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' heads 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 the 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 raised 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.
~ Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, Susanna Clarke.