The Wayfarer’s Song, Installment 6

November 9, 2014

An Experiment in point of view.

The wayfarer learns that any man can withstand adversity, but character is only truly tested with a taste of power. Thought by some to be the fickle daughter of Jupiter, Fortune might bring good luck or bad. Those men feeling the affects of bad luck accuse her of being capricious as a butterfly. Those who do not trust in God summon Fortuna. If she does not come through as we hope, they called her “two-faced.” I would never court a Belle with such a cutting tongue. Fortuna is an enchanting queen with full dominion and a flouncing hoop skirt; the more hoops the women buy, the sooner men are busted.

As wayfarers of various ranks grapple with contemporary semantics of dependence and independence, we wander clueless as to the true nature of Fortuna’s intent. We seek her material assets and not her inner being as a reflection of Spirit. But, I believe, life’s pathway is fraught with pleasures. To help my rhymes go by, what little things I see myself, I mention in my songs.

In the physical world, conflicting masculine forces struggle to influence power and distributions of wealth as nations firmly seize mechanisms to build continuous wealth. The only viable means for an ordinary man to leverage power is through education; the fortune hunter seeks wealth and comfort through advantageous marriage. Sadly, for many good men there is too little to leverage; we are compelled to leave loved-ones and to place our futures at the mercy of a mistress who will not commit to our well-being.

I have often pulled out my fiddle to play this old tune, but cannot improve on the original phraseology, and would not try. A solitary moment in a winter wood accompanied only by the winds conversing with tree voices, so this song lingers in the soul:

Fortune, my foe, why dost thou frown on me?

   And will they favors never lighter be?

Wilt Thou, I say, forever breed my pain?

   And wilt thou not restore my joys again?

 

In vain I sigh, in vain I wail and weep,

   In vain my eyes refrain from quiet sleep;

In vain I she’d my tears both night and day,

    In vain my love my sorrows do bewray.

 

Then will I leave in Fortune’s hands,

   My dearest love, in most inconstant hand,

And only serve the sorrows due to me:

   Sorrow, hereafter, thou shalt my Mistress be.

 

Ah silly Soul art thou so afraid?

   Mourn not, my dear, nor be so dismayed.

Fortune cannot with all her power and skill,

   Enforce my heart to think thee any ill.

 

Live thou in bliss, and banish death to Hell;  

   All careful thought see thou from thee expel;

As thou dost wish, thy love agrees to be,

   For proof thereof, will behold, I come to thee.

 

Die not in fear, live not in discontent

   Be thou not slain where blood was never meant,

Revive again, to faint thou has no need.

   The less afraid, the better thou shalt speed.

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