Devil's Hopper

Jim Stallings

bOOKS

Bloodshed

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree ’s shade,

Where heaves the turf in many a mould’ring heap,

Each in his narrow cel for ever laid,

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

—“Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard” Thomas Gray

Il fares the land, to hastening ils prey,

Where wealth accumulates, and men decay:

Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;

A breath can make them, as a breath has made:

But a bold peasantry, their country’s pride,

When once destroyed, can never be supplied.

—“The Deserted Village” Oliver Goldsmith

The stony hils are dashed together,

The giantesses totter;

Men tread the path of Hel

And heaven is cloven.

—Sæmund’s Edda