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Posts Tagged ‘Byron’

Epic Woe Apologies

February 10th, 2009 Mike 1 comment
Fare thee well, and if for ever
Still for ever, fare thee well.
-Byron

If you are a faithful reader of this blog–I know there are at least a few of you–than you may have noticed that I have deleted the series of posts entitled “Epic Woe, or My Troubles with MySpace.” Yesterday, it came to my attention that one or more of the persons depicted in these particular posts was reading this blog. Now, although I don’t particularly like any of the people I was writing about (to be completely honest), I couldn’t in good conscience put their troubles under further scrutiny, especially in a public setting such as this one. Like I said at the beginning of Part I of “Epic Woe…,” I did have some misgivings about starting those series of posts. Maybe I should have listened to my gut. So, after much consideration, I decided to delete the posts. My apologies to those who enjoyed them.

Finally, in case you were wondering how the whole series ended, I will say this: it ended very much like my other tales of woe–in heartache.

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More Fun with the O.E.D.

January 1st, 2009 Mike No comments

First, I’d like to thank everyone who contributed in the comments to my definition of “ordeal.” Now, more fun with the Oxford English Dictionary!…

I won’t bore you will the complete definition of the word “woe,” but I will bore you with a partial definition and a few excerpts of English poetry that contain my personal favorite uses of the word “woe.” Consider this a particularly self-serving blog post. My apologies.

B. n. 1. a. A condition of misery, affliction, or distress; misfortune, trouble; grievous or sorrowful state. poet. or rhet. Freq. in phr. tale of woe, a narrative of (one’s) misfortunes. Now usu. joc.

Shakespeare, from Romeo and Juliet, Act V, Scene iii:

“A glooming peace this morning with it
brings,
The sun, for sorrow, will not show its head.
Go hence to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished:
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

Coleridge, from Genevieve:

“Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve!
In Beauty’s light you glide along:
Your eye is like the star of eve,
And sweet your Voice, as Seraph’s song.
Yet not your heavenly Beauty gives
This heart with passion soft to glow:
Within your soul a Voice there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of Woe.”

Byron, from The Giaour:

“And thou wilt bless thee from the rage
Of passions fierce and uncontroll’d,
Such as thy penitents unfold,
Whose secret sins and sorrows rest
Within thy pure and pitying breast.
My days, though few, have pass’d below
In much of joy, but more of woe;”

Shelley, from Prometheus Unbound, Act I, Scene i:

“Ah woe!
Ah woe! Alas! pain, pain ever, for ever!
I close my tearless eyes, but see more clear
Thy works within my woe-illumèd mind,
Thou subtle tyrant! Peace is in the grave.
The grave hides all things beautiful and good:
I am a God and cannot find it there,
Nor would I seek it: for, though dread revenge,
This is defeat, fierce king, not victory.
The sights with which thou torturest gird my soul
With new endurance, till the hour arrives
When they shall be no types of things which are.”

OK, that’s enough of that. For my next post, I plan on returning to my own personal tales of woe; however, I am also toying with the idea of presenting a summarization of sorts of the ultimate tale of woe: The Book of Job (King James Version).

Good night.

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