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White Canoe and Other Verse-Alan Sullivan · Psychic Powers and How to Develop Them

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  Speaker 1: The White Canoe and other verse by Allan Sullivan read
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  Speaker 1: for LibriVox dot Org by Bruska Chuk The White Canoe.
• 0:12
  Speaker 1: There's a whisper of life in the gray dead trees,
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  Speaker 1: and a murmuring wash on the shore, and a breath
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  Speaker 1: of the south in the loitering breeze, to tell that
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  Speaker 1: a winter is o'er. While free at last from its
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  Speaker 1: fetters of ice. The river is clear and blue and
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  Speaker 1: cries with a tremulous, quivering voice for the launch of
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  Speaker 1: the White Canoe. Oh gently, the ripples will kiss her
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  Speaker 1: side and tenderly bear her on, For she is the
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  Speaker 1: wandering phantom bride of the river she rests upon. She
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  Speaker 1: is loved with a love that cannot forget, a passion
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  Speaker 1: so strong and true that never a billow has risen
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  Speaker 1: yet to peril the White Canoe. So come when the
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  Speaker 1: moon is enthroned in the sky, and the echoes are
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  Speaker 1: sweet and low, and nature is full of the mystery
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  Speaker 1: that none but her children know. Come taste of the
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  Speaker 1: rest that the weary crave, but is only revealed to
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  Speaker 1: a few when there's trouble on shore. There's peace on
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  Speaker 1: the wave afloat in the White Canoe end of poem.
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  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. A vision by
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  Speaker 1: Alan Sullivan read for LibriVox dot Org to night, Sweetheart,
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  Speaker 1: When all about me lay in shadow, deep the wood,
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  Speaker 1: I felt my soul within me reel and sway and
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  Speaker 1: pulse my sluggish blood, as when along a quiet, land
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  Speaker 1: locked bay swells some resistless flood. My spirit leap'd from
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  Speaker 1: out its earthly prism, higher and ever higher, until it
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  Speaker 1: reached those barriers, a lision where the eternal fire creates
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  Speaker 1: one great, impassable division TwixT us and our desire, up
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  Speaker 1: till it left the regions of the night of sorrow
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  Speaker 1: and of fear, emerging into that soft, mellow light, that radiance,
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  Speaker 1: pure and clear, where love reigns, all supreme and all
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  Speaker 1: is bright, if only love be near there, through sweet
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  Speaker 1: meadows on by brimming streams, wandered my soul at will,
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  Speaker 1: and saw such forms as haunt our loveliest dreams, and
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  Speaker 1: waking haunt as still voices like music, smiles like sunny beams,
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  Speaker 1: lost in a rippling rill. But ah, my soul saw
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  Speaker 1: one supremely fair one form, the most divine, one face,
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  Speaker 1: and haload hall with golden hair in beauty most benign,
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  Speaker 1: surpassing all the perfect beauty. There part of my heart
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  Speaker 1: twas thine my soul went forth, but all grew strange
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  Speaker 1: and dim. Meadow and stream were gone. I heard a
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  Speaker 1: sound as of a far off hymn by night, winds
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  Speaker 1: softly blown. Then all around me seem'd to sing, can swim,
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  Speaker 1: and I am here alone. End of poem. This recording
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  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. A question by Alan Sullivan
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  Speaker 1: read for LibriVox dot org. Pale Moon, whose tranquil orb
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  Speaker 1: resplendent sails the ethereal main, thy curved prow, forever braving
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  Speaker 1: the celestial gales, serene and slow, myriads of stars that
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  Speaker 1: ever dot the blue great fault of heaven, eyes that
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  Speaker 1: keep eternal watch, unshaken, strong and true, yet never sleep.
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  Speaker 1: He southern zephyrs redolent with balm of myrtle, orange, and
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  Speaker 1: the rose blowing from islands where the fonded palm in
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  Speaker 1: beauty grows. Wind of the North, whose trumpet voice can
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  Speaker 1: shake the shuddering echoes of the cave. Storm born, blast
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  Speaker 1: driven Thou whose breath dost make the mighty wave, perpetual fire,
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  Speaker 1: whose never dying flame consumes the glowing heart of Earth,
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  Speaker 1: until a wide destruction shall proclaim a second birth. Tell me, o,
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  Speaker 1: mighty concourse, have ye seen in all this great infinity
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  Speaker 1: of world's unborn and planets that have been a place
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  Speaker 1: for me? End of poem. This recording is in the
• 5:45
  Speaker 1: public domain. Confession, Creed and Prayer by Alan Sullivan read
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  Speaker 1: for LibriVox dot or silent. Around me, a cathedral, dim
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  Speaker 1: still throbbing with the echoes of a hymn, lifted its
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  Speaker 1: ghostly arches, great and grim. Slowly the worshipers had filed away, untenanted.
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  Speaker 1: The vacant cloisters lay as even followed on the steps
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  Speaker 1: of day. But one remained, who bent his reverent head
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  Speaker 1: where graven figures slumber with the dead, and spake with
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  Speaker 1: faltering accents. And he said, light, light, more light, Great Father,
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  Speaker 1: give me light. I cannot see my way so dark
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  Speaker 1: the night, my finite heart shrinks from the infinite anon.
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  Speaker 1: The shadow lifts my straining eyes one moment see that
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  Speaker 1: which before me lies, This fades, and new born hope
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  Speaker 1: within me dies. I look'd for sunshine, Yet there cometh rain.
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  Speaker 1: My sweetest pleasure turneth into pain. I would sink back
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  Speaker 1: to nothingness. Again, beliefs are but perpetual ideas. The Gospel
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  Speaker 1: worketh only on my fears in bitterness and sorrow, void
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  Speaker 1: of tears. In one God, I believe eternally omnipotent and present,
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  Speaker 1: and that He rules heaven and hell, the earth, the sky,
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  Speaker 1: the sea. As carnal life by carnal love is given.
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  Speaker 1: So life divine by love, divine is proven, of which
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  Speaker 1: the fountain head is God in heaven. That since each
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  Speaker 1: body is the fleshly home of something better, something not
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  Speaker 1: our ol, So God all faults but foulness will condone.
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  Speaker 1: For I believe impurity is sin against the spirit life
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  Speaker 1: that dwells within creating Father and created men. That every
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  Speaker 1: soul is judg'd, true and well according to the light
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  Speaker 1: that on it fell, no light, no judgment, strong light,
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  Speaker 1: heaven or Hell. All this and more, Great Father, I
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  Speaker 1: have heard of thy dear son. My heart expectant stirred
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  Speaker 1: to welcome him, confessing I had heard, nay, said humanity
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  Speaker 1: within me. Nay, I cannot grasp this mystery. So stay
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  Speaker 1: until I comprehend, and I obey. I would yet cannot.
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  Speaker 1: Herein lies my grief, thy son, spake comfort to the
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  Speaker 1: dieing thief, So speak to me and help mine unbelief.
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  Speaker 1: Here the voice faltered, ceased, God, can it be the
• 9:12
  Speaker 1: morn has dawned on him and not on me? Is
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  Speaker 1: this the publican? I pharisee end a poem. This recording
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  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. To my Pipe by Alan Sullivan,
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  Speaker 1: read for LibriVox dot org. Others their nectar from the goblet, sip,
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  Speaker 1: I draw sweet solace from thine amber lip, A feast
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  Speaker 1: of reason and a flow of soul lurk in the
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  Speaker 1: perfumed vapors of thy bowl. Some scoff and say I
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  Speaker 1: err from nature's rules. To back goes poison. But friend
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  Speaker 1: saw our fools. If times are hard, no comrade like
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  Speaker 1: to thee. If prosperous, Thou're at the priest of jollity,
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  Speaker 1: browned in my service, silver rimmed through age, thy smoldering fire,
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  Speaker 1: reflections heritage. When the day comes, old friend, and I'm
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  Speaker 1: dead broke, then just one puff will both go up
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  Speaker 1: in smoke. End of poem. This recording is in the
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  Speaker 1: public domain. Supposing by Alan Sullivan read for LibriVox dot org.
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  Speaker 1: He supposing that when we were wed, love and two
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  Speaker 1: were reduced into one that a hot tempered word should
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  Speaker 1: be said love, and thoughtlessly mischief be done, that you
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  Speaker 1: should be proud and offended, and I should be heartless
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  Speaker 1: and cold. Do you think that our peace would be ended?
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  Speaker 1: The tale of our happiness told? Supposing that children should
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  Speaker 1: come love, It may be a girl and a boy,
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  Speaker 1: and my heart should go forth to the one love
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  Speaker 1: the other your pride and your joy. Do you think that,
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  Speaker 1: although so divided, yet we still in our plans, could
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  Speaker 1: agree and always the best be provided for our dear
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  Speaker 1: ones by you and by me? Supposing that times were
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  Speaker 1: so bad love, that ends couldn't possibly meet, and I
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  Speaker 1: should get weary and sad love, while you were still
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  Speaker 1: hopeful and sweet, do you think you'd in spirit and
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  Speaker 1: cheer me and help me to weather the gale, that
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  Speaker 1: your presence would ever be near me, your courage not
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  Speaker 1: falter or fail. She supposing you, darling, old stupid, that
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  Speaker 1: all this should happen and more? Do you think that
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  Speaker 1: the youngster called Cupid would fly and his reign would
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  Speaker 1: be o'er? No, the bond of affection would stay dear,
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  Speaker 1: independent of pocket or purse. As a wife, I would honor, obey, dear,
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  Speaker 1: and love you for better for worse. End of poem.
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  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. The Widower's Lullaby
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  Speaker 1: by Allan so Read for LibriVox dot org dust. Remember,
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  Speaker 1: dear one, floating on a moonlit silver sea, stars above us,
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  Speaker 1: depths beneath us, shadows covering you and me. Ever drifting
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  Speaker 1: spell bounds silent down a shimmering track of light, while
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  Speaker 1: around the gloom was throbbing with the mystery of night.
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  Speaker 1: Mute our lips what need of speaking? But our heart
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  Speaker 1: chords were as tense as a bowstring stretched to breaking.
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  Speaker 1: Every look was eloquence till my soul had burst its barriers.
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  Speaker 1: And I told you my desire, told of love, undying, passion,
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  Speaker 1: strong as ocean, pure as fire. You nor moved, nor sighed,
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  Speaker 1: nor answered. Pale. Oh, your cheek was as your dress.
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  Speaker 1: But the golden lashes drooping gave response. And it was yes.
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  Speaker 1: That was five long years ago. Dear, Can you hear
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  Speaker 1: me as I speak for again? I see the lashes
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  Speaker 1: falling on a pallid cheek, still and ah, so silent, sleeping, motionless.
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  Speaker 1: You take your rest. I've your pledge of love beside me,
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  Speaker 1: and your image in my breast, just one golden head
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  Speaker 1: you gave me little one with eyes of blue. See
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  Speaker 1: she nestles to my shoulder, Darling, can you see us too?
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  Speaker 1: Lullaby sleep, little Wan sleep. Safe and strong is thy
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  Speaker 1: father's arm. He will guard thee from every harm. Soothe
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  Speaker 1: thee with kisses soft and warm. Sleep, Little Wan sleep, Sleep,
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  Speaker 1: Little Wan sleep. Close the lids on the wondering eyes,
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  Speaker 1: deep and blue. As the summer skies far in the west,
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  Speaker 1: the sunset dies. Sleep, Little Wan sleep, Sleep, Little Wan sleep.
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  Speaker 1: Thou art more than the world to me, O, my
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  Speaker 1: life shall be spent for thee till nature comes with her.
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  Speaker 1: Lullaby Sleep, Little Wan Sleep. End of poem. This recording
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  Speaker 1: is in the public domain. The Bird in the Night
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  Speaker 1: by Allan Sullivan, read for LibriVox dot org. Once long ago,
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  Speaker 1: a summer night in June, when Earth lay still beneath
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  Speaker 1: a waning moon, and never sound nor rustle in the wood,
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  Speaker 1: save the dull thunder of a far off flood hurling
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  Speaker 1: itself in ruin to the deep o'er a great gulf.
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  Speaker 1: I lay and strove to sleep. The stars were out.
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  Speaker 1: I watched with aching eye their slow grand march across
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  Speaker 1: a cloudless sky. But rest came not when suddenly I
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  Speaker 1: heard far in the slumbering forest, one lone bird give
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  Speaker 1: three sweet calls, as if in pure delight, to fling
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  Speaker 1: its soul in music through the night, Like a cool
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  Speaker 1: hand upon a fevered brow, came that dear song. All
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  Speaker 1: fear had vanished. Now steady my pulse, sunk in oblivion's arms,
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  Speaker 1: forgetful as a child of past alarms. Ye who have doubts,
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  Speaker 1: who is it? Has them? Not? Ye who have fears
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  Speaker 1: and troubled anxious thought? When the storm lulls, will if
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  Speaker 1: ye list aright, hear a bird singing in your darkest night?
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  Speaker 1: End a poem. This recording is in the public domain.
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  Speaker 1: Nescio at Felix by Alan Sullivan read for LibriVox dot Org.
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  Speaker 1: One night, with some unquietness and dread and fear of
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  Speaker 1: boding ill within my soul, I fell to sleep before
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  Speaker 1: me like a scroll lay bare the coming years in
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  Speaker 1: them I read clear writ as in a book or chart,
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  Speaker 1: the vast futurity, with all its joy and grief, success
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  Speaker 1: and failure, love, hate, unbelief and faith, and that blind
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  Speaker 1: parting at the last whereat my soul recoil'd, nor could
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  Speaker 1: it bear to muse unso much labor. Better far not
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  Speaker 1: to have been, or else to be, perchance, like a
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  Speaker 1: dumb brute existence without care or consciousness. But with the
• 18:51
  Speaker 1: morning star, I woke and thanked God for my ignorance.
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  Speaker 1: End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
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  Speaker 1: To My Indian Pipe by Alan Sullivan read for LibriVox
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  Speaker 1: dot Org. Thou, with the black stone stem, What of
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  Speaker 1: the past? Where are the cunning hands that fashioned thee?
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  Speaker 1: Where are the stern brown lips that placidly drew comfort
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  Speaker 1: from thee neath the towering mast of some old pine,
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  Speaker 1: or patient to the last toiled over thee? Perchance thou
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  Speaker 1: wert a god worshiped and feared by those whose light
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  Speaker 1: feet trod the dim green isles of that cathedral vast.
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  Speaker 1: But now thine incense rises, and I see the still
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  Speaker 1: north land, and here the otter dive, the rapids calling,
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  Speaker 1: and the great trout lee and smoking. Here it seemeth
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  Speaker 1: like to me as if some dead hands touched the
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  Speaker 1: hands alive, in token of the fellowship we keep. End
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  Speaker 1: of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Advondie
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  Speaker 1: Amoor by Alan Sullivan read for LibriVox dot org. Silence again, Sweetheart,
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  Speaker 1: the shadows grow. I watch the white stars climb into
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  Speaker 1: the sky, hear the dull rapids, softened lullaby in smothered thunder, brooding,
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  Speaker 1: sweet and low. Catch in the yeast, the pallid silver
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  Speaker 1: glow of a new moon, that floating pure and clear,
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  Speaker 1: in perfect promise of the fuller sphere. Dip this dim
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  Speaker 1: world in glory, mounting slow. Not always had the heavens
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  Speaker 1: such a charm last year. The rapids were not half
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  Speaker 1: so sweet. The wind had not such rhythmic melody. Till love,
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  Speaker 1: Love came and fanned the cold heart warm, attuned to music,
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  Speaker 1: chords still incomplete, and set the whole night whispering of
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  Speaker 1: thee end a poem. This recording is in the public domain.
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  Speaker 1: A Song of Life by Alan Sullivan, read for LibriVox
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  Speaker 1: dot org. It came through the fields of air. It
• 21:53
  Speaker 1: came through the silent night, borne low on a sigh
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  Speaker 1: of a western breeze, like the far a voice of
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  Speaker 1: tumultuous seas, in a tempest's waning might. I heard the
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  Speaker 1: wonderful song. It made its home in my breast, the
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  Speaker 1: music of all the world was there. It hushed, all
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  Speaker 1: murmur of pain or care, a psalm of infinite rest,
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  Speaker 1: evermore clear and pure, ever more strong and sweet, till
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  Speaker 1: some kindred chord in the outer air, in response to
• 22:34
  Speaker 1: the melody throbbing there sang, Come to my restless feet.
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  Speaker 1: I heard the mysterious call. I rose and followed it
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  Speaker 1: straight or many amount through many a dale, past blazing
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  Speaker 1: meadow and shady veil, to the sunset's roseate gait, and
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  Speaker 1: never a halt or stop till the song I could
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  Speaker 1: scarcely hear it had sunk to an echo, faint and
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  Speaker 1: dim of some melodious, wonderful hymn. So I knew that
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  Speaker 1: the end was near, lower and fainter yet and more
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  Speaker 1: imperceptible still as I journeyed on. But I climbed one
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  Speaker 1: day with courage that folded so steep the way the
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  Speaker 1: crest of a long, long hill. There, far as the
• 23:35
  Speaker 1: eye could scan, was not but the fathomless deep. While
• 23:40
  Speaker 1: down at the crag's great base, the waves crept in
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  Speaker 1: and out of the blind black caves and whispered ever
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  Speaker 1: of sleep. I looked at my hair twas white. My
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  Speaker 1: hands were bony and long. The years of my life
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  Speaker 1: had vanish'd and fled, though they seem'd, but days that
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  Speaker 1: had quickly sped in pursuit of that fugitive song. Then
• 24:10
  Speaker 1: out of the ocean's heart came swelling a grand refrain,
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  Speaker 1: and through it their pulsed an angelic voice. Now weary, mortal, Rejoice, Rejoice,
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  Speaker 1: thou hast come to thy rest again. The song that
• 24:30
  Speaker 1: stole into thy breast was the song of an earthly love.
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  Speaker 1: It was but an echo, faint yet true, of that
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  Speaker 1: mightier song that is pealing through the musical halls above.
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  Speaker 1: Then prone on the storm swept bluff my face to
• 24:52
  Speaker 1: a golden sky. The breezes played with my toil stained dress,
• 24:58
  Speaker 1: and I waited and prayed, in my loneliness, to taste
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  Speaker 1: of the worst and die. So out of the void
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  Speaker 1: a sound from the vast dim space, a breath that
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  Speaker 1: fanned the flickering flame of life till it flared, went
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  Speaker 1: out and ended the strife. I slept, and the sleep
• 25:24
  Speaker 1: was death end A poem. This recording is in the
• 25:30
  Speaker 1: public domain. Voices by Alan Sullivan, read for LibriVox dot org.
• 25:45
  Speaker 1: My heart within me stirred with a nameless trouble, and
• 25:49
  Speaker 1: dread of evil that should be tied. And a voice
• 25:53
  Speaker 1: in my bosom said, what pause from this weary toiling?
• 25:57
  Speaker 1: What end to this endless strife? The day bringeth nought,
• 26:02
  Speaker 1: but labor and death follows hard upon life. Ever I
• 26:08
  Speaker 1: see the false one triumphing over the true, the fowl
• 26:14
  Speaker 1: outbalanced the fair, the many oppress'd by the few. Answer me,
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  Speaker 1: mortal Master, after the battle is fought six feet of
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  Speaker 1: earth for a couch may have a stone? Then what
• 26:33
  Speaker 1: how could I answer my heart? When suddenly in my
• 26:38
  Speaker 1: breast there fell a hush, as of a wind sinking
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  Speaker 1: at eve to rest. The voice within me was stilled,
• 26:48
  Speaker 1: and I felt its murmuring cease. For somewhere out of
• 26:53
  Speaker 1: infinity an angel had whispered peace. End of poem. This
• 27:03
  Speaker 1: recording is in the public domain fifty years hence by
• 27:14
  Speaker 1: Alan Sullivan read for LibriVox dot Org again twas night
• 27:22
  Speaker 1: and on the wave, the moon in silver lay vanished,
• 27:26
  Speaker 1: had all the petty cares and troubles of the day,
• 27:31
  Speaker 1: no sound in all the wide expanse, no rustle in
• 27:35
  Speaker 1: the wood, save when some evening zephyr stirred in whispers
• 27:41
  Speaker 1: on the flood. Breathless and motionless. She stood unquestionably dumb,
• 27:48
  Speaker 1: twas as a world. We're waiting there, waiting for God
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  Speaker 1: to come. Then back through long dead years, her heart
• 27:59
  Speaker 1: winged its tree reflective flight, to ponder childhood's days again,
• 28:05
  Speaker 1: to muse on past delight. A mist came o'er her eyes.
• 28:11
  Speaker 1: Her gaze had spann'd the wide gulf o're old voices spake,
• 28:18
  Speaker 1: old scenes, recurr'd old friendship liv'd once more, serene the skies,
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  Speaker 1: no fear, no care, no tempest and no storm, wild
• 28:32
  Speaker 1: birds and sunshine in the air, and south winds, sweet
• 28:37
  Speaker 1: and warm. Ah, perfect youth, Ah, perfect life, free as
• 28:46
  Speaker 1: a cloud above. Ah found whence spring, the purest hopes,
• 28:52
  Speaker 1: whence flows the purest love. For if ambition's wildest dreams,
• 29:00
  Speaker 1: excess should crown in truth. The cup she holds were tasteless,
• 29:05
  Speaker 1: still beside the whine of youth, all silent. Now, AH
• 29:13
  Speaker 1: for the power again, those tales to tell, to wake afresh,
• 29:19
  Speaker 1: those sleeping chords that memory loves so well, but echoing
• 29:26
  Speaker 1: clear and low, those notes, that song we still may
• 29:32
  Speaker 1: hear for faintly yet its music floats in old age atmosphere.
• 29:42
  Speaker 1: End a poem, This recording is in the public domain.
• 29:51
  Speaker 1: Farewell to the White Canoe by Allan Sullivan read for
• 29:57
  Speaker 1: LibriVox dot org. The summer is dead, for the air
• 30:03
  Speaker 1: is chill, and winter is nigh again. The maples ablaze
• 30:10
  Speaker 1: on each ruddy hill are dripping with crimson rain. Black
• 30:16
  Speaker 1: dusk comes hard on the steps of day. The breath
• 30:20
  Speaker 1: of the south that blew has turned to the north
• 30:25
  Speaker 1: and bids me say farewell to the White Canoe. How
• 30:31
  Speaker 1: wildly she leapt at each measured stroke and mounted the
• 30:36
  Speaker 1: curling swell. How the white foam hung at her boughs
• 30:41
  Speaker 1: like smoke. When the great waves rose and fell. No
• 30:46
  Speaker 1: terror for her, could a tempest find no wrath in
• 30:50
  Speaker 1: a frowning sky. Her birth was the union of sea
• 30:55
  Speaker 1: and wind. Her life is a mystery. She swam like
• 31:01
  Speaker 1: a ghost through the ghostly night that bowed, but to
• 31:05
  Speaker 1: her as queen, she sped like a wraith in the
• 31:09
  Speaker 1: silver light o'er a spirit of things unseen as a
• 31:15
  Speaker 1: leaf in the autumn. She sank to sleep by babbling ripples,
• 31:20
  Speaker 1: caress'd and lay in the arms of the cradling deep
• 31:25
  Speaker 1: on the river's responsive breast. The summer is dead and
• 31:31
  Speaker 1: alas no more. May we wonder alone and free by
• 31:37
  Speaker 1: still deep pools and the shadowy shore and the rapids.
• 31:41
  Speaker 1: Soft lullaby, farewell, farewell to the peace that lies in
• 31:48
  Speaker 1: that solitude, deep and blue. An answering voice from the
• 31:54
  Speaker 1: great Stream sighs, Farewell to the White Canoe. End of poem.
• 32:03
  Speaker 1: This recording is in the public domain. End of the
• 32:07
  Speaker 1: White Canoe and other verse by Alan Sullivan