Excerpts - Fiction

Excerpts pertaining to Fiction and Poetry.

While I was initially hesitant to include anything fictional, that's just a can of worms that I don't have the time to open or deal with, fiction has had an impact on the folklore and the folklore has influenced fiction. The excerpts included here are examples of that. This list is not a place for favorite quotes.

### Tomb Opening

written after a tomb opening in Windsor, First published, *Poetical Works*, Paris, Lord Byron, 1819, vi. 125.

In him the double tyrant starts to life Justice and Death have mixed their dust in vain,Each royal Vampire wakes to life again. Ah, what can tombs avail!—since these disgorge The blood and dust of both—to mould a George.

### From Giaour

The Giaour by Lord Byron first published in 1813 is also notable for its inclusion of the theme of vampires and vampirism. After telling how the giaour killed Hassan, the Ottoman narrator predicts that in punishment for his crime, the giaour will be condemned to become a vampire after his death and kill his own family by sucking their blood, to his own frightful torment as well as theirs. Byron became acquainted with the concept of vampires while on his Grand Tour.  - Full Text: The Giaour

The description of the vampire, lines 757-768:

*But first, on earth as vampire sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:
Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse: Thy victims ere they yet expire Shall know the demon for their sire, As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem.*

### Count Dracula in the Bower

A rather sexist poem by John Bernstein, if you ask me, titled Count Dracula in the Bower of Brigitte Bardot or the true nature of woman. It is given here as an example of the ways in which a "woman's weakness" continues to haunt the genera. In this example, particularly, the idea of vampires is transformed into a thinly veiled Rape Fantasy.

*As she dreams the curtains part, the Count leaps in with a pounding heart. The beauteous sight on queenly bed, drives blood from Dracula's Head. ... A preliminary nibble, a deeper bite - a sharp blonde scream explodes in the night. But as she shrieks at that male gorgon, deftly she starts to stroke his organ. For throughout the breath of man's empire, every woman loves a vampire.*

### A Mores III, XIV

The Amores, or Amours Literally Translated into English Prose, with Copious Notes Author: Ovid Translator: Henry T. Riley Book 3 Elegy XIV  written around 16 bce, by this time the elegiac couplet had been well adapted to erotic poetry but was first used by the Greeks for funeral poems.

*Why do I see your hair disarranged more than happens in sleep, and your neck bearing the marks of teeth? The fading itself alone you do not bring before my eyes; if you hesitate consulting your own reputation, still, spare me. My senses fail me, and I am expiring, oft as you confess your failings; and the drops flow, chilled throughout my limbs. Then do I love you; then, in vain, do I hate what I am forced to love; then I could wish myself to be dead, but together with you.*

### To Lydia

While not directly a poem of vampires, you do see bits and pieces of it quoted in many works of vampire fiction and even some write ups.Ode XIII, Book 1. Horace. Translated from latin by Philip Francis

*Ah! when on Telephus’s charms, His rosy neck, and ivory arms, My Lydia’s praise unceasing dwells, What gloomy spleen my bosom swells ? On my pale cheek the colour dies, My reason in confusion flies, And the down-stealing tear betrays The lingering flame that inward preys. I burn, when in excess of wine. He soils those snowy arms of thine; Or on thy lips the fierce-fond boy, Marks with his teeth the furious joy. If yet my voice can reach your ear, Hope not to find the youth sincere, Cruel who hurts the fragrant kiss, Which Venus bathes with nectar’d bliss. Thrice happy they, in pure delights Whom love with mutual bonds unites, Unbroken by complaints or strife Even to the latest hours of life.*

### La Review Blanche

La Review Blanche by August Strindberg 1895

Written in response to Edvard Munch's painting Love and Pain, later renamed Vampire after The Nazis declared it morally 'degenerate.' In the painting, we see a man in anguish, arms around his love, while she tries to comfort him. As far anyone knows, Mr. Munch never stated what inspired it.  It's worth nothing that he returned to this idea and painted it 6 times, they are always the same couple, in the same pose.

*Golden rain falls on the unfortunate kneeling creature who craves of his evil genius the boon of death by the prick of a needle. Golden fibres which bind to earth and to suffering. A rain of blood flows in torrents over the accursed head of him who seeks the misery, the divine misery of being loved, that is of loving.*

### The Horla

Maupassant was in interesting guy, and it's not just because Guy is his name. His full name was Henri René Albert Guy de Maupassant but that's often shortened to just Guy de Maupassant. He was probably born with congenital syphilis that settled into his spine and not his heart. By the time was 40 he was bat-crap insane.

August 19. I know, I know, I know all! I have just read the following in the "Revue du Monde Scientifique": "A curious piece of news comes to us from Rio de Janeiro. Madness, an epidemic of madness, which may be compared to that contagious madness which attacked the people of Europe in the Middle Ages, is at this moment raging in the Province of San-Paulo. The frightened inhabitants are leaving their houses, deserting their villages, abandoning their land, saying that they are pursued, possessed, governed like human cattle by invisible, though tangible beings, by a species of vampire, which feeds on their life while they are asleep, and which, besides, drinks water and milk without appearing to touch any other nourishment. ... Now I know, I can divine. The reign of man is over, and he has come. He whom disquieted priests exorcised, whom sorcerers evoked on dark nights, without seeing him appear, He to whom the imaginations of the transient masters of the world lent all the monstrous or graceful forms of gnomes, spirits, genii, fairies, and familiar spirits. After the coarse conceptions of primitive fear, men more enlightened gave him a truer form. Mesmer divined him, and ten years ago physicians accurately discovered the nature of his power, even before He exercised it himself. They played with that weapon of their new Lord, the sway of a mysterious will over the human soul, which had become enslaved. They called it mesmerism, hypnotism, suggestion, I know not what? I have seen them diverting themselves like rash children with this horrible power! Woe to us! Woe to man! He has come, the - the - what does He call himself - the - I fancy that he is shouting out his name to me and I do not hear him - the - yes - He is shouting it out - I am listening - I cannot - repeat - it - Horla - I have heard - the Horla - it is He - the Horla - He has come!

### Flowers of Evil

by Charles Baudelaire 1857 Two editions of Fleurs du mal were published in Baudelaire's lifetime — one in 1857 and an expanded edition in 1861.  However, as far as I can tell by the number of hits that come up when I'm archive diving on newspaper sites, english translations under the name The Metamorphoses of the Vampire have never stopped printing. It's almost as bad as Kipling's poem.

Bonus: Baudelaire is widely credited for bringing Edgar Allan Poe's works to France. Baudelaire was not the first French translator of Poe, but he was such a "fan boy" that he poured so much effort into getting the translations right that they're considered among the best, even today.

*La femme cependant, de sa bouche de fraise, En se tordant ainsi qu'un serpent sur la braise,  Et pétrissant ses seins sur le fer de son busc, Laissait couler ces mots tout imprégnés de musc: — Moi, j'ai la lèvre humide, et je sais la science De perdre au fond d'un lit l'antique conscience. Je sèche tous les pleurs sur mes seins triomphants, Et fais rire les vieux du rire des enfants. Je remplace, pour qui me voit nue et sans voiles, La lune, le soleil, le ciel et les étoiles! Je suis, mon cher savant, si docte aux voluptés, Lorsque j'étouffe un homme en mes bras redoutés, Ou lorsque j'abandonne aux morsures mon buste, Timide et libertine, et fragile et robuste, Que sur ces matelas qui se pâment d'émoi, Les anges impuissants se damneraient pour moi!» Quand elle eut de mes os sucé toute la moelle, Et que languissamment je me tournai vers elle Pour lui rendre un baiser d'amour, je ne vis plus Qu'une outre aux flancs gluants, toute pleine de pus! Je fermai les deux yeux, dans ma froide épouvante, Et quand je les rouvris à la clarté vivante, À mes côtés, au lieu du mannequin puissant Qui semblait avoir fait provision de sang, Tremblaient confusément des débris de squelette, Qui d'eux-mêmes rendaient le cri d'une girouette Ou d'une enseigne, au bout d'une tringle de fer, Que balance le vent pendant les nuits d'hiver.*

English translation by George Dillon (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)

*Meanwhile from her red mouth the woman, in husky tones, Twisting her body like a serpent upon hot stones And straining her white breasts from their imprisonment, Let fall these words, as potent as a heavy scent: "My lips are moist and yielding, and I know the way To keep the antique demon of remorse at bay. All sorrows die upon my bosom. I can make Old men laugh happily as children for my sake. For him who sees me naked in my tresses, I Replace the sun, the moon, and all the stars of the sky! Believe me, learnèd sir, I am so deeply skilled That when I wind a lover in my soft arms, and yield My breasts like two ripe fruits for his devouring — both Shy and voluptuous, insatiable and loath — Upon this bed that groans and sighs luxuriously Even the impotent angels would be damned for me!" When she had drained me of my very marrow, and cold And weak, I turned to give her one more kiss — behold, There at my side was nothing but a hideous Putrescent thing, all faceless and exuding pus. I closed my eyes and mercifully swooned till day: And when I looked at morning for that beast of prey Who seemed to have replenished her arteries from my own, The wan, disjointed fragments of a skeleton Wagged up and down in a lewd posture where she had lain, Rattling with each convulsion like a weathervane Or an old sign that creaks upon its bracket, right Mournfully in the wind upon a winter's night.*

### The Room in the Tower

by E.F. Benson in 1912 ;

If everyone is being honest with you, myself included, vampire enthusiasts above a certain age have multiple copies of this story. It hit public domain at exactly the right time, mass media during the 90s was rediscovering gothic horror and you could find this story easier than those cheap plastic fangs. Full\_Text:\_Room\_in\_the\_Tower

*..."I sprang out of bed, upsetting the small table that stood by it, and I heard my watch, candle, and matches clatter onto the floor. But for the moment there was no need of light, for a blinding flash leaped out of the clouds, and showed me that by my bed again hung the picture of Mrs. Stone. And instantly the room went into blackness again. But in that flash I saw another thing also, namely a figure that leaned over the end of my bed, watching me. It was dressed in some close-clinging white garment, spotted and stained with mold, and the face was that of the portrait. Overhead the thunder cracked and roared, and when it ceased and the deathly stillness succeeded, I heard the rustle of movement coming nearer me, and, more horrible yet, perceived an odor of corruption and decay. And then a hand was laid on the side of my neck, and close beside my ear I heard quick-taken, eager breathing. Yet I knew that this thing, though it could be perceived by touch, by smell, by eye and by ear, was still not of this earth, but something that had passed out of the body and had power to make itself manifest. Then a voice, already familiar to me, spoke. "I knew you would come to the room in the tower," it said. "I have been long waiting for you. At last you have come. Tonight I shall feast; before long we will feast together."...*

### The Mysterious Stranger

by Karl von Wachsmann. Erroneously credited as "Anonymous" and mistakenly dated to 1860 by the always sloppy Montage Summers. ut-oh, yeeep... I'm going there.... It first appeared in Germany in 1844 and is therefore the earliest known vampire story to be set in the Carpathian mountains, the setting for Dracula's castle. Many consider this story to have been utterly plagiarized by Bram Stoker for Dracula.  - Full Text: Mysterious Stranger

*...“Now, listen! I had walked up and down my room for a long time; I was excited — out of spirits — I do not know exactly what. It was almost midnight ere I lay down, but I could not sleep. I tossed about, and at length it was only from sheer exhaustion that I dropped off. But what a sleep it was! An inward fear ran through me perpetually. I saw a number of pictures before me, as I used to do in childish sicknesses. I do not know whether I was asleep or half awake. Then I dreamed, but as dearly as if I had been wide awake, that a sort of mist filled the room, and out of it stepped the knight Azzo. He gazed at me for a time, and then letting himself slowly down on one knee, imprinted a kiss on my throat. Long did his lips rest there; and I felt a slight pain, which always went on increasing, until I could bear it no more. With all my strength I tried to force the vision from me, but succeeded only after a long struggle. No doubt I uttered a scream, for that awoke me from my trance. when I came a little to my senses, I felt a sort of superstitious fear creeping over me — how great you may imagine when I tell you that, with my eyes open and awake, it appeared to me as if Azzo’s figure were still by my bed, and then disappearing gradually into the mist, vanished at the door!” “You must have dreamed very heavily, my poor friend,” began Bertha, but suddenly paused. She gazed with surprise at Franziska’s throat. “Why, what is that?” she cried. ” Just look: how extraordinary — a red streak on your throat!”...*

### La Belle Dame Sans Merci

by John Keats, The original version; 1819 It's widely considered an English classic, the poem is a good example of Keats' connecting love and death and i would challenge you to find a vampire book that doesn't quote it.

*O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, alone and palely loitering? the sedge has withered from the lake, and no birds sing. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, so haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel’s granary is full, and the harvest’s done. I see a lily on thy brow, with anguish moist and fever-dew, and on thy cheeks a fading rose fast withereth too. I met a lady in the meads, full beautiful, a fairy’s child; her hair was long, her foot was light, and her eyes were wild. I made a garland for her head, and bracelets too, and fragrant zone; she looked at me as she did love, and made sweet moan. I set her on my pacing steed, and nothing else saw all day long, for sidelong would she bend, and sing a faery’s song. She found me roots of relish sweet, and honey wild, and manna-dew, and sure in language strange she said — ‘I love thee true’. She took me to her Elfin grot, and there she wept and sighed full sore, and there I shut her wild, wild eyes with kisses four. And there she lullèd me asleep, and there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide! — the latest dream I ever dreamt on the cold hill side. I saw pale kings and princes too, pale warriors, death-pale were they all; they cried — ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci hath thee in thrall!’ I saw their starved lips in the gloam, with horrid warning gapèd wide, and I awoke and found me here, on the cold hill’s side. And this is why I sojourn here, alone and palely loitering, though the sedge is withered from the lake, and no birds sing.*

### Verses 155B.5-6

of 'Sir Hugh' in The English and Scottish Popular Ballads by Francis James Child is a folkloric example of a blood libel. The original texts are not preserved, but the versions written down from the 1700s onwards show a clear relationship with the 1255 accusations of the murder of Little Saint Hugh of Lincoln by Jews in Lincoln, making it likely that the known versions derive from compositions made around the time. Prejudice against Jews was particularly intense in the 1250s. The blood libel story of William of Norwich had been popularised by a hagiography. Towns had expelled Jews in the 1230s. Organised violence against Jews took place in the 1260s. Blood Libel is, of course, utter nonsense and basically accusing Jews of kidnapping and murdering the children of Christians in order to use their blood as part of religious rituals.

*155B.5: And out and cam the thick, thick bluid, And out and cam the thin, And out and cam the bonny herts bluid; Thair was nae life left in.*

*155B.6: Scho laid him on a dressing-borde, And drest him like a swine, And laughing said, Gae nou and pley With your sweit play-feres nine.*

### 'Passion'

Buffy the Vampire Slayer E17S2 1998

*“Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead.”*

### A Point of View

Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire pp 87-88

The Vampire Chronicles Collection: Volume 1

*“Evil is a point of view. We are immortal. And what we have before us are the rich feasts that conscience cannot appreciate and mortal men cannot know without regret. God kills, and so shall we; indiscriminately He takes the richest and the poorest, and so shall we; for no creatures under God are as we are, none so like Him as ourselves, dark angels not confined to the stinking limits of hell but wandering His earth and all its kingdoms.”*

### Le Vampire

Charles Nodier - Full name Jean Charles Emmanuel Nodier

Following Lord Byron’s novel, Fragment of a Novel, was John Polidori’s tale The Vampyre in 1819, soon to be adapted again, only this time as an adaption for the stage by Charles Nodier in his play Le Vampire, a French melodrama that was performed in Paris in June 1820 (Nunzia). J.R Planché’s The Vampire owes a great deal of its existence to the management of proprietor Samuel James Arnold. It was during this time in Planché’s career where he developed a strong interest in antiquarian practice, especially in regard to historical accuracy and the dramaturgy of a play’s origins. the Full Text

*Rut. [Walking about, agitated.] Demon as I am, that walks the earth to slaughter and devour! The little that remains of heart within this wizard frame, sustained alone by human blood, shrinks from the appalling act of planting misery in the bosom of this veteran chieftain. Still must the fearful sacrifice be made, and suddenly, for the approaching night will find my wretched frame exhausted -- and darkness -- worse than death -- annihilation is my lot! Margaret! unhappy maid! thou art my destined prey! thy blood must feed a vampire's life, and prove the food of his disgusting banquet.*

### Lamia

John Keats Lamia (Part II) lines 229–238

The poem tells how the god Hermes hears of a nymph who is more beautiful than all. Hermes, searching for the nymph, instead comes across Lamia, trapped in the form of a serpent. She reveals the previously invisible nymph to him and in return he restores her human form. She goes to seek a youth of Corinth, Lycius, while Hermes and his nymph depart together into the woods. The relationship between Lycius and Lamia, however, is destroyed when the sage Apollonius reveals Lamia's true identity at their wedding feast, whereupon she seemingly disappears and Lycius dies of grief. Full Text: Keats' Lamia

*Do not all charms fly at the mere touch of cold philosophy? There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given in the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an Angel’s wings, conquer all mysteries by rule and line, empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine — unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made the tender-person’d Lamia melt into a shade.*

### Kipling's Vampire 1897

Ahh, yes. The bane of archive diving. Widely published for a solid 20 years after it was written, what I found pleasantly surprising is just how the populations in the USA, England Canada and Australia reacted. They mocked it relentlessly in his life an outdated bit of misogynistic drivel. Everyone's Aunt submitted a parody of the poem to their local newspaper. One particularly humorous one involves hats.

As mocked as it was it has inspired things... like there's a direct line from this poem to the earliest known vampire movie made in 1910. Kiplings Vampire 1897

*A fool there was and he made his prayer (Even as you or I!) To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair, (We called her the woman who did not care), But the fool he called her his lady fair— (Even as you or I! Oh, the years we waste and the tears we waste, And the work of our head and hand Belong to the woman who did not know (And now we know that she never could know) And did not understand! A fool there was and his goods he spent, (Even as you or I!) Honour and faith and a sure intent (And it wasn't the least what the lady meant), But a fool must follow his natural bent (Even as you or I!) Oh, the toil we lost and the spoil we lost And the excellent things we planned Belong to the woman who didn't know why (And now we know that she never knew why) And did not understand! The fool was stripped to his foolish hide, (Even as you or I!) Which she might have seen when she threw him aside— (But it isn't on record the lady tried) So some of him lived but the most of him died— (Even as you or I!) And it isn't the shame and it isn't the blame That stings like a white-hot brand— It's coming to know that she never knew why (Seeing, at last, she could never know why) And never could understand!*

### The Haunting of Carrick Hollow

published in Crime Through Time III A New Collection of Original Historical Mysteries

The Haunting of Carrick Hollow by Jan Burke and Paul Sledzik

*"I have great sympathy for my neighbor, Amos Arden. The death of his wife and three children is a terrible loss for him. But in Consumption, the living are food for the dead, and we must think of the Living! The graves must be opened, and the bodies examined! If none of their hearts is found to hold blood, we may all be at peace, knowing that none are vampires. Bit if there is a vampire coming to us from the Arden graves, The Ritual must be performed! This is our only recourse." the room fell silent. No one rose to speak but many nodded in agreement.*

### The Apprenticeship of Lucas Whitaker

Cynthia De Felice Published February 20th 2007 by Farrar Straus Giroux (first published 1996)

*The Connecticut countryside, 1849; the grave was dug. Carefully, Lucas Whitaker hamered small metal tacks into the top of the coffin lid to form his mother's initials. HW, for Hannah Whitaker. Then he stood up to straighten his tired back. All that was left was to lower the pine box into the cold, hard ground and cover it with dirt.... "I didn't really understand the cure, how it worked. But now I do, thank's to you." Doc appeared startled. "How's that Lucas?" Lucas was surprised by Doc's question. "Well, you said.. you said lots of things. You said doctors don't always know what to do." Doc smiled bleakly. "True enough" "And you said old wich woman -" "Moll Garfield?" "Yes. You said she knows a lot even though people call her a witch, and if she used hair from a dog that bit you it might cure the bite. And you told me how you can protect yourself from getting smallpox real bad by making sure you get just a little bit of it. So, when I thought about the cure, the one Mr. Stukeley did..." "Yes?" "Well, it seemed the same."*

### The Ballad of Barbara Allen

"Barbara Allen" is a traditional Scottish ballad; it later travelled to America both orally and in print, where it became a popular folk song. Ethnomusicologists Steve Roud and Julia Bishop described it as "far and away the most widely collected song in the English language — equally popular in England, Scotland and Ireland, and with hundreds of versions collected over the years in North America."

*Was in the merry month of May When flowers were a-bloomin' Sweet William on his deathbed lay For the love of Barbara Allen Slowly, slowly she got up And slowly she went nigh him And all she said when she got there "Young man, I think you're dying" "O yes I'm sick and very low And death is on me dwellin' No better shall I ever be If I don't get Barbara Allen" "Don't you remember the other day When you were in the tavern You toasted all the ladies there And slighted Barbara Allen" "O yes, I remember the other day When we were in the tavern I toasted all the ladies there Gave my love to Barbara Allen" He turned his pale face to the wall And death was on him dwellin' "Adieu, adieu, my kind friends all Be kind to Barbara Allen" As she was walkin' through the fields She heard the deathbells knelling And every toll they seemed to say "Hardhearted Barbara Allen" "O mother, mother, make my bed O make it long and narrow Sweet William died for me today I'll die for him tomorrow" They buried Willie in the old churchyard And Barbara there anigh him And out of his grave grew a red, red rose And out of hers a briar They grew and grew in the old churchyard Till they couldn't grow no higher They lapped and tied in a true love's knot The rose ran around the briar.*

### The Count and Christ

John Bernstein imagined a conversation between Jesus and Count Dracula.

.*..I met that red beard on the road and much said he and I those caked lips will soon be white your charnel life's a lie turn back, turn back this moonlit night come through my cross to gods sky earth and sky are near of kin and sky needs earth I cried you yourself leaped on the cross from mans clay you shied but I lust for wine I bolt life caressed not life denied those maids I kiss through torn like lambs can taste my strength and love communion is on my beauty's breasts not mummy wheat from sky above high soars the eagle not the dove...*

### The Conqueror Worm

By Edgar Allan Poe

The Conqueror Worm is a poem by Edgar Allan Poe about human mortality and the inevitability of death. It was first published separately in Graham's Magazine in 1843, but quickly became associated with Poe's short story "Ligeia" after Poe added the poem to a revised publication of the story in 1845. In the revised story, the poem is composed by the eponymous Ligeia, and taught to the narrator in the fits of her death throes.

*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 Invisible Wo! 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.*

### The Bones of Chuang Tzu

Zhang Heng, as translated by Arthur Waley; in Poems from the Chinese (1920), pp. 12–14

*I saw a man's bones lying in the squelchy earth, Black rime-frost over him; and I in sorrow spoke And asked him, saying, "Dead man, how was it? Fled you with your friend from famine and for the last grains Gambled and lost? Was this earth your tomb, Or did floods carry you from afar? Were you mighty, were you wise, Were you foolish and poor? A warrior, or a girl?" Then a wonder came; for out of the silence a voice— Thin echo only, in no substance was the Spirit seen— Mysteriously answered, saying, "I was a man of Sung, Of the clan of Chuang! Chou was my name. Beyond the climes of common thought My reason soared, yet could I not save myself; For at the last, when the long charter of my years was told, I too, for all my magic, by age was brought To the Black Hill of Death. Wherefore, O Master, do you question me?" Then I answered: "Let me plead for you upon the Five Hill-tops, Let me pray for you to the Gods of Heaven and the Gods of Earth, That your white bones may arise, And your limbs be joined anew. ... Would you not have it so?" The dead man answered me "O Friend, how strange and unacceptable your words! In death I rest and am at peace; in life I toiled and strove. Is the hardness of the winter stream Better than the melting of spring? All pride that the body knew Was it not lighter than dust? What Ch'ao and Hsu despised, What Po-ch'eng fled, Shall I desire, whom death Already has hidden in the Eternal Way— Where Li Chu cannot see me Nor Tzu Yeh hear me, Where neither Yao nor Shun can praise me Nor the tyrants Chieh and Hsin condemn me, Nor wolf nor tiger harm me, Lance prick me nor sword wound me? Of the Primal Spirit is my substance; I am a wave In the river of Darkness and Light. The Maker of All Things is my Father and Mother, Heaven is my bed and earth my cushion, The thunder and lightning are my drum and fan, The sun and moon my candle and my torch, The Milky Way my moat, the stars my jewels. With Nature am I conjoined; I have no passion, no desire, Wash me and I shall be no whiter, Foul me and I shall yet be clean. I come not, yet am here; Hasten not, yet am swift." The voice stopped, there was silence. A ghostly light Faded and expired. I gazed upon the dead, stared in sorrow and compassion. Then I called upon my servant that was with me To tie his silken scarf about those bones And wrap them in a cloak of sombre dust; While I, as offering to the soul of this dead man, Poured my hot tears upon the margin of the road.*

### References

1. ↑ https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Page:The\_Works\_of\_Lord\_Byron\_(ed.\_Coleridge,\_Prothero)\_-\_Volume\_7.djvu/67
2. ↑ https://archive.org/stream/giaourfragmentof00byrouoft/giaourfragmentof00byrouoft\_djvu.txt
3. ↑ https://www.gutenberg.org/files/47676/47676-h/47676-h.htm
4. ↑ https://archive.org/stream/bub\_gb\_lJv1ZfzN-FIC/bub\_gb\_lJv1ZfzN-FIC\_djvu.txt
5. ↑ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love\_and\_Pain\_(painting)
6. ↑ https://www.edvardmunch.org/vampire.jsp
7. ↑ https://quadrant.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Quadrant-April-2013.pdf
8. ↑ https://web.archive.org/web/20110216183054/http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=MauStor.sgm&images=images%2Fmodeng&data=%2Ftexts%2Fenglish%2Fmodeng%2Fparsed&tag=public&part=4&division=div1
9. ↑ 9.0 9.1 9.2 https://fleursdumal.org/poem/186
10. ↑ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles\_Baudelaire#Edgar\_Allan\_Poe
11. ↑ https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The\_Room\_in\_the\_Tower
12. ↑ http://www.isfdb.org/cgi-bin/title.cgi?664573
13. ↑ https://www.vampires.com/did-anonymously-written-story-inspire-bram-stokers-dracula/
14. ↑ https://www.infoplease.com/unpublished-poems-john-keats-37
15. ↑ 15.0 15.1 http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/child/ch155.htm
16. ↑ https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0533470/quotes
17. ↑ https://books.google.com/books?id=beqODQAAQBAJ
18. ↑ http://www.forgottenfutures.com/game/ff6/vampire.htm
19. ↑ https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/397374.Crime\_Through\_Time\_III
20. ↑ https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/294819.The\_Apprenticeship\_of\_Lucas\_Whitaker
21. ↑ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbara\_Allen\_(song)
22. ↑ http://www.balladofamerica.com/music/indexes/songs/barbaraallen/index.htm
23. ↑ https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48633/the-conqueror-worm
24. ↑ https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Zhuangzi