Ziphen Central

Seeking Wisdom and Sublimity

Adventures of a Language Nut: Meet My Friends!

english

Greetings! I am Mashkioya, and I am a language nut. I am not a linguist (although admittedly, being a linguist would be pretty cool), and I don’t often use the word “polyglot” because it sounds kind of ugly, and not many people know what it means. Plus, I don’t claim to aspire to fluency in 20 languages, or anything like that. I just like to dabble, and happen to have dabbled quite a bit in this particular area. Thus, I am a language nut.

You may have heard this proverb among Latin students:

Latin is a language,
Dead as it can be.
First it killed the Romans,
And now it’s killing me!

I understand the sentiment, but instead of thinking of the languages I learn and speak as enemies out to kill me, I like to think of them as friends. Some of them I’ve been acquainted with my entire life, while others are budding relationships that I’m just beginning to explore. And each one is beautiful and unique in its own way. This post will begin a series in which I will introduce you to my language friends, one by one, and hopefully motivate you to get to know them as well, or at least to begin widening your linguistic circle in other directions. (keep reading)

Posted on 6 May 2016 by Mashkioya
Filed under: English,language,poetry

The Consolation

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

Mother, art grieving for the little form
Stern death has snatched from thine embrace away,
Which thou with sorrow-stricken heart hath laid
In dreamless sleep beneath the churchyard clay?
Grieve not, fond mother, for that tiny bark
Shall ne’er by stormy winds on seas be driven,
Life’s storms are not to weather; but, the ocean crossed,
’Tis safely anchored in the port of heaven.

Mother, art listening for the prattling tongue,
Whose music charmed thee all the day long,
Till, hushed in slumbers of the night, she smiled
As though she hearkened to an angel’s song?
By faith look upward; thou canst almost hear,
Floating through pearly gates, that silvery voice
Joined with bright angels in a song of praise;
Then weep no longer, mother, but rejoice.

Mother, art sighing for the little feet
Whose pattering followed thee from morn till night?
How oft thy heart has trembled, lest thou should
Not guide them in the paths of peace aright!
Then sigh no longer, for those little feet
Shall never walk in sin or wickedness;
But, saved forever, they are sporting now
On the green fields of everlasting peace.

Ah, what is life? ’Tis a struggle, toil, and strife;
Blissful the peace of heaven when all is past.
In joy and love and thankfulness the soul
Finds rest and its lost treasures there at last.
Then grieve not, for thy babe has gone before,
Saved from all sorrow, sin, and earthly pain.
Rejoice that on that bright and shining shore
You there may clasp her to your heart again.

Posted on 2 August 2012 by Mashkioya
Filed under: Ailenroc's Book,poetry

To the Savior

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

Note from the blogger: I set this poem to music several years ago, but am still fiddling with the harmony. I’ll probably share it here on Ziphen Central once it’s done.

When earth smiles in gladness, in fullness, and beauty,
And hope steers our vessels across the blue sea,
We are prone to forget that we owe our first duty
To thee, our Savior, to thee.

When friends are around us, our hearts throb with pleasure;
We make the air vocal with laughter and glee,
Forgetting above we should lay up our treasure
With thee, our Savior, with thee.

But—O!—when clouds rise and loud rolls the deep thunder,
And our vessels are shattered on treacherous sea,
Then we turn, with our sad hearts all riven asunder,
To thee, our Savior, to thee,

Because thy dear face has been oft wet with weeping;
Because thou hast said, “Come, ye weary, to me;”
Because we are watched, whether walking or sleeping,
By thee, our Savior, by thee.

Thou knowest our trials, our every affliction;
Thine ear can be reached by the lowliest plea,
And our sad hearts are soothed by a sweet benediction
From thee, our Savior, from thee.

Posted on 5 July 2012 by Mashkioya
Filed under: Ailenroc's Book,Christianity,poetry

Evening Song

Faintly the voices are flying to me;
Fragments and snatches fall here and fall there.
Shall I draw nearer, or will the song flee?

Pines of the forest are dark, yet I see
The light of a fire, all blazing and fair—
Faintly the voices are flying to me.

Strange is the melody, wild, and free,
Chanting of happiness, love, and despair.
Shall I draw nearer, or will the song flee?

Softly I steal through the dim-lighted lea,
Earnestly seeking that uncanny air.
Faintly the voices are flying to me.

Almost I catch it; again it breaks free.
What is this song, so familiar, so rare?
Shall I draw nearer, or will the song flee?

Finally I break through, the brightness I see!
Then blackness, and silence, and nothing is there.
Faintly the voices are flying to me:
Shall I draw nearer, or will the song flee?

Posted on 3 May 2012 by Mashkioya
Filed under: Benjish literature,music,photography,poetry,sublimity

Bedtime Hour

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

‘Tis the children’s bedtime hour;
They are murmuring sleepy prayers,
While my thoughts go straying backward
Down the path of the vanished years;
And, evolved from their misty shadows,
One face and form I see:
A dear little boy, with serious look,
Saying his prayers at my knee.

With brown hands closely folded
And dark head bended low,
I hear again the murmur
That the childish lips o’erflow.
“Lead me not into any temptation,
From all evil deliver me,”
Was the nightly prayer of the little boy
Who said his prayers at my knee.

Ah me! with an aching heart beat,
I think how the years have flown
Since that time, and my firstborn
From his mother’s home is gone;
And to-night I pray: “‘Our Father,’
Wherever he may be,
Make him again the good little boy
Who said his prayers at my knee.”

Posted on 3 March 2012 by Mashkioya
Filed under: Ailenroc's Book,poetry

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