A Joyous Feast of St. Andrew To You All!

Statue of St. Andrews by Duquesnoy

For a little history on St. Andrew and his connection to Scotland, please refer to my post from November of 2007 in this very blog.

I regret that I have not been able to plan an event to celebrate St. Andrew's Day this year as it has always been my pleasure to do so. Real life is a good thing, therefore, I shall not express any regret with how the complexities of schedules in that realm have interfered with making plans in SL. I must confess, however, to some disappointment when I cannot be as active as I like with you, my friends, in Second Life.

May you all feel the blessings of this day, and know that as individuals and a collective you are in my thoughts.

Slainte!


(a little something for your celebration of the day...)

Address To A Haggis
by Robert Burns.

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut ye up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit!' hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o 'fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

Poetry from Scotland

I hope you will enjoy a few selections by Scottish poets through the ages that I have been reading of late.

Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stevenson

In the other gardens
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!

468. Song—On the Seas and far away by Robert Burns

HOW can my poor heart be glad,
When absent from my sailor lad;
How can I the thought forego—
He’s on the seas to meet the foe?
Let me wander, let me rove,
Still my heart is with my love;
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day,
Are with him that’s far away.


Chorus.—On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day,
Are aye with him that’s far away.


When in summer noon I faint,
As weary flocks around me pant,
Haply in this scorching sun,
My sailor’s thund’ring at his gun;
Bullets, spare my only joy!
Bullets, spare my darling boy!
Fate, do with me what you may,
Spare but him that’s far away,
On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
Fate, do with me what you may,
Spare but him that’s far away.


At the starless, midnight hour
When Winter rules with boundless power,
As the storms the forests tear,
And thunders rend the howling air,
Listening to the doubling roar,
Surging on the rocky shore,
All I can—I weep and pray
For his weal that’s far away,
On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
All I can—I weep and pray,
For his weal that’s far away.


Peace, thy olive wand extend,
And bid wild War his ravage end,
Man with brother Man to meet,
And as a brother kindly greet;
Then may heav’n with prosperous gales,
Fill my sailor’s welcome sails;
To my arms their charge convey,
My dear lad that’s far away.
On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
To my arms their charge convey,
My dear lad that’s far away.

Rule Britannia by James Thomson

When Britain first, at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung this strain:
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

The nations, not so blest as thee,
Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall:
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful, from each foreign stroke:
As the loud blast that tears the skies,
Serves but to root thy native oak.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy generous flame;
But work their woe, and thy renown.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair:
Blest isle! with matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

Sunday up the River by James Thomson

MY love o'er the water bends dreaming;
It glideth and glideth away:
She sees there her own beauty, gleaming
Through shadow and ripple and spray.

O tell her, thou murmuring river,
As past her your light wavelets roll,
How steadfast that image for ever
Shines pure in pure depths of my soul.

Another Steamy Party High in the Skye

We had a wonderful time dancing, battling, and having all kinds of silly fun while Frequency played an ecclectic and excellent list of music!

Our often shy trio of shipbuilders, MrBunwah, Justinian, and Nowwer (who is usually the silent partner) even seemed to have a great time showcasing their toy ironclads, blowing things up, and (gasp!) even dancing. :)



Many more years of success to you, young gents!!

Anniversary Celebration!

We are ushering in the 3rd year of Murakami Steamworks! Hard to believe that the Boys in the Backroom, as they are affectionately known by the Wrath Fleet, have been hard at work bringing more ironclad fun than you can shake a duchess stick at for two years.

TWO YEARS!

Congratulations, Justinian Huszar and MrBunwah Murakami!



Frequency Picnic is going to be spinning the tunes.

We have dances, an open bar, their RC Ironclad game (which totally rocks!), an alligator, explode-y things, and much more.

Here is the Isle of Skye skyplat slurl.

Come as you like! We just want to be silly, have fun, and celebrate the work of J and MrB as Murakami Steamworks continues to grow and succeed.

Romance and Nostalgia

Feeling a bit romantic....and singing this song for the last several hours.

Everything by Michael Bublé

Link to the official video.

You're a falling star, you're the get away car.
You're the line in the sand when I go too far.
You're the swimming pool, on an August day.
And you're the perfect thing to say.

And you play it coy but it's kinda cute.
Ah, when you smile at me you know exactly what you do.
Baby don't pretend that you don't know it's true.
'cause you can see it when I look at you.


And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times
It's you, it's you, you make me sing.
You're every line, you're every word, you're everything.


You're a carousel, you're a wishing well,
And you light me up, when you ring my bell.
You're a mystery, you're from outer space,
You're every minute of my everyday.

And I can't believe, uh that I'm your man,
And I get to kiss you baby just because I can.
Whatever comes our way, ah we'll see it through,
And you know that's what our love can do.

And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times
It's you, it's you, you make me sing.
You're every line, you're every word, you're everything.


And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times
It's you, it's you, you make me sing.
You're every line, you're every word, you're everything.
You're every song, and I sing along.
'Cause you're my everything.

....waiting in the get away car...