Tag Archives: medievalism

“Poem for the Knights of the Church” by the Damsel

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This poem was personally written by myself.  What are your thoughts?

Rise up, knight, the Holy Church needs you
to fight for her honor against those who would
dishonor such a great and glorious Queen.

Faith, Charity, Truth, Valor, Prudence and
Fortitude, these are your beatitudes, with the
whole armor of God and your feet shod to
proclaim the Gospel of Our Lord and God.

Fearless and courageous, with the sword
of truth in your hand and the love of Christ
in your heart to reach the promised land.

Where art her defenders in her greatest
hour, to wrest the forces of evil from those
who are in power, for the hour grows late?

Stand out from the rest in your courage and
bravery, militancy and hatred for the slavery of
Modernism, for then we shall see who is the best.

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Fight like you mean it for truth, justice and honor,
and for all that is right, with your whole mind, soul
and might for this is the hallmark of a true knight.

When the hour grows late and weary you grow,
remember who you fight for, namely the Church
of the Lord, with all manner of foes inflicting upon
her the most bitter of blows to bring her to ruin.

To Rome you must ride with the Holy Angels of God
on your side, for Christendom, the Church, in Hoc
Signo Vinces, until she arise with the newness of
life in her eyes, at her glorious and grand restoration.

Satan encamps around the Church of our Master
always inflicting all sorts of disaster, to cause the
destruction of souls in the hereafter, always with
such gleeful laughter.

And so, Knight of the Church, fight you must for
your duty to God is to be militant and brave, for
His honor and glory so that souls might be saved.

Rise up, knight. The Church is in need of brave
knights who will never give up the fight, to
fight till the death even till the very last breath,
for the Bride of Christ, the Holy Church.”

~Damsel of the Faith

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Beowulf

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/50114

The picture is “Beowulf” by Howard David Johnson. Beowulf, in my opinion, is one of the greatest poems in existence. It is the oldest surviving poem in Old English. The poem teaches us that the battle is ultimately between good and evil, always, both in reality and even folklore. Old literature is valuable to me, for the story it tells, the Christian principles it teaches and the virtues it expounds, such as loyalty, bravery, courage, generosity, brotherly love, valor, militancy and heroism, as the poem, Beowulf, does. This is so truthful yet so very lost. In desperate need to be recovered.

La Belle Dame De Merci

 

“La Belle Dame De Merci” by Sir Frank Dicksee. This beautiful piece hangs on my bedroom wall and is my favorite work of art. The painting is based off of John Keats’ ballard “The Beautiful Lady without Mercy” and portrays a lady leaning in for a kiss from her knight. Chivalry and true love is perfectly represented and expressed in this piece. The colors and artistic appeal make it truly stunning.

La Belle Dame De Merci

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.