So We'll Have No More of Rover

(with apologies to George Gordon, Lord Byron)

So we'll have no more of Rover
      Barking late into the night,
Though the neighbors be still unloving,
      And the porch light be still bright.

For the dog outwears his leash,
      And jumps upon the guest,
And we must pause to breathe,
      And the neighborhood have rest.

Though the night was made for sleeping,
      And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll have no more of Rover
      Howling at the moon.



By contrast, here is Lord Byron's original poem:

So We'll Go No More a-Roving

So, we'll go no more a-roving
      So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
      And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
      And the soul outwears the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
      And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
      And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
      By the light of the moon.

Lalem d'Durandios (Prayer to Durandios)

As an undergrad I had the marvelous opportunity to study under Dr. Douglass S. Parker. I could tell many great stories about him; he took me under his wing and was a supremely lovely man. After I graduated, he would sometimes e-mail and ask how my writing was going and generally encourage me not to give up. I do hope one day to finish (rewrite, really) the work I began while taking Dr. Parker's Parageography class. In the meantime, here is a prayer to Durandios I wrote. I present it first in AElitian and then in English:

Aiae, Durandios! bran adrava bak netka palva noye edma bran kanadrava bak d'senit ninoyt farna, seni'adra, kardi. Adra Tithendion, bran senitpette bela, ninoyte kavet bak lalemt marna ninoyt ba'adra marn'noy. Adrava ninoyt bak ninoyte mahtit bak venakht mar ninoyt kanal bak ninoyt noyadra ninoyte lalemt bak laba'adrat.

O, Durandios! who brings life and battles endlessly your sister who takes life and the things we work for, grant us this, another day. Take before Tithendion, who sets all things in their places, our thanks and supplications that He might bless us through You. Give us life and also to our flocks and crops that we may not want and will in turn give You our prayers and offerings.

There's more, in AElitian writing, but I don't have that as a functioning font . . . Though Doc Parker often suggested I get it made into one. Maybe some day. My graduate thesis was a middle-grade novel based partly on this world—AElit—that I created as part of Dr. Parker's curriculum. That is what I do hope to rewrite and polish at some point. Dr. Parker's creation of High Thefaerie was far more detailed and impressive. I still have all his notes on it somewhere . . . As I continue to muck out my desk, maybe I'll find them . . .

Alice

The Cheshire Monkey swung from his tail while holding a cup of tea in his back paws, from which he occasionally sipped. He also wore a little green hat, borrowed from a leprechaun.

“And so this rabbit,” he said presently, “you say he had a pocket watch?”

“Yes, yes,” answered Alice with mounting impatience. “I must find him!”

“And so, then, where was his pocket?”

Alice only blinked.

“I assume the pocket watch was adhered to a pocket? That is the usual way of pocket watches,” said Cheshire Monkey.

“I don’t know,” said Alice. “He was moving so fast—”

“Then how do you know he was a rabbit at all? I don’t see what reason you have to look for him, in any case.” Cheshire Monkey took another sip of tea, then grimaced. “Cold,” he muttered.

“He can tell me how to get home!” Alice explained. “He’s been there, you see.”

“No, I do not see. I just said that. But if you think about it this way, rabbits do tend to come out of hats.”

“Hats?” asked Alice.

“Not my hat, mind you. Too small by far for a rabbit. Too small even for me, really. Leprechauns are known for that.”

“Leprechauns?”

“You should cease to repeat words I’ve said as questions,” instructed Cheshire Monkey. “You’ll never get anywhere that way.”

“I’m not getting anywhere this way, either!”

“Hats,” said Cheshire Monkey. He began to fade. “And more tea, I think . . .” But even as he disappeared, his beautiful little china tea cup fell to the ground and shattered.

“Hats and tea,” sighed Alice, seeing nothing for it but to carry on in the direction she’d been going all along, only because going back the way she’d come would seem to admit defeat.