies were bounceable! Tennis, anyone?
If there's another vegetable that has suffered so much in the name of progress, I plead ignorant. British cooking doyenne Jane Grigson made a plea for the tomato when she wrote that this abused fruit "needs someone to save it from the dragon of commerce."
So what's happened to this beautiful, flavorful tomato so long associated with midsummer? They're picked before they're ripe, gassed with ethylene to turn them red, shipped endless miles in refrigerator trucks, and voila! Fresh tomatoes!
It's no wonder that 85 percent of home gardeners choose tomatoes, making them the most popular back- yard vegetable.
I've grown tomatoes all my life. My fondest tomato memories are of those blisteringly hot July days when I'd go barefoot down to the family plot with a salt shaker. After plucking the biggest, reddest, beefsteak tomato, I'd plop myself down on a big stone, lick the top of the tomato (so the salt would stick) and devour the still warm fruit. Heaven!
So what do you do with those supermarket imitations? Two words: Avoid them. The two passable exceptions are cherry and grape tomatoes. They have better taste than their bigger cousins and can make colorful additions to salads or between cubes of swordfish or lamb for grilled kebabs.
So now is the time to take advantage of the season and head for the farm stands or farmers' markets. One bite and you'll be growing your own next year – if you aren't already.
Fried Green Tomatoes
Serves 2
To folks south of the Mason Dixon Line this is a meal, to those north, it's a movie (and a book). Both are good. 2 large green tomatoes 1 large egg 1/4 cup milk 1/2 cup flour 1/2 cup cornmeal Salt and freshly ground
pepper to taste Vegetable oil Freshly grated Parmesan
cheese (optional)
Cut tomatoes in half-inch slices. Heat about 1/2-inch of oil in a heavy skillet over medium heat. Whisk egg and milk in a small bowl. Mix flour, cornmeal, salt, and pepper on a plate.
Dredge tomato slices in flour mixture, then dip into egg mixture to coat. Fry tomatoes until golden, turn and brown other side. Drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with cheese if desired.
Pasta With
Raw Tomato Sauce Pasta con Salsa Cruda
Makes 4 to 6 portions
1 to 1-1/2 pounds ripe tomatoes, cored; peeled and seeded if desired
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 to 4 cloves garlic, peeled and diced
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
8 fresh basil leaves, or to taste, finely sliced
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Cut tomatoes into quarters. Combine all ingredients except cheese in a food processor or blender. Pulse until tomatoes are to the consistence of sauce you like. Pour sauce into a large bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand several hours to allow flavors to meld.
Heat sauce or serve at room temperature over hot spaghetti or linguine. Top with Parmesan, and additional basil if desired.
Roasted Cherry Tomatoes
Serves 2 to 4 2 pints cherry tomatoes Extra virgin olive oil
Kosher or sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Place tomatoes in a single layer on a baking sheet. Sprinkle with olive oil. Shake baking sheet to coat tomatoes. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
Roast for 15 to 20 minutes, or until tomatoes are slightly soft.


text:
Spicy Warm Silken Tofu With Celery and Cilantro Salad Recipe
Spicy dressed tofu is a five-minute light meal or appetizer, fragrant with chili oil, vinegar, and Sichuan peppercorn.
Note: Chinkiang vinegar, broad bean paste, and chili oil can all be found readily in Asian grocers.
- Yield:serves 2 to 4 as an appetizer
- Active time: 5 minutes
- Total time:5 minutes
- 1 stalk celery, cut into thin 2-inch matchsticks
- 1/2 cup fresh cilantro leaves and tender stems
- 3 whole scallions, sliced into thin slicers at an acute bias
- 1/2 teaspoon toasted sichuan peppercorns
- 1/2 teaspoon toasted whole cumin seed
- 1 tablespoon sesame paste (such as tahini), or peanut butter
- 1 teaspoon soy sauce
- 2 teaspoons Chinkiang vinegar (see note)
- 2 teaspoons fermented chili broad bean paste (see note)
- 2 teaspoons sugar
- 1/4 cup Chinese roasted chili oil (see note)
- 1 medium clove garlic, finely minced (about 1 teaspoon)
- 1 (19-ounce) block soft silken tofu
- 1 teaspoon toasted sesame seeds
Combine celery, cilantro, and scallions in a medium bowl and cover with ice cold water. Add 4 to 5 ice cubes and set aside.
Combine peppercorns and cumin in a mortar and pestle and roughly grind. Transfer to a medium bowl. Add sesame paste, soy sauce, vinegar, chili bean paste, sugar, chili oil, and garlic. Whisk to combine and set aside.
Spoon tofu into a serving bowl and microwave until barely warmed through, about 1 minute. Cover with dressing. Drain celery, cilantro, and scallions carefully and add to bowl. Sprinkle with sesame seeds. Serve immediately.


text:
This web edition published by eBooks@Adelaide.
Last updated Wednesday, December 17, 2014 at 14:23.
To the best of our knowledge, the text of this
work is in the "Public Domain" in Australia.
HOWEVER, copyright law varies in other countries, and the work may still be under copyright in the country from which you are accessing this website. It is your responsibility to check the applicable copyright laws in your country before downloading this work.
The University of Adelaide Library
University of Adelaide
South Australia 5005
[Composed at Bishopsgate Heath, near Windsor Park, 1815 (autumn); published, as the title-piece of a slender volume containing other poems (see "Biographical List", by Baldwin, Cradock and Joy, London, 1816 (March). Reprinted — the first edition being sold out — amongst the "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Sources of the text are (1) the editio princeps, 1816; (2) "Posthumous Poems", 1824; (3) "Poetical Works", 1839, editions 1st and 2nd. For (2) and (3) Mrs. Shelley is responsible.]
The poem entitled "Alastor" may be considered as allegorical of one of the most interesting situations of the human mind. It represents a youth of uncorrupted feelings and adventurous genius led forth by an imagination inflamed and purified through familiarity with all that is excellent and majestic, to the contemplation of the universe. He drinks deep of the fountains of knowledge, and is still insatiate. The magnificence and beauty of the external world sinks profoundly into the frame of his conceptions, and affords to their modifications at variety not to be exhausted. so long as it is possible for his desires to point towards objects thus infinite and unmeasured, he is joyous, and tranquil, and self-possessed. But the period arrives when these objects cease to suffice. His mind is at length suddenly awakened and thirsts for intercourse with an intelligence similar to itself. He images to himself the Being whom he loves. Conversant with speculations of the sublimest and most perfect natures, the vision in which he embodies his own imaginations unites all of wonderful, or wise, or beautiful, which the poet, the philosopher, or the lover could depicture. The intellectual faculties, the imagination, the functions of sense, have their respective requisitions on the sympathy of corresponding powers in other human beings. The Poet is represented as uniting these requisitions, and attaching them to a single image. He seeks in vain for a prototype of his conception. Blasted by his disappointment, he descends to an untimely grave.
The picture is not barren of instruction to actual men. The Poet's self-centred seclusion was avenged by the furies of an irresistible passion pursuing him to speedy ruin. But that Power which strikes the luminaries of the world with sudden darkness and extinction, by awakening them to too exquisite a perception of its influences, dooms to a slow and poisonous decay those manner spirits that dare to abjure its dominion. Their destiny is more abject and inglorious as their delinquency is more contemptible and pernicious. They who, deluded by no generous error, instigated by no sacred thirst of doubtful knowledge, duped by no illustrious superstition, loving nothing on this earth, and cherishing no hopes beyond, yet keep aloof from sympathies with their kind, rejoicing neither in human joy nor mourning with human grief; these, and such as they, have their apportioned curse. They languish, because none feel with them their common nature. They are morally dead. They are neither friends, nor lovers, nor fathers, nor citizens of the world, nor benefactors of their country. Among those who attempt to exist without human sympathy, the pure and tender-hearted perish through the intensity and passion of their search after its communities, when the vacancy of their spirit suddenly makes itself felt. All else, selfish, blind, and torpid, are those unforeseeing multitudes who constitute, together with their own, the lasting misery and loneliness of the world. Those who love not their fellow-beings live unfruitful lives, and prepare for their old age a miserable grave.
'The good die first,
And those whose hearts are dry as summer dust,
Burn to the socket!'
December 14, 1815.
1. "Preface". For the concluding paragraph see editor's note on "The Daemon of the World": Part 1.
Earth, Ocean, Air, beloved brotherhood!
If our great Mother has imbued my soul
With aught of natural piety to feel
Your love, and recompense the boon with mine;
If dewy morn, and odorous noon, and even,
With sunset and its gorgeous ministers,
And solemn midnight's tingling silentness;
If autumn's hollow sighs in the sere wood,
And winter robing with pure snow and crowns
Of starry ice the grey grass and bare boughs;
If spring's voluptuous pantings when she breathes
Her first sweet kisses, have been dear to me;
If no bright bird, insect, or gentle beast
I consciously have injured, but still loved
And cherished these my kindred; then forgive
This boast, beloved brethren, and withdraw
No portion of your wonted favour now!
Mother of this unfathomable world!
Favour my solemn song, for I have loved
Thee ever, and thee only; I have watched
Thy shadow, and the darkness of thy steps,
And my heart ever gazes on the depth
Of thy deep mysteries. I have made my bed
In charnels and on coffins, where black death
Keeps record of the trophies won from thee,
Hoping to still these obstinate questionings
Of thee and thine, by forcing some lone ghost,
Thy messenger, to render up the tale
Of what we are. In lone and silent hours,
When night makes a weird sound of its own stillness,
Like an inspired and desperate alchymist
Staking his very life on some dark hope,
Have I mixed awful talk and asking looks
With my most innocent love, until strange tears,
Uniting with those breathless kisses, made
Such magic as compels the charmed night
To render up thy charge: . . . and, though ne'er yet
Thou hast unveiled thy inmost sanctuary,
Enough from incommunicable dream,
And twilight phantasms, and deep noon-day thought,
Has shone within me, that serenely now
And moveless, as a long-forgotten lyre
Suspended in the solitary dome
Of some mysterious and deserted fane,
I wait thy breath, Great Parent, that my strain
May modulate with murmurs of the air,
And motions of the forests and the sea,
And voice of living beings, and woven hymns
Of night and day, and the deep heart of man.
There was a Poet whose untimely tomb
No human hands with pious reverence reared,
But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds
Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramid
Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness:—
A lovely youth — no mourning maiden decked
With weeping flowers, or votive cypress wreath,
The lone couch of his everlasting sleep:—
Gentle, and brave, and generous — no lorn bard
Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh:
He lived, he died, he sung in solitude.
Strangers have wept to hear his passionate notes,
And virgins, as unknown he passed, have pined
And wasted for fond love of his wild eyes.
The fire of those soft orbs has ceased to burn,
And Silence, too enamoured of that voice,
Locks its mute music in her rugged cell.
By solemn vision, and bright silver dream
His infancy was nurtured. Every sight
And sound from the vast earth and ambient air,
Sent to his heart its choicest impulses.
The fountains of divine philosophy
Fled not his thirsting lips, and all of great,
Or good, or lovely, which the sacred past
In truth or fable consecrates, he felt
And knew. When early youth had passed, he left
His cold fireside and alienated home
To seek strange truths in undiscovered lands.
Many a wide waste and tangled wilderness
Has lured his fearless steps; and he has bought
With his sweet voice and eyes, from savage men,
His rest and food. Nature's most secret steps
He like her shadow has pursued, where'er
The red volcano overcanopies
Its fields of snow and pinnacles of ice
With burning smoke, or where bitumen lakes
On black bare pointed islets ever beat
With sluggish surge, or where the secret caves,
Rugged and dark, winding among the springs
Of fire and poison, inaccessible
To avarice or pride, their starry domes
Of diamond and of gold expand above
Numberless and immeasurable halls,
Frequent with crystal column, and clear shrines
Of pearl, and thrones radiant with chrysolite.
Nor had that scene of ampler majesty
Than gems or gold, the varying roof of heaven
And the green earth lost in his heart its claims
To love and wonder; he would linger long
In lonesome vales, making the wild his home,
Until the doves and squirrels would partake
From his innocuous hand his bloodless food,
Lured by the gentle meaning of his looks,
And the wild antelope, that starts whene'er
The dry leaf rustles in the brake, suspend
Her timid steps, to gaze upon a form
More graceful than her own.
His wandering step,
Obedient to high thoughts, has visited
The awful ruins of the days of old:
Athens, and Tyre, and Balbec, and the waste
Where stood Jerusalem, the fallen towers
Of Babylon, the eternal pyramids,
Memphis and Thebes, and whatsoe'er of strange,
Sculptured on alabaster obelisk,
Or jasper tomb, or mutilated sphynx,
Dark Aethiopia in her desert hills
Conceals. Among the ruined temples there,
Stupendous columns, and wild images
Of more than man, where marble daemons watch
The Zodiac's brazen mystery, and dead men
Hang their mute thoughts on the mute walls around,
He lingered, poring on memorials
Of the world's youth: through the long burning day
Gazed on those speechless shapes; nor, when the moon
Filled the mysterious halls with floating shades
Suspended he that task, but ever gazed
And gazed, till meaning on his vacant mind
Flashed like strong inspiration, and he saw
The thrilling secrets of the birth of time.
Meanwhile an Arab maiden brought his food,
Her daily portion, from her father's tent,
And spread her matting for his couch, and stole
From duties and repose to tend his steps,
Enamoured, yet not daring for deep awe
To speak her love:— and watched his nightly sleep,
Sleepless herself, to gaze upon his lips
Parted in slumber, whence the regular breath
Of innocent dreams arose; then, when red morn
Made paler the pale moon, to her cold home
Wildered, and wan, and panting, she returned.
The Poet, wandering on, through Arabie,
And Persia, and the wild Carmanian waste,
And o'er the aerial mountains which pour down
Indus and Oxus from their icy caves,
In joy and exultation held his way;
Till in the vale of Cashmire, far within
Its loneliest dell, where odorous plants entwine
Beneath the hollow rocks a natural bower,
Beside a sparkling rivulet he stretched
His languid limbs. A vision on his sleep
There came, a dream of hopes that never yet
Had flushed his cheek. He dreamed a veiled maid
Sate near him, talking in low solemn tones.
Her voice was like the voice of his own soul
Heard in the calm of thought; its music long,
Like woven sounds of streams and breezes, held
His inmost sense suspended in its web
Of many-coloured woof and shifting hues.
Knowledge and truth and virtue were her theme,
And lofty hopes of divine liberty,
Thoughts the most dear to him, and poesy,
Herself a poet. Soon the solemn mood
Of her pure mind kindled through all her frame
A permeating fire; wild numbers then
She raised, with voice stifled in tremulous sobs
Subdued by its own pathos; her fair hands
Were bare alone, sweeping from some strange harp
Strange symphony, and in their branching veins
The eloquent blood told an ineffable tale.
The beating of her heart was heard to fill
The pauses of her music, and her breath
Tumultuously accorded with those fits
Of intermitted song. Sudden she rose,
As if her heart impatiently endured
Its bursting burthen: at the sound he turned,
And saw by the warm light of their own life
Her glowing limbs beneath the sinuous veil
Of woven wind, her outspread arms now bare,
Her dark locks floating in the breath of night,
Her beamy bending eyes, her parted lips
Outstretched, and pale, and quivering eagerly.
His strong heart sunk and sickened with excess
Of love. He reared his shuddering limbs and quelled
His gasping breath, and spread his arms to meet
Her panting bosom: . . . she drew back a while,
Then, yielding to the irresistible joy,
With frantic gesture and short breathless cry
Folded his frame in her dissolving arms.
Now blackness veiled his dizzy eyes, and night
Involved and swallowed up the vision; sleep,
Like a dark flood suspended in its course,
Rolled back its impulse on his vacant brain.
Roused by the shock he started from his trance —
The cold white light of morning, the blue moon
Low in the west, the clear and garish hills,
The distinct valley and the vacant woods,
Spread round him where he stood. Whither have fled
The hues of heaven that canopied his bower
Of yesternight? The sounds that soothed his sleep,
The mystery and the majesty of Earth,
The joy, the exultation? His wan eyes
Gaze on the empty scene as vacantly
As ocean's moon looks on the moon in heaven.
The spirit of sweet human love has sent
A vision to the sleep of him who spurned
Her choicest gifts. He eagerly pursues
Beyond the realms of dream that fleeting shade;
He overleaps the bounds. Alas! Alas!
Were limbs, and breath, and being intertwined
Thus treacherously? Lost, lost, for ever lost
In the wide pathless desert of dim sleep,
That beautiful shape! Does the dark gate of death
Conduct to thy mysterious paradise,
O Sleep? Does the bright arch of rainbow clouds
And pendent mountains seen in the calm lake,
Lead only to a black and watery depth,
While death's blue vault, with loathliest vapours hung,
Where every shade which the foul grave exhales
Hides its dead eye from the detested day,
Conducts, O Sleep, to thy delightful realms?
This doubt with sudden tide flowed on his heart;
The insatiate hope which it awakened, stung
His brain even like despair.
While daylight held
The sky, the Poet kept mute conference
With his still soul. At night the passion came,
Like the fierce fiend of a distempered dream,
And shook him from his rest, and led him forth
Into the darkness. — As an eagle, grasped
In folds of the green serpent, feels her breast
Burn with the poison, and precipitates
Through night and day, tempest, and calm, and cloud,
Frantic with dizzying anguish, her blind flight
O'er the wide aery wilderness: thus driven
By the bright shadow of that lovely dream,
Beneath the cold glare of the desolate night,
Through tangled swamps and deep precipitous dells,
Startling with careless step the moonlight snake,
He fled. Red morning dawned upon his flight,
Shedding the mockery of its vital hues
Upon his cheek of death. He wandered on
Till vast Aornos seen from Petra's steep
Hung o'er the low horizon like a cloud;
Through Balk, and where the desolated tombs
Of Parthian kings scatter to every wind
Their wasting dust, wildly he wandered on,
Day after day a weary waste of hours,
Bearing within his life the brooding care
That ever fed on its decaying flame.
And now his limbs were lean; his scattered hair,
Sered by the autumn of strange suffering
Sung dirges in the wind; his listless hand
Hung like dead bone within its withered skin;
Life, and the lustre that consumed it, shone
As in a furnace burning secretly
From his dark eyes alone. The cottagers,
Who ministered with human charity
His human wants, beheld with wondering awe
Their fleeting visitant. The mountaineer,
Encountering on some dizzy precipice
That spectral form, deemed that the Spirit of wind
With lightning eyes, and eager breath, and feet
Disturbing not the drifted snow, had paused
In its career: the infant would conceal
His troubled visage in his mother's robe
In terror at the glare of those wild eyes,
To remember their strange light in many a dream
Of after-times; but youthful maidens, taught
By nature, would interpret half the woe
That wasted him, would call him with false names
Brother and friend, would press his pallid hand
At parting, and watch, dim through tears, the path
Of his departure from their father's door.
At length upon the lone Chorasmian shore
He paused, a wide and melancholy waste
Of putrid marshes. A strong impulse urged
His steps to the sea-shore. A swan was there,
Beside a sluggish stream among the reeds.
It rose as he approached, and, with strong wings
Scaling the upward sky, bent its bright course
High over the immeasurable main.
His eyes pursued its flight:—'Thou hast a home,
Beautiful bird; thou voyagest to thine home,
Where thy sweet mate will twine her downy neck
With thine, and welcome thy return with eyes
Bright in the lustre of their own fond joy.
And what am I that I should linger here,
With voice far sweeter than thy dying notes,
Spirit more vast than thine, frame more attuned
To beauty, wasting these surpassing powers
In the deaf air, to the blind earth, and heaven
That echoes not my thoughts?' A gloomy smile
Of desperate hope wrinkled his quivering lips.
For sleep, he knew, kept most relentlessly
Its precious charge, and silent death exposed,
Faithless perhaps as sleep, a shadowy lure,
With doubtful smile mocking its own strange charms.
Startled by his own thoughts he looked around.
There was no fair fiend near him, not a sight
Or sound of awe but in his own deep mind.
A little shallop floating near the shore
Caught the impatient wandering of his gaze.
It had been long abandoned, for its sides
Gaped wide with many a rift, and its frail joints
Swayed with the undulations of the tide.
A restless impulse urged him to embark
And meet lone Death on the drear ocean's waste;
For well he knew that mighty Shadow loves
The slimy caverns of the populous deep.
The day was fair and sunny; sea and sky
Drank its inspiring radiance, and the wind
Swept strongly from the shore, blackening the waves.
Following his eager soul, the wanderer
Leaped in the boat, he spread his cloak aloft
On the bare mast, and took his lonely seat,
And felt the boat speed o'er the tranquil sea
Like a torn cloud before the hurricane.
As one that in a silver vision floats
Obedient to the sweep of odorous winds
Upon resplendent clouds, so rapidly
Along the dark and ruffled waters fled
The straining boat. — A whirlwind swept it on,
With fierce gusts and precipitating force,
Through the white ridges of the chafed sea.
The waves arose. Higher and higher still
Their fierce necks writhed beneath the tempest's scourge
Like serpents struggling in a vulture's grasp.
Calm and rejoicing in the fearful war
Of wave ruining on wave, and blast on blast
Descending, and black flood on whirlpool driven
With dark obliterating course, he sate:
As if their genii were the ministers
Appointed to conduct him to the light
Of those beloved eyes, the Poet sate,
Holding the steady helm. Evening came on,
The beams of sunset hung their rainbow hues
High 'mid the shifting domes of sheeted spray
That canopied his path o'er the waste deep;
Twilight, ascending slowly from the east,
Entwined in duskier wreaths her braided locks
O'er the fair front and radiant eyes of day;
Night followed, clad with stars. On every side
More horribly the multitudinous streams
Of ocean's mountainous waste to mutual war
Rushed in dark tumult thundering, as to mock
The calm and spangled sky. The little boat
Still fled before the storm; still fled, like foam
Down the steep cataract of a wintry river;
Now pausing on the edge of the riven wave;
Now leaving far behind the bursting mass
That fell, convulsing ocean: safely fled —
As if that frail and wasted human form,
Had been an elemental god.
At midnight
The moon arose; and lo! the ethereal cliffs
Of Caucasus, whose icy summits shone
Among the stars like sunlight, and around
Whose caverned base the whirlpools and the waves
Bursting and eddying irresistibly
Rage and resound forever. — Who shall save? —
The boat fled on — the boiling torrent drove —
The crags closed round with black and jagged arms,
The shattered mountain overhung the sea,
And faster still, beyond all human speed,
Suspended on the sweep of the smooth wave,
The little boat was driven. A cavern there
Yawned, and amid its slant and winding depths
Ingulfed the rushing sea. The boat fled on
With unrelaxing speed. —'Vision and Love!'
The Poet cried aloud, 'I have beheld
The path of thy departure. Sleep and death
Shall not divide us long.'
The boat pursued
The windings of the cavern. Daylight shone
At length upon that gloomy river's flow;
Now, where the fiercest war among the waves
Is calm, on the unfathomable stream
The boat moved slowly. Where the mountain, riven,
Exposed those black depths to the azure sky,
Ere yet the flood's enormous volume fell
Even to the base of Caucasus, with sound
That shook the everlasting rocks, the mass
Filled with one whirlpool all that ample chasm:
Stair above stair the eddying waters rose,
Circling immeasurably fast, and laved
With alternating dash the gnarled roots
Of mighty trees, that stretched their giant arms
In darkness over it. I' the midst was left,
Reflecting, yet distorting every cloud,
A pool of treacherous and tremendous calm.
Seized by the sway of the ascending stream,
With dizzy swiftness, round, and round, and round,
Ridge after ridge the straining boat arose,
Till on the verge of the extremest curve,
Where, through an opening of the rocky bank,
The waters overflow, and a smooth spot
Of glassy quiet mid those battling tides
Is left, the boat paused shuddering. — Shall it sink
Down the abyss? Shall the reverting stress
Of that resistless gulf embosom it?
Now shall it fall? — A wandering stream of wind,
Breathed from the west, has caught the expanded sail,
And, lo! with gentle motion, between banks
Of mossy slope, and on a placid stream,
Beneath a woven grove it sails, and, hark!
The ghastly torrent mingles its far roar,
With the breeze murmuring in the musical woods.
Where the embowering trees recede, and leave
A little space of green expanse, the cove
Is closed by meeting banks, whose yellow flowers
For ever gaze on their own drooping eyes,
Reflected in the crystal calm. The wave
Of the boat's motion marred their pensive task,
Which naught but vagrant bird, or wanton wind,
Or falling spear-grass, or their own decay
Had e'er disturbed before. The Poet longed
To deck with their bright hues his withered hair,
But on his heart its solitude returned,
And he forbore. Not the strong impulse hid
In those flushed cheeks, bent eyes, and shadowy frame
Had yet performed its ministry: it hung
Upon his life, as lightning in a cloud
Gleams, hovering ere it vanish, ere the floods
Of night close over it.
The noonday sun
Now shone upon the forest, one vast mass
Of mingling shade, whose brown magnificence
A narrow vale embosoms. There, huge caves,
Scooped in the dark base of their aery rocks,
Mocking its moans, respond and roar for ever.
The meeting boughs and implicated leaves
Wove twilight o'er the Poet's path, as led
By love, or dream, or god, or mightier Death,
He sought in Nature's dearest haunt some bank,
Her cradle, and his sepulchre. More dark
And dark the shades accumulate. The oak,
Expanding its immense and knotty arms,
Embraces the light beech. The pyramids
Of the tall cedar overarching frame
Most solemn domes within, and far below,
Like clouds suspended in an emerald sky,
The ash and the acacia floating hang
Tremulous and pale. Like restless serpents, clothed
In rainbow and in fire, the parasites,
Starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around
The grey trunks, and, as gamesome infants' eyes,
With gentle meanings, and most innocent wiles,
Fold their beams round the hearts of those that love,
These twine their tendrils with the wedded boughs
Uniting their close union; the woven leaves
Make net-work of the dark blue light of day,
And the night's noontide clearness, mutable
As shapes in the weird clouds. Soft mossy lawns
Beneath these canopies extend their swells,
Fragrant with perfumed herbs, and eyed with blooms
Minute yet beautiful. One darkest glen
Sends from its woods of musk-rose, twined with jasmine,
A soul-dissolving odour to invite
To some more lovely mystery. Through the dell,
Silence and Twilight here, twin-sisters, keep
Their noonday watch, and sail among the shades,
Like vaporous shapes half-seen; beyond, a well,
Dark, gleaming, and of most translucent wave,
Images all the woven boughs above,
And each depending leaf, and every speck
Of azure sky, darting between their chasms;
Nor aught else in the liquid mirror laves
Its portraiture, but some inconstant star
Between one foliaged lattice twinkling fair,
Or painted bird, sleeping beneath the moon,
Or gorgeous insect floating motionless,
Unconscious of the day, ere yet his wings
Have spread their glories to the gaze of noon.
Hither the Poet came. His eyes beheld
Their own wan light through the reflected lines
Of his thin hair, distinct in the dark depth
Of that still fountain; as the human heart,
Gazing in dreams over the gloomy grave,
Sees its own treacherous likeness there. He heard
The motion of the leaves, the grass that sprung
Startled and glanced and trembled even to feel
An unaccustomed presence, and the sound
Of the sweet brook that from the secret springs
Of that dark fountain rose. A Spirit seemed
To stand beside him — clothed in no bright robes
Of shadowy silver or enshrining light,
Borrowed from aught the visible world affords
Of grace, or majesty, or mystery; —
But, undulating woods, and silent well,
And leaping rivulet, and evening gloom
Now deepening the dark shades, for speech assuming,
Held commune with him, as if he and it
Were all that was — only . . . when his regard
Was raised by intense pensiveness, . . . two eyes,
Two starry eyes, hung in the gloom of thought,
And seemed with their serene and azure smiles
To beckon him.
Obedient to the light
That shone within his soul, he went, pursuing
The windings of the dell. — The rivulet,
Wanton and wild, through many a green ravine
Beneath the forest flowed. Sometimes it fell
Among the moss with hollow harmony
Dark and profound. Now on the polished stones
It danced; like childhood laughing as it went:
Then, through the plain in tranquil wanderings crept,
Reflecting every herb and drooping bud
That overhung its quietness. —'O stream!
Whose source is inaccessibly profound,
Whither do thy mysterious waters tend?
Thou imagest my life. Thy darksome stillness,
Thy dazzling waves, thy loud and hollow gulfs,
Thy searchless fountain, and invisible course
Have each their type in me; and the wide sky.
And measureless ocean may declare as soon
What oozy cavern or what wandering cloud
Contains thy waters, as the universe
Tell where these living thoughts reside, when stretched
Upon thy flowers my bloodless limbs shall waste
I' the passing wind!'
Beside the grassy shore
Of the small stream he went; he did impress
On the green moss his tremulous step, that caught
Strong shuddering from his burning limbs. As one
Roused by some joyous madness from the couch
Of fever, he did move; yet, not like him,
Forgetful of the grave, where, when the flame
Of his frail exultation shall be spent,
He must descend. With rapid steps he went
Beneath the shade of trees, beside the flow
Of the wild babbling rivulet; and now
The forest's solemn canopies were changed
For the uniform and lightsome evening sky.
Grey rocks did peep from the spare moss, and stemmed
The struggling brook; tall spires of windlestrae
Threw their thin shadows down the rugged slope,
And nought but gnarled roots of ancient pines
Branchless and blasted, clenched with grasping roots
The unwilling soil. A gradual change was here,
Yet ghastly. For, as fast years flow away,
The smooth brow gathers, and the hair grows thin
And white, and where irradiate dewy eyes
Had shone, gleam stony orbs:— so from his steps
Bright flowers departed, and the beautiful shade
Of the green groves, with all their odorous winds
And musical motions. Calm, he still pursued
The stream, that with a larger volume now
Rolled through the labyrinthine dell; and there
Fretted a path through its descending curves
With its wintry speed. On every side now rose
Rocks, which, in unimaginable forms,
Lifted their black and barren pinnacles
In the light of evening, and its precipice
Obscuring the ravine, disclosed above,
Mid toppling stones, black gulfs and yawning caves,
Whose windings gave ten thousand various tongues
To the loud stream. Lo! where the pass expands
Its stony jaws, the abrupt mountain breaks,
And seems, with its accumulated crags,
To overhang the world: for wide expand
Beneath the wan stars and descending moon
Islanded seas, blue mountains, mighty streams,
Dim tracts and vast, robed in the lustrous gloom
Of leaden-coloured even, and fiery hills
Mingling their flames with twilight, on the verge
Of the remote horizon. The near scene,
In naked and severe simplicity,
Made contrast with the universe. A pine,
Rock-rooted, stretched athwart the vacancy
Its swinging boughs, to each inconstant blast
Yielding one only response, at each pause
In most familiar cadence, with the howl
The thunder and the hiss of homeless streams
Mingling its solemn song, whilst the broad river
Foaming and hurrying o'er its rugged path,
Fell into that immeasurable void
Scattering its waters to the passing winds.
Yet the grey precipice and solemn pine
And torrent were not all; — one silent nook
Was there. Even on the edge of that vast mountain,
Upheld by knotty roots and fallen rocks,
It overlooked in its serenity
The dark earth, and the bending vault of stars.
It was a tranquil spot, that seemed to smile
Even in the lap of horror. Ivy clasped
The fissured stones with its entwining arms,
And did embower with leaves for ever green,
And berries dark, the smooth and even space
Of its inviolated floor, and here
The children of the autumnal whirlwind bore,
In wanton sport, those bright leaves, whose decay,
Red, yellow, or ethereally pale,
Rivals the pride of summer. 'Tis the haunt
Of every gentle wind, whose breath can teach
The wilds to love tranquillity. One step,
One human step alone, has ever broken
The stillness of its solitude:— one voice
Alone inspired its echoes; — even that voice
Which hither came, floating among the winds,
And led the loveliest among human forms
To make their wild haunts the depository
Of all the grace and beauty that endued
Its motions, render up its majesty,
Scatter its music on the unfeeling storm,
And to the damp leaves and blue cavern mould,
Nurses of rainbow flowers and branching moss,
Commit the colours of that varying cheek,
That snowy breast, those dark and drooping eyes.
The dim and horned moon hung low, and poured
A sea of lustre on the horizon's verge
That overflowed its mountains. Yellow mist
Filled the unbounded atmosphere, and drank
Wan moonlight even to fulness; not a star
Shone, not a sound was heard; the very winds,
Danger's grim playmates, on that precipice
Slept, clasped in his embrace. — O, storm of death!
Whose sightless speed divides this sullen night: 610
And thou, colossal Skeleton, that, still
Guiding its irresistible career
In thy devastating omnipotence,
Art king of this frail world, from the red field
Of slaughter, from the reeking hospital,
The patriot's sacred couch, the snowy bed
Of innocence, the scaffold and the throne,
A mighty voice invokes thee. Ruin calls
His brother Death. A rare and regal prey
He hath prepared, prowling around the world;
Glutted with which thou mayst repose, and men
Go to their graves like flowers or creeping worms,
Nor ever more offer at thy dark shrine
The unheeded tribute of a broken heart.
When on the threshold of the green recess
The wanderer's footsteps fell, he knew that death
Was on him. Yet a little, ere it fled,
Did he resign his high and holy soul
To images of the majestic past,
That paused within his passive being now,
Like winds that bear sweet music, when they breathe
Through some dim latticed chamber. He did place
His pale lean hand upon the rugged trunk
Of the old pine. Upon an ivied stone
Reclined his languid head, his limbs did rest,
Diffused and motionless, on the smooth brink
Of that obscurest chasm; — and thus he lay,
Surrendering to their final impulses
The hovering powers of life. Hope and despair,
The torturers, slept; no mortal pain or fear
Marred his repose; the influxes of sense,
And his own being unalloyed by pain,
Yet feebler and more feeble, calmly fed
The stream of thought, till he lay breathing there
At peace, and faintly smiling:— his last sight
Was the great moon, which o'er the western line
Of the wide world her mighty horn suspended,
With whose dun beams inwoven darkness seemed
To mingle. Now upon the jagged hills
It rests; and still as the divided frame
Of the vast meteor sunk, the Poet's blood,
That ever beat in mystic sympathy
With nature's ebb and flow, grew feebler still:
And when two lessening points of light alone
Gleamed through the darkness, the alternate gasp
Of his faint respiration scarce did stir
The stagnate night:— till the minutest ray
Was quenched, the pulse yet lingered in his heart.
It paused — it fluttered. But when heaven remained
Utterly black, the murky shades involved
An image, silent, cold, and motionless,
As their own voiceless earth and vacant air.
Even as a vapour fed with golden beams
That ministered on sunlight, ere the west
Eclipses it, was now that wondrous frame —
No sense, no motion, no divinity —
A fragile lute, on whose harmonious strings
The breath of heaven did wander — a bright stream
Once fed with many-voiced waves — a dream
Of youth, which night and time have quenched for ever,
Still, dark, and dry, and unremembered now.
Oh, for Medea's wondrous alchemy,
Which wheresoe'er it fell made the earth gleam
With bright flowers, and the wintry boughs exhale
From vernal blooms fresh fragrance! O, that God,
Profuse of poisons, would concede the chalice
Which but one living man has drained, who now,
Vessel of deathless wrath, a slave that feels
No proud exemption in the blighting curse
He bears, over the world wanders for ever,
Lone as incarnate death! O, that the dream
Of dark magician in his visioned cave,
Raking the cinders of a crucible
For life and power, even when his feeble hand
Shakes in its last decay, were the true law
Of this so lovely world! But thou art fled,
Like some frail exhalation; which the dawn
Robes in its golden beams — ah! thou hast fled!
The brave, the gentle and the beautiful,
The child of grace and genius. Heartless things
Are done and said i' the world, and many worms
And beasts and men live on, and mighty Earth
From sea and mountain, city and wilderness,
In vesper low or joyous orison,
Lifts still its solemn voice:— but thou art fled —
Thou canst no longer know or love the shapes
Of this phantasmal scene, who have to thee
Been purest ministers, who are, alas!
Now thou art not. Upon those pallid lips
So sweet even in their silence, on those eyes
That image sleep in death, upon that form
Yet safe from the worm's outrage, let no tear
Be shed — not even in thought. Nor, when those hues
Are gone, and those divinest lineaments,
Worn by the senseless wind, shall live alone
In the frail pauses of this simple strain,
Let not high verse, mourning the memory
Of that which is no more, or painting's woe
Or sculpture, speak in feeble imagery
Their own cold powers. Art and eloquence,
And all the shows o' the world are frail and vain
To weep a loss that turns their lights to shade.
It is a woe "too deep for tears," when all
Is reft at once, when some surpassing Spirit,
Whose light adorned the world around it, leaves
Those who remain behind, not sobs or groans,
The passionate tumult of a clinging hope;
But pale despair and cold tranquillity,
Nature's vast frame, the web of human things,
Birth and the grave, that are not as they were.
2. Conducts, O Sleep, to thy, etc. (line 219.)
The Shelley texts, 1816, 1824, 1839, have Conduct here, which Forman and Dowden retain. The suggestion that Shelley may have written 'death's blue vaults' (line 216) need not, in the face of 'the dark gate of death' (line 211), be seriously considered; Conduct must, therefore, be regarded as a fault in grammar. That Shelley actually wrote Conduct is not impossible, for his grammar is not seldom faulty (see, for instance, "Revolt of Islam, Dedication", line 60); but it is most improbable that he would have committed a solecism so striking both to eye and ear. Rossetti and Woodberry print Conducts, etc. The final s is often a vanishing quantity in Shelley's manuscripts. Or perhaps the compositor's hand was misled by his eye, which may have dropped on the words, Conduct to thy, etc., seven lines above.
3. Of wave ruining on wave, etc. (line 327.)
For ruining the text of "Poetical Works", 1839, both editions, has running — an overlooked misprint, surely, rather than a conjectural emendation. For an example of ruining as an intransitive (= 'falling in ruins,' or, simply, 'falling in streams') see "Paradise Lost", 6 867–869:—
Hell heard th' insufferable noise, Hell saw
Heav'n ruining from Heav'n, and would have fled
Affrighted, etc.
Ruining, in the sense of 'streaming,' 'trailing,' occurs in Coleridge's "Melancholy: a Fragment" (Sibylline Leaves, 1817, page 262):—
Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep —
"Melancholy" first appeared in "The Morning Post", December 7, 1797, where, through an error identical with that here assumed in the text of 1839, running appears in place of ruining — the word intended, and doubtless written, by Coleridge.
4. Line 349. With Mr. Stopford Brooke, the editor substitutes here a colon for the full stop which, in editions 1816, 1824, and 1839, follows ocean. Forman and Dowden retain the full stop; Rossetti and Woodberry substitute a semicolon.
And nought but gnarled roots of ancient pines
Branchless and blasted, clenched with grasping roots
The unwilling soil. (lines 530–532.)
Editions 1816, 1824, and 1839 have roots (line 530)— a palpable misprint, the probable origin of which may be seen in the line which follows. Rossetti conjectures trunks, but stumps or stems may have been Shelley's word.
6. Lines 543–548. This somewhat involved passage is here reprinted exactly as it stands in the editio princeps, save for the comma after and, line 546, first introduced by Dowden, 1890. The construction and meaning are fully discussed by Forman ("Poetical Works" of Shelley, edition 1876, volume 1 pages 39, 40), Stopford Brooke ("Poems of Shelley", G. T. S., 1880, page 323), Dobell ("Alastor", etc., Facsimile Reprint, 2nd edition 1887, pages 22–27), and Woodberry ("Complete P. W. of Shelley", 1893, volume 1 page 413).
"Alastor" is written in a very different tone from "Queen Mab". In the latter, Shelley poured out all the cherished speculations of his youth — all the irrepressible emotions of sympathy, censure, and hope, to which the present suffering, and what he considers the proper destiny of his fellow-creatures, gave birth. "Alastor", on the contrary, contains an individual interest only. A very few years, with their attendant events, had checked the ardour of Shelley's hopes, though he still thought them well-grounded, and that to advance their fulfilment was the noblest task man could achieve.
This is neither the time nor place to speak of the misfortunes that chequered his life. It will be sufficient to say that, in all he did, he at the time of doing it believed himself justified to his own conscience; while the various ills of poverty and loss of friends brought home to him the sad realities of life. Physical suffering had also considerable influence in causing him to turn his eyes inward; inclining him rather to brood over the thoughts and emotions of his own soul than to glance abroad, and to make, as in "Queen Mab", the whole universe the object and subject of his song. In the Spring of 1815, an eminent physician pronounced that he was dying rapidly of a consumption; abscesses were formed on his lungs, and he suffered acute spasms. Suddenly a complete change took place; and though through life he was a martyr to pain and debility, every symptom of pulmonary disease vanished. His nerves, which nature had formed sensitive to an unexampled degree, were rendered still more susceptible by the state of his health.
As soon as the peace of 1814 had opened the Continent, he went abroad. He visited some of the more magnificent scenes of Switzerland, and returned to England from Lucerne, by the Reuss and the Rhine. This river-navigation enchanted him. In his favourite poem of "Thalaba", his imagination had been excited by a description of such a voyage. In the summer of 1815, after a tour along the southern coast of Devonshire and a visit to Clifton, he rented a house on Bishopgate Heath, on the borders of Windsor Forest, where he enjoyed several months of comparative health and tranquil happiness. The later summer months were warm and dry. Accompanied by a few friends, he visited the source of the Thames, making a voyage in a wherry from Windsor to Crichlade. His beautiful stanzas in the churchyard of Lechlade were written on that occasion. "Alastor" was composed on his return. He spent his days under the oak-shades of Windsor Great Park; and the magnificent woodland was a fitting study to inspire the various descriptions of forest scenery we find in the poem.
None of Shelley's poems is more characteristic than this. The solemn spirit that reigns throughout, the worship of the majesty of nature, the broodings of a poet's heart in solitude — the mingling of the exulting joy which the various aspects of the visible universe inspires with the sad and struggling pangs which human passion imparts — give a touching interest to the whole. The death which he had often contemplated during the last months as certain and near he here represented in such colours as had, in his lonely musings, soothed his soul to peace. The versification sustains the solemn spirit which breathes throughout: it is peculiarly melodious. The poem ought rather to be considered didactic than narrative: it was the outpouring of his own emotions, embodied in the purest form he could conceive, painted in the ideal hues which his brilliant imagination inspired, and softened by the recent anticipation of death.
This web edition published by:
The University of Adelaide Library
University of Adelaide
South Australia 5005


text:
Question: Can I apply to more than one program?
Answer: Yes, you may apply to more than one type of program, for example, one bilateral program and one CSU program, but not multiple locations within one type of program.
Question: Can I study abroad more than once?
Answer: Yes, as long as your degree permits it and you are able to complete your requirements in time for graduation.
Question: What are my housing options abroad?
Answer: For the Bilateral and CSU programs, you have the freedom to choose your own type of housing: apartment, dormitory, etc. based on the options available at your location.
Question: Where can I find out more information about studying abroad?
Answer: The best way to find out more about study abroad is to attend one of the regularly scheduled weekly study abroad information sessions. The schedule for these sessions is located here. You can also always stop by the Study Abroad Office in CIES (Student Union West) to talk with a Student Assistant or to pick up pamphlets about specific programs.
Question: Who can I talk to with specific study abroad questions?
Answer: Study Abroad Student Assistants are available for walk-in questions and advising in the Study Abroad Office, Tuesday through Friday from 11:00am–1:00pm and 3:00pm - 4:00pm (there are no drop-in hours on Mondays). If you still have questions that a Student Assistant is unable to answer or you cannot come into the office during drop-in hours, you can ask to make an appointment with a Study Abroad Coordinator.
Question: Is there financial aid or scholarships for study abroad?
Answer: Yes! Both financial aid and scholarships are available for students studying abroad. See the Finances page for more information.
Question: Can graduate students study abroad?
Answer: Yes, but the course offerings abroad may not include graduate level courses. Be sure to check this first and consult with your academic advisor about your intentions to study abroad.
Question: Can I study abroad the semester I plan to graduate?
Answer: Yes, seniors are eligible to study abroad in the final semester of their degree as long as they can meet all their graduation requirements through course offerings at the host university. Seniors should plan ahead and work closely with their academic advisors to select the appropriate program and coursework.
Graduating seniors should prepare graduation applications prior to departure for their study abroad program and meet with a graduation evaluator. Students should be aware that it generally takes 1–3 months for host institutions to send the participants' transcripts to the SJSU Study Abroad Office. Some programs can take longer which will cause delays in completing graduation applications. If this is the case, graduating seniors may consider walking in the spring graduation ceremony even though they will not receive their actual diploma until the following summer or fall semester because of the delay in grades from abroad.


text:
The Justin Stampede work boots have consistentl been a popular item at NRS. These good looking western styled work boots offer durability at a great price.
Justin Boots commitment to country and quality means they provide a wide selection of styles still handcrafted right here in the USA. With three U.S. factories, Justin Boots is the largest domestic manufacturer of footwear in the country. For questions on specific country of origin for a particular style, please inquire with NRS: 800-467-6746.
Copyright © 2019 NRS World


text:
You are here
SBA Surety Bonds, Pt. 2: Applying is Easier than You Think
SBA Surety Bonds, Pt. 2: Applying is Easier than You Think
SBA Surety Bonds, Pt. 2: Applying is Easier than You Think
Are you a small contractor bidding on work that requires a surety bond? Or, do you have questions about what a surety bond is, why you might need one, and how to get one?
If so, SBA may be able to help.
SBA guarantees surety bonds for small contractors that might not qualify otherwise – and the process of getting a guarantee is easier and faster than you might think. In fact, SBA's Office of Surety Guarantees usually reviews applications for bonds within 2 days.
This blog is the second in our series on SBA's Surety Bond Guarantee Program and how your small business can use SBA's guarantee to obtain a surety bond and bid on and win contracts. In this blog, we'll go more in-depth about the different types of surety bonds offered and give more details about eligibility and how to apply.
What's a Surety Bond?
First things first: what's a surety bond, anyway? Essentially, a surety bond is an assurance that a contract will be performed properly. For the nitty gritty details, take a look at Part 1 in our blog series on the Surety Bond Guarantee Program.
The Surety Bond Guarantee Program
Through the Surety Bond Guarantee Program, SBA helps small and emerging contractors gain access to the surety bonds they need to win those initial contracts and later qualify for larger contracts.
Bond Types
Under the program, SBA guarantees three types of surety bonds:
· Bid Bond: This bond guarantees that the bidder will be able to obtain payment and performance bonds if they are awarded the contract.
· Payment Bond: Assures that suppliers and subcontractors will be paid.
· Performance Bond: Guarantees that the contract will be completed.
Because SBA does not offer surety bonds directly, your first step in qualifying for the SBA guaranteed bond requires applying with a surety company or agent representing a surety company. To find an agent that fits your needs, see the SBA-approved list of bonding agents by state.
The underwriting for surety bonds varies depending on the surety company, but there are a few key factors – known as the "three C's" that most sureties consider when evaluating your application:
· Capital: Having enough liquidity and cash flow to complete the project, sufficient bank account balances and manageable debt are important factors in your company's profile.
· Capacity: Sureties assess your previous projects and past performance, and whether you fully understand the project's scope of work, and whether you are qualified for the specific work in the contract.
· Character: Sureties, their agents or brokers, will also look at your company's management, including information about specific principals, in order to further assess the application.
Additionally, you'll need to meet these SBA requirements (summarized here):
- Your business must not be able to secure a surety bond without the SBA guarantee program.
- Your contract or subcontract must be valued at $2 million or less.
- Your business must be independently owned and operated.
- Your business must qualify as "small" under federal regulations. If you're a construction, service or supply contractor, you'll need to qualify as "small" according to the NAICS code/ SBA size standards.
The Application Process – It's Easier than You Think
We invite you to apply. Here are some simple steps to get the process rolling:
- Find a surety company or agent and apply: Since SBA does not issue surety bonds directly, you'll need to obtain one through a surety company or agent, then get it guaranteed by SBA. To find an agent, that fits your needs, see the SBA-approved list of bonding agents by state (PDF), or call the Office of Surety Guarantees at (202) 205-6540.
- Go through the underwriting process: Your surety company will underwrite your application; if it deems that your surety bond needs an SBA guarantee, it will proceed with the application to SBA
- Wait for SBA processing: SBA will review your application – in as little as two days! To expedite the review process, please make sure you complete the application fully and properly.
Got questions? Call SBA's Office of Surety Guarantees at (202) 205-6540.
Additional Resources
· Surety Bond Information on SBA.gov
· Surety Bond Guarantee Application information page on SBA.gov
· SBA's List of SBA-Approved Bonding Agencies by State
· Information on Surety Bond Guarantee fees
Have your own surety bond questions, comments or insights? Please share and join in on our conversation! Follow our surety bond tweets with hashtag #SBAsuretybond, or post on our Facebook wall.


text:
By ROB GLIDDEN
Staff Writer
Construction of the new artificial turf field at Southington High School is moving swiftly, as officials hope to have it done in enough time to accommodate events in late October.
Since late August, the construction crew has been clearing away the old field to make room for the new, hoping to have the turf ready sometime during the last week of October. Ideally, the field will be ready for the SHS marching band's Music of the Knight event on Oct. 27 and a home football game on Oct. 26.
"The way the process is going is outstanding and the weather has been on our side," said Michael DeFeo, who chaired the Turf Committee. "I'm very happy with it."
DeFeo has also been named Chairman of the new Turf Advisory Committee, which the Town Council established at their last meeting. Other board members include Town Councilors Dawn Miceli and Peter Romano, Board of Education Chairman Brian Goralski and Board of Finance Vice-Chairman Joe Labieniec. Serving as ex-officio members are Athletic Director Eric Swallow, Parks Director David Lapreay and Parks Commissioner John Fontana.
"The charge of this committee is to oversee the operations of the new field," said Town Council Chairman John Dobbins. "This includes scheduling, fundraising, and going over agreements between the town and the Board of Education."
DeFeo gave a similar presentation at the BOE's meeting later in the week, but briefly worried the officials when he said the target date for completion of the project was on October 31, which would be after Music of the Knight and the football game.
"I've even been hearing rumblings around town about it not being done until Thanksgiving," said board member Colleen Clark. "I was under the impression that this would be done by the 25 [of October]."
DeFeo clarified that the target date was sometime during the last week of October. The construction was two days ahead of schedule, making him confident it would be finished in time to accommodate the events.
Meanwhile, school officials said they plan to try and make the most of the field after its completion.
"Sooner rather than later, we will be coming to you with a proposal for rental," said Superintendent Dr. Joseph Erardi. "We don't want to waste any time after it's done."


text:
Pacific 68, UC Irvine 47
STOCKTON — Junior Camille Buckley had 12 points and 10 rebounds to lead the visiting Anteaters in the Big West Conference game Thursday.
Buckley, who has seven double-doubles this season, made five of seven field-goal attempts as UCI shot just 27% from the field (17 for 63).
Freshman Mokun Fajemisin had a career-best eight rebounds and six points, while junior Jennifer Tsurumoto had seven points, three rebounds, three assists and two steals for the Anteaters (4-16, 0-8 in conference).
UCI had lost eight straight games, its longest losing streak since a 12-game skid in 2007-08.
Pacific is 17-3, 7-1. The Tigers are 10-0 at home.
UCI is at UC Davis on Saturday at 2 p.m.


text: In the College's effort to comply with state law, Act 101, while simultaneously acting as good stewards of our earth, we have established a campus-recycling program. The College provides for the collection of glass bottles and aluminum cans throughout the administrative and academic buildings and residence halls) and white and colored paper (throughout the administrative and academic buildings). Please make use of the recycling "blue bins" strategically placed around campus. The success of this program rests entirely with you.


text:
iff is a valid word in this word list. For a definition, see the external dictionary links below.
The word "iff" uses 3 letters: F F I.
No direct anagrams for iff found in this word list.
Words formed by adding one letter before or after iff (in bold), or to ffi in any order:
b - biff e - fief fife j - jiff m - miff r - riff t - tiff y - iffy
Shorter words found within iff:
Words formed from any letters in iff, plus an optional blank or existing letter
Try a search for iff in these online resources (some words may not be found):
Wiktionary - OneLook Dictionaries - Merriam-Webster - Google Search
Each search will normally open in a new window.
List all words starting with iff, words containing iff or words ending with iff
All words formed from iff by changing one letter
Other words with the same letter pairs: if ff
Browse words starting with iff by next letter
Previous word in list: if
Next word in list: iffier
Some random words: citral khoum iatric tsuba tmeses kyack cuke
This is not a dictionary, it's a word game wordfinder.
- Help and FAQ - Examples - Home
Privacy and Cookies Policy - Share - © Copyright 2004-2019 Morewords.com - 11.317mS


text:
Guide to Geologic Hazards in Alaska
- Debris flow
- A moving mass of rock fragments, soil, and mud, more than half of the particles being larger than sand size. Slow debris flows may move less than 1 m per year; rapid ones reach 160 km per hour. Debris flows are very fluid and contain a high content of water. (Neuendorf, K.K.E. and others, 2005)
- DGGS online catalog of government agency publications relating to: Debris flow
- U.S. Geological Survey (USGS): Volcano hazards program
- Alaska Volcano Observatory (AVO): Homepage