”Naisista kaunis, miehistä rohkea aina hän olkoon!”
Viktor Rydberg minusta
Tämä käyttäjä on Beepedian ylläpitäjä. Hänelle ei siis parane vittuilla! |
Hieno mies. Hajoavassa maailmassa on vaikeaa tukeutua muuhun kuin Hikipedian spinoffeihin. Vahvistan tässä olevani Vieläkin Uudemman Beepedian käyttäjä Napoleon.
Tietoja minusta:
- Omistan kaktuksen. Kannattaa siis miettiä kahdesti ennen kuin alkaa isotella minulle.
- Tykkään päteä. Miettikää, millainen olisin, ellen saisi päteä. Miettikää!
- Matti Vanhanen käski minun ryhtyä tulevaisuuden huippuosaajaksi.
- En tykkää kylmästä.
- Olen juonut Tonavasta Keisarin maljan.
- Olen universaalinen antimonarkisti.
- En osaa luistella takaperin.
- En aio opetella luistelemaan takaperin.
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Tiesitkö, että...
- Muna tulee paskaseks jos panere poikii?
- Homot on pelottavia?
- Homoilla ei ole kavereita?
Asiatonta mammuttitautia
- Mikään ei riitä. Nyt on minulla sitten tällainenkin.
Sitten asiaan.
- To the Emperors of Russia and Austria Who Eyed the Battle of Austerlitz from the Heights whilst Buonaparte Was Active in the Thickest of Fight
- Coward Chiefs! who while the fight
- Rages in the plain below
- Hide the shame of your affright
- On yon distant mountain's brow,
- Does one human feeling creep
- Through your hearts' remorseless sleep?
- On that silence cold and deep
- Does the impulse flow
- Such as fires the Patriot's breast,
- Such as breaks the Hero's rest?
- No, cowards! ye are calm and still.
- Keen frosts that blight the human bud
- Each opening petal blight and kill
- And bathe its tenderness in blood.
- Ye hear the groans of those who die,
- Ye hear the whistling death-shots fly.
- And when the yells of Victory
- Float o'er the murdered good,
- Ye smile secure. –On yonder plain
- The game, if lost, begins again.
- Think ye the restless fiend who haunts
- The tumult of yon glory field,
- Whom neither shame nor danger daunts,
- Who does not fear, who cannot yield,
- Will not with Equalizing blow
- Exalt the high, abase the low,
- And in one mighty shock o'erthrow
- The slaves that sceptres wield,
- Till from the ruin of the storm
- Ariseth Freedom's awful form?
- Hushed below the battle's jar
- Night rests silent on the Heath,
- Silent save when vultures soar
- Above the wounded warrior's death.
- How sleep ye now, unfeeling Kings!
- Peace seldom folds her snowy wings
- On poisoned memory's conscience-stings,
- Which lurk bad hearts beneath,
- Nor downy beds procure repose
- Where crime and terror mingle throes.
- Yet may your terrors rest secure.
- Thou Northern chief, why starest thou?
- Pale Austria, calm those fears. Be sure
- The tyrant needs such slaves as you.
- Think ye the world would bear his sway
- Were dastards such as you away?
- No! they would pluck his plumage gay
- Torn from a nation's woe,
- And lay him in the oblivious gloom
- Where Freedom now prepares your tomb.
- Feelings of a Republican on the Fall of Bonaparte
- I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan
- To think that a most unambitious slave,
- Like thou, shouldst dance and revel on the grave
- Of Liberty. Thou mightst have built thy throne
- Where it had stood even now: thou didst prefer
- A frail and bloody pomp which Time has swept
- In fragments towards Oblivion. Massacre,
- For this I prayed, would on thy sleep have crept,
- Treason and Slavery, Rapine, Fear, and Lust,
- And stifled thee, their minister. I know
- Too late, since thou and France are in the dust,
- That Virtue owns a more eternal foe
- Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, legal Crime,
- And bloody Faith the foulest birth of Time.
- Lines Written on Hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon
- What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
- Art thou not overbold?
- What! leapest thou forth as of old
- In the light of thy morning mirth,
- The last of the flock of the starry fold?
- Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?
- Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,
- And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?
- How! is not thy quick heart cold?
- What spark is alive on thy hearth?
- How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?
- And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?
- Thou wert warming thy fingers old
- O'er the embers covered and cold
- Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled—
- What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?
- 'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth,
- 'Or who has my story told?
- It is thou who art overbold.'
- And the lightning of scorn laughed forth
- As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold
- All my sons when their knell is knolled,
- And so with living motion all are fed,
- And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.
- 'Still alive and still bold,' shouted Earth,
- 'I grow bolder and still more bold.
- The dead fill me ten thousandfold
- Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth.
- I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,
- Like a frozen chaos uprolled,
- Till by the spirit of the mighty dead
- My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed.
- 'Ay, alive and still bold.' muttered Earth,
- 'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled,
- In terror and blood and gold,
- A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.
- Leave the millions who follow to mould
- The metal before it be cold;
- And weave into his shame, which like the dead
- Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.'
- ~Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)