BLTC Press Titles


available for Kindle at Amazon.com


Paradoxes of the Highest Science

Eliphas Levi


Shakti and Shakta

John Woodroffe


The Count of Monte Cristo

Alexandre Dumas


The Pictorial Key to the Tarot

Arthur Edward Waite


Hebrew melodies

by Baron George Gordon Byron Byron

Excerpt:

The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers fling

Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again ; If in these eyes there lurk a tear,

Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain

n.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:

I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;

For it hath been by sorrow nurst, And ach'd in sleepless silence long;

And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst, And break at once—or yield to song.

i

I SAW THEE WEEP.

I.

I Saw Thee Weep—the big bright tear

Came o'er that eye of blue; And then methought it did appear

A violet dropping dew :
I saw thee smile—the sapphire's blaze

Beside thee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays

That fill'd that glance of thine.

II.

As clouds from yonder sun receive

A deep and mellow dye, Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky,

Those smiles unto the moodiest mind Their own pure joy impart;

Their sunshine leaves a glow behind That lightens o'er the heart.

THY DAYS ARE DONE.

Thy Days Are Done, thy fame begun;

Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,

The slaughters of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,

The freedom he restored!

II.

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free Thou shalt not taste of death !

The generous blood that flowed from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath :

Within our veins its currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath !

III.

Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word!

Thy fall, the theme of choral song
From virgin voices poured!

To weep would do thy glory wrong;
Thou Shalt not be deplored.

IT IS THE HOUR.

It Is The Hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;

It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word;

And gentle winds and waters near

Make music to the lonely ear.

Each flower the dews have lightly wet,

And in the sky the stars are met;

And on the wave is deeper blue,

And on the leaf a browner hue;

And in the Heaven that clear obscure,

So softly dark, and darkly pure,

That follows the decline of day

As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST
BATTLE.

I. v Warriors and Chiefs! should the shaft or the sword Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path; Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!

H.

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, ;
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.

III.

Farewell to others, but never we part, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day SAUL.

I.

Thou whose spell can raise the dead,

Bid the prophet's form appear.

" Samuel, raise thy buried head!

" King, behold the phantom seer!"

Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud :

Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.

Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye;

His hand was withered, and his veins were dry;


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