upon the moors, beneath the stars with the King's wild company

i reached out my hand; england's rivers turned and flowed the other way;
i reached out my hand; my enemies's blood stopt in their veins;
i reached out my hand; thought and memory flew out of my enemies' head like a flock of starlings;
my enemies crumpled like empty sacks.

i came to them out of mists and rain;
i came to them in dreams at midnight;
i came to them in a flock of ravens that filled a northern sky at dawn;
when they thought themselves safe i came to them in a cry that broke the silence of a winter wood.

the rain made a door for me and i went through it;
the stones made a throne for me and i sat upon it;
three kingdoms were given to me to be mine forever;
england was given to me to be mine forever.

the nameless slave wore a silver crown;
the nameless slave was a king in a strange country.

the weapons that my enemies raised against me are venerated in Hell as holy relics;
plans that my enemies made against me are preserved as holy texts;
blood that i shed upon ancient battlefields is scraped from the stained earth by Hell's sacristans and placed in a vessel of silver and ivory.

i gave magic to england, a valuable inheritance
but englishmen have despised my gift.

magic shall be written upon the sky by the rain but they shall not be able to read it;
magic shall be written on the faces of the stony hills but their minds shall not be able to contain it;
in winter the barren trees shall be a black writing but they shall not understand it.

two magicians shall appear in england.
the first shall fear me; the second shall long to behold me;
the first shall be governed by thieves and murderers; the second shall conspire at his own destruction;
the first shall bury his heart in a dark wood beneath the snow, yet still feel its ache;
the second shall see his dearest possession in his enemy's hand.
the first shall pass his life alone; he shall be his own gaoler;
the second shall tread lonely roads, the storm above his head, seeking a dark tower upon a high hillside.

i sit upon a black throne in the shadows but they shall not see me.
the rain shall make a door for me and i shall pass through it;
the stones shall make a throne for me and i shall sit upon it...

---from jonathan strange and mr norrell by susanna clarke - long live the raven king! :)