The Canticle of Harmony

by CesareBlanc

Rating: everyone
Tags: Random
Length: 358

In times of despair and hardness, memories of good times, memories of how things used to be can be the only solace. Professor Pipsqueak knows this very well.

This is an attempt to reconstruct an inscription, by me titled Canticle of Harmony, that could be read on the gates of Canterlot; my work spanned through the course of seven months, from the recovery of the gates' stones to the interpretation of the writing, which, after a few days of doubt, I decided to translate in Modern Equestrian instead of presenting the Old Equestrian text, in order to make the short poem accessible to the majority of Ponykind and not to just a small circle of scholars; of course, most of the subtleties of the original poetry are in this fashion severely compromised or even lost. I am no poet.

But, in the hope that this old poem could fill us with the memory of good, if past, times, alleviate a bit the sorrow that covers us all in this moment, I offer you this text in all its ancient beauty.

May Equestria prevail in its darkest hour.

Professor Pipsqueak, Doctor of Theory of Arcane Science, Nocturnal Academy.

(The text, spanning a total of 726 words, has been reconstructed basing on other sources, mainly The Dictionary of The Sun and The Moon, Fourth Edition, pages 34-36, 45-67, by Twilight Sparkle, Foal Press)

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Cover Art by Ever-So-Awesome Cenit-v

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-01-11 10:41:33 UTC

Day

I am the Day.

I am everything that shines, that glitters, that laughs in gentle rays.

I am the shade of red and gold over the clouds, the shredded veils of light through them, the curtain that opens and closes the horizon.

I am in the smallest candle, I am in the greatest bonfire.

I am the gold in your rings, the shining in your eyes, and when you laugh and chortle with tears of mirth in your eyes, you laugh with me.

I am the Sun.

I am gold and red and white.

I am in everything that grows, I am in the mighty roots of ancients oaks and in the shining leaves of young willows,  I am the pulverized light between them.

Everything that burns does so in my name. Leaves, wood, paper. Forests, carbon and iron.

In my name they do so.

I am the first word spoken, the first breath and the first eye opened in wonder.

I am everything you can see and touch, everything that fills your gaze, everything that's strong under your hooves, be it the caress of hay or the grip of a newborn.

I am everything you can forge and build, I am your buildings and spires, your bastions and towers. From there I look down on you.

I am warmth and hotness. I am burning fire and liquid light. I am searing flame that does not know mercy. I am summer and spring.

I am the strength, and endurance, and I exult with you for your victories and I mourn with you for your losses.

I am vengeance. I am retribution and the anger that last fades.

I am the soundless rumbling of the dawn that covers the hills, and I am the golden hue that comes from the sky into the soil and is born again into the grains you eat.

When you talk about honour, you talk about me. When you feel vengeance, you feel me. When you bleed, I am its redness.

I am Laughter, and I am Honesty, and I am Generosity.

I am the hinge around which everything revolves.

I am life.