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New Ancient Greek Literature unearthed, revealing new clues to Atlantis

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Hermocrates
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« on: October 16, 2015, 01:27:15 pm »

Recent find of an ancient Greek Ode attributed to Pindar.

I ran across this a few days ago, and although it seems to be Pindar's handwriting and style, I had my doubts about its authenticity, as the first thing that comes to mind is, “ here we go, another hoax related to the legendary Atlantis.” And, initially, I totally rejected it, thinking that we needed more time and, perhaps, more evidence to surface before rendering a correct verdict. I could not, seriously, take it upon my own good judgment one way or the other, as to its originality and authorship, since, I have but little knowledge on Atlantis, in general.

Therefore I thought it best to present it here, on this forum, where there is lots of interest and knowledge on the subject of Atlantis, and Pindar, too. But even before I'm corrected and admonished by some expert here, it should be made record that I can be swayed, with logical reasoning and the necessary evidence, in either direction, as I'm remaining in the middle, preferring to remain on safe ground, than to venture into the unknown and then find myself, as the mundane ancients thought, “falling off at the edge of the world.” Although I have changed my mind and prefer to remain neutral, I will let you know the opinion I had as to my first assessment. With the little knowledge and experience I possess on the subject, which as I have already stated, is nothing much worth, I believed it to have been a case of partiality, and just mere conjecture on the part of the reporter, as it seemed a clear case of infatuation with the Poet Pindar, and therefore a totally biased speculation by this reporter. As such, I will spare the readers the agony I had to endure in reading the entire article, and therefore avoiding the possibly that the reader(s) may come to the same initial opinion I had, and for which I was definitely wrong.

However, as a token of my apology and appreciation to the reporter, I would like to point out the significance that this may have, if it does prove to be Pindar's work. This great find would clearly establish the fore-knowledge of Atlantis by Pindar, especially as it relates to, and in conjunction with his 3rd Olympian ode, which, according to a single, expert source, seems to be the first ever mention of the “Pillars of Heracles,” as far as the careful perusal of the extant literature has been able to establish, if, indeed, all the extant literature, and the lost works too, has been intimately gone over by keen and expert minds and eyes.

Anyway, the point is that, this would be a ground-breaker for the search of the lost island, and a corroboration that Plato did not invent the tale of Atlantis, since Pindar lived long before Plato. It is noteworthy to recall that Plato's writings contain many citations of Pindar's own words, which would indicate that Plato was enamored with Pindar's works. Therefore the intent of the tale of Atlantis was Plato's ultimate show of respect and dedication to Pindar. This, in turn, should spawn new interest in the tale of Atlantis, which has fascinated humanity for over 2,400 years. But more importantly, if Pindar was, indeed, acquainted with Atlantis before Plato, then the search for Atlantis, to save time, money, and aggravation, should be directed at trying to unearth, not Atlantis, but more of Pindar's lost work. This new direction and would-be finds would, perhaps, contain more precise details as to where, when, and how the history and fall of the Atlantian empire took place.

And, finally, I would like to offer a sincere apology to one of the regulars on this site, as one does to gods. Although, appearing to be only a recent arrival asking questions, with only two or three posts shined forth with extensive and exhaustive knowledge of Pindar and Atlantis that totally astonished me. And along with the personal information provided in those posts, information known only to this "poster" of no mean figure, mythical like, marvelous information it was, which not even Wikipedia possessed, brought the brightest light on our obscure and frivolous searches for Atlantis. Out of respect and admiration I have developed for this person, I will not mention the name. Since this person is rather modest and shy, as anyone can easily spot, as this special person, using only few mystical images, and even fewer words, mostly, writes under various usernames wishing to remain anonymous. But anonymous or not, this poster is the unanimous and undisputed heavy weight champion of this site, as far as I'm, now, concerned. Because this poster, by showing great, and wondrous eloquence, which reveals such dexterous intellectual prowess, mostly leaves the readers numb and speechless. This poster is also of noble birth, being able to trace back 25 generations of glorious and famous ancestors. We also see that this nobility streak is not in danger of being broken, and is being carried forth a further generation, as the poster seeks not glory nor wealth, possessing them already, but only truth! And as evidence of this nobility, as a token only, in this endeavor for truth and to freely share this unique knowledge with others, only requests a personal check in the sum of just one single dollar. And as a further demonstration of a person possessed with an overly, generous philanthropist spirit, the checks are not even cashed! So much from such good persons, I could never match, for which, deficient as I am, both financially and intellectually, I am not worthy to even loose the laces of their sandals!

With my apology duly tendered and out of the way, here is a reproduction and English translation of this lost, but now extant, ode to Atlantis, believed to be Pindar's.     

THE LOST ATLANTIS.

Fair  Atlantis, peerless country!
Lulled within the Ocean's arms,
Lying beautiful and shining
Far beneath the storm's alarms;
Never has a plague come near thee;
In thy halls were love and ease;
Now, above thee lost Atlantis!
Roll the ever restless seas.


In those histories, half tradition,
With their mythical thread of gold,
We shall find the name and story
Of thy cities, fair and old;
Dreaming bard has told in fancy
Wandering minstrel sung of thee,
Now, above thee, lost Atlantis,
Rolls the ever restless sea.


Every heart has such a country;
Some Atlantis loved, and lost—
Where upon the gleaming sand bars
Once life's fitful ocean tost;
Mighty cities rose in splendor
Love was monarch of that clime
Now, above that lost Atlantis
Rolls the restless sea of Time.


Happy he, who looking backward
From a life of larger scope
Deems a youthful idle fancy
His lost continent of Hope;
Or by light of love and gladness,
Find the present home sublime
Glad that over his Atlantis
Rolls the restless sea of Time.
The "High" minded minstrel sings:

The continent of Atlantis was an island which lay before the great flood
in the area we now call the Atlantic Ocean.
So great an area of land, that from her western shores
those beautiful sailors journeyed to the South and the North Americas with ease,
in their ships with painted sails.
To the East, Africa was a neighbor, across a short strait of sea miles.
The great Egyptian age is but a remnant of The Atlantian culture.
The antediluvian kings colonized the world
All the Gods who play in the mythological dramas
In all legends from all lands were from fair Atlantis.
Knowing her fate, Atlantis sent out ships to all corners of the Earth.
On board were the Twelve:
The poet, the physician, the farmer, the scientist,
The magician and the other so-called Gods of our legends.
Though Gods they were -
And as the elders of our time choose to remain blind
Let us rejoice and let us sing and dance and ring in the new
Hail Atlantis!
Way down below the ocean where I wanna be she may be,
Way down below the ocean where I wanna be she may be,
Way down below the ocean where I wanna be she may be.
Way down below the ocean where I wanna be she may be,
Way down below the ocean where I wanna be she may be.
My antediluvian baby, oh yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah,
I wanna see you some day
My antediluvian baby, oh yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah,
My antediluvian baby,
My antediluvian baby, I love you, girl,
Girl, I wanna see you some day.
My antediluvian baby, oh yeah
I wanna see you some day, oh
My antediluvian baby.
My antediluvian baby, I wanna see you
My antediluvian baby, gotta tell me where she gone
I wanna see you some day
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, oh yeah
Oh glub glub, down down, yeah
My antediluvian baby, oh yeah yeah yeah yeah!
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parta
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« Reply #1 on: October 16, 2015, 01:49:05 pm »

your layout for the most part is camera ready. i'm sure the printer can adjust the breaks for toilet paper towards the end where the schizophrenia kicked in.
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Hermocrates
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« Reply #2 on: October 17, 2015, 08:35:16 pm »

your layout for the most part is camera ready. i'm sure the printer can adjust the breaks for toilet paper towards the end where the schizophrenia kicked in.

Actually the line breaks are not a problem, and it would be no trouble to fix. Besides, Donovan would not like me to break up the lines he put together. The real problem is how to get you to stop acting like a bully, who keeps crashing in my posts, just because I proved you to be an idiot. If you will ever stop, then I will proceed with a very interesting and true story about the actual meaning of Plato's Atlantis, and where she lies.

Now I'm going to reiterate our discordance. Therefore pay attention and be of good cheer, as adonishment is meant only to improve you, and not harm your reputation as a great debator; that you have already proven to be impossible by your own hand, and I have only reinforced it.

Fearing that there would be high words, I again endeavored to soothe, and say to the forum: To you, I must repeat what I said before to others— that we do not understand the ways of these, "joined,"  three wise-headed philosophers from abroad, because they accuse me, and you too indirectly, that we do not understand anything about Atlantis or Plato, or Aristotle, or Herodotus, etc. They, (this three headed wonder) are not serious, but, like the Egyptian wizard, Proteus, they take different forms and deceive us by their enchantments: and let us, like Menelaus, refuse to let them go until they show themselves, all three heads, to us in earnest. When they begin to be in earnest their full beauty will appear: let us then beg and entreat and beseech them to shine forth. And I think that I had better once more exhibit the form in which I pray to behold them; it might be a guide to them. I will go on therefore where I left off, as well as I can, in the hope that I may touch their hearts, as well as the heads, and move them to pity, and that when they see me deeply serious and interested, they also may be serious. You, I said, shall remind me at what point we left off. Did we not agree that philosophy should be studied? and was not that our conclusion?

And philosophy is the acquisition of knowledge?

And what knowledge ought we to acquire? May we not answer with absolute truth — A knowledge which will do us good?

And should we be any the better if we went about having a knowledge of the places where most gold was hidden in the earth?

But have we not already proved, I say, that we should be none the better off, even if without trouble and digging all the gold which there is in the earth were ours? And if we knew how to convert stones into gold, the knowledge would be of no value to us, unless we also knew how to use the gold? Do you not remember?

Nor would any other knowledge, whether of money-making, or of medicine, or of any other art which knows only how to make a thing, and not to use it when made, be of any good to us. Am I not right?

And if there were a knowledge which was able to make men immortal, without giving them the knowledge of the way to use the immortality, neither would there be any use in that, if we may argue from the analogy of the previous instances?

Then, my dear three-headed boy, I say, that the knowledge which we want is one that uses as well as makes, correct?

And our desire is not to be skilful lyre-makers, or artists of that sort — far otherwise; for with them the art which makes is one, and the art which uses is another. Although they have to do with the same, they are divided: for the art which makes and the art which plays on the lyre differ widely from one another. Am I not right?

Therefore, this assumed concept that Pindar was the first to coin the term, "Pillars of Heracles," what are we to make of it?

First, where, and what is the expert and trustworthy source that you are relaying on for establishing Pindar as the original source? Surely not by the content of the ode itself? The term, had to have been known well before the ode, logically. Why? Because Pindar, if he mentions it for the first time in the 3rd Olympian ode, does nothing to further explain the term, PoH, for the readers, or listeners of the ode. This in itself is logical proof that he expected his audience to be already familiar with the term, PoH. Especially since anyone that has had a classical education, knows that Pindar used much of the older poets' material to reinvent their ideas, by embellishing, and adorning them with many fancy and "pretty" words. Since this has been known from antiquity, and even Pindar himself reveals this to his readers, I do not see how anyone can truthfully state, as you have, or more correctly, from the source you have gotten this idea of primacy, especially since so much of ancient literature has been lost to us, which would, most likely, contain the term, "Pillars of Heracles," long before Pindar was even born.

If however, we want to prove that the term, PoH, was in use at the time of Solon, so as to assess Plato's use of it in the tale of Atlantis, as placed on the mouth of the characters in the dialogue, then we still cannot use the information within Pindar's ode, since we all know that Solon died before Pindar was born.  What is needed in this situation is to have an extant work, whether Greek or Egyptian, or from anywhere else, where the term PoH is contained, and the work can be accurately dated to, at least, the time of Solon's lifespan. The next best thing, if there is nothing extant, is to have an extant work of antiquity, from a well established and reputable author of antiquity that addresses the term, PoH, and also, possibly, indicate another much earlier source than Pindar, and whose work is lost to us, but was still extant at the author's time, from which it had gotten the information. This second best will still suffice for the purpose of establishing if the term, PoH, was in use at the time of Solon and the Priests of Sais, although it does nothing for establishing the location of the PoH, unless an exact location was mentioned along with the term, PoH. And still further, it does even less for establishing the truthfulness of the Tale, even by affirming that the term, PoH, was in vogue during Solon's life.

Still, as I had argued at the beginning, since you, obviously, completely misunderstood and erroneously combined two separate parts of the ode, to arrive at a location for the pillars, that particular ode cannot be utilized to determine the location of the pillars, even though the term, PoH, are contained in the ode. Still, I will not rule out that you may have been in jest on this wise, if you are a person of sense, as you claim. 
 
Since the search for Atlantis, in the long course of establishing if myth or real, part of the evidence for being true should also, logically, establish the use of the term, PoH, at the time of Solon. You and anyone else will not get any complaints from me on this very point. However, it is also imperative, and an important piece of evidence and clue, for the side of true, as to the correct location of the PoH. Because this will greatly help in the search for the location, eliminating many places as being possible locations for Atlantis.

Therefore, how can anyone, safely, establish the location of the PoH as provided by Plato? Where are these very pillars that Plato wants to convey to us?

Where do we look for corroboration to Plato's placement of the pillars? First, we all know that there is disputation on this very point. However, the overwhelming majority is in accord when the pillars are identified as forming the modernday Gibraltar strait. Further, the fact that ancient men of renown and trustworthiness have also by, overwhelming majority, placed the PoH there too. Therefore, the burden of proving otherwise lies with the very tiny, and insignificant minority.

So, where is the proof that the PoH are located other than the locations forming the strait of Gibraltar? Who and what is the source that states this otherwise? Also remember that Stabo mentiones that even Pindar goes on to place the PoH at Gibraltar, although this work of Pindar is lost.

So if you want to show off to this forum, I suggest you stop with the child's play, which I have gone along till now, hoping that you would outgrow it, and do give us your beautiful image of a wise person, and stop with the silly play and the pictures. Any child can do that, but do show us your verility and manliness of your mind, as you claim to have. Stop telling us how rich you are in money and wisdom, and do show us the evidence. And we do not want to see any plated coins, show us the bare metal; show us the orichalcum!

I also have asked you to answer a simple question, if you consider yourself an expert in Atlantis and Plato. Why five twins?
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parta
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« Reply #3 on: October 17, 2015, 09:21:59 pm »

i believe simple logic concludes that you follow the path of most truths or however you like to phrase it.

the greeks at the time of plato said the pillars were at the springs of istru. pindar says it and herodotus says it. you should be able to produce a piece of text that contradicts this from before plato or during his lifetime but you cannot therefore anything you say is your opinion and thats not a truth. we stop your path and continue on mine. orthodox science and the worldcourt at the hague says there was there a pelagos at the springs of istru. so okeanos is a truth. we continue. is there a huge [60ish stades that is 60k natural strides] round geological formation that would have been flooded by this pelagos. the national geological institute of romania says there is and anyone in the world can look at a soil map of the region and see it. it is visible via satellite. is there any reason to stop yet? does a large coffer [the pen of geryon at gadiera] sit opposite the springs of istru? yes and barely touched by all the years but since its a flood survivor it should be in great shape. can science name and show a map of the activities of the atlanteans that fit and marry with plato? yes. see the epigravettians and their descendants.

when the landscape stops providing science with finds that confirm whats been said then thats where we logically stop. it is illogical to follow you past the first thing you say because its all just your opinion and no truth.

cheers to you peasant.
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Hermocrates
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« Reply #4 on: October 18, 2015, 12:32:45 am »

i believe simple logic concludes that you follow the path of most truths or however you like to phrase it.

the greeks at the time of plato said the pillars were at the springs of istru. pindar says it and herodotus says it. you should be able to produce a piece of text that contradicts this from before plato or during his lifetime but you cannot therefore anything you say is your opinion and thats not a truth. we stop your path and continue on mine. orthodox science and the worldcourt at the hague says there was there a pelagos at the springs of istru. so okeanos is a truth. we continue. is there a huge [60ish stades that is 60k natural strides] round geological formation that would have been flooded by this pelagos. the national geological institute of romania says there is and anyone in the world can look at a soil map of the region and see it. it is visible via satellite. is there any reason to stop yet? does a large coffer [the pen of geryon at gadiera] sit opposite the springs of istru? yes and barely touched by all the years but since its a flood survivor it should be in great shape. can science name and show a map of the activities of the atlanteans that fit and marry with plato? yes. see the epigravettians and their descendants.

when the landscape stops providing science with finds that confirm whats been said then thats where we logically stop. it is illogical to follow you past the first thing you say because its all just your opinion and no truth.

cheers to you peasant.

Your highness!

Specificity is a must in science. Which Greeks are you referring to, and where; what documents contain such a clear and specific description and location? And which Herodotus are you referring to, the historian? Then also reference where in Herodotus's History is, again, this very clear and unmistakable "directional sign?"  And don't give anyone any "bullish" story from any Romanian institute; they are called Romanians not for a sign of nobility, but only bare that name to designate their masters and conquerors!

Show me this, then I will counter-punch, as you have requested, although I have already hit you so many times, that your head is still spinning, and perhaps this spinning is causing you to be "seasick." Since you have not thrown a punch, but have only flinched your deltoid muscle, by given such silly undefined nonsense, no logical counter is required. But I will again try, with a little help from a friend and like thinker, using mostly his style of eloquence, to educate you; a daunting and tormenting feat.

There is a certain sort of human being who sees in himself the aggregate of every possible strengths. None of this however is sufficient for him for conceiving of himself has having any defects. It amounts to a classical case of self-delusion. And no matter the amount of reason can dislodge this person from the net of lies it has entangled himself.

Even the meekest are capable of the most ingenious simulation and dissimulation when things go incontrovertibly against them.

Timid people are liable to go through life without ever understanding that the urge to humiliate people plays an important part in the emotional economy of others, most especially those others who are their arch-tormentors and rivals.

We use the word "boring" to denigrate those who are fighting the same fight as we, but whose characters counsel more reserve than we ourselves possess or whose tactics in the fight are more subtle. We use nastier epithets to distinguish those who attach less value to victory but are nevertheless fighting with the same vehemence as ourselves.

How many exceptional human beings have been stunned into stupor by the specious argument that by championing the exception they thereby wanted to denigrate the rule? So goes the old proverb; do not lay down pearls before swine.

Style, simultaneously an expression of esprit and an outlet for one’s highest ideals, is also a matter of self-concealment. After the tragedy, questions of personal agency become more urgent and obscure.

Sincerity is not a mark of freedom and Democritus stood things very nearly on their heads in claiming that it is. Sincerity is commonly also a mark of solid self-satisfaction and only to be esteemed when combined with notions of level and depth. The sincerity of a human being who wades about in the shallows is a phenomenon that calls to be seen through. (More fairly:- it is only to be gauged accurately when listened to against the background noise of his or her whole way of life and the ways of life of his or her world.)

The only intelligent modern-day contributions to classical wisdom are ironic ones. An ability to discern what goes on in the heads of others is perfectly compatible with a perfect inability to discern what is going on inside your own head. (And vice versa.) The sphere of all your self-perception and the sphere of your perception of others are incommensurate.
 
The next time you go and see the powerful wizard of Oz, ask for a brain, and don't forget a little courage too, since you need both to see and admit to your retched condition. Please go somewhere else to tell your fairy tales to, if you are serious. If not, then the joke is on you, as you will note if you just stay in your chair, and don't speak out until the teacher calls on you, otherwise I will take back the lollipops!

Peace my kingly, bird-brain "pen-pal!"
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parta
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« Reply #5 on: October 18, 2015, 01:19:32 am »

from plato, as you greeks say pillars of hercules you pathetic dumbass

you have hit me with what? am i struck by the fact that i am talking to an actual psycho. never thought i would. you are the only one here or anywhere on earth that thinks you are a genius. none knows you. noone will ever praise your efforts because beyond what you can prove is called your opinion. noone cares about your opinion. the little voices in your head are not real friends cheering you on. vote says you are an idiot. you cannot hide from it. you cannot respond to it go ahead with more song lyrics like a 13 year old girl. does your diseased mind actually see that as sane?

my world keeps on turning and i don't do a thing. science works tirelessly for me. your world crashes at your feet and you fiddle and sing.
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Hermocrates
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« Reply #6 on: October 18, 2015, 08:33:16 am »

from plato, as you greeks say pillars of hercules you pathetic dumbass

you have hit me with what? am i struck by the fact that i am talking to an actual psycho. never thought i would. you are the only one here or anywhere on earth that thinks you are a genius. none knows you. noone will ever praise your efforts because beyond what you can prove is called your opinion. noone cares about your opinion. the little voices in your head are not real friends cheering you on. vote says you are an idiot. you cannot hide from it. you cannot respond to it go ahead with more song lyrics like a 13 year old girl. does your diseased mind actually see that as sane?

my world keeps on turning and i don't do a thing. science works tirelessly for me. your world crashes at your feet and you fiddle and sing.

Excuses, excuses, excuses, nothing but smoke and no fire. Which bird-brain head of the hydra am I to address? Although technically it does not matter, it is only for the record. "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" The fact stands that you never provide anything to back any of your heads, and all that bull crap that ushers forth from the abysmal depths of your empty heads. You are sounding more and more like the head, Nikas, I swear! Although the Rennes head is always upfront, and center stage. But apparently you have gone from Malta to the springs of the Danube. And all the while I had thought that Poseidon had gotten you with his trident; one point for each of your three heads!

Ok, you are even dumber than I could have imagined, as you fail to see that the use of music is a most revealing vehicle to the initiated, the ones that can read between the lines, and notes! Poetry, I though was your forte` since you brought out Pindar, but evidently you know nothing of that either. To you, it would not matter, if someone wrote this:

"Roses are red, my love
Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet, my love
But not as sweet as you."

You would still not understand the meaning and the association of the verses to a particular theme; specificity. What is red and which hue of red? What kind of rose? What kind of violet? What kind of sugar, just how sweet, and what specific sugar plant and location did the sugar come from? Who is you? What is Love? How much love? And so on, and on.

What is blue? Anyone trying to put some sense into all your empty heads, that is who! Because one cannot go against nature, as you cannot be made a thinking creature, even after someone goes on trying to make you think, till they are blue in the face, as the wise saying goes.

So what are the chances you will understand this?

Come, fellow-citizens, and see
The desolate, discomfited Hermocrates,
On the last path his steps shall tread,
Set forth, the journey of the dead:
Watching, with vainly-lingering gaze,
His last, last sun's expiring rays;
Never to see it, never more!
For down to Atlantis' dread shore
A living victim am I led
To Hades' universal bed, beneath the seas.
To my dark lot no novel joys
Belong, nor e'er the jocund noise
Of hymenean chant shall sound for me;
But Death, cold Death my only friend shall be.
Ah me! and am I laughed to scorn?
Oh! by my country's gods I pray,
Why mock ye me, not yet to Atlantis borne,
But living in the light of day?
Thou city, hear my call!
And ye the city's wealthy burghers all!
Alas! sweet Dirce's fountain stream,
And Thebes' Pindar, where the bright chariots gleam,
Bear witness to my dreary lot—
How, by my treacherous friends unwept, forgot,
I go, obedient to my doom.
To the dark dungeon of this new-heaped tomb!
Miserable me!
Nor with the living nor the dead to be!
But in lone banishment to a site and lie,
Where man may neither live, nor yet may die.
Unmourned, unfriended, and unappreciated.
My dismal journey am I led:
No more may I behold the eye
Of that great holy lamp on high;
And o'er my tear-less grave shall moan
Of all my reckless friends not one.
Tomb! my chamber! deep-delved
And strongly guarded mansion! I descend
To meet in your dread chambers all my kindred,
Who in dark multitudes have crowded down
Where Proserpine receives the dead. But I,
The last — and oh, how few more miserable!
Go down, or ere my sands of life are run.

And why was I slain, and why did I fight?
"Far from the world, in yen sequestered clime,
Slow pass the sons of Wisdom, more sublime;
Calm as the fields of Heaven, his sapient eye
The loved Athenian lifts to realms on high,
Admiring Plato, on his spotless page,
Stamps the bright dictates of the Father sage:
'Shall Nature bound to Earth's diurnal span
The fire of God; th' immortal soul of man?'
    "Turn, child of Heaven; thy rapture-lightened eye
To Wisdom's walks, the sacred Nine are nigh:
Hark! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height,
From streams that wander in eternal light,
Ranged on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell
The mingling tones of horn, and harp and shell.
Deep from his vaults the Loxian murmurs flow,
And Pythia's awful organ peals below.
    "Beloved of Heaven! the smiling Muse shall shed
Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head.
Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfined,
And breathe a holy madness o'er thy mind.
I see thee roam her guardian power beneath,
And talk with spirits en the midnight heath;
Inquire of guilty wanderers whence they came,
And ask each blood-stained form his earthly name
Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell,
And read the trembling world the tales of hell.



















    
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parta
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« Reply #7 on: October 18, 2015, 09:00:08 am »

no excuses. you cannot respond. there is not text that says you are correct. science verifies what pindar says while your cheering section, timmy the tumor, says this massive audience here believes everything you say because you talk to god. anything you have ever written on your own is sad whacko garbage.
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Hermocrates
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« Reply #8 on: October 18, 2015, 02:53:28 pm »

no excuses. you cannot respond. there is not text that says you are correct. science verifies what pindar says while your cheering section, timmy the tumor, says this massive audience here believes everything you say because you talk to god. anything you have ever written on your own is sad whacko garbage.

What science? You are dreaming; wake-up before it turns into a nightmare! Here are three more feathers for your plume-rich coat.


---------------------------------------------------------------

We're living in a land of make believe
And trying no to let it show
Maybe in that land of make believe
Heartaches can turn into joy

We're breathing in the smoke of high and low
We're taking up a lot of room
Somewhere in the dark and silent night
Our prayer will be heard
Make it soon

So fly little bird
Up into the clear blue sky
And carry the word
Love's the only reason why

Open all the shutters on your windows
Unlock all the locks upon your doors
Brush away the cobwebs from your day-dreams
No secrets come between us anymore
Oh, say it's true
Only love can see you through
You know what love can do to you

We're living in a land of make believe
And trying no to let it show...
Maybe in that land of make believe
Heartaches can turn into joy

We're breathing in the smoke of high and low
We're taking up a lot of room
Somewhere in the dark and lonely night
Our prayer will be heard
Make it soon

So fly little bird
Up into the clear blue sky
And carry the word
Love's the only reason why...

Open all the shutters on your windows
Unlock all the locks upon your doors
Brush away the cobwebs from your day-dreams
No secrets come between us anymore
Oh, say it's true
Only love can see you through
You know what love can do to you

------------------------------------------------

Fairy tales can come true
It can happen to you if you're young at heart (young at heart)
For it's hard, you will find
To be narrow of mind if you're young at heart (young at heart)

You can go to extremes with impossible schemes
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams
And life gets more exciting with each passing day
And love is either in your heart or on it's way

Don't you know that it's worth
Every treasure on earth to be young at heart (young at heart)
For as rich as you are
It's much better by far to be young at heart (young at heart)

And if you should survive to a hundred and five
Look at all you'll derive out of bein' alive
And here is the best part, you have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart

(Don't you know that it's worth)
(Every treasure on earth to be young at heart)
(For as rich as you are)
(It's much better by far to be young at heart)

And if you should survive to a hundred and five
Look at all you'll derive out of bein' alive
And here is the best part, you have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart

---------------------------------------------------------------

Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goldies
Be-Bop-A-Lula, Baby What I Say
Here comes Johnny singing I Gotta Woman
Down in the tunnels trying to make it pay
He got the action, he got the motion
Yeah the boy can play
Dedication devotion
Turning all the night time into the day
He do the song about the sweet loving woman
He do the song about the knife
He do the walk, he do the walk of life
Here comes Johnny and he'll tell you the story
Hand me down my walking shoes
Here comes Johnny with the power and glory
Backbeat the talkin' blues
He got the action, he got the motion
Yeah the boy can play
Dedication devotion
Turning all the night time into the day
He do the song about the sweet loving woman
He do the song about the knife
He do the walk, he do the walk of life
Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goldies
Be-Bop-A-Lula Baby What I Say
Here comes Johnny singing I Gotta Woman
Down in the tunnels, trying to make it pay
He got the action, he got the motion
Yeah the boy can play
Dedication devotion
Turning the night time into day
And after all the violence and double talk
There's just a song in all the trouble and the strife
You do the walk, you do the walk of life


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parta
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« Reply #9 on: October 18, 2015, 02:56:41 pm »

yes what do you know about science. you don't post in the science topic anymore. thats one of your, gods and timmy's regrets isn't it.
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Hermocrates
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« Reply #10 on: October 18, 2015, 07:49:42 pm »

yes what do you know about science. you don't post in the science topic anymore. thats one of your, gods and timmy's regrets isn't it.


Again, it is said, that literature and science are incompatible, and that the latter cannot but destroy the former, and a great deal of metaphysical learning has been expended to small purpose in enforcing this paltry opinion. To state the truth in its real dimensions, before pinching its soul to the size required in such a relation. Science is the purveyor that brings Inspiration all her materials. She conquers nature that the soul may convert it, and this conversion should take place from hour to hour, instead of at the end of a succession of ages, as it has been compelled to occur in the past. It is science that gives the ages and the cycles wings; the power that unplumes them is something different. Hitherto, indeed, science has always, sooner or later, destroyed both religion and literature, while it is none the less true that exclusive devotion to science has palsied the poetic faculty. But when we have said all this, we are far from having accounted for the ruin of religion and poetry in any instance. Both of the causes assigned for the effect are in reality but part of the effect, and must be referred to a yet higher cause. The agency of science in the work of destruction is purely elative, that is, operative only within the cycle, and against its walls as resisting power. This is evident at a glance, so far as the office of science, rather its body and content, is concerned. Literature perished in ancient times from an accumulation of knowledge which was as nothing compared with the amount which the ages of her prime in modern times possessed. Modern civilization was born out of and generated by all the knowledge of every kind which the ancients had accumulated; yet, the sublime features which distinguish Christian literature from its Pagan rival, proceed exactly from the vast stride in knowledge and capacity which separated man at the close of the Pagan civilization, from the spot where he stood at its rise. In particular instances, Dante, Milton, Goethe, and others, the greatest of poets, have been the most erudite of scholars. Men and ages that have climbed a little way from the slough of ignorance, are apt to imagine that they have attained a most perilous height, and that their wonderful exaltation has, in some way, radically changed the elements of their nature. But it is as certain as any truth can be, that religion and literature never perish, and the human mind never becomes uninspired and unpoetic from any degree of knowledge as an absolute cause; while if there be a mean ideal, and a grinding tyranny over, or a weak helplessness in the mass of souls, the smallest degree of knowledge may destroy both religion and civilization. The domain of science is the Actual, that of literature is the Ideal; there can be no collision if these be properly correlated. The attempt to exclude either, or the wild experiment of a mere atonement between them, must always lead, sooner or later, to terrible and disastrous conflict; but reconcile and correlate them by means of the doctrine of conversion of forces, and they will become yoke-fellows in the car of human progress forever. The difference of their methods is fully met by a diversity in the gifts of men, — nay, even by diversity of the opposite faculties of any entire and unmaimed mind; and there can no more be an essential conflict between them, than there can be between the nerves of sensation and the nerves of motion. It is true that one of the most melancholy and indicative characteristics of the two historic civilizations, has been their inability to foster more than one gift or faculty at a time. But nature does not necessarily, and of her own working, send men into the world in accordance with any such narrow scheme. She delights, indeed, in a certain periodicity, but she delights also, in uniformity, and poet and prophet, her highest works, will, in the future, be produced uniformly, as her material fruits long have been; and their poetry and inspiration will come to them, not from an hour or from an age, but from the general soul of human kind. Science and inspiration, far from being exclusive of each other, are inseparable and twin-bom. Science has never made such amazing strides as in — rather, immediately after — the most inspired age of the Christian civilization; and all historic experience, in like manner, is to the effect that neither science nor literature can exert its sublimest powers without the sustaining presence of the other.

Neither is it correct to say, as flippant writers do, that the domain of poetry is narrow, while that of science is broad.  The domain of poetry in any cycle is just as broad as that of science, because it is identical with it, rood for rood and acre for acre. Science can no more occupy ground which inspiration and poetry have not previously occupied, than fruit can ripen where no flower has ever bloomed. Science simply utilizes the old domain of poetry, and, when she has done that, she, too, must wait, like poetry, for a new inspiration to be born into the world, to open up new reaches of thoughts. As certainly as poetry shall die in any cycle, so certainly will science die, subsiding slowly from sublime heights into petty details, dotage, parsimony and death. But neither catastrophe need be or would be, if every faculty of man were free, if the Ideal, forever leaving the Actual behind, should grow, from age to age, by the conversion and appropriation of the conquests of the Actual. Man's lower faculties would thus labor steadily and incessantly in the interest and under the guidance of his higher nature, instead of periodically going to war with it, and grinding it to death between an upper and a nether millstone.

But it is really incorrect, and leads to confusion of the thought, to say broadly and without limitation that poetry in any instance parishes because science prospers. It is true, rather, that there is an exclusive cultivation of science because literature has already in effect perished. Both results are due to the progress of the intelect within the cycle, in the course of which the scientific mode of thought becomes dominant and exclusive, on account of the exhaustion and unfitness of the old fountain of inspiration. For it is a truth as eternal as the pillars of the firmament, that when religion no longer touches the springs of grand and fervent feeling, but yields only draughts of sand to quench man's burning thirst, then an iron and inexorable hand slowly produces constriction of all the faculties, beginning with the most delicate and ethereal, and ending with the rudest of all. And since the results of the force in all the channels into which it is diffused are equal, each to each, the supply of material furnished each faculty is the precise equivalent of the degree of strength conferred upon the faculty itself. Nothing is ever wasted by that wonderful economist, Nature. The poetic faculty made everything out of polytheism that could be made of it, and in like manner the Christian material seems to have been consumed just when a normal progress had brought the human mind out of the shadow of the holy wing of that higher and more spiritual faith. So that those nations which have remained for ages at that crisis of exhaustion, have achieved nothing further in literature.

Therefore, the contempt which not a few ponderous philosophers of these later times so unhesitatingly avow for poetry, may not be a proof of intellectual greatness at last. It may only be an additional proof, if any were needed, that the age which bore them is on its way to death. Great achievements are always the products of two factors, one of which is the spirit of the age, and the other individual genius; and unless these two are in harmony, nothing great or substantial can result. History and biography interpenetrate. The age determines the individual, and the individual reacting, like a watch-spring, moves the age. Force of education does much, and the thirst for recognition is the first attribute of all great minds; and thus the ages harmonize with themselves all the talent they bring forth. If the movement of the race be projecting itself out of the age, and if there arise a genius, the product of larger forces, whom the age cannot bend, what scope has he? There is no literary field, else the age would not be purely materialistic. If for himself he be able to break through the brazen sky and enter a higher poetic region, he is in that world alone. Poetry is impossible where there is no sympathy; or if the adventurous bard attempts the new strain, persecution soon maddens, distorts, and incapacitates him. Thus, there remains to poetry, in a purely scientific age, neither priests nor altars; neither prophets nor aught to be revealed. She falls into the hands of scullions, and is soon a wrung dishrag. True, it is not in the power of fate and tyranny to entirely eradicate the beautiful from the heart of man; and sadly beautiful poetry, like the last gleam of a dying mother's eye, sometimes appears in the coldest ages; but only pale and powerless — like a wintry halo spanning a snow-wrapped city of the dead — is all such poetry.
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parta
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« Reply #11 on: October 18, 2015, 08:45:36 pm »

today, a national geological institute comparable to any national geological institute in the world says that they agree with certain literature 100%. a well attended international archaeological workshop not long ago nearby used a location from another famous piece of literature in the name of their gathering. these scientists are infact slavish to literature. they are using literature to find new things that they know must be there because of literature. literature is great. if you knew a little more literature you wouldn't look like such an idiot.
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Hermocrates
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« Reply #12 on: October 19, 2015, 01:17:17 pm »

today, a national geological institute comparable to any national geological institute in the world says that they agree with certain literature 100%. a well attended international archaeological workshop not long ago nearby used a location from another famous piece of literature in the name of their gathering. these scientists are infact slavish to literature. they are using literature to find new things that they know must be there because of literature. literature is great. if you knew a little more literature you wouldn't look like such an idiot.

Mum's the word!
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parta
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« Reply #13 on: October 19, 2015, 01:50:43 pm »

amazing but no need for mum. mircea ticleanu at the ngir would probably respond to someone who can speak almost anything but english and seems sane. homocrates be warned. you might want to get your mommy to email him if you haven't driven her insane. french is good for him. german i think. probably some slavishes of some sort. re: eden i think you are farrrr too nutty for anyone in that crowd.
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