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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:27 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:16:27 -0700 |
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diff --git a/1060-h/1060-h.htm b/1060-h/1060-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..96cfa33 --- /dev/null +++ b/1060-h/1060-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3391 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Grass of Parnassus, by Andrew Lang</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Grass of Parnassus, by Andrew Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Grass of Parnassus + Rhymes Old and New + + +Author: Andrew Lang + + + +Release Date: September 16, 2014 [eBook #1060] +[This file was first posted on 8 October 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRASS OF PARNASSUS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1888 Longmans, Green and Co. edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>GRASS OF PARNASSUS</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">RHYMES OLD AND NEW</p> +<p style="text-align: right">BY ANDREW LANG</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">LONDON</span><br /> +LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16</span><span +class="GutSmall"><sup>th</sup></span><span class="GutSmall"> +STREET</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pageiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. iv</span><span class="GutSmall">PRINTED +BY</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET +SQUARE</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LONDON</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. v</span><span +class="GutSmall">TO</span><br /> +E. M. S.</h2> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><i>Primâ dicta +mihi</i>, <i>summâ dicenda Camenâ</i>.</p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry">The years will pass, and hearts will range,<br +/> +<i>You</i> conquer Time, and Care, and Change.<br /> +Though Time doth still delight to shed<br /> +The dust on many a younger head;<br /> +Though Care, oft coming, hath the guile<br /> +From younger lips to steal the smile;<br /> +Though Change makes younger hearts wax cold,<br /> +And sells new loves for loves of old,<br /> +Time, Change, nor Care, hath learned the art<br /> +To fleck your hair, to chill your heart,<br /> +To touch your tresses with the snow,<br /> +To mar your mirth of long ago.<br /> +Change, Care, nor Time, while life endure,<br /> +Shall spoil our ancient friendship sure,<br /> +The love which flows from sacred springs,<br /> +In ‘old unhappy far-off things,’<br /> +From sympathies in grief and joy,<br /> +Through all the years of man and boy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Therefore, to you, the rhymes I strung<br /> +When even this ‘brindled’ head was young<br /> +I bring, and later rhymes I bring<br /> +That flit upon as weak a wing,<br /> +But still for you, for yours, they sing!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vii</span><span +class="smcap">Many</span> of the verses and translations in this +volume were published first in <i>Ballads and Lyrics of Old +France</i> (1872). Though very sensible that they have the +demerits of imitative and even of undergraduate rhyme, I print +them again because people I like have liked them. The rest +are of different dates, and lack (though doubtless they need) the +excuse of having been written, like some of the earlier pieces, +during College Lectures. I would gladly have added to this +volume what other more or less serious rhymes I have written, but +circumstances over which I have no control have bound them up +with <i>Ballades</i>, and other toys of that sort.</p> +<p>It may be as well to repeat in prose, what has already been +said in verse, that Grass of Parnassus, the pretty Autumn flower, +grows in the marshes at the foot of the Muses’ Hill, and +other hills, not at the top by any means.</p> +<p>Several of the versions from the Greek Anthology have been +published in the <i>Fortnightly Review</i>, and the sonnet on +Colonel Burnaby appeared in <i>Punch</i>. These, with +pieces from other serials, are reprinted by the courteous +permission of the Editors.</p> +<p>The verses that were published in <i>Ballades and Lyrics</i>, +and in <i>Ballads and Verses Vain</i> (Charles Scribner’s +Sons, New York), are marked in the contents with an asterisk.</p> +<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ix</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>DEEDS OF +MEN</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Seekers for a city</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The white Pacha</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Midnight</span>, <span +class="smcap">January</span> 25, 1886</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page8">8</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Advance</span>, <span +class="smcap">Australia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page9">9</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Colonel Burnaby</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Melville and Coghill</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page12">12</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: +center"><i>RHODOCLEIA</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To Rhodocleia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>AVE</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Clevedon Church</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page21">21</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Twilight on Tweed</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Metempsychosis</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lost in Hades</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Star in the Night</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Sunset on Yarrow</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Another Way</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +x</span><i>HESPEROTHEN</i> *</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Seekers for +Phæacia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A song of Phæacia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Departure from +Phæacia</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Ballad of Departure</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">They Hear the Sirens for the Second +Time</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page40">40</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Circe’s Isle +Revisited</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Limit of Lands</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page44">44</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>VERSES</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Martial in Town</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">April on Tweed</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Tired of Towns</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Scythe Song</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Pen and Ink</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Dream</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Singing Rose</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Review in Rhyme</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page62">62</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Colinette</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page63">63</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Sunset of Watteau</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Nightingale Weather</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Love and Wisdom</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Good-Bye</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">An Old Prayer</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">À la Belle +Hélène</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Sylvie et Aurélie</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page76">76</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Lost Path</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page78">78</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Shade of Helen</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span><i>SONNETS</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">She</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page83">83</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Herodotus in Egypt</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page84">84</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Gérard de Nerval</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page86">86</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Love’s Miracle</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Dreams</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page88">88</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Two Sonnets of the Sirens</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: +center"><i>TRANSLATIONS</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Hymn to the Winds</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Moonlight</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Grave and the Rose</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page95">95</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Vow to Heavenly Venus</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Of His Lady’s Old Age</span> +*</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Shadows of His Lady</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">April</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">An Old Tune</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page103">103</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Old Loves</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A lady of High Degree</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Iannoula</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Milk White Doe</span> *</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Heliodore</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Prophet</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page113">113</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Lais</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Clearista</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Fisherman’s Tomb</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Of his Death</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Rhodope</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To a Girl</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To the Ships</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page120">120</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Late Convert</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Limit of Life</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page122">122</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To Daniel Elzevir</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>THE LAST +CHANCE</i></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Last Chance</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="pagexiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiii</span>GRASS OF PARNASSUS.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap"><i>Pale</i></span><i> star +that by the lochs of Galloway</i>,<br /> + <i>In wet green places ’twixt the depth and +height</i><br /> +<i>Dost keep thine hour while Autumn ebbs away</i>,<br /> + <i>When now the moors have doffed the heather +bright</i>,<br /> + <i>Grass of Parnassus</i>, <i>flower of my +delight</i>,<br /> +<i>How gladly with the unpermitted bay</i>—<br /> +<i>Garlands not mine</i>, <i>and leaves that not +decay</i>—<br /> + <i>How gladly would I twine thee if I might</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>The bays are out of reach</i>! <i>But +far below</i><br /> + <i>The peaks forbidden of the Muses’ +Hill</i>,<br /> +<i>Grass of Parnassus</i>, <i>thy returning snow</i><br /> + <i>Between September and October chill</i><br /> +<i>Doth speak to me of Autumns long ago</i>,<br /> + <i>And these kind faces that are with me +still</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>DEEDS OF +MEN</h2> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: +center">αειδε δ’ +αρα κλέα +ανδρων</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">TO</span><br +/> +<i>COLONEL IAN HAMILTON</i></p> +<p class="poetry">To you, who know the face of war,<br /> +You, that for England wander far,<br /> +You that have seen the Ghazis fly<br /> +From English lads not sworn to die,<br /> +You that have lain where, deadly chill,<br /> +The mist crept o’er the Shameful Hill,<br /> +You that have conquered, mile by mile,<br /> +The currents of unfriendly Nile,<br /> +And cheered the march, and eased the strain<br /> +When Politics made valour vain,<br /> +Ian, to you, from banks of Ken,<br /> +We send our lays of Englishmen!</p> +<h2><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>SEEKERS +FOR A CITY.</h2> +<blockquote><p>“Believe me, if that blissful, that +beautiful place, were set on a hill visible to all the world, I +should long ago have journeyed thither. . . But the number and +variety of the ways! For you know, <i>There is but one road +that leads to Corinth</i>.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Hermotimus</span> (Mr Pater’s Version).</p> +<p>“The Poet says, <i>dear city of Cecrops</i>, and wilt +thou not say, <i>dear city of Zeus</i>?”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">M. <span +class="smcap">Antoninus</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap"><i>To</i></span><i> Corinth +leads one road</i>, you say:<br /> +Is there a Corinth, or a way?<br /> +Each bland or blatant preacher hath<br /> +His painful or his primrose path,<br /> +And not a soul of all of these<br /> +But knows the city ’twixt the seas,<br /> +Her fair unnumbered homes and all<br /> +Her gleaming amethystine wall!</p> +<p class="poetry">Blind are the guides who know the way,<br /> +The guides who write, and preach, and pray,<br /> +I watch their lives, and I divine<br /> +They differ not from yours and mine!</p> +<p class="poetry">One man we knew, and only one,<br /> +Whose seeking for a city’s done,<br /> +<a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>For what he +greatly sought he found,<br /> +A city girt with fire around,<br /> +A city in an empty land<br /> +Between the wastes of sky and sand,<br /> +A city on a river-side,<br /> +Where by the folk he loved, he died. <a name="citation4a"></a><a +href="#footnote4a" class="citation">[4a]</a></p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! it is not ours to tread<br /> +That path wherein his life he led,<br /> +Not ours his heart to dare and feel,<br /> +Keen as the fragrant Syrian steel;<br /> +Yet are we not quite city-less,<br /> +Not wholly left in our distress—<br /> +Is it not said by One of old,<br /> +<i>Sheep have I of another fold</i>?<br /> +Ah! faint of heart, and weak of will,<br /> +For us there is a city still!</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Dear city of Zeus</i>, the Stoic says, <a +name="citation4b"></a><a href="#footnote4b" +class="citation">[4b]</a><br /> +The Voice from Rome’s imperial days,<br /> +<i>In Thee meet all things</i>, <i>and disperse</i>,<br /> +<i>In Thee</i>, <i>for Thee</i>, <i>O Universe</i>!<br /> +<i>To me all’s fruit thy seasons bring</i>,<br /> +<i>Alike thy summer and thy spring</i>;<br /> +<i>The winds that wail</i>, <i>the suns that burn</i>,<br /> +<i>From Thee proceed</i>, <i>to Thee return</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span><i>Dear city of Zeus</i>, shall <i>we</i> not say,<br /> +Home to which none can lose the way!<br /> +Born in that city’s flaming bound,<br /> +We do not find her, but are found.<br /> +Within her wide and viewless wall<br /> +The Universe is girdled all.<br /> +All joys and pains, all wealth and dearth,<br /> +All things that travail on the earth,<br /> +God’s will they work, if God there be,<br /> +If not, what is my life to me?</p> +<p class="poetry">Seek we no further, but abide<br /> +Within this city great and wide,<br /> +In her and for her living, we<br /> +Have no less joy than to be free;<br /> +Nor death nor grief can quite appal<br /> +The folk that dwell within her wall,<br /> +Nor aught but with our will befall!</p> +<h2><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>THE +WHITE PACHA.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Vain</span> is the +dream! However Hope may rave,<br /> +He perished with the folk he could not save,<br /> +And though none surely told us he is dead,<br /> +And though perchance another in his stead,<br /> +Another, not less brave, when all was done,<br /> +Had fled unto the southward and the sun,<br /> +Had urged a way by force, or won by guile<br /> +To streams remotest of the secret Nile,<br /> +Had raised an army of the Desert men,<br /> +And, waiting for his hour, had turned again<br /> +And fallen on that False Prophet, yet we know<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gordon</span> is dead, and these things are +not so!<br /> +Nay, not for England’s cause, nor to restore<br /> +Her trampled flag—for he loved Honour more—<br /> +Nay, not for Life, Revenge, or Victory,<br /> +Would he have fled, whose hour had dawned to die.<br /> +He will not come again, whate’er our need,<br /> +He will not come, who is happy, being freed<br /> +From the deathly flesh and perishable things,<br /> +And lies of statesmen and rewards of kings.<br /> +<a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>Nay, +somewhere by the sacred River’s shore<br /> +He sleeps like those who shall return no more,<br /> +No more return for all the prayers of men—<br /> +Arthur and Charles—they never come again!<br /> +They shall not wake, though fair the vision seem:<br /> +Whate’er sick Hope may whisper, vain the dream!</p> +<h2><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>MIDNIGHT, JANUARY 25, 1886.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To-morrow</span> is a year +since Gordon died!<br /> + A year ago to-night, the Desert still<br /> + Crouched on the spring, and panted for its fill<br +/> +Of lust and blood. Their old art statesmen plied,<br /> +And paltered, and evaded, and denied;<br /> + Guiltless as yet, except for feeble will,<br /> + And craven heart, and calculated skill<br /> +In long delays, of their great homicide.</p> +<p class="poetry">A year ago to-night ’twas not too +late.<br /> + The thought comes through our mirth, again, +again;<br /> +Methinks I hear the halting foot of Fate<br /> + Approaching and approaching us; and then<br /> +Comes cackle of the House, and the Debate!<br /> + Enough; he is forgotten amongst men.</p> +<h2><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>ADVANCE, +AUSTRALIA.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">ON THE OFFER +OF HELP FROM THE AUSTRALIANS AFTER THE FALL OF +KHARTOUM</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sons of the giant Ocean isle<br /> + In sport our friendly foes for long,<br /> +Well England loves you, and we smile<br /> +When you outmatch us many a while,<br /> + So fleet you are, so keen and strong.</p> +<p class="poetry">You, like that fairy people set<br /> + Of old in their enchanted sea<br /> +Far off from men, might well forget<br /> +An elder nation’s toil and fret,<br /> + Might heed not aught but game and glee.</p> +<p class="poetry">But what your fathers were you are<br /> + In lands the fathers never knew,<br /> +’Neath skies of alien sign and star<br /> +You rally to the English war;<br /> + Your hearts are English, kind and true.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>And now, when first on England falls<br /> + The shadow of a darkening fate,<br /> +You hear the Mother ere she calls,<br /> +You leave your ocean-girdled walls,<br /> + And face her foemen in the gate.</p> +<h2><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>COLONEL BURNABY.</h2> + +<blockquote><p> συ +δ’ εν +στροφάλιγγι +κονίης<br /> +κεισο +μέγας +μεγαλωστι, +λελασμένος +ιπποσυνάων</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> that on every +field of earth and sky<br /> + Didst hunt for Death, who seemed to flee and +fear,<br /> +How great and greatly fallen dost thou lie<br /> + Slain in the Desert by some wandering spear:<br /> +‘Not here, alas!’ may England say, ‘not here<br +/> + Nor in this quarrel was it meet to die,<br /> + But in that dreadful battle drawing nigh<br /> +To thunder through the Afghan passes sheer:</p> +<p class="poetry">Like Aias by the ships shouldst thou have +stood,<br /> + And in some glen have stayed the stream of +flight,<br /> + The bulwark of thy people and their shield,<br /> +When Indus or when Helmund ran with blood,<br /> + Till back into the Northland and the Night<br /> + The smitten Eagles scattered from the +field.’</p> +<h2><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>MELVILLE AND COGHILL.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<span class="GutSmall">THE PLACE +OF THE LITTLE HAND</span>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Dead</span>, with their +eyes to the foe,<br /> + Dead, with the foe at their feet,<br /> +Under the sky laid low<br /> + Truly their slumber is sweet,<br /> +Though the wind from the Camp of the Slain Men blow,<br /> + And the rain on the wilderness beat.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dead, for they chose to die<br /> + When that wild race was run;<br /> +Dead, for they would not fly,<br /> + Deeming their work undone,<br /> +Nor cared to look on the face of the sky,<br /> + Nor loved the light of the sun.</p> +<p class="poetry">Honour we give them and tears,<br /> + And the flag they died to save,<br /> +Rent from the rain of the spears,<br /> + Wet from the war and the wave,<br /> +Shall waft men’s thoughts through the dust of the years,<br +/> + Back to their lonely grave!</p> +<h2><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>RHODOCLEIA</h2> +<h3><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>TO +RHODOCLEIA<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">ON HER MELANCHOLY SINGING.</span></h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(Rhodocleia was beloved by Rufinus, +one of the late poets of the Greek Anthology.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Still</span>, Rhodocleia, +brooding on the dead,<br /> +Still singing of the meads of asphodel,<br /> + Lands desolate of delight?<br /> +Say, hast thou dreamed of, or rememberèd,<br /> + The shores where shadows dwell,<br /> + Nor know the sun, nor see the +stars of night?</p> +<p class="poetry">There, ’midst thy music, doth thy spirit +gaze<br /> + As a girl pines for home,<br /> + Looking along the way that she hath come,<br /> +Sick to return, and counts the weary days!<br /> +So wouldst thou flee<br /> + Back to the multitude whose days are done,<br /> +Wouldst taste the fruit that lured Persephone,<br /> +The sacrament of death; and die, and be<br /> + No more in the wind and sun!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>Thou hast not dreamed it, but rememberèd<br /> + I know thou hast been there,<br /> +Hast seen the stately dwellings of the dead<br /> + Rise in the twilight air,<br /> +And crossed the shadowy bridge the spirits tread,<br /> + And climbed the golden stair!</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, by thy cloudy hair<br /> + And lips that were so fair,<br /> +Sad lips now mindful of some ancient smart,<br /> + And melancholy eyes, the haunt of Care,<br /> +I know thee who thou art!<br /> + That Rhodocleia, Glory of the Rose,<br /> +Of Hellas, ere her close,<br /> + That Rhodocleia who, when all was done<br /> + The golden time of Greece, and fallen her sun,<br /> +Swayed her last poet’s heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">With roses did he woo thee, and with song,<br +/> + With thine own rose, and with the lily sweet,<br /> + The dark-eyed violet,<br /> + Garlands of wind-flowers wet,<br +/> +And fragrant love-lamps that the whole night long<br /> + Burned till the dawn was burning +in the skies,<br /> + Praising <i>thy golden +eyes</i>,<br /> + <i>And feet more silvery than Thetis’ +feet</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>But thou didst die and flit<br /> + Among the tribes outworn,<br /> + The unavailing myriads of the +past:<br /> + Oft he beheld thy face in dreams of morn,<br /> +And, waking, wept for it,<br /> + Till his own +time came at last,<br /> + And then he sought thee in the +dusky land!<br /> +Wide are the populous places of the dead<br /> +Where souls on earth once wed<br /> + May never meet, nor each take +other’s hand,<br /> +Each far from the other fled!</p> +<p class="poetry">So all in vain he sought for thee, but thou<br +/> + Didst never taste of the Lethæan stream,<br /> + Nor that +forgetful fruit,<br /> + The mystic pom’granate;<br /> +But from the Mighty Warden fledst; and now,<br /> + The fugitive of Fate,<br /> + Thou farest in our life as in a dream,<br /> + Still wandering +with thy lute,<br /> +Like that sweet paynim lady of old song,<br /> +Who sang and wandered long,<br /> + For love of her Aucassin, seeking him!<br /> +So with thy minstrelsy<br /> + Thou roamest, dreaming of the country dim,<br /> +Below the veilèd sky!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>There doth thy lover dwell,<br /> + Singing, and seeking still to find thy face<br /> + In that forgetful place:<br /> + Thou shalt not meet him here,<br +/> + Not till thy singing clear<br /> +Through all the murmur of the streams of hell<br /> + Wins to the Maiden’s ear!<br +/> +May she, perchance, have pity on thee and call<br /> + Thine eager spirit to sit beside +her feet,<br /> +Passing throughout the long unechoing hall<br /> + Up to the shadowy throne,<br /> + Where the lost lovers of the ages +meet;<br /> + Till then thou art alone!</p> +<h2><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>AVE.</h2> +<p +class="poetry"> ‘<i>Our +Faith and Troth</i><br /> + <i>All time and space controules</i><br /> +<i>Above the highest sphere we meet</i><br /> +<i>Unseen</i>, <i>unknowne</i>, <i>and greet as Angels +greet</i>.’</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">Col. <span +class="smcap">Richard Lovelace</span>. 1649</p> +</blockquote> +<h3><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>CLEVEDON CHURCH.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">In +Memoriam</span><br /> +H. B.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Westward</span> I watch the +low green hills of Wales,<br /> + The low sky silver grey,<br /> +The turbid Channel with the wandering sails<br /> + Moans through the winter day.<br /> +There is no colour but one ashen light<br /> + On tower and lonely tree,<br /> +The little church upon the windy height<br /> + Is grey as sky or sea.<br /> +But there hath he that woke the sleepless Love<br /> + Slept through these fifty years,<br /> +There is the grave that has been wept above<br /> + With more than mortal tears.<br /> +And far below I hear the Channel sweep<br /> + And all his waves complain,<br /> +As Hallam’s dirge through all the years must keep<br /> + Its monotone of pain.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>Grey sky, brown waters, as a bird that flies,<br /> + My heart flits forth from these<br /> +Back to the winter rose of northern skies,<br /> + Back to the northern seas.<br /> +And lo, the long waves of the ocean beat<br /> + Below the minster grey,<br /> +Caverns and chapels worn of saintly feet,<br /> + And knees of them that pray.<br /> +And I remember me how twain were one<br /> + Beside that ocean dim,<br /> +I count the years passed over since the sun<br /> + That lights me looked on him,<br /> +And dreaming of the voice that, save in sleep,<br /> + Shall greet me not again,<br /> +Far, far below I hear the Channel sweep<br /> + And all his waves complain.</p> +<h3><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>TWILIGHT ON TWEED.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Three</span> crests against +the saffron sky,<br /> + Beyond the purple plain,<br /> +The kind remembered melody<br /> + Of Tweed once more again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wan water from the border hills,<br /> + Dear voice from the old years,<br /> +Thy distant music lulls and stills,<br /> + And moves to quiet tears.</p> +<p class="poetry">Like a loved ghost thy fabled flood<br /> + Fleets through the dusky land;<br /> +Where Scott, come home to die, has stood,<br /> + My feet returning stand.</p> +<p class="poetry">A mist of memory broods and floats,<br /> + The Border waters flow;<br /> +The air is full of ballad notes,<br /> + Borne out of long ago.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>Old songs that sung themselves to me,<br /> + Sweet through a boy’s day dream,<br /> +While trout below the blossom’d tree<br /> + Plashed in the golden steam.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Twilight, and Tweed, and Eildon Hill,<br /> + Fair and too fair you be;<br /> +You tell me that the voice is still<br /> + That should have welcomed me.</p> +<p style="text-align: right" class="poetry">1870.</p> +<h3><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>METEMPSYCHOSIS.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">shall</span> not see +thee, nay, but I shall know<br /> + Perchance, the grey eyes in another’s eyes,<br +/> +Shall guess thy curls in gracious locks that flow<br /> + On purest brows, yea, and the swift surmise<br /> + Shall follow and track, and find thee in disguise<br +/> +Of all sad things, and fair, where sunsets glow,<br /> +When through the scent of heather, faint and low,<br /> + The weak wind whispers to the day that dies.</p> +<p class="poetry">From all sweet art, and out of all old +rhyme,<br /> + Thine eyes and lips are light and song to me;<br /> +The shadows of the beauty of all time,<br /> + In song or story are but shapes of thee;<br /> +Alas, the shadowy shapes! ah, sweet my dear,<br /> + Shall life or death bring all thy being near?</p> +<h3><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>LOST +IN HADES.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">dreamed</span> that +somewhere in the shadowy place,<br /> + Grief of farewell unspoken was forgot<br /> + In welcome, and regret remembered not;<br /> +And hopeless prayer accomplished turned to praise<br /> +On lips that had been songless many days;<br /> + Hope had no more to hope for, and desire<br /> + And dread were overpast, in white attire<br /> +New born we walked among the new world’s ways.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then from the press of shades a spirit threw<br +/> + Towards me such apples as these gardens bear;<br /> +And turning, I was ’ware of her, and knew<br /> + And followed her fleet voice and flying +hair,—<br /> +Followed, and found her not, and seeking you<br /> + I found you never, dearest, anywhere.</p> +<h3><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>A STAR +IN THE NIGHT.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> perfect piteous +beauty of thy face<br /> + Is like a star the dawning drives away;<br /> + Mine eyes may never see in the bright day<br /> +Thy pallid halo, thy supernal grace;<br /> +But in the night from forth the silent place<br /> + Thou comest, dim in dreams, as doth a stray<br /> + Star of the starry flock that in the grey<br /> +Is seen, and lost, and seen a moment’s space.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as the earth at night turns to a star,<br +/> + Loved long ago, and dearer than the sun,<br /> +So in the spiritual place afar,<br /> + At night our souls are mingled and made one,<br /> +And wait till one night fall, and one dawn rise,<br /> +That brings no noon too splendid for your eyes.</p> +<h3><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>A +SUNSET ON YARROW.</h3> +<p class="poetry">The wind and the day had lived together,<br /> + They died together, and far away<br /> +Spoke farewell in the sultry weather,<br /> +Out of the sunset, over the heather,<br /> + The dying wind and the dying day.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far in the south, the summer levin<br /> + Flushed, a flame in the grey soft air:<br /> +We seemed to look on the hills of heaven;<br /> +You saw within, but to me ’twas given<br /> + To see your face, as an angel’s, there.</p> +<p class="poetry">Never again, ah surely never<br /> + Shall we wait and watch, where of old we stood,<br +/> +The low good-night of the hill and the river,<br /> +The faint light fade, and the wan stars quiver,<br /> + Twain grown one in the solitude.</p> +<h3><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>ANOTHER WAY.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap"><i>Come</i></span><i> to me +in my dreams</i>, <i>and then</i>,<br /> +<i>One saith</i>, <i>I shall be well again</i>,<br /> +<i>For then the night will more than pay</i><br /> +<i>The hopeless longing of the day</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, come not <i>thou</i> in dreams, my +sweet,<br /> +With shadowy robes, and silent feet,<br /> +And with the voice, and with the eyes<br /> +That greet me in a soft surprise.</p> +<p class="poetry">Last night, last night, in dreams we met,<br /> +And how, to-day, shall I forget,<br /> +Or how, remembering, restrain<br /> +Mine incommunicable pain?</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, where thy land and people are,<br /> +Dwell thou remote, apart, afar,<br /> +Nor mingle with the shapes that sweep<br /> +The melancholy ways of Sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry">But if, perchance, the shadows break,<br /> +If dreams depart, and men awake,<br /> +If face to face at length we see,<br /> +Be thine the voice to welcome me.</p> +<h2><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>HESPEROTHEN</h2> +<p class="poetry">By the example of certain Grecian mariners, +who, being safely returned from the war about Troy, leave yet +again their old lands and gods, seeking they know not what, and +choosing neither to abide in the fair Phæacian island, nor +to dwell and die with the Sirens, at length end miserably in a +desert country by the sea, is set forth the <i>Vanity of +Melancholy</i>. And by the land of Phæacia is to be +understood the place of Art and of fair Pleasures; and by +Circe’s Isle, the place of bodily delights, whereof men, +falling aweary, attain to Eld, and to the darkness of that +age. Which thing Master Françoys Rabelais feigned, +under the similitude of the Isle of the Macræones.</p> +<h3><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>THE +SEEKERS FOR PHÆACIA.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> is a land in +the remotest day,<br /> + Where the soft night is born, and sunset dies;<br /> +The eastern shore sees faint tides fade away,<br /> + That wash the lands where laughter, tears, and +sighs<br /> +Make life,—the lands below the blue of common skies.</p> +<p class="poetry">But in the west is a mysterious sea,<br /> + (What sails have seen it, or what shipmen known?)<br +/> +With coasts enchanted where the Sirens be,<br /> + With islands where a Goddess walks alone,<br /> +And in the cedar trees the magic winds make moan.</p> +<p class="poetry">Eastward the human cares of house and home,<br +/> + Cities, and ships, and unknown gods, and loves;<br +/> +Westward, strange maidens fairer than the foam,<br /> + And lawless lives of men, and haunted groves,<br /> +Wherein a god may dwell, and where the Dryad roves.</p> +<p class="poetry">The gods are careless of the days and death<br +/> + Of toilsome men, beyond the western seas;<br /> +<a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>The gods +are heedless of their painful breath,<br /> + And love them not, for they are not as these;<br /> +But in the golden west they live and lie at ease.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet the Phæacians well they love, who +live<br /> + At the light’s limit, passing careless +hours,<br /> +Most like the gods; and they have gifts to give,<br /> + Even wine, and fountains musical, and flowers,<br /> +And song, and if they will, swift ships, and magic powers.</p> +<p class="poetry">It is a quiet midland; in the cool<br /> + Of the twilight comes the god, though no man +prayed,<br /> +To watch the maids and young men beautiful<br /> + Dance, and they see him, and are not afraid,<br /> +For they are neat of kin to gods, and undismayed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, would the bright red prows might bring us +nigh<br /> + The dreamy isles that the Immortals keep!<br /> +But with a mist they hide them wondrously,<br /> + And far the path and dim to where they +sleep,—<br /> +The loved, the shadowy lands, along the shadowy deep.</p> +<h3><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>A SONG +OF PHÆACIA.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> languid sunset, +mother of roses,<br /> + Lingers, a light on the magic seas,<br /> +The wide fire flames, as a flower uncloses,<br /> + Heavy with odour, and loose to the breeze.</p> +<p class="poetry">The red rose clouds, without law or leader,<br +/> + Gather and float in the airy plain;<br /> +The nightingale sings to the dewy cedar,<br /> + The cedar scatters his scent to the main.</p> +<p class="poetry">The strange flowers’ perfume turns to +singing,<br /> + Heard afar over moonlit seas:<br /> +The Siren’s song, grown faint in winging,<br /> + Falls in scent on the cedar trees.</p> +<p class="poetry">As waifs blown out of the sunset, flying,<br /> + Purple, and rosy, and grey, the birds<br /> +Brighten the air with their wings; their crying<br /> + Wakens a moment the weary herds.</p> +<p class="poetry">Butterflies flit from the fairy garden,<br /> + Living blossoms of flying flowers;<br /> +Never the nights with winter harden,<br /> + Nor moons wax keen in this land of ours.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>Great fruits, fragrant, green and golden,<br /> + Gleam in the green, and droop and fall;<br /> +Blossom, and bud, and flower unfolden,<br /> + Swing, and cling to the garden wall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Deep in the woods as twilight darkens,<br /> + Glades are red with the scented fire;<br /> +Far in the dells the white maid hearkens,<br /> + Song and sigh of the heart’s desire.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, and as moonlight fades in morning,<br /> + Maiden’s song in the matin grey,<br /> +Faints as the first bird’s note, a warning,<br /> + Wakes and wails to the new-born day.</p> +<p class="poetry">The waking song and the dying measure<br /> + Meet, and the waxing and waning light<br /> +Meet, and faint with the hours of pleasure,<br /> + The rose of the sea and the sky is white.</p> +<h3><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>THE +DEPARTURE FROM PHÆACIA.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">THE +PHÆACIANS.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Why</span> from the dreamy +meadows,<br /> + More fair than any dream,<br /> +Why seek ye for the shadows<br /> + Beyond the ocean stream?</p> +<p class="poetry">Through straits of storm and peril,<br /> + Through firths unsailed before,<br /> +Why make you for the sterile,<br /> + The dark Kimmerian shore?</p> +<p class="poetry">There no bright streams are flowing,<br /> + There day and night are one,<br /> +No harvest time, no sowing,<br /> + No sight of any sun;</p> +<p class="poetry">No sound of song or tabor,<br /> + No dance shall greet you there;<br /> +No noise of mortal labour<br /> + Breaks on the blind chill air.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>Are ours not happy places,<br /> + Where gods with mortals trod?<br /> +Saw not our sires the faces<br /> + Of many a present god?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">THE +SEEKERS.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, now no god comes hither,<br /> + In shape that men may see;<br /> +They fare we know not whither,<br /> + We know not what they be.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yea, though the sunset lingers<br /> + Far in your fairy glades,<br /> +Though yours the sweetest singers,<br /> + Though yours the kindest maids,</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet here be the true shadows,<br /> + Here in the doubtful light;<br /> +Amid the dreamy meadows<br /> + No shadow haunts the night.</p> +<p class="poetry">We seek a city splendid,<br /> + With light beyond the sun;<br /> +Or lands where dreams are ended,<br /> + And works and days are done.</p> +<h3><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>A +BALLAD OF DEPARTURE. <a name="citation39"></a><a +href="#footnote39" class="citation">[39]</a></h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> white bird, +what song art thou singing<br /> + In wintry weather of lands o’er sea?<br /> +Dear white bird, what way art thou winging,<br /> + Where no grass grows, and no green tree?</p> +<p class="poetry">I looked at the far-off fields and grey,<br /> + There grew no tree but the cypress tree,<br /> +That bears sad fruits with the flowers of May,<br /> + And whoso looks on it, woe is he.</p> +<p class="poetry">And whoso eats of the fruit thereof<br /> +Has no more sorrow, and no more love;<br /> +And who sets the same in his garden stead,<br /> +In a little space he is waste and dead.</p> +<h3><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>THEY +HEAR THE SIRENS FOR THE SECOND TIME.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> weary sails a +moment slept,<br /> + The oars were silent for a space,<br /> +As past Hesperian shores we swept,<br /> + That were as a remembered face<br /> +Seen after lapse of hopeless years,<br /> + In Hades, when the shadows meet,<br /> +Dim through the mist of many tears,<br /> + And strange, and though a shadow, sweet.</p> +<p class="poetry">So seemed the half-remembered shore,<br /> + That slumbered, mirrored in the blue,<br /> +With havens where we touched of yore,<br /> + And ports that over well we knew.<br /> +Then broke the calm before a breeze<br /> + That sought the secret of the west;<br /> +And listless all we swept the seas<br /> + Towards the Islands of the Blest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Beside a golden sanded bay<br /> + We saw the Sirens, very fair<br /> +<a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>The +flowery hill whereon they lay,<br /> + The flowers set upon their hair.<br /> +Their old sweet song came down the wind,<br /> + Remembered music waxing strong,—<br /> +Ah now no need of cords to bind,<br /> + No need had we of Orphic song.</p> +<p class="poetry">It once had seemed a little thing<br /> + To lay our lives down at their feet,<br /> +That dying we might hear them sing,<br /> + And dying see their faces sweet;<br /> +But now, we glanced, and passing by,<br /> + No care had we to tarry long;<br /> +Faint hope, and rest, and memory<br /> + Were more than any Siren’s song.</p> +<h3><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>CIRCE’S ISLE REVISITED.</h3> +<p class="poetry">Ah, Circe, Circe! in the wood we cried;<br /> +Ah, Circe, Circe! but no voice replied;<br /> + No voice from bowers o’ergrown and ruinous<br +/> +As fallen rocks upon the mountain side.</p> +<p class="poetry">There was no sound of singing in the air;<br /> +Faded or fled the maidens that were fair,<br /> + No more for sorrow or joy were seen of us,<br /> +No light of laughing eyes, or floating hair.</p> +<p class="poetry">The perfume, and the music, and the flame<br /> +Had passed away; the memory of shame<br /> + Alone abode, and stings of faint desire,<br /> +And pulses of vague quiet went and came.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, Circe! in thy sad changed fairy place,<br +/> +Our dead youth came and looked on us a space,<br /> + With drooping wings, and eyes of faded fire.<br /> +And wasted hair about a weary face.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>Why had we ever sought the magic isle<br /> +That seemed so happy in the days erewhile?<br /> + Why did we ever leave it, where we met<br /> +A world of happy wonders in one smile?</p> +<p class="poetry">Back to the westward and the waning light<br /> +We turned, we fled; the solitude of night<br /> + Was better than the infinite regret,<br /> +In fallen places of our dead delight.</p> +<h3><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>THE +LIMIT OF LANDS.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Between</span> the circling +ocean sea<br /> + And the poplars of Persephone<br /> + There lies a strip of barren sand,<br /> +Flecked with the sea’s last spray, and strown<br /> +With waste leaves of the poplars, blown<br /> + From gardens of the shadow land.</p> +<p class="poetry">With altars of old sacrifice<br /> +The shore is set, in mournful wise<br /> + The mists upon the ocean brood;<br /> +Between the water and the air<br /> + The clouds are born that float and fare<br /> +Between the water and the wood.</p> +<p class="poetry">Upon the grey sea never sail<br /> +Of mortals passed within our hail,<br /> + Where the last weak waves faint and flow;<br /> +We heard within the poplar pale<br /> +The murmur of a doubtful wail<br /> + Of voices loved so long ago.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>We scarce had care to die or live,<br /> +We had no honey cake to give,<br /> + No wine of sacrifice to shed;<br /> +There lies no new path over sea,<br /> +And now we know how faint they be,<br /> + The feasts and voices of the dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, flowers and dance! ah, sun and snow!<br /> +Glad life, sad life we did forego<br /> + To dream of quietness and rest;<br /> +Ah, would the fleet sweet roses here<br /> +Poured light and perfume through the drear<br /> + Pale year, and wan land of the west.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sad youth, that let the spring go by<br /> +Because the spring is swift to fly,<br /> + Sad youth, that feared to mourn or love,<br /> +Behold how sadder far is this,<br /> +To know that rest is nowise bliss,<br /> + And darkness is the end thereof.</p> +<h2><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>VERSES</h2> +<h3><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>MARTIAL IN TOWN.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Last</span> night, within +the stifling train,<br /> + Lit by the foggy lamp o’erhead,<br /> + Sick of the sad Last News, I read<br /> +Verse of that joyous child of Spain,</p> +<p class="poetry">Who dwelt when Rome was waxing cold,<br /> + Within the Roman din and smoke.<br /> + And like my heart to me they spoke,<br /> +These accents of his heart of old:—</p> +<p class="poetry">“<i>Brother</i>, <i>had we but time to +live</i>,<br /> + <i>And fleet the careless hours together</i>,<br /> +<i>With all that leisure has to give</i><br /> + <i>Of perfect life and peaceful weather</i>,</p> +<p class="poetry">“<i>The Rich Man’s halls</i>, +<i>the anxious faces</i>,<br /> +<i>The weary Forum</i>, <i>courts</i>, <i>and cases</i><br /> + <i>Should know us not</i>; <i>but quiet +nooks</i>,<br /> +<i>But summer shade by field and well</i>,<br /> + <i>But county rides</i>, <i>and talk of +books</i>,<br /> +<i>At home</i>, <i>with these</i>, <i>we fain would +dwell</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>“<i>Now neither lives</i>, <i>but day by +day</i><br /> + <i>Sees the suns wasting in the west</i>,<br /> +<i>And feels their flight</i>, <i>and doth delay</i><br /> + <i>To lead the life he loveth best</i>.”</p> +<p class="poetry">So from thy city prison broke,<br /> + Martial, thy wail for life misspent,<br /> +And so, through London’s noise and smoke<br /> + My heart replies to the lament.</p> +<p class="poetry">For dear as Tagus with his gold,<br /> + And swifter Salo, were to thee,<br /> +So dear to me the woods that fold<br /> + The streams that circle Fernielea!</p> +<h3><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>APRIL +ON TWEED.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> birds are fain to +build their nest<br /> + The first soft sunny day,<br /> +So longing wakens in my breast<br /> + A month before the May,<br /> +When now the wind is from the West,<br /> + And Winter melts away.</p> +<p class="poetry">The snow lies yet on Eildon Hill,<br /> + But soft the breezes blow.<br /> +If melting snows the waters fill,<br /> + We nothing heed the snow,<br /> +But we must up and take our will,—<br /> + A fishing will we go!</p> +<p class="poetry">Below the branches brown and bare,<br /> + Beneath the primrose lea,<br /> +The trout lies waiting for his fare,<br /> + A hungry trout is he;<br /> +He’s hooked, and springs and splashes there<br /> + Like salmon from the sea!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>Oh, April tide’s a pleasant tide,<br /> + However times may fall,<br /> +And sweet to welcome Spring, the Bride,<br /> + You hear the mavis call;<br /> +But all adown the water-side<br /> + The Spring’s most fair of all.</p> +<h3><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>TIRED +OF TOWNS.</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘When we spoke to her of the New +Jerusalem, she said she would rather go to a country place in +Heaven.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><i>Letters from the +Black Country</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">I’m</span> weary of +towns, it seems a’most a pity<br /> + We didn’t stop down i’ the country and +clem,<br /> +And you say that I’m bound for another city,<br /> + For the streets o’ the New Jerusalem.</p> +<p class="poetry">And the streets are never like Sheffield, +here,<br /> + Nor the smoke don’t cling like a smut to +<i>them</i>;<br /> +But the water o’ life flows cool and clear<br /> + Through the streets o’ the New Jerusalem.</p> +<p class="poetry">And the houses, you say, are of jasper cut,<br +/> + And the gates are gaudy wi’ gold and gem;<br +/> +But there’s times I could wish as the gates was +shut—<br /> + The gates o’ the New Jerusalem.</p> +<p class="poetry">For I come from a country that’s +over-built<br /> + Wi’ streets that stifle, and walls that +hem,<br /> +And the gorse on a common’s worth all the gilt<br /> + And the gold of your New Jerusalem.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>And I hope that they’ll bring me, in Paradise,<br +/> + To green lanes leafy wi’ bough and +stem—<br /> +To a country place in the land o’ the skies,<br /> + And not to the New Jerusalem.</p> +<h3><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>SCYTHE +SONG.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mowers</span>, weary and +brown, and blithe,<br /> + What is the word methinks ye know,<br /> +Endless over-word that the Scythe<br /> + Sings to the blades of the grass below?<br /> +Scythes that swing in the grass and clover,<br /> + Something, still, they say as they pass;<br /> +What is the word that, over and over,<br /> + Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass?</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Hush</i>, <i>ah hush</i>, the Scythes are +saying,<br /> + <i>Hush</i>, <i>and heed not</i>, <i>and fall +asleep</i>;<br /> +<i>Hush</i>, they say to the grasses swaying,<br /> + <i>Hush</i>, they sing to the clover deep!<br /> +<i>Hush</i>—’tis the lullaby Time is +singing—<br /> + <i>Hush</i>, <i>and heed not</i>, <i>for all things +pass</i>,<br /> +<i>Hush</i>, <i>ah hush</i>! and the Scythes are swinging<br /> + Over the clover, over the grass!</p> +<h3><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>PEN +AND INK.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ye</span> wanderers that +were my sires,<br /> + Who read men’s fortunes in the hand,<br /> +Who voyaged with your smithy fires<br /> + From waste to waste across the land,<br /> +Why did you leave for garth and town<br /> + Your life by heath and river’s brink,<br /> +Why lay your gipsy freedom down<br /> + And doom your child to Pen and Ink?</p> +<p class="poetry">You wearied of the wild-wood meal<br /> + That crowned, or failed to crown, the day;<br /> +Too honest or too tame to steal<br /> + You broke into the beaten way;<br /> +Plied loom or awl like other men,<br /> + And learned to love the guineas’ +chink—<br /> +Oh, recreant sires, who doomed me then<br /> + To earn so few—with Pen and Ink!</p> +<p class="poetry">Where it hath fallen the tree must lie.<br /> + ’Tis over late for <i>me</i> to roam,<br /> +Yet the caged bird who hears the cry<br /> + Of his wild fellows fleeting home,<br /> +<a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>May feel +no sharper pang than mine,<br /> + Who seem to hear, whene’er I think,<br /> +Spate in the stream, and wind in pine,<br /> + Call me to quit dull Pen and Ink.</p> +<p class="poetry">For then the spirit wandering,<br /> + That slept within the blood, awakes;<br /> +For then the summer and the spring<br /> + I fain would meet by streams and lakes;<br /> +But ah, my Birthright long is sold,<br /> + But custom chains me, link on link,<br /> +And I must get me, as of old,<br /> + Back to my tools, to Pen and Ink.</p> +<h3><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>A +DREAM.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Why</span> will you haunt +my sleep?<br /> + You know it may not be,<br /> +The grave is wide and deep,<br /> + That sunders you and me;<br /> +In bitter dreams we reap<br /> + The sorrow we have sown,<br /> +And I would I were asleep,<br /> + Forgotten and alone!</p> +<p class="poetry">We knew and did not know,<br /> + We saw and did not see,<br /> +The nets that long ago<br /> + Fate wove for you and me;<br /> +The cruel nets that keep<br /> + The birds that sob and moan,<br /> +And I would we were asleep,<br /> + Forgotten and alone!</p> +<h3><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>THE +SINGING ROSE.</h3> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘<i>La Rose qui +chante et l’herbe qui égare</i>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap"><i>White</i></span><i> Rose +on the grey garden wall</i>,<br /> + <i>Where now no night-wind whispereth</i>,<br /> +<i>Call to the far-off flowers</i>, <i>and call</i><br /> + <i>With murmured breath and musical</i><br /> +<i>Till all the Roses hear</i>, <i>and all</i><br /> + <i>Sing to my Love what the White Rose +saith</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">White Rose on the grey garden wall<br /> + That long ago we sung!<br /> +Again you come at Summer’s call,—<br /> +Again beneath my windows all<br /> + With trellised flowers is hung,<br /> +With clusters of the roses white<br /> +Like fragrant stars in a green night.</p> +<p class="poetry">Once more I hear the sister towers<br /> + Each unto each reply,<br /> +The bloom is on those limes of ours,<br /> +<a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>The weak +wind shakes the bloom in showers,<br /> + Snow from a cloudless sky;<br /> +There is no change this happy day<br /> +Within the College Gardens grey!</p> +<p class="poetry">St. Mary’s, Merton, +Magdalen—still<br /> + Their sweet bells chime and swing,<br /> +The old years answer them, and thrill<br /> +A wintry heart against its will<br /> + With memories of the Spring—<br /> +That Spring we sought the gardens through<br /> +For flowers which ne’er in gardens grew!</p> +<p class="poetry">For we, beside our nurse’s knee,<br /> + In fairy tales had heard<br /> +Of that strange Rose which blossoms free<br /> +On boughs of an enchanted tree,<br /> + And sings like any bird!<br /> +And of the weed beside the way<br /> +That leadeth lovers’ steps astray!</p> +<p class="poetry">In vain we sought the Singing Rose<br /> + Whereof old legends tell,<br /> +Alas, we found it not mid those<br /> +Within the grey old College close,<br /> + That budded, flowered, and fell,—<br /> +We found that herb called ‘Wandering’<br /> +And meet no more, no more in Spring!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>Yes, unawares the unhappy grass<br /> + That leadeth steps astray,<br /> +We trod, and so it came to pass<br /> +That never more we twain, alas,<br /> + Shall walk the self-same way.<br /> +And each must deem, though neither knows,<br /> +That <i>neither</i> found the Singing Rose!</p> +<h3><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>A +REVIEW IN RHYME.</h3> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">little</span> of Horace, +a little of Prior,<br /> +A sketch of a Milkmaid, a lay of the Squire—<br /> +These, these are ‘on draught’ ‘At the Sign of +the Lyre!’</p> +<p class="poetry">A child in Blue Ribbons that sings to +herself,<br /> +A talk of the Books on the Sheraton shelf,<br /> +A sword of the Stuarts, a wig of the Guelph,</p> +<p class="poetry">A <i>lai</i>, a <i>pantoum</i>, a +<i>ballade</i>, a <i>rondeau</i>,<br /> +A pastel by Greuze, and a sketch by Moreau,<br /> +And the chimes of the rhymes that sing sweet as they go,</p> +<p class="poetry">A fan, and a folio, a ringlet, a glove,<br /> +’Neath a dance by Laguerre on the ceiling above,<br /> +And a dream of the days when the bard was in love,</p> +<p class="poetry">A scent of dead roses, a glance at a pun,<br /> +A toss of old powder, a glint of the sun,<br /> +They meet in the volume that Dobson has done!</p> +<p class="poetry">If there’s more that the heart of a man +can desire,<br /> +He may search, in his Swinburne, for fury and fire;<br /> +If he’s wise—he’ll alight ‘At the Sign of +the Lyre!’</p> +<h3><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>COLINETTE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">FOR A SKETCH +BY MR. G. LESLIE, R.A.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">France</span> your country, +as we know;<br /> + Room enough for guessing yet,<br /> +What lips now or long ago,<br /> + Kissed and named you—Colinette.<br /> +In what fields from sea to sea,<br /> + By what stream your home was set,<br /> +Loire or Seine was glad of thee,<br /> + Marne or Rhone, O Colinette?</p> +<p class="poetry">Did you stand with maidens ten,<br /> + Fairer maids were never seen,<br /> +When the young king and his men<br /> + Passed among the orchards green?<br /> +Nay, old ballads have a note<br /> + Mournful, we would fain forget;<br /> +No such sad old air should float<br /> + Round your young brows, Colinette.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>Say, did Ronsard sing to you,<br /> + Shepherdess, to lull his pain,<br /> +When the court went wandering through<br /> + Rose pleasances of Touraine?<br /> +Ronsard and his famous Rose<br /> + Long are dust the breezes fret;<br /> +You, within the garden close,<br /> + You are blooming, Colinette.</p> +<p class="poetry">Have I seen you proud and gay,<br /> + With a patched and perfumed beau,<br /> +Dancing through the summer day,<br /> + Misty summer of Watteau?<br /> +Nay, so sweet a maid as you<br /> + Never walked a minuet<br /> +With the splendid courtly crew;<br /> + Nay, forgive me, Colinette.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not from Greuze’s canvases<br /> + Do you cast a glance, a smile;<br /> +You are not as one of these,<br /> + Yours is beauty without guile.<br /> +Round your maiden brows and hair<br /> + Maidenhood and Childhood met<br /> +Crown and kiss you, sweet and fair,<br /> + New art’s blossom, Colinette.</p> +<h3><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>A +SUNSET OF WATTEAU.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">LUI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">The silk sail fills, the soft winds wake,<br /> + Arise and tempt the seas;<br /> +Our ocean is the Palace lake,<br /> +Our waves the ripples that we make<br /> + Among the mirrored trees.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">ELLE.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, sweet the shore, and sweet the song,<br /> + And dear the languid dream;<br /> +The music mingled all day long<br /> +With paces of the dancing throng,<br /> + And murmur of the stream.</p> +<p class="poetry">An hour ago, an hour ago,<br /> + We rested in the shade;<br /> +And now, why should we seek to know<br /> +What way the wilful waters flow?<br /> + There is no fairer glade.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page66"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 66</span><span +class="GutSmall">LUI.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, pleasure flits, and we must sail,<br /> + And seek him everywhere;<br /> +Perchance in sunset’s golden pale<br /> +He listens to the nightingale,<br /> + Amid the perfumed air.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, he has fled; you are not you,<br /> + And I no more am I;<br /> +Delight is changeful as the hue<br /> +Of heaven, that is no longer blue<br /> + In yonder sunset sky.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">ELLE.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, if we seek we shall not find,<br /> + If we knock none openeth;<br /> +Nay, see, the sunset fades behind<br /> +The mountains, and the cold night wind<br /> + Blows from the house of Death.</p> +<h3><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>NIGHTINGALE WEATHER.</h3> +<blockquote><p>‘Serai-je nonnette, oui ou non?<br /> +Semi-je nonnette? je crois que non.<br /> +Derrière chez mon père<br /> +Il est un bois taillis,<br /> +Le rossignol y chante<br /> +Et le jour et la nuit.<br /> +Il chante pour les filles<br /> +Qui n’ont pas d’ami;<br /> +Il ne chant pas pour moi,<br /> +J’en ai un, Dieu merci.’—<i>Old French</i>.</p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">I’ll</span> never be +a nun, I trow,<br /> +While apple bloom is white as snow,<br /> + But far more fair to see;<br /> +I’ll never wear nun’s black and white<br /> +While nightingales make sweet the night<br /> + Within the apple tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, listen! ’tis the nightingale,<br /> +And in the wood he makes his wail,<br /> + Within the apple tree;<br /> +He singeth of the sore distress<br /> +Of many ladies loverless;<br /> + Thank God, no song for me.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>For when the broad May moon is low,<br /> +A gold fruit seen where blossoms blow<br /> + In the boughs of the apple tree,<br /> +A step I know is at the gate;<br /> +Ah love, but it is long to wait<br /> + Until night’s noon bring thee!</p> +<p class="poetry">Between lark’s song and +nightingale’s<br /> +A silent space, while dawning pales,<br /> + The birds leave still and free<br /> +For words and kisses musical,<br /> +For silence and for sighs that fall<br /> + In the dawn, ’twixt him and me.</p> +<h3><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>LOVE +AND WISDOM.</h3> +<blockquote><p>‘When last we gathered roses in the +garden<br /> +I found my wits, but truly you lost yours.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>The Broken Heart</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">July</span> and June +brought flowers and love<br /> +To you, but I would none thereof,<br /> +Whose heart kept all through summer time<br /> +A flower of frost and winter rime.<br /> +Yours was true wisdom—was it not?<br /> +Even love; but I had clean forgot,<br /> +Till seasons of the falling leaf,<br /> +All loves, but one that turned to grief.<br /> +At length at touch of autumn tide<br /> +When roses fell, and summer died,<br /> +All in a dawning deep with dew,<br /> +Love flew to me, Love fled from you.<br /> +The roses drooped their weary heads,<br /> +I spoke among the garden beds;<br /> +You would not hear, you could not know,<br /> +Summer and love seemed long ago,<br /> +As far, as faint, as dim a dream,<br /> +As to the dead this world may seem.<br /> +<a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>Ah sweet, +in winter’s miseries,<br /> +Perchance you may remember this,<br /> +How Wisdom was not justified<br /> +In summer time or autumn tide,<br /> +Though for this once below the sun,<br /> +Wisdom and Love were made at one;<br /> +But Love was bitter-bought enough,<br /> +And Wisdom light of wing as Love.</p> +<h3><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>GOOD-BYE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Kiss</span> me, and say +good-bye;<br /> + Good-bye, there is no word to say but this,<br /> + Nor any lips left for my lips to kiss,<br /> +Nor any tears to shed, when these tears dry;<br /> +Kiss me, and say, good-bye.</p> +<p class="poetry">Farewell, be glad, forget;<br /> + There is no need to say ‘forget,’ I +know,<br /> + For youth is youth, and time will have it so,<br /> +And though your lips are pale, and your eyes wet,<br /> + Farewell, you must forget.</p> +<p class="poetry">You shall bring home your sheaves,<br /> + Many, and heavy, and with blossoms twined<br /> + Of memories that go not out of mind;<br /> +Let this one sheaf be twined with poppy leaves<br /> +When you bring home your sheaves.</p> +<p class="poetry">In garnered loves of thine,<br /> + The ripe good fruit of many hearts and years,<br /> + Somewhere let this lie, grey and salt with tears;<br +/> +It grew too near the sea wind, and the brine<br /> +Of life, this love of mine.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>This sheaf was spoiled in spring,<br /> + And over-long was green, and early sere,<br /> + And never gathered gold in the late year<br /> +From autumn suns, and moons of harvesting,<br /> +But failed in frosts of spring.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet was it thine, my sweet,<br /> + This love, though weak as young corn withered,<br /> + Whereof no man may gather and make bread;<br /> +Thine, though it never knew the summer heat;<br /> +Forget not quite, my sweet.</p> +<h3><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>AN OLD +PRAYER.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Χαιρέ μοι, +ω βασίλεια, +διαμπερες, +εις ο κε +γηρας<br /> +Ελθη και +θάνατος, τά +τ’ επ’ +ανθρώποισι +πέλονται.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Odyssey</i>, XIII.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> prayer an old +prayer borroweth,<br /> +Of ancient love and memory—<br /> +‘Do thou farewell, till Eld and Death,<br /> +That come to all men, come to thee.’<br /> +Gently as winter’s early breath,<br /> +Scarce felt, what time the swallows flee,<br /> +To lands whereof no man knoweth<br /> +Of summer, over land and sea;<br /> +So with thy soul may summer be,<br /> +Even as the ancient singer saith,<br /> +‘Do thou farewell, till Eld and Death,<br /> +That come to all men, come to thee.’</p> +<h3><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>À LA BELLE HÉLÈNE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">AFTER +RONSARD.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">More</span> closely than +the clinging vine<br /> + About the wedded tree,<br /> +Clasp thou thine arms, ah, mistress mine!<br /> + About the heart of me.<br /> +Or seem to sleep, and stoop your face<br /> + Soft on my sleeping eyes,<br /> +Breathe in your life, your heart, your grace,<br /> + Through me, in kissing wise.<br /> +Bow down, bow down your face, I pray,<br /> + To me, that swoon to death,<br /> +Breathe back the life you kissed away,<br /> + Breathe back your kissing breath.<br /> +So by your eyes I swear and say,<br /> + My mighty oath and sure,<br /> +From your kind arms no maiden may<br /> + My loving heart allure.<br /> +I’ll bear your yoke, that’s light enough,<br /> + And to the Elysian plain,<br /> +<a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>When we +are dead of love, my love,<br /> + One boat shall bear us twain.<br /> +They’ll flock around you, fleet and fair,<br /> + All true loves that have been,<br /> +And you of all the shadows there,<br /> + Shall be the shadow queen.<br /> +Ah, shadow-loves and shadow-lips!<br /> + Ah, while ’tis called to-day,<br /> +Love me, my love, for summer slips,<br /> + And August ebbs away.</p> +<h3><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>SYLVIE +ET AURÉLIE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">IN MEMORY OF +GÉRARD DE NERVAL.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Two</span> loves there +were, and one was born<br /> + Between the sunset and the rain;<br /> +Her singing voice went through the corn,<br /> +Her dance was woven ’neath the thorn,<br /> + On grass the fallen blossoms stain;<br /> +And suns may set, and moons may wane,<br /> +But this love comes no more again.</p> +<p class="poetry">There were two loves and one made white,<br /> + Thy singing lips, and golden hair;<br /> +Born of the city’s mire and light,<br /> +The shame and splendour of the night,<br /> + She trapped and fled thee unaware;<br /> +Not through the lamplight and the rain<br /> +Shalt thou behold this love again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Go forth and seek, by wood and hill,<br /> + Thine ancient love of dawn and dew;<br /> +There comes no voice from mere or rill,<br /> +<a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>Her dance +is over, fallen still<br /> + The ballad burdens that she knew:<br /> +And thou must wait for her in vain,<br /> +Till years bring back thy youth again.</p> +<p class="poetry">That other love, afield, afar<br /> + Fled the light love, with lighter feet.<br /> +Nay, though thou seek where gravesteads are,<br /> +And flit in dreams from star to star,<br /> + That dead love shalt thou never meet,<br /> +Till through bleak dawn and blowing rain<br /> +Thy soul shall find her soul again.</p> +<h3><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>A LOST +PATH.</h3> +<p>Plotinus, the Greek philosopher, had a certain proper mode of +ecstasy, whereby, as Porphyry saith, his soul, becoming free from +the deathly flesh, was made one with the Spirit that is in the +world.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Alas</span>, the path is +lost, we cannot leave<br /> + Our bright, our clouded life, and pass away<br /> +As through strewn clouds, that stain the quiet eve,<br /> + To heights remoter of the purer day.<br /> +The soul may not, returning whence she came,<br /> + Bathe herself deep in Being, and forget<br /> +The joys that fever, and the cares that fret,<br /> + Made once more one with the eternal flame<br /> +That breathes in all things ever more the same.<br /> + She would be young again, thus drinking deep<br /> +Of her old life; and this has been, men say,<br /> + But this we know not, who have only sleep<br /> +To soothe us, sleep more terrible than day,<br /> + Where dead delights, and fair lost faces stray,<br +/> +To make us weary at our wakening;<br /> + And of that long lost path to the Divine<br /> +We dream, as some Greek shepherd erst might sing,<br /> + Half credulous, of easy Proserpine,<br /> +And of the lands that lie ‘beneath the day’s +decline.’</p> +<h3><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>THE +SHADE OF HELEN.</h3> +<p>Some say that Helen went never to Troy, but abode in Egypt; +for the gods, having made in her semblance a woman out of clouds +and shadows, sent the same to be wife to Paris. For this +shadow then the Greeks and Trojans slew each other.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Why</span> from the quiet +hollows of the hills,<br /> +And extreme meeting place of light and shade,<br /> +Wherein soft rains fell slowly, and became<br /> +Clouds among sister clouds, where fair spent beams<br /> +And dying glories of the sun would dwell,<br /> +Why have they whom I know not, nor may know,<br /> +Strange hands, unseen and ruthless, fashioned me,<br /> +And borne me from the silent shadowy hills,<br /> +Hither, to noise and glow of alien life,<br /> +To harsh and clamorous swords, and sound of war?</p> +<p class="poetry">One speaks unto me words that would be +sweet,<br /> +Made harsh, made keen with love that knows me not,<br /> +And some strange force, within me or around,<br /> +Makes answer, kiss for kiss, and sigh for sigh,<br /> +And somewhere there is fever in the halls<br /> +That troubles me, for no such trouble came<br /> +To vex the cool far hollows of the hills.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>The foolish folk crowd round me, and they cry,<br /> +That house, and wife, and lands, and all Troy town,<br /> +Are little to lose, if they may keep me here,<br /> +And see me flit, a pale and silent shade,<br /> +Among the streets bereft, and helpless shrines.</p> +<p class="poetry">At other hours another life seems mine,<br /> +Where one great river runs unswollen of rain,<br /> +By pyramids of unremembered kings,<br /> +And homes of men obedient to the Dead.<br /> +There dark and quiet faces come and go<br /> +Around me, then again the shriek of arms,<br /> +And all the turmoil of the Ilian men.</p> +<p class="poetry">What are they? even shadows such as I.<br /> +What make they? Even this—the sport of gods—<br +/> +The sport of gods, however free they seem.<br /> +Ah, would the game were ended, and the light,<br /> +The blinding light, and all too mighty suns,<br /> +Withdrawn, and I once more with sister shades,<br /> +Unloved, forgotten, mingled with the mist,<br /> +Dwelt in the hollows of the shadowy hills.</p> +<h2><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>SONNETS</h2> +<h3><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>SHE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">To H. R. +H.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Not</span> in the waste +beyond the swamps and sand,<br /> + The fever-haunted forest and lagoon,<br /> +Mysterious Kôr thy walls forsaken stand,<br /> + Thy lonely towers beneath the lonely moon,<br /> + Not there doth Ayesha linger, rune by rune<br /> +Spelling strange scriptures of a people banned.<br /> + The world is disenchanted; over soon<br /> +Shall Europe send her spies through all the land.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, not in Kôr, but in whatever spot,<br +/> + In town or field, or by the insatiate sea,<br /> +Men brood on buried loves, and unforgot,<br /> + Or break themselves on some divine decree,<br /> +Or would o’erleap the limits of their lot,<br /> + There, in the tombs and deathless, dwelleth SHE!</p> +<h3><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>HERODOTUS IN EGYPT.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> left the land of +youth, he left the young,<br /> + The smiling gods of Greece; he passed the isle<br /> +Where Jason loitered, and where Sappho sung,<br /> + He sought the secret-founted wave of Nile,<br /> + And of their old world, dead a weary while,<br /> +Heard the priests murmur in their mystic tongue,<br /> + And through the fanes went voyaging, among<br /> +Dark tribes that worshipped Cat and Crocodile.</p> +<p class="poetry">He learned the tales of death Divine and +birth,<br /> +Strange loves of Hawk and Serpent, Sky and Earth,<br /> + The marriage, and the slaying of the Sun.<br /> +The shrines of gods and beasts he wandered through,<br /> +And mocked not at their godhead, for he knew<br /> + Behind all creeds the Spirit that is One.</p> +<h3><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>GÉRARD DE NERVAL.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all that were thy +prisons—ah, untamed,<br /> +Ah, light and sacred soul!—none holds thee now;<br /> + No wall, no bar, no body of flesh, but thou<br /> +Art free and happy in the lands unnamed,<br /> +Within whose gates, on weary wings and maimed,<br /> + Thou still would’st bear that mystic golden +bough<br /> + The Sibyl doth to singing men allow,<br /> +Yet thy report folk heeded not, but blamed.<br /> + And they would smile and wonder, seeing where<br /> +Thou stood’st, to watch light leaves, or clouds, or +wind,<br /> + Dreamily murmuring a ballad air,<br /> +Caught from the Valois peasants; dost thou find<br /> + A new life gladder than the old times were,<br /> +A love more fair than Sylvie, and as kind?</p> +<h3><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>RONSARD.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Master</span>, I see thee +with the locks of grey,<br /> + Crowned by the Muses with the laurel-wreath;<br /> + I see the roses hiding underneath,<br /> +Cassandra’s gift; she was less dear than they.<br /> +Thou, Master, first hast roused the lyric lay,<br /> + The sleeping song that the dead years bequeath,<br +/> + Hast sung thine answer to the lays that breathe<br +/> +Through ages, and through ages far away.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thou hast heard the pulse of Pindar +beat,<br /> + Known Horace by the fount Bandusian!<br /> +Their deathless line thy living strains repeat,<br /> + But ah, thy voice is sad, thy roses wan,<br /> +But ah, thy honey is not honey-sweet,<br /> + Thy bees have fed on yews Sardinian!</p> +<h3><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>LOVE’S MIRACLE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">With</span> other helpless +folk about the gate,<br /> +The gate called Beautiful, with weary eyes<br /> + That take no pleasure in the summer skies,<br /> +Nor all things that are fairest, does she wait;<br /> +So bleak a time, so sad a changeless fate<br /> + Makes her with dull experience early wise,<br /> + And in the dawning and the sunset, sighs<br /> +That all hath been, and shall be, desolate.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, if Love come not soon, and bid her live,<br +/> + And know herself the fairest of fair things,<br /> +Ah, if he have no healing gift to give,<br /> + Warm from his breast, and holy from his wings,<br /> +Or if at least Love’s shadow in passing by<br /> +Touch not and heal her, surely she must die.</p> +<h3><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>DREAMS.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> spake not truth, +however wise, who said<br /> + That happy, and that hapless men in sleep<br /> + Have equal fortune, fallen from care as deep<br /> +As countless, careless, races of the dead.<br /> +Not so, for alien paths of dreams we tread,<br /> + And one beholds the faces that he sighs<br /> + In vain to bring before his daylit eyes,<br /> +And waking, he remembers on his bed;</p> +<p class="poetry">And one with fainting heart and feeble hand<br +/> +Fights a dim battle in a doubtful land<br /> + Where strength and courage were of no avail;<br /> +And one is borne on fairy breezes far<br /> +To the bright harbours of a golden star<br /> + Down fragrant fleeting waters rosy pale.</p> +<h3><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>TWO +SONNETS OF THE SIRENS.</h3> +<blockquote><p>‘Les Sirènes estoient tant intimes +amies et fidelles compagnes de Proserpine, qu’elles +estoient toujours ensemble. Esmues du juste deul de la +perte de leur chère compagne, et enuyées jusques au +desepoir, elles s’arrestèrent à la mer +Sicilienne, où par leurs chants elles attiroient les +navigans, mais l’unique fin de la volupté de leur +musique est la Mort.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Pontus de +Tyard</span>, 1570</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> Sirens once were +maidens innocent<br /> + That through the water-meads with Proserpine<br /> +Plucked no fire-hearted flowers, but were content<br /> + Cool fritillaries and flag-flowers to twine,<br /> + With lilies woven and with wet woodbine;<br /> +Till once they sought the bright Ætnæan flowers,<br +/> +And their glad mistress fled from summer hours<br /> + With Hades, far from olive, corn, and vine.<br /> +And they have sought her all the wide world through<br /> + Till many years, and wisdom, and much wrong<br /> +Have filled and changed their song, and o’er the blue<br /> + Rings deadly sweet the magic of the song,<br /> +And whoso hears must listen till he die<br /> +Far on the flowery shores of Sicily.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +90</span>So is it with this singing art of ours,<br /> + That once with maids went maidenlike, and played<br +/> + With woven dances in the poplar-shade,<br /> +And all her song was but of lady’s bowers<br /> +And the returning swallows, and spring flowers,<br /> + Till forth to seek a shadow-queen she strayed,<br /> + A shadowy land; and now hath overweighed<br /> +Her singing chaplet with the snow and showers.<br /> +Yes, fair well-water for the bitter brine<br /> + She left, and by the margin of life’s sea<br +/> + Sings, and her song is full of the +sea’s moan,<br /> +And wild with dread, and love of Proserpine;<br /> + And whoso once has listened to her, he<br /> + His whole life long is slave to +her alone.</p> +<h2><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</span>TRANSLATIONS</h2> +<h3><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>HYMN +TO THE WINDS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">THE WINDS +ARE INVOKED BY THE WINNOWERS OF CORN.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">DU +BELLAY</span>, 1550.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> you, troop so +fleet,<br /> +That with winged wandering feet,<br /> + Through the wide world pass,<br /> +And with soft murmuring<br /> +Toss the green shades of spring<br /> + In woods and grass,<br /> +Lily and violet<br /> +I give, and blossoms wet,<br /> + Roses and dew;<br /> +This branch of blushing roses,<br /> +Whose fresh bud uncloses,<br /> + Wind-flowers too.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, winnow with sweet breath,<br /> +Winnow the holt and heath,<br /> + Round this retreat;<br /> +Where all the golden mom<br /> +We fan the gold o’ the corn,<br /> + In the sun’s heat.</p> +<h3><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>MOONLIGHT.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="GutSmall">JACQUES TAHUREAU.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> high Midnight +was garlanding her head<br /> + With many a shining star in shining skies,<br /> +And, of her grace, a slumber on mine eyes,<br /> + And, after sorrow, quietness was shed.<br /> +Far in dim fields cicalas jargonèd<br /> + A thin shrill clamour of complaints and cries;<br /> +And all the woods were pallid, in strange wise,<br /> + With pallor of the sad moon overspread.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then came my lady to that lonely place,<br /> +And, from her palfrey stooping, did embrace<br /> + And hang upon my neck, and kissed me over;<br /> +Wherefore the day is far less dear than night,<br /> +And sweeter is the shadow than the light,<br /> + Since night has made me such a happy lover.</p> +<h3><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>THE +GRAVE AND THE ROSE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">VICTOR HUGO.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> Grave said to +the Rose,<br /> + ‘What of the dews of morn,<br /> +Love’s flower, what end is theirs?’<br /> + ‘And what of souls outworn,<br /> +Of them whereon doth close<br /> + The tomb’s mouth unawares?’<br /> +The Rose said to the Grave.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Rose said, ‘In the shade<br /> + From the dawn’s tears is made<br /> +A perfume faint and strange,<br /> + Amber and honey sweet.’<br /> + ‘And all the spirits fleet<br /> +Do suffer a sky-change,<br /> + More strangely than the dew,<br /> + To God’s own angels new,’<br /> +The Grave said to the Rose.</p> +<h3><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>A VOW +TO HEAVENLY VENUS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">DU +BELLAY.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">We that with like hearts love, we lovers +twain,<br /> +New wedded in the village by thy fane,<br /> +Lady of all chaste love, to thee it is<br /> +We bring these amaranths, these white lilies,<br /> +A sign, and sacrifice; may Love, we pray,<br /> +Like amaranthine flowers, feel no decay;<br /> +Like these cool lilies may our loves remain,<br /> +Perfect and pure, and know not any stain;<br /> +And be our hearts, from this thy holy hour,<br /> +Bound each to each, like flower to wedded flower.</p> +<h3><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>OF HIS +LADY’S OLD AGE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">RONSARD.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">When you are very old, at evening<br /> +You’ll sit and spin beside the fire, and say,<br /> + Humming my songs, ‘Ah well, ah well-a-day!<br +/> +When I was young, of me did Ronsard sing.’<br /> +None of your maidens that doth hear the thing,<br /> + Albeit with her weary task foredone,<br /> + But wakens at my name, and calls you one<br /> +Blest, to be held in long remembering.</p> +<p class="poetry">I shall be low beneath the earth, and laid<br +/> +On sleep, a phantom in the myrtle shade,<br /> + While you beside the fire, a grandame grey,<br /> +My love, your pride, remember and regret;<br /> +Ah, love me, love! we may be happy yet,<br /> + And gather roses, while ’t is called +to-day.</p> +<h3><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +98</span>SHADOWS OF HIS LADY.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">JACQUES +TAHUREAU.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Within</span> the sand of +what far river lies<br /> +The gold that gleams in tresses of my Love?<br /> + What highest circle of the Heavens above<br /> +Is jewelled with such stars as are her eyes?<br /> +And where is the rich sea whose coral vies<br /> + With her red lips, that cannot kiss enough?<br /> +What dawn-lit garden knew the rose, whereof<br /> + The fled soul lives in her cheeks’ rosy +guise?</p> +<p class="poetry">What Parian marble that is loveliest<br /> +Can match the whiteness of her brow and breast?<br /> + When drew she breath from the Sabæan glade?<br +/> +Oh happy rock and river, sky and sea,<br /> +Gardens, and glades Sabæan, all that be<br /> + The far-off splendid semblance of my maid!</p> +<h3><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>APRIL.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">RÉMY +BELLEAU, 1560.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">April</span>, pride of +woodland ways,<br /> + Of glad days,<br /> +April, bringing hope of prime,<br /> + To the young flowers that beneath<br /> + Their bud sheath<br /> +Are guarded in their tender time;</p> +<p class="poetry">April, pride of fields that be<br /> + Green and free,<br /> +That in fashion glad and gay,<br /> +Stud with flowers red and blue,<br /> + Every hue,<br /> +Their jewelled spring array;</p> +<p class="poetry">April, pride of murmuring<br /> + Winds of spring,<br /> +That beneath the winnowed air,<br /> +Trap with subtle nets and sweet<br /> + Flora’s feet,<br /> +Flora’s feet, the fleet and fair;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>April, by thy hand caressed,<br /> + From her breast,<br /> +Nature scatters everywhere<br /> +Handfuls of all sweet perfumes,<br /> + Buds and blooms,<br /> +Making faint the earth and air.</p> +<p class="poetry">April, joy of the green hours,<br /> + Clothes with flowers<br /> +Over all her locks of gold<br /> +My sweet Lady; and her breast<br /> + With the blest<br /> +Buds of summer manifold.</p> +<p class="poetry">April, with thy gracious wiles,<br /> + Like the smiles,<br /> +Smiles of Venus; and thy breath<br /> +Like her breath, the gods’ delight,<br /> + (From their height<br /> +They take the happy air beneath;)</p> +<p class="poetry">It is thou that, of thy grace,<br /> + From their place<br /> +In the far-off isles dost bring<br /> +Swallows over earth and sea,<br /> + Glad to be<br /> +Messengers of thee, and Spring.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +101</span>Daffodil and eglantine,<br /> + And woodbine,<br /> +Lily, violet, and rose<br /> +Plentiful in April fair,<br /> + To the air,<br /> +Their pretty petals to unclose.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nightingales ye now may hear,<br /> + Piercing clear,<br /> +Singing in the deepest shade;<br /> +Many and many a babbled note<br /> + Chime and float,<br /> +Woodland music through the glade.</p> +<p class="poetry">April, all to welcome thee,<br /> + Spring sets free<br /> +Ancient flames, and with low breath<br /> +Wakes the ashes grey and old<br /> + That the cold<br /> +Chilled within our hearts to death.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou beholdest in the warm<br /> + Hours, the swarm<br /> +Of the thievish bees, that flies<br /> +Evermore from bloom to bloom<br /> + For perfume,<br /> +Hid away in tiny thighs.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +102</span>Her cool shadows May can boast,<br /> + Fruits almost<br /> +Ripe, and gifts of fertile dew,<br /> +Manna-sweet and honey-sweet,<br /> + That complete<br /> +Her flower garland fresh and new.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, but I will give my praise<br /> + To these days,<br /> + Named with the glad name of Her <a +name="citation102"></a><a href="#footnote102" +class="citation">[102]</a><br /> +That from out the foam o’ the sea<br /> + Came to be<br /> +Sudden light on earth and air.</p> +<h3><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>AN +OLD TUNE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">GÉRARD DE NERVAL.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> is an air for +which I would disown<br /> + Mozart’s, Rossini’s, Weber’s +melodies,—<br /> +A sweet sad air that languishes and sighs,<br /> + And keeps its secret charm for me alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whene’er I hear that music vague and +old,<br /> + Two hundred years are mist that rolls away;<br /> +The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold<br /> + A green land golden in the dying day.</p> +<p class="poetry">An old red castle, strong with stony towers,<br +/> + The windows gay with many-coloured glass;<br /> +Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers,<br /> + That bathe the castle basement as they pass.</p> +<p class="poetry">In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold +hair,<br /> + A lady looks forth from her window high;<br /> +It may be that I knew and found her fair,<br /> + In some forgotten life, long time gone by.</p> +<h3><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>OLD +LOVES.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">HENRI +MURGER.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Louise</span>, have you +forgotten yet<br /> + The corner of the flowery land,<br /> +The ancient garden where we met,<br /> + My hand that trembled in your hand?<br /> +Our lips found words scarce sweet enough,<br /> + As low beneath the willow-trees<br /> +We sat; have you forgotten, love?<br /> + Do you remember, love Louise?</p> +<p class="poetry">Marie, have you forgotten yet<br /> + The loving barter that we made?<br /> +The rings we changed, the suns that set,<br /> + The woods fulfilled with sun and shade?<br /> +The fountains that were musical<br /> + By many an ancient trysting tree—<br /> +Marie, have you forgotten all?<br /> + Do you remember, love Marie?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>Christine, do you remember yet<br /> + Your room with scents and roses gay?<br /> +My garret—near the sky ’twas set—<br /> + The April hours, the nights of May?<br /> +The clear calm nights—the stars above<br /> + That whispered they were fairest seen<br /> +Through no cloud-veil? Remember, love!<br /> + Do you remember, love Christine?</p> +<p class="poetry">Louise is dead, and, well-a-day!<br /> + Marie a sadder path has ta’en;<br /> +And pale Christine has passed away<br /> + In southern suns to bloom again.<br /> +Alas! for one and all of us—<br /> + Marie, Louise, Christine forget;<br /> +Our bower of love is ruinous,<br /> + And I alone remember yet.</p> +<h3><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>A +LADY OF HIGH DEGREE.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I be pareld most of prise,<br /> +I ride after the wild fee.</p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry">Will ye that I should sing<br /> +Of the love of a goodly thing,<br /> + Was no vilein’s may?<br /> +’Tis all of a knight so free,<br /> +Under the olive tree,<br /> + Singing this lay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her weed was of samite fine,<br /> +Her mantle of white ermine,<br /> + Green silk her hose;<br /> +Her shoon with silver gay,<br /> +Her sandals flowers of May,<br /> + Laced small and close.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her belt was of fresh spring buds,<br /> +Set with gold clasps and studs,<br /> + Fine linen her shift;<br /> +Her purse it was of love,<br /> +Her chain was the flower thereof,<br /> + And Love’s gift.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>Upon a mule she rode,<br /> +The selle was of brent gold,<br /> + The bits of silver made;<br /> +Three red rose trees there were<br /> +That overshadowed her,<br /> + For a sun shade.</p> +<p class="poetry">She riding on a day,<br /> +Knights met her by the way,<br /> + They did her grace:<br /> +‘Fair lady, whence be ye?’<br /> +‘France it is my countrie,<br /> + I come of a high race.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My sire is the nightingale,<br /> +That sings, making his wail,<br /> + In the wild wood, clear;<br /> +The mermaid is mother to me,<br /> +That sings in the salt sea,<br /> + In the ocean mere.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Ye come of a right good race,<br /> +And are born of a high place,<br /> + And of high degree;<br /> +Would to God that ye were<br /> +Given unto me, being fair,<br /> + My lady and love to be.’</p> +<h3><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>IANNOULA.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">ROMAIC +FOLK-SONG.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">All</span> the maidens were +merry and wed<br /> + All to lovers so fair to see;<br /> +The lover I took to my bridal bed<br /> + He is not long for love and me.</p> +<p class="poetry">I spoke to him and he nothing said,<br /> + I gave him bread of the wheat so fine;<br /> +He did not eat of the bridal bread,<br /> + He did not drink of the bridal wine.</p> +<p class="poetry">I made him a bed was soft and deep,<br /> + I made him a bed to sleep with me;<br /> +‘Look on me once before you sleep,<br /> + And look on the flower of my fair body.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Flowers of April, and fresh May-dew,<br +/> + Dew of April and buds of May;<br /> +Two white blossoms that bud for you,<br /> + Buds that blossom before the day.’</p> +<h3><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>THE +MILK-WHITE DOE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">FRENCH +VOLKS-LIED.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> was a mother and +a maid<br /> + That walked the woods among,<br /> +And still the maid went slow and sad,<br /> + And still the mother sung.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘What ails you, daughter Margaret?<br /> + Why go you pale and wan?<br /> +Is it for a cast of bitter love,<br /> + Or for a false leman?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘It is not for a false lover<br /> + That I go sad to see;<br /> +But it is for a weary life<br /> + Beneath the greenwood tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘For ever in the good daylight<br /> + A maiden may I go,<br /> +But always on the ninth midnight<br /> + I change to a milk-white doe.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>‘They hunt me through the green forest<br /> + With hounds and hunting men;<br /> +And ever it is my fair brother<br /> + That is so fierce and keen.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Good-morrow, mother.’ +‘Good-morrow, son;<br /> + Where are your hounds so good?’<br /> +‘Oh, they are hunting a white doe<br /> + Within the glad greenwood.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And three times have they hunted her,<br +/> + And thrice she’s won away;<br /> +The fourth time that they follow her<br /> + That white doe they shall slay.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Then out and spoke the forester,<br /> + As he came from the wood,<br /> +‘Now never saw I maid’s gold hair<br /> + Among the wild deer’s blood.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And I have hunted the wild deer<br /> + In east lands and in west;<br /> +And never saw I white doe yet<br /> + That had a maiden’s breast.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>Then up and spake her fair brother,<br /> + Between the wine and bread:<br /> +‘Behold I had but one sister,<br /> + And I have been her dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘But ye must bury my sweet sister<br /> + With a stone at her foot and her head,<br /> +And ye must cover her fair body<br /> + With the white roses and red.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And I must out to the greenwood,<br /> + The roof shall never shelter me;<br /> +And I shall lie for seven long years<br /> + On the grass below the hawthorn tree.’</p> +<h3><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>HELIODORE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<span +class="GutSmall">MELEAGER.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Pour</span> wine, and cry +again, again, again!<br /> + <i>To Heliodore</i>!<br /> +And mingle the sweet word ye call in vain<br /> + With that ye pour!<br /> +And bring to me her wreath of yesterday<br /> + That’s dank with myrrh;<br /> +<i>Hesternæ Rosæ</i>, ah my friends, but they<br /> + Remember her!<br /> +Lo the kind roses, loved of lovers, weep<br /> + As who repine,<br /> +For if on any breast they see her sleep<br /> + It is not mine!</p> +<h3><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>THE +PROPHET.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<span +class="GutSmall">ANTIPHILUS.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">knew</span> it in your +childish grace<br /> + The dawning of Desire,<br /> +‘Who lives,’ I said, ‘will see that face<br /> + Set all the world on fire!’<br /> +They mocked; but Time has brought to pass<br /> + The saying over-true;<br /> +Prophet and martyr now, alas,<br /> + I burn for Truth,—and you!</p> +<h3><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>LAIS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<span +class="GutSmall">POMPEIUS.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lais</span> that bloomed +for all the world’s delight,<br /> + Crowned with all love lilies, the fair and dear,<br +/> +Sleeps the predestined sleep, nor knows the flight<br /> + Of Helios, the gold-reined charioteer:<br /> +Revel, and kiss, and love, and hate, one Night<br /> + Darkens, that never lamp of Love may cheer!</p> +<h3><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>CLEARISTA.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<span +class="GutSmall">MELEAGER.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">For</span> Death, not for +Love, hast thou<br /> + Loosened thy zone!<br /> +Flutes filled thy bower but now,<br /> + Morning brings moan!<br /> +Maids round thy bridal bed<br /> + Hushed are in gloom,<br /> +Torches to Love that led<br /> + Light to the tomb!</p> +<h3><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>THE +FISHERMAN’S TOMB.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<span class="GutSmall">LEONIDAS OF +TARENTUM.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Theris</span> the Old, the +waves that harvested<br /> + More keen than birds that labour in the sea,<br /> +With spear and net, by shore and rocky bed,<br /> + Not with the well-manned galley laboured he;<br /> +Him not the star of storms, nor sudden sweep<br /> + Of wind with all his years hath smitten and bent,<br +/> +But in his hut of reeds he fell asleep,<br /> + As fades a lamp when all the oil is spent:<br /> +This tomb nor wife nor children raised, but we<br /> +His fellow-toilers, fishers of the sea.</p> +<h3><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>OF +HIS DEATH.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<span +class="GutSmall">MELEAGER.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ah</span> Love, my Master, +hear me swear<br /> +By all the locks of Timo’s hair,<br /> +By Demo, and that fragrant spell<br /> +Wherewith her body doth enchant<br /> +Such dreams as drowsy lovers haunt,<br /> +By Ilias’ mirth delectable.<br /> +And by the lamp that sheds his light<br /> +On love and lovers all the night,<br /> +By those, ah Love, I swear that thou<br /> +Hast left me but one breath, and now<br /> +Upon my lips it fluttereth,<br /> +Yet <i>this</i> I’ll yield, my latest breath,<br /> +Even this, oh Love, for thee to Death!</p> +<h3><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>RHODOPE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">(<span +class="GutSmall">RUFINUS.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> hast +Hera’s eyes, thou hast Pallas’ hands,<br /> +And the feet of the Queen of the yellow sands,<br /> +Thou hast beautiful Aphrodite’s breast,<br /> +Thou art made of each goddess’s loveliest!<br /> +Happy is he who sees thy face,<br /> +Happy who hears thy words of grace,<br /> +And he that shall kiss thee is half divine,<br /> +But a god who shall win that heart of thine!</p> +<h3><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>TO A +GIRL.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">(<span +class="GutSmall">ASCLEPIADES.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Believe</span> me, love, it +is not good<br /> +To hoard a mortal maidenhood;<br /> +In Hades thou wilt never find,<br /> +Maiden, a lover to thy mind;<br /> +Love’s for the living! presently<br /> +Ashes and dust in death are we!</p> +<h3><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>TO +THE SHIPS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">(<span +class="GutSmall">MELEAGER.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">gentle</span> ships that +skim the seas,<br /> +And cleave the strait where Hellé fell,<br /> +Catch in your sails the Northern breeze,<br /> + And speed to Cos, where she doth dwell,<br /> + My Love, and see you greet her well!<br /> +And if she looks across the blue,<br /> +Speak, gentle ships, and tell her true,<br /> +‘He comes, for Love hath brought him back,<br /> +No sailor, on the landward tack.’</p> +<p class="poetry">If thus, oh gentle ships, ye do,<br /> + Then may ye win the fairest gales,<br /> +And swifter speed across the blue,<br /> + While Zeus breathes friendly on your sails.</p> +<h3><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>A +LATE CONVERT.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">(<span +class="GutSmall">PAULUS SILENTIARIUS.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">that</span> in youth had +never been<br /> +The servant of the Paphian Queen,<br /> +I that in youth had never felt<br /> +The shafts of Eros pierce and melt,<br /> +Cypris! in later age, half grey,<br /> +I bow the neck to <i>thee</i> to-day.<br /> +Pallas, that was my lady, thou<br /> +Dost more triumphant vanquish now,<br /> +Than when thou gained’st, over seas,<br /> +The apple of the Hesperides.</p> +<h3><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>THE +LIMIT OF LIFE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thirty-six</span> is the +term that the prophets assign,<br /> +And the students of stars to the years that are mine;<br /> +Nay, let thirty suffice, for the man who hath passed<br /> +Thirty years is a Nestor, and <i>he</i> died at last!</p> +<h3><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>TO +DANIEL ELZEVIR.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">(<span +class="GutSmall">FROM THE LATIN OF MÉNAGE.</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> do I see! +Oh gods divine<br /> +And goddesses,—this Book of mine,—<br /> +This child of many hopes and fears,—<br /> +Is published by the Elzevirs!<br /> +Oh perfect Publishers complete!<br /> +Oh dainty volume, new and neat!<br /> +The Paper doth outshine the snow,<br /> +The Print is blacker than the crow,<br /> +The Title-Page, with crimson bright,<br /> +The vellum cover smooth and white,<br /> +All sorts of readers do invite,<br /> +Ay, and will keep them reading still,<br /> +Against their will, or with their will!<br /> +Thus what of grace the Rhymes may lack<br /> +The Publisher has given them back,<br /> +As Milliners adorn the fair<br /> +Whose charms are something skimp and spare.<br /> +<a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>Oh +<i>dulce decus</i>, Elzevirs!<br /> +The pride of dead and dawning years,<br /> +How can a poet best repay<br /> +The debt he owes your House to-day?<br /> +May this round world, while aught endures,<br /> +Applaud, and buy, these books of yours!<br /> +May purchasers incessant pop,<br /> +My Elzevirs, within your shop,<br /> +And learned bards salute, with cheers,<br /> +The volumes of the Elzevirs,<br /> +Till your renown fills earth and sky,<br /> +Till men forget the Stephani,<br /> +And all that Aldus wrought, and all<br /> +Turnebus sold in shop or stall,<br /> +While still may Fate’s (and Binders’) shears<br /> +Respect, and spare, the Elzevirs!</p> +<h2><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>THE +LAST CHANCE.</h2> +<h3><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>THE +LAST CHANCE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Within</span> the streams, +Pausanias saith,<br /> + That down Cocytus valley flow,<br /> +Girdling the grey domain of Death,<br /> + The spectral fishes come and go;<br /> +The ghosts of trout flit to and fro.<br /> + Persephone, fulfil my wish,<br /> +And grant that in the shades below<br /> + My ghost may land the ghosts of fish.</p> +<blockquote><p>Φη +λογοποιος +ανήρ, +δνοφερων +εντοσθε +ρεέθρων<br /> + οσσα +πέριξ Αιδην +εις +’Αχέροντα +ρέει<br /> +ιχθύες ως +αν’ +αφεγγες +υδωρ σκιαι +αισσουσιν<br +/> + ειδωλ’ +ειδώλοις +νηχόμενα +πτερύγων.<br /> +Φερσεφόνη, +συ θανόντι +δ’ εμοι +κρήηνον +εέλδωρ,<br /> + καν Αιδη +σκιερους +ιχθύας +εξερύσαι.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">L. C.</p> +</blockquote> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">PRINTED +BY</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET +SQUARE</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LONDON</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote4a"></a><a href="#citation4a" +class="footnote">[4a]</a> January 26, 1885.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4b"></a><a href="#citation4b" +class="footnote">[4b]</a> M. Antoninus iv 23.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39" +class="footnote">[39]</a> From the Romaic.</p> +<p><a name="footnote102"></a><a href="#citation102" +class="footnote">[102]</a> Aphrodite—Avril.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRASS OF PARNASSUS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1060-h.htm or 1060-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/6/1060 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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