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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:15:49 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:15:49 -0700 |
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diff --git a/795-h/795-h.htm b/795-h/795-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..923ca6a --- /dev/null +++ b/795-h/795-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3794 @@ +<!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>Ballads and Lyrics of Old France, 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, Ballads and Lyrics of Old France, by Andrew +Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + + + + +Title: Ballads and Lyrics of Old France + with Other Poems + + +Author: Andrew Lang + + + +Release Date: November 3, 2012 [eBook #795] +[This file was first posted on January 31, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS AND LYRICS OF OLD FRANCE*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1872 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>BALLADS AND LYRICS<br /> +OF OLD FRANCE:</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>WITH OTHER POEMS</i>.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">BY</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">A. LANG.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON:<br /> +LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.<br /> +1872.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagevi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. vi</span><span class="GutSmall">TO</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">E. M. S.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: +center"><i>TRANSLATIONS</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>List of Poets translated</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Charles +D’Orleans</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Spring</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page5">5</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Rondel</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">François +Villon</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Rondel</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page7">7</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Arbor Amoris</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page8">8</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballad of the Gibbet</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Du Bellay</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Hymn to the Winds</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>A Vow to Heavenly Venus</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>To his Friend in Elysium</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>A Sonnet to Heavenly Beauty</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Remy Belleau</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>April</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Roses</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Rose</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><a name="pageviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +viii</span>To the Moon</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>To his Young Mistress</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Deadly Kisses</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Of his Lady’s Old Age</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>On his Lady’s Waking</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>His Lady’s Death</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>His Lady’s Tomb</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Jacques +Tahureau</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Shadows of his Lady</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Moonlight</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page36">36</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Passerat</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Love in May</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Victor Hugo</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Grave and the Rose</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page40">40</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Genesis of Butterflies</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>More Strong than Time</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page44">44</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Gérard de +Nerval</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>An Old Tune</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Alfred de +Musset</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Juana</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page48">48</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Henri Murger</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Spring in the Student’s Quarter</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Old Loves</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Musette</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Ballads</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Three Captains</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Bridge of Death</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page63">63</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ix</span>Le +Père Sévère</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Milk White Doe</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>A Lady of High Degree</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page72">72</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Lost for a Rose’s Sake</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Ballads of Modern +Greece</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Brigand’s Grave</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page77">77</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Sudden Bridal</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p><span class="smcap">Greek Folk +Songs</span>:</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Iannoula</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Tell-Tales</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center"><i>AVE</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Twilight on Tweed</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>One Flower</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Metempsychosis</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Lost in Hades</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page95">95</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>A Star in the Night</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>A Sunset on Yarrow</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: +center"><i>HESPEROTHEN</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Seekers for Phæacia</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>A Song of Phæacia</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Departure from Phæacia</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>A Ballad of Departure</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>They hear the Sirens for the Second Time</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Circe’s Isle revisited</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Limit of Lands</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center"><a +name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. x</span><i>VERSES ON +PICTURES</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Colinette</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>A Sunset of Watteau</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>A Nativity of Sandro Botticelli</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center"><i>SONGS AND +SONNETS</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Two Homes</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Summer’s Ending</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page133">133</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Nightingale Weather</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Love and Wisdom</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Good-bye</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>An Old Prayer</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Love’s Miracle</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Dreams</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page142">142</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Fairy Land</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Two Sonnets of the Sirens</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>À la Belle Hélène</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page148">148</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Sylvie et Aurélie</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page150">150</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>A Lost Path</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Shade of Helen</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="3"><p style="text-align: center"><i>SONNETS TO +POETS</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Jacques Tahureau</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page159">159</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>François Villon</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page160">160</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Pierre Ronsard</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>Gérard de Nerval</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page162">162</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>The Death of Mirandola</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page163">163</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>TRANSLATIONS.</h2> +<h3><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>LIST OF +POETS TRANSLATED.</h3> +<p>I. <span class="smcap">Charles D’Orleans</span>, +who has sometimes, for no very obvious reason, been styled the +father of French lyric poetry, was born in May, 1391. He +was the son of Louis D’Orleans, the grandson of Charles V., +and the father of Louis XII. Captured at Agincourt, he was +kept in England as a prisoner from 1415 to 1440, when he returned +to France, where he died in 1465. His verses, for the most +part roundels on two rhymes, are songs of love and spring, and +retain the allegorical forms of the Roman de la Rose.</p> +<p>II. <span class="smcap">François Villon</span>, +1431–14-? Nothing is known of Villon’s birth or +death, and only too much of his life. In his poems the +ancient forms of French verse are animated with the keenest sense +of personal emotion, of love, of melancholy, of mocking despair, +and of repentance for a life passed in taverns and prisons.</p> +<p>III. <span class="smcap">Joachim Du Bellay</span>, +1525–1560. The exact date of Du Bellay’s birth +is unknown. He was certainly a little younger than Ronsard, +who was born in September, 1524, although an attempt has been +made to prove that his birth took place in 1525, as a +compensation from Nature to France for the battle of Pavia. +As a poet Du Bellay had the start, by a few mouths, of Ronsard; +his <i>Recueil</i> was published in 1549. The question of +priority in the new style of poetry caused a quarrel, which did +not long separate the two singers. Du Bellay is perhaps the +most interesting of the Pleiad, that company of Seven, who +attempted to reform French verse, by inspiring it with the +enthusiasm of the Renaissance. His book <a +name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span><i>L’Illustration de la langue Française</i> +is a plea for the study of ancient models and for the improvement +of the vernacular. In this effort Du Bellay and Ronsard are +the predecessors of Malherbe, and of André Chénier, +more successful through their frank eagerness than the former, +less fortunate in the possession of critical learning and +appreciative taste than the latter. There is something in +Du Bellay’s life, in the artistic nature checked by +occupation in affairs—he was the secretary of Cardinal Du +Bellay—in the regret and affection with which Rome +depressed and allured him, which reminds the English reader of +the thwarted career of Clough.</p> +<p>IV. <span class="smcap">Remy Belleau</span>, +1528–1577. Du Belleau’s life was spent in the +household of Charles de Lorraine, Marquis d’Elboeuf, and +was marked by nothing more eventful than the usual pilgrimage to +Italy, the sacred land and sepulchre of art.</p> +<p>V. <span class="smcap">Pierre Ronsard</span>, +1524–1585. Ronsard’s early years gave little +sign of his vocation. He was for some time a page of the +court, was in the service of James V. of Scotland, and had his +share of shipwrecks, battles, and amorous adventures. An +illness which produced total deafness made him a scholar and +poet, as in another age and country it might have made him a +saint and an ascetic. With all his industry, and almost +religious zeal for art, he is one of the poets who make +themselves, rather than are born singers. His epic, the +Franciade, is as tedious as other artificial epics, and his odes +are almost unreadable. We are never allowed to forget that +he is the poet who read the Iliad through in three days. He +is, as has been said of Le Brun, more mythological than +Pindar. His constant allusion to his grey hair, an +affectation which may be noticed in Shelley, is borrowed from +Anacreon. Many of the sonnets in which he +‘petrarquizes,’ retain the faded odour of the roses +he loved; and his songs have fire and melancholy and a sense as +of perfume from ‘a closet long to quiet vowed, with mothed +and dropping arras hung.’ Ronsard’s great fame +declined when is <a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>Malherbe came to ‘bind the sweet influences of the +Pleiad,’ but he has been duly honoured by the newest school +of French poetry.</p> +<p>VI. <span class="smcap">Jacques Tahureau</span>, +1527–1555. The amorous poetry of Jacques Tahureau has +the merit, rare in his, or in any age, of being the real +expression of passion. His brief life burned itself away +before he had exhausted the lyric effusion of his youth. +‘Le plus beau gentilhomme de son siècle, et le plus +dextre à toutes sortes de gentillesses,’ died at the +age of twenty-eight, fulfilling the presentiment which tinges, +but scarcely saddens his poetry.</p> +<p>VII. <span class="smcap">Jean Passerat</span>, +1534–1602. Better known as a political satirist than +as a poet.</p> +<h3>POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">Victor Hugo</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Alfred de Musset</span>, +1810–1857.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Gérard de Nerval</span>, +1801–1855.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Henri Murger</span>, 1822–1861.</p> +<h3>BALLADS.</h3> +<p>The originals of the French folk-songs here translated are to +be found in the collections of MM. De Puymaigre and Gerard de +Nerval, and in the report of M. Ampère.</p> +<p>The verses called a ‘Lady of High Degree’ are +imitated from a very early <i>chanson</i> in Bartsch’s +collection.</p> +<p>The Greek ballads have been translated with the aid of the +French versions by M. Fauriel.</p> +<h3><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>SPRING.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Charles +D’Orleans</span>, 1391–1465.</p> +<p>The new-liveried year.—<i>Sir Henry Wotton</i>.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> year has changed +his mantle cold<br /> + Of wind, of rain, of bitter air;<br /> +And he goes clad in cloth of gold,<br /> + Of laughing suns and season fair;<br /> +No bird or beast of wood or wold<br /> + But doth with cry or song declare<br /> +The year lays down his mantle cold.<br /> +All founts, all rivers, seaward rolled,<br /> + The pleasant summer livery wear,<br /> + With silver studs on broidered vair;<br /> +The world puts off its raiment old,<br /> +The year lays down his mantle cold.</p> +<h3><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>RONDEL.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Charles +D’Orleans</span>, 1391–1465.</p> +<p>To his Mistress, to succour his heart that is beleaguered by +jealousy.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Strengthen</span>, my Love, +this castle of my heart,<br /> + And with some store of pleasure give me aid,<br /> +For Jealousy, with all them of his part,<br /> + Strong siege about the weary tower has laid.<br /> + Nay, if to break his bands thou art afraid,<br /> +Too weak to make his cruel force depart,<br /> +Strengthen at least this castle of my heart,<br /> + And with some store of pleasure give me aid.<br /> +Nay, let not Jealousy, for all his art<br /> + Be master, and the tower in ruin laid,<br /> + That still, ah Love! thy gracious rule obeyed.<br /> +Advance, and give me succour of thy part;<br /> +Strengthen, my Love, this castle of my heart.</p> +<h3><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>RONDEL.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Francois +Villon</span>, 1460</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Goodbye</span>! the tears +are in my eyes;<br /> + Farewell, farewell, my prettiest;<br /> + Farewell, of women born the best;<br /> +Good-bye! the saddest of good-byes.<br /> +Farewell! with many vows and sighs<br /> + My sad heart leaves you to your rest;<br /> +Farewell! the tears are in my eyes;<br /> +Farewell! from you my miseries<br /> + Are more than now may be confessed,<br /> + And most by thee have I been blessed,<br /> +Yea, and for thee have wasted sighs;<br /> +Goodbye! the last of my goodbyes.</p> +<h3><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>ARBOR +AMORIS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Francois +Villon</span>, 1460</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">have</span> a tree, a +graft of Love,<br /> + That in my heart has taken root;<br /> +Sad are the buds and blooms thereof,<br /> + And bitter sorrow is its fruit;<br /> + Yet, since it was a tender shoot,<br /> +So greatly hath its shadow spread,<br /> +That underneath all joy is dead,<br /> + And all my pleasant days are flown,<br /> +Nor can I slay it, nor instead<br /> + Plant any tree, save this alone.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>Ah, yet, for long and long enough<br /> + My tears were rain about its root,<br /> +And though the fruit be harsh thereof,<br /> + I scarcely looked for better fruit<br /> + Than this, that carefully I put<br /> +In garner, for the bitter bread<br /> +Whereon my weary life is fed:<br /> + Ah, better were the soil unsown<br /> +That bears such growths; but Love instead<br /> + Will plant no tree, but this alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, would that this new spring, whereof<br /> + The leaves and flowers flush into shoot,<br /> +I might have succour and aid of Love,<br /> + To prune these branches at the root,<br /> + That long have borne such bitter fruit,<br /> +And graft a new bough, comforted<br /> +With happy blossoms white and red;<br /> + So pleasure should for pain atone,<br /> +Nor Love slay this tree, nor instead<br /> + Plant any tree, but this alone.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>L’ENVOY.</p> +<p class="poetry">Princess, by whom my hope is fed,<br /> +My heart thee prays in lowlihead<br /> + To prune the ill boughs overgrown,<br /> +Nor slay Love’s tree, nor plant instead<br /> + Another tree, save this alone.</p> +<h3><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>BALLAD +OF THE GIBBET.</h3> +<p>An epitaph in the form of a ballad that François Villon +wrote of himself and his company, they expecting shortly to be +hanged.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Brothers</span> and men +that shall after us be,<br /> + Let not your hearts be hard to us:<br /> +For pitying this our misery<br /> + Ye shall find God the more piteous.<br /> + Look on us six that are hanging thus,<br /> +And for the flesh that so much we cherished<br /> +How it is eaten of birds and perished,<br /> + And ashes and dust fill our bones’ place,<br +/> +Mock not at us that so feeble be,<br /> + But pray God pardon us out of His grace.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>Listen, we pray you, and look not in scorn,<br /> + Though justly, in sooth, we are cast to die;<br /> +Ye wot no man so wise is born<br /> + That keeps his wisdom constantly.<br /> + Be ye then merciful, and cry<br /> +To Mary’s Son that is piteous,<br /> +That His mercy take no stain from us,<br /> + Saving us out of the fiery place.<br /> +We are but dead, let no soul deny<br /> + To pray God succour us of His grace.</p> +<p class="poetry">The rain out of heaven has washed us clean,<br +/> + The sun has scorched us black and bare,<br /> +Ravens and rooks have pecked at our eyne,<br /> + And feathered their nests with our beards and +hair.<br /> + Round are we tossed, and here and there,<br /> +This way and that, at the wild wind’s will,<br /> +Never a moment my body is still;<br /> + Birds they are busy about my face.<br /> +Live not as we, nor fare as we fare;<br /> + Pray God pardon us out of His grace.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>L’ENVOY.</p> +<p class="poetry">Prince Jesus, Master of all, to thee<br /> +We pray Hell gain no mastery,<br /> + That we come never anear that place;<br /> +And ye men, make no mockery,<br /> + Pray God pardon us out of His grace.</p> +<h3><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>HYMN +TO THE WINDS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Du +Bellay</span>, 1550.</p> +<p>The winds are invoked by the winnowers of corn.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<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.<br /> +<a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>Ah, winnow +with sweet breath,<br /> +Winnow the holt and heath,<br /> + Round this retreat;<br /> +Where all the golden morn<br /> +We fan the gold o’ the corn,<br /> + In the sun’s heat.</p> +<h3><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>A VOW +TO HEAVENLY VENUS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Du +Bellay</span>, 1500</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">We</span> 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="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>TO HIS +FRIEND IN ELYSIUM.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Du +Bellay</span>, 1550.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">So</span> long you wandered +on the dusky plain,<br /> + Where flit the shadows with their endless cry,<br /> + You reach the shore where all the world goes by,<br +/> +You leave the strife, the slavery, the pain;<br /> +But we, but we, the mortals that remain<br /> + In vain stretch hands; for Charon sullenly<br /> + Drives us afar, we may not come anigh<br /> +Till that last mystic obolus we gain.</p> +<p class="poetry">But you are happy in the quiet place,<br /> +And with the learned lovers of old days,<br /> + And with your love, you wander ever-more<br /> +In the dim woods, and drink forgetfulness<br /> +Of us your friends, a weary crowd that press<br /> + About the gate, or labour at the oar.</p> +<h3><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>A +SONNET TO HEAVENLY BEAUTY.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Du +Bellay</span>, 1550.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> this our little +life is but a day<br /> + In the Eternal,—if the years in vain<br /> + Toil after hours that never come again,—<br /> +If everything that hath been must decay,<br /> +Why dreamest thou of joys that pass away,<br /> + My soul, that my sad body doth restrain?<br /> + Why of the moment’s pleasure art thou fain?<br +/> +Nay, thou hast wings,—nay, seek another stay.</p> +<p class="poetry">There is the joy whereto each soul aspires,<br +/> +And there the rest that all the world desires,<br /> + And there is love, and peace, and gracious mirth;<br +/> +And there in the most highest heavens shalt thou<br /> +Behold the Very Beauty, whereof now<br /> + Thou worshippest the shadow upon earth.</p> +<h3><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>APRIL.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Remy +Belleau</span>, 1560.</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"><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>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">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 /> +Birds of summer manifold.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>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-oft isles dost bring<br /> +Swallows over earth and sea,<br /> + Glad to be<br /> +Messengers of thee, and Spring.</p> +<p class="poetry">Daffodil and eglantine,<br /> + And woodbine,<br /> +Lily, violet, and rose<br /> +Plentiful in April fair,<br /> + To the air,<br /> +Their pretty petals do unclose.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>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="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</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="citation23"></a><a +href="#footnote23" class="citation">[23]</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="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>ROSES.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span>, +1550.</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">send</span> you here a +wreath of blossoms blown,<br /> + And woven flowers at sunset gathered,<br /> + Another dawn had seen them ruined, and shed<br /> +Loose leaves upon the grass at random strown.<br /> +By this, their sure example, be it known,<br /> + That all your beauties, now in perfect flower,<br /> + Shall fade as these, and wither in an hour,<br /> +Flowerlike, and brief of days, as the flower sown.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, time is flying, lady—time is +flying;<br /> + Nay, ’tis not time that flies but we that +go,<br /> +Who in short space shall be in churchyard lying,<br /> + And of our loving parley none shall know,<br /> +Nor any man consider what we were;<br /> +Be therefore kind, my love, whiles thou art fair.</p> +<h3><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>THE +ROSE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span>, +1550.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">See</span>, Mignonne, hath +not the Rose,<br /> +That this morning did unclose<br /> + Her purple mantle to the light,<br /> +Lost, before the day be dead,<br /> +The glory of her raiment red,<br /> + Her colour, bright as yours is bright?</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, Mignonne, in how few hours,<br /> +The petals of her purple flowers<br /> + All have faded, fallen, died;<br /> +Sad Nature, mother ruinous,<br /> +That seest thy fair child perish thus<br /> + ’Twixt matin song and even tide.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>Hear me, my darling, speaking sooth,<br /> +Gather the fleet flower of your youth,<br /> + Take ye your pleasure at the best;<br /> +Be merry ere your beauty flit,<br /> +For length of days will tarnish it<br /> + Like roses that were loveliest.</p> +<h3><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>TO THE +MOON.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span>, +1550.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hide</span> this one night +thy crescent, kindly Moon;<br /> + So shall Endymion faithful prove, and rest<br /> + Loving and unawakened on thy breast;<br /> +So shall no foul enchanter importune<br /> +Thy quiet course; for now the night is boon,<br /> + And through the friendly night unseen I fare,<br /> + Who dread the face of foemen unaware,<br /> +And watch of hostile spies in the bright noon.<br /> + Thou knowest, Moon, the bitter power of Love;<br /> + ’Tis told how shepherd Pan found ways to +move,<br /> +For little price, thy heart; and of your grace,<br /> + Sweet stars, be kind to this not alien fire,<br /> + Because on earth ye did not scorn desire,<br /> +Bethink ye, now ye hold your heavenly place.</p> +<h3><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>TO HIS +YOUNG MISTRESS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span>, +1550.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> flower of +fifteen springs, that still<br /> + Art scarcely blossomed from the bud,<br /> +Yet hast such store of evil will,<br /> + A heart so full of hardihood,<br /> + Seeking to hide in friendly +wise<br /> + The mischief of your mocking +eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry">If you have pity, child, give o’er;<br /> + Give back the heart you stole from me,<br /> +Pirate, setting so little store<br /> + On this your captive from Love’s sea,<br /> + Holding his misery for gain,<br /> + And making pleasure of his +pain.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>Another, not so fair of face,<br /> + But far more pitiful than you,<br /> +Would take my heart, if of his grace,<br /> + My heart would give her of Love’s due;<br /> + And she shall have it, since I +find<br /> + That you are cruel and unkind.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, I would rather that it died,<br /> + Within your white hands prisoning,<br /> +Would rather that it still abide<br /> + In your ungentle comforting.<br /> + Than change its faith, and seek to +her<br /> + That is more kind, but not so +fair.</p> +<h3><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>DEADLY +KISSES.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span>, +1550.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">All</span> take these lips +away; no more,<br /> + No more such kisses give to me.<br /> + My spirit faints for joy; I see<br /> +Through mists of death the dreamy shore,<br /> +And meadows by the water-side,<br /> + Where all about the Hollow Land<br /> +Fare the sweet singers that have died,<br /> + With their lost ladies, hand in hand;<br /> +Ah, Love, how fireless are their eyes,<br /> + How pale their lips that kiss and smile!<br /> + So mine must be in little while<br /> +If thou wilt kiss me in such wise.</p> +<h3><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>OF HIS +LADY’S OLD AGE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span>, +1550</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> 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 ’tis called +to-day.</p> +<h3><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>ON HIS +LADY’S WAKING.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span>, +1550</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> lady woke upon a +morning fair,<br /> + What time Apollo’s chariot takes the skies,<br +/> + And, fain to fill with arrows from her eyes<br /> +His empty quiver, Love was standing there:<br /> +I saw two apples that her breast doth bear<br /> + None such the close of the Hesperides<br /> + Yields; nor hath Venus any such as these,<br /> +Nor she that had of nursling Mars the care.</p> +<p class="poetry">Even such a bosom, and so fair it was,<br /> +Pure as the perfect work of Phidias,<br /> + That sad Andromeda’s discomfiture<br /> +Left bare, when Perseus passed her on a day,<br /> +And pale as Death for fear of Death she lay,<br /> + With breast as marble cold, as marble pure.</p> +<h3><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>HIS +LADY’S DEATH.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span>, +1550.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Twain</span> that were +foes, while Mary lived, are fled;<br /> + One laurel-crowned abides in heaven, and one<br /> + Beneath the earth has fared, a fallen sun,<br /> +A light of love among the loveless dead.<br /> +The first is Chastity, that vanquished<br /> + The archer Love, that held joint empery<br /> + With the sweet beauty that made war on me,<br /> +When laughter of lips with laughing eyes was wed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Their strife the Fates have closed, with stern +control,<br /> +The earth holds her fair body, and her soul<br /> + An angel with glad angels triumpheth;<br /> +Love has no more that he can do; desire<br /> +Is buried, and my heart a faded fire,<br /> + And for Death’s sake, I am in love with +Death.</p> +<h3><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>HIS +LADY’S TOMB.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Ronsard</span>, +1550.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> in the gardens, +all through May, the rose,<br /> + Lovely, and young, and fair apparelled,<br /> + Makes sunrise jealous of her rosy red,<br /> +When dawn upon the dew of dawning glows;<br /> +Graces and Loves within her breast repose,<br /> + The woods are faint with the sweet odour shed,<br /> + Till rains and heavy suns have smitten dead<br /> +The languid flower, and the loose leaves unclose,—</p> +<p class="poetry">So this, the perfect beauty of our days,<br /> +When earth and heaven were vocal of her praise,<br /> + The fates have slain, and her sweet soul reposes;<br +/> +And tears I bring, and sighs, and on her tomb<br /> +Pour milk, and scatter buds of many a bloom,<br /> + That dead, as living, she may be with roses.</p> +<h3><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>SHADOWS OF HIS LADY.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Jacques +Tahureau</span>, 1527–1555.</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="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>MOONLIGHT.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Jacques +Tahureau</span>, 1527–1555.</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 jargonéd<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="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>LOVE +IN MAY.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="smcap">Passerat</span>, 1580.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Off</span> with sleep, +love, up from bed,<br /> + This fair morn;<br /> +See, for our eyes the rosy red<br /> + New dawn is born;<br /> +Now that skies are glad and gay<br /> +In this gracious month of May,<br /> + Love me, sweet,<br /> +Fill my joy in brimming measure,<br /> +In this world he hath no pleasure,<br /> + That will none of it.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, love, through the woods of spring,<br /> + Come walk with me;<br /> +Listen, the sweet birds jargoning<br /> + From tree to tree.<br /> +<a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>List and +listen, over all<br /> +Nightingale most musical<br /> + That ceases never;<br /> +Grief begone, and let us be<br /> +For a space as glad as he;<br /> + Time’s flitting ever.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old Time, that loves not lovers, wears<br /> + Wings swift in flight;<br /> +All our happy life he bears<br /> + Far in the night.<br /> +Old and wrinkled on a day,<br /> +Sad and weary shall you say,<br /> + ‘Ah, fool was I,<br /> +That took no pleasure in the grace<br /> +Of the flower that from my face<br /> + Time has seen die.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Leave then sorrow, teen, and tears<br /> + Till we be old;<br /> +<a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>Young we +are, and of our years<br /> + Till youth be cold<br /> +Pluck the flower; while spring is gay<br /> +In this happy month of May,<br /> + Love me, love;<br /> +Fill our joy in brimming measure;<br /> +In this world he hath no pleasure<br /> + That will none thereof.</p> +<h3><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>THE +GRAVE AND THE ROSE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Victor +Hugo</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> Grave said to +the Rose,<br /> + ‘What of the dews of dawn,<br /> +Love’s flower, what end is theirs?’<br /> + ‘And what of spirits flown,<br /> +The souls 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 name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>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="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>THE +GENESIS OF BUTTERFLIES.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Victor +Hugo</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> dawn is smiling +on the dew that covers<br /> +The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers<br /> +That kiss the buds, and all the flutterings<br /> +In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings,<br /> +That go and come, and fly, and peep and hide,<br /> +With muffled music, murmured far and wide!<br /> +Ah, Spring time, when we think of all the lays<br /> +That dreamy lovers send to dreamy mays,<br /> +Of the fond hearts within a billet bound,<br /> +Of all the soft silk paper that pens wound,<br /> +The messages of love that mortals write<br /> +Filled with intoxication of delight,<br /> +Written in April, and before the May time<br /> +Shredded and flown, play things for the wind’s +play-time,<br /> +<a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>We dream +that all white butterflies above,<br /> +Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,<br /> +And leave their lady mistress in despair,<br /> +To flit to flowers, as kinder and more fair,<br /> +Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies<br /> +Flutter, and float, and change to Butterflies.</p> +<h3><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>MORE +STRONG THAN TIME.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Victor +Hugo</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Since</span> I have set my +lips to your full cup, my sweet,<br /> + Since I my pallid face between your hands have +laid,<br /> +Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,<br /> + And all the perfume rare, now buried in the +shade;</p> +<p class="poetry">Since it was given to me to hear one happy +while,<br /> + The words wherein your heart spoke all its +mysteries,<br /> +Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,<br +/> + Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my +eyes;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>Since I have known above my forehead glance and +gleam,<br /> + A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,<br +/> +Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime’s stream,<br +/> + Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your +days;</p> +<p class="poetry">I now am bold to say to the swift changing +hours,<br /> + Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,<br +/> +Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,<br /> + One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I +hold.</p> +<p class="poetry">Your flying wings may smite, but they can never +spill<br /> + The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are +wet;<br /> +My heart has far more fire than you have frost to chill,<br /> + My soul more love than you can make my soul +forget.</p> +<h3><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>AN OLD +TUNE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Gerard 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"><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>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="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span>JUANA.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Alfred de +Musset</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Again</span> I see you, ah +my queen,<br /> +Of all my old loves that have been,<br /> + The first love, and the tenderest;<br /> +Do you remember or forget—<br /> +Ah me, for I remember yet—<br /> + How the last summer days were blest?</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah lady, when we think of this,<br /> +The foolish hours of youth and bliss,<br /> + How fleet, how sweet, how hard to hold!<br /> +How old we are, ere spring be green!<br /> +You touch the limit of eighteen<br /> + And I am twenty winters old.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>My rose, that mid the red roses,<br /> +Was brightest, ah, how pale she is!<br /> + Yet keeps the beauty of her prime;<br /> +Child, never Spanish lady’s face<br /> +Was lovely with so wild a grace;<br /> + Remember the dead summer time.</p> +<p class="poetry">Think of our loves, our feuds of old,<br /> +And how you gave your chain of gold<br /> + To me for a peace offering;<br /> +And how all night I lay awake<br /> +To touch and kiss it for your sake,—<br /> + To touch and kiss the lifeless thing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lady, beware, for all we say,<br /> +This Love shall live another day,<br /> + Awakened from his deathly sleep;<br /> +The heart that once has been your shrine<br /> +For other loves is too divine;<br /> + A home, my dear, too wide and deep.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>What did I say—why do I dream?<br /> +Why should I struggle with the stream<br /> + Whose waves return not any day?<br /> +Close heart, and eyes, and arms from me;<br /> +Farewell, farewell! so must it be,<br /> + So runs, so runs, the world away,</p> +<p class="poetry">The season bears upon its wing<br /> +The swallows and the songs of spring,<br /> + And days that were, and days that flit;<br /> +The loved lost hours are far away;<br /> +And hope and fame are scattered spray<br /> +For me, that gave you love a day<br /> + For you that not remember it.</p> +<h3><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>SPRING +IN THE STUDENT’S QUARTER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Henri +Murger</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Winter</span> is passing, +and the bells<br /> + For ever with their silver lay<br /> +Murmur a melody that tells<br /> + Of April and of Easter day.<br /> +High in sweet air the light vane sets,<br /> + The weathercocks all southward twirl;<br /> +A sou will buy her violets<br /> + And make Nini a happy girl.</p> +<p class="poetry">The winter to the poor was sore,<br /> + Counting the weary winter days,<br /> +Watching his little fire-wood store,<br /> + The bitter snow-flakes fell always;<br /> +<a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>And now +his last log dimly gleamed,<br /> + Lighting the room with feeble glare,<br /> +Half cinder and half smoke it seemed<br /> + That the wind wafted into air.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pilgrims from ocean and far isles<br /> + See where the east is reddening,<br /> +The flocks that fly a thousand miles<br /> + From sunsetting to sunsetting;<br /> +Look up, look out, behold the swallows,<br /> + The throats that twitter, the wings that beat;<br /> +And on their song the summer follows,<br /> + And in the summer life is sweet.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">With the green tender buds that know<br /> + The shoot and sap of lusty spring<br /> +My neighbour of a year ago<br /> + Her casement, see, is opening;<br /> +Through all the bitter months that were,<br /> + Forth from her nest she dared not flee,<br /> +She was a study for Boucher,<br /> + She now might sit to Gavarni.</p> +<h3><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>OLD +LOVES.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">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 /> +<a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>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">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="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>MUSETTE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">Henri +Murger</span>. 1850</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Yesterday</span>, watching +the swallows’ flight<br /> + That bring the spring and the season fair,<br /> +A moment I thought of the beauty bright<br /> + Who loved me, when she had time to spare;<br /> +And dreamily, dreamily all the day,<br /> + I mused on the calendar of the year,<br /> +The year so near and so far away,<br /> + When you were lief, and when I was dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Your memory has not had time to pass;<br /> + My youth has days of its lifetime yet;<br /> +If you only knocked at the door, alas,<br /> + My heart would open the door, Musette!<br /> +<a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>Still at +your name must my sad heart beat;<br /> + Ah Muse, ah maiden of faithlessness!<br /> +Return for a moment, and deign to eat<br /> + The bread that pleasure was wont to bless.</p> +<p class="poetry">The tables and curtains, the chairs and all,<br +/> + Friends of our pleasure that looked on our pain,<br +/> +Are glad with the gladness of festival,<br /> + Hoping to see you at home again;<br /> +Come, let the days of their mourning pass,<br /> + The silent friends that are sad for you yet;<br /> +The little sofa, the great wine glass—<br /> + For know you had often my share, Musette.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, you shall wear the raiment white<br /> + You wore of old, when the world was gay,<br /> +We will wander in woods of the heart’s delight<br /> + The whole of the Sunday holiday.<br /> +Come, we will sit by the wayside inn,<br /> + Come, and your song will gain force to fly,<br /> +Dipping its wing in the clear and thin<br /> + Wine, as of old, ere it scale the sky.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>Musette, who had scarcely forgotten withal<br /> + One beautiful dawn of the new year’s best,<br +/> +Returned at the end of the carnival,<br /> + A flown bird, to a forsaken nest.<br /> +Ah faithless and fair! I embrace her yet,<br /> + With no heart-beat, and with never a sigh;<br /> +And Musette, no longer the old Musette,<br /> + Declares that I am no longer I.</p> +<p class="poetry">Farewell, my dear that was once so dear,<br /> + Dead with the death of our latest love;<br /> +Our youth is laid in its sepulchre,<br /> + The calendar stands for a stone above.<br /> +’Tis only in searching the dust of the days,<br /> + The ashes of all old memories,<br /> +That we find the key of the woodland ways<br /> + That lead to the place of our paradise.</p> +<h3><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>THE +THREE CAPTAINS.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">All</span> beneath the +white-rose tree<br /> +Walks a lady fair to see,<br /> + She is as white as the snows,<br /> +She is as fair as the day:<br /> + From her father’s garden close<br /> +Three knights have ta’en her away.</p> +<p class="poetry">He has ta’en her by the hand,<br /> + The youngest of the three—<br /> +‘Mount and ride, my bonnie bride,<br /> + On my white horse with me.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>And ever they rode, and better rode,<br /> + Till they came to Senlis town,<br /> +The hostess she looked hard at them<br /> + As they were lighting down.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And are ye here by force,’ she +said,<br /> + ‘Or are ye here for play?<br /> +From out my father’s garden close<br /> + Three knights me stole away.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And fain would I win back,’ she +said,<br /> + ‘The weary way I come;<br /> +And fain would see my father dear,<br /> + And fain go maiden home.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh, weep not, lady fair,’ said +she,<br /> + ‘You shall win back,’ she said,<br /> +‘For you shall take this draught from me<br /> + Will make you lie for dead.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +60</span>‘Come in and sup, fair lady,’ they said,<br +/> + ‘Come busk ye and be bright;<br /> +It is with three bold captains<br /> + That ye must be this night.’</p> +<p class="poetry">When they had eaten well and drunk,<br /> + She fell down like one slain:<br /> +‘Now, out and alas! for my bonny may<br /> + Shall live no more again.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Within her father’s garden +stead<br /> + There are three white lilies;<br /> +With her body to the lily bed,<br /> + With her soul to Paradise.’</p> +<p class="poetry">They bore her to her father’s house,<br +/> + They bore her all the three,<br /> +They laid her in her father’s close,<br /> + Beneath the white-rose tree.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>She had not lain a day, a day,<br /> + A day but barely three,<br /> +When the may awakes, ‘Oh, open, father,<br /> + Oh, open the door for me.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘’Tis I have lain for dead, +father,<br /> + Have lain the long days three,<br /> +That I might maiden come again<br /> + To my mother and to thee.’</p> +<h3><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>THE +BRIDGE OF DEATH.</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘<span class="smcap">The</span> dance is +on the Bridge of Death<br /> + And who will dance with me?’<br /> +‘There’s never a man of living men<br /> + Will dare to dance with thee.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Margaret’s gone within her bower<br +/> + Put ashes in her hair,<br /> +And sackcloth on her bonny breast,<br /> + And on her shoulders bare.</p> +<p class="poetry">There came a knock to her bower door,<br /> + And blithe she let him in;<br /> +It was her brother from the wars,<br /> + The dearest of her kin.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>‘Set gold within your hair, Margaret,<br /> + Set gold within your hair,<br /> +And gold upon your girdle band,<br /> + And on your breast so fair.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘For we are bidden to dance to-night,<br +/> + We may not bide away;<br /> +This one good night, this one fair night,<br /> + Before the red new day.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Nay, no gold for my head brother,<br /> + Nay, no gold for my hair;<br /> +It is the ashes and dust of earth<br /> + That you and I must wear.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘No gold work for my girdle band,<br /> + No gold work on my feet;<br /> +But ashes of the fire, my love,<br /> + But dust that the serpents eat.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>They danced across the bridge of Death,<br /> + Above the black water,<br /> +And the marriage-bell was tolled in hell<br /> + For the souls of him and her.</p> +<h3><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>LE +PÈRE SÉVÈRE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">KING +LOUIS’ DAUGHTER.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">BALLAD OF THE ISLE OF FRANCE.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">King Louis</span> on his +bridge is he,<br /> +He holds his daughter on his knee.</p> +<p class="poetry">She asks a husband at his hand<br /> +That is not worth a rood of land.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Give up your lover speedily,<br /> +Or you within the tower must lie.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Although I must the prison dree,<br /> +I will not change my love for thee.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>‘I will not change my lover fair<br /> +Not for the mother that me bare.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I will not change my true lover<br /> +For friends, or for my father dear.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Now where are all my pages keen,<br /> +And where are all my serving men?</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My daughter must lie in the tower +alway,<br /> +Where she shall never see the day.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Seven long years are past and gone<br /> +And there has seen her never one.</p> +<p class="poetry">At ending of the seventh year<br /> +Her father goes to visit her.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My child, my child, how may you +be?’<br /> +‘O father, it fares ill with me.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>‘My feet are wasted in the mould,<br /> +The worms they gnaw my side so cold.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘My child, change your love speedily<br +/> +Or you must still in prison lie.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘’Tis better far the cold to +dree<br /> +Than give my true love up for thee.’</p> +<h3><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>THE +MILK WHITE DOE.</h3> +<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"><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>‘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">‘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"><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>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">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"><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>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="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>A LADY +OF HIGH DEGREE.</h3> +<blockquote><p>I be pareld most of prise,<br /> +I ride after the wild fee.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Will</span> ye that I +should sing<br /> +Of the love of a goodly thing,<br /> + Was no vilein’s may?<br /> +’Tis sung 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"><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>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">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"><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>‘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="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>LOST +FOR A ROSE’S SAKE.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">laved</span> my hands,<br +/> + By the water side;<br /> +With the willow leaves<br /> + My hands I dried.</p> +<p class="poetry">The nightingale sung<br /> + On the bough of the tree;<br /> +Sing, sweet nightingale,<br /> + It is well with thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou hast heart’s delight,<br /> + I have sad heart’s sorrow<br /> +For a false false maid<br /> + That will wed to-morrow.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>’Tis all for a rose,<br /> + That I gave her not,<br /> +And I would that it grew<br /> + In the garden plot.</p> +<p class="poetry">And I would the rose-tree<br /> + Were still to set,<br /> +That my love Marie<br /> + Might love me yet.</p> +<h2><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>BALLADS OF MODERN GREECE.</h2> +<h3>THE BRIGAND’S GRAVE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> moon came up +above the hill,<br /> + The sun went down the sea;<br /> +Go, maids, and fetch the well-water,<br /> + But, lad, come here to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gird on my jack and my old sword,<br /> + For I have never a son;<br /> +And you must be the chief of all<br /> + When I am dead and gone.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>But you must take my old broad sword,<br /> + And cut the green bough of the tree,<br /> +And strew the green boughs on the ground<br /> + To make a soft death bed for me.</p> +<p class="poetry">And you must bring the holy priest<br /> + That I may sained be;<br /> +For I have lived a roving life<br /> + Fifty years under the greenwood tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">And you shall make a grave for me,<br /> + And make it deep and wide;<br /> +That I may turn about and dream<br /> + With my old gun by my side.</p> +<p class="poetry">And leave a window to the east,<br /> + And the swallows will bring the spring;<br /> +And all the merry month of May<br /> + The nightingales will sing.</p> +<h3><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>THE +SUDDEN BRIDAL.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> was a maid lay +sick of love,<br /> + All for a leman fair;<br /> +And it was three of her bower-maidens<br /> + That came to comfort her.</p> +<p class="poetry">The first she bore a blossomed branch,<br /> + The second an apple brown,<br /> +The third she had a silk kerchief,<br /> + And still her tears ran down.</p> +<p class="poetry">The first she mocked, the second she +laughed—<br /> + ‘We have loved lemans fair,<br /> +We made our hearts like the iron stone<br /> + Had little teen or care.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>‘If ye have loved ’twas a false false +love,<br /> + And an ill leman was he;<br /> +But her true love had angel’s eyes,<br /> + And as fair was his sweet body.</p> +<p class="poetry">And I will gird my green kirtle,<br /> + And braid my yellow hair,<br /> +And I will over the high hills<br /> + And bring her love to her.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Nay, if you braid your yellow hair,<br +/> + You’ll twine my love from me.’<br /> +‘Now nay, now nay, my lady good,<br /> + That ever this should be!’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘When you have crossed the western +hills<br /> + My true love you shall meet,<br /> +With a green flag blowing over him,<br /> + And green grass at his feet.’</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>She has crossed over the high hills,<br /> + And the low hills between,<br /> +And she has found the may’s leman<br /> + Beneath a flag of green.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas four and twenty ladies fair<br /> + Were sitting on the grass;<br /> +But he has turned and looked on her,<br /> + And will not let her pass.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘You’ve maidens here, and maidens +there,<br /> + And loves through all the land;<br /> +But what have you made of the lady fair<br /> + You gave the rose-garland?’</p> +<p class="poetry">She was so harsh and cold of love,<br /> + To me gave little grace;<br /> +She wept if I but touched her hand,<br /> + Or kissed her bonny face.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>‘Yea, crows shall build in the eagle’s +nest,<br /> + The hawk the dove shall wed,<br /> +Before my old true love and I<br /> + Meet in one wedding bed.’</p> +<p class="poetry">When she had heard his bitter rede<br /> + That was his old true love,<br /> +She sat and wept within her bower,<br /> + And moaned even as a dove.</p> +<p class="poetry">She rose up from her window seat,<br /> + And she looked out to see;<br /> +Her love came riding up the street<br /> + With a goodly company.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was clad on with Venice gold,<br /> + Wrought upon cramoisie,<br /> +His yellow hair shone like the sun<br /> + About his fair body.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>‘Now shall I call him blossomed branch<br /> + That has ill knots therein?<br /> +Or shall I call him basil plant,<br /> + That comes of an evil kin?</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Oh, I shall give him goodly names,<br /> + My sword of damask fine;<br /> +My silver flower, my bright-winged bird,<br /> + Where go you, lover mine?’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘I go to marry my new bride,<br /> + That I bring o’er the down;<br /> +And you shall be her bridal maid,<br /> + And hold her bridal crown.’</p> +<p class="poetry">‘When you come to the bride chamber<br /> + Where your fair maiden is,<br /> +You’ll tell her I was fair of face,<br /> + But never tell her this,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>‘That still my lips were lips of love,<br /> + My kiss love’s spring-water,<br /> +That my love was a running spring,<br /> + My breast a garden fair.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘And you have kissed the lips of love<br +/> + And drained the well-water,<br /> +And you have spoiled the running spring,<br /> + And robbed the fruits so fair.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Now he that will may scatter nuts,<br /> + And he may wed that will;<br /> +But she that was my old true love<br /> + Shall be my true love still.’</p> +<h2><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>GREEK +FOLK SONGS.</h2> +<h3>IANNOULA.</h3> +<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 noting 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"><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>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="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>THE +TELL-TALES.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">All</span> in the mirk +midnight when I was beside you,<br /> + Who has seen, who has heard, what was said, what was +done?<br /> +’Twas the night and the light of the stars that espied +you,<br /> + The fall of the moon, and the dawning begun.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis a swift star has fallen, a star that +discovers<br /> + To the sea what the green sea has told to the +oars,<br /> +And the oars to the sailors, and they of us lovers<br /> + Go singing this song at their mistress’s +doors.</p> +<h2><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>AVE.</h2> +<h3><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</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 dear 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 name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span>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">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 stream.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Twilight, and Tweed, and Eildon Hill,<br /> + Fair and thrice fair you be;<br /> +You tell me that the voice is still<br /> + That should have welcomed me.</p> +<h3><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>ONE +FLOWER.</h3> +<blockquote><p>“Up there shot a lily red,<br /> +With a patch of earth from the land of the dead,<br /> +For she was strong in the land of the dead.”</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> autumn suns are +soft, and sea winds moan,<br /> + And golden fruits make sweet the golden air,<br /> + In gardens where the apple blossoms were,<br /> +In these old springs before I walked alone;<br /> +I pass among the pathways overgrown,<br /> + Of all the former flowers that kissed your feet<br +/> + Remains a poppy, pallid from the heat,<br /> +A wild poppy that the wild winds have sown.<br /> +Alas! the rose forgets your hands of rose;<br /> + The lilies slumber in the lily bed;<br /> +’Tis only poppies in the dreamy close,<br /> + The changeless, windless garden of the dead,<br /> +You tend, with buds soft as your kiss that lies<br /> +In over happy dreams, upon mine eyes.</p> +<h3><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>METEMPSYCHOSIS.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">shall</span> not see +thee, nay, but I shall know<br /> + Perchance, thy 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 /> + Carven and sung, are only 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="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</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="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</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="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>A +SUNSET ON YARROW.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> 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> +<h2><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>HESPEROTHEN.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">By</span> 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 places 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="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</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 shores see faint tides fade away,<br /> + That wash the lands where +laughter, tears, and sighs,<br /> +Make life,—the lands beneath 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"> <a name="page102"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 102</span>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 /> + 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"> <a name="page103"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 103</span>It is a quiet midland; in the +cool<br /> + Of 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 near 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="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</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"><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>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">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"><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>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="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>THE +DEPARTURE FROM PHÆACIA.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">THE +PHÆACIANS.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Why</span> from the dreamy +meadows,<br /> + More fair than any dream,<br /> +Why will you seek 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"><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>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">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" class="poetry">THE SEEKERS.</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"><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>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="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>A +BALLAD OF DEPARTURE. <a name="citation110"></a><a +href="#footnote110" class="citation">[110]</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="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</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 /> +<a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>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 /> +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 /> +<a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>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="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>CIRCE’S ISLE REVISITED.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ah</span>, 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 /> +Failed 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"><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>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">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="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</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"><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>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">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"><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>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="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>VERSES ON PICTURES.</h2> +<h3><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>COLINETTE.</h3> +<p>For a sketch by Mr. G. Leslie, A.R.A.</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 /> +<a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>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">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 /> +<a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>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 canvasses<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="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>A +SUNSET OF WATTEAU.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">LUI.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> 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" class="poetry">ELLE.</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"><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +125</span>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" class="poetry">LUI.</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" class="poetry"><a +name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>ELLE.</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="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>A +NATIVITY OF SANDRO BOTTICELLI.</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘<span class="smcap">Wrought</span> in +the troublous times of Italy<br /> + By Sandro Botticelli,’ when for fear<br /> + Of that last judgment, and last day drawn near<br /> +To end all labour and all revelry,<br /> +He worked and prayed in silence; this is she<br /> + That by the holy cradle sees the bier,<br /> + And in spice gifts the hyssop on the spear,<br /> +And out of Bethlehem, Gethsemane.</p> +<p class="poetry">Between the gold sky and the green o’er +head,<br /> +The twelve great shining angels, garlanded,<br /> + Marvel upon this face, wherein combine<br /> +The mother’s love that shone on all of us,<br /> +And maiden rapture that makes luminous<br /> + The brows of Margaret and Catherine.</p> +<h2><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +129</span>SONGS AND SONNETS</h2> +<h3><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>TWO +HOMES.</h3> +<p>To a young English lady in the Hospital of the Wounded at +Carlsruhe. Sept. 1870.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> does the dim +gaze of the dying find<br /> + To waken dream or memory, seeing you?<br /> + In your sweet eyes what other eyes are blue,<br /> +And in your hair what gold hair on the wind<br /> +Floats of the days gone almost out of mind?<br /> +In deep green valleys of the Fatherland<br /> + He may remember girls with locks like thine;<br /> +May dream how, where the waiting angels stand,<br /> + Some lost love’s eyes are dim before they +shine<br /> + With welcome:—so past homes, or homes to +be,<br /> +He sees a moment, ere, a moment blind,<br /> + He crosses Death’s inhospitable sea,<br /> +And with brief passage of those barren lands<br /> +Comes to the home that is not made with hands.</p> +<h3><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>SUMMER’S ENDING.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> flags below the +shadowy fern<br /> + Shine like spears between sun and sea,<br /> +The tide and the summer begin to turn,<br /> +And ah, for hearts, for hearts that yearn,<br /> +For fires of autumn that catch and burn,<br /> + For love gone out between thee and me.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wind is up, and the weather broken,<br /> + Blue seas, blue eyes, are grieved and grey,<br /> +Listen, the word that the wind has spoken,<br /> +Listen, the sound of the sea,—a token<br /> +That summer’s over, and troths are broken,—<br /> + That loves depart as the hours decay.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>A love has passed to the loves passed over,<br /> + A month has fled to the months gone by;<br /> +And none may follow, and none recover<br /> +July and June, and never a lover<br /> +May stay the wings of the Loves that hover,<br /> + As fleet as the light in a sunset sky.</p> +<h3><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>NIGHTINGALE WEATHER.</h3> +<blockquote><p>‘Serai-je nonnette, oui ou non?<br /> +Serai-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 le nuit.<br /> +Il chaste pour les filles<br /> +Qui n’ont pas d’ami;<br /> +Il ne chante pas pour moi,<br /> +J’en ai un, Dieu merci.’—<span +class="smcap">Old French</span>.</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"><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>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">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="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>LOVE +AND WISDOM.</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘When last we gathered roses in the +garden<br /> +I found my wits, but truly you lost yours.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">The Broken Heart</span>.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<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.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +137</span>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 /> +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="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</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"><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>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">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 +witheréd,<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="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>AN +OLD PRAYER.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Χαιρέ μοι, +ῶ Βασίλεια, +διαμπερὲς +εἰς ὅ κε +γῆρας<br /> +Ἔλθῃ καὶ +θάνατος,τὰ +τ’ ἐπ’ +ἀνθρώποισι +πέλονται.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Odyssey</span>, +xiii. 59.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<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 <i>no man knoweth</i><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="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</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="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</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="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +143</span>FAIRY LAND.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> light of sunrise +and sunsetting,<br /> +The long days lingered, in forgetting<br /> +That ever passion, keen to hold<br /> +What may not tarry, was of old,<br /> +In lands beyond the weary wold;<br /> +Beyond the bitter stream whose flood<br /> +Runs red waist-high with slain men’s blood.<br /> +Was beauty once a thing that died?<br /> +Was pleasure never satisfied?<br /> +Was rest still broken by the vain<br /> +Desire of action, bringing pain,<br /> +To die in languid rest again?<br /> +All this was quite forgotten there,<br /> +Where never winter chilled the year,<br /> +<a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>Nor +spring brought promise unfulfilled,<br /> +Nor, with the eager summer killed,<br /> +The languid days drooped autumnwards.<br /> +So magical a season guards<br /> +The constant prime of a cool June;<br /> +So slumbrous is the river’s tune,<br /> +That knows no thunder of heavy rains,<br /> +Nor ever in the summer wanes,<br /> +Like waters of the summer time<br /> +In lands far from the Fairy clime.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yea, there the Fairy maids are kind,<br /> +With nothing of the changeful mind<br /> +Of maidens in the days that were;<br /> +And if no laughter fills the air<br /> +With sound of silver murmurings,<br /> +And if no prayer of passion brings<br /> +A love nigh dead to life again,<br /> +Yet sighs more subtly sweet remain,<br /> +<a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>And +smiles that never satiate,<br /> +And loves that fear scarce any fate.<br /> +Alas, no words can bring the bloom<br /> +Of Fairy Land; the faint perfume,<br /> +The sweet low light, the magic air,<br /> +To eyes of who has not been there:<br /> +Alas, no words, nor any spell<br /> +Can lull the eyes that know too well,<br /> +The lost fair world of Fairy Land.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, would that I had never been<br /> +The lover of the Fairy Queen!<br /> +Or would that through the sleepy town,<br /> +The grey old place of Ercildoune,<br /> +And all along the little street,<br /> +The soft fall of the white deer’s feet<br /> +Came, with the mystical command<br /> +That I must back to Fairy Land!</p> +<h3><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>TWO +SONNETS OF THE SIRENS.</h3> +<p>‘Les Sirènes estoient tant intimes amies et +fidelles compagnes de Proserpine, qu’elles estoient +toujours ensemble. Esmues du juste deuil de la perte de +leur chère compagne, et enuyées jusques au +desespoir, elles s’arrestèrent à la mer +Sicilienne, où par leurs chants elles attiroient les +navigans, mais l’unique fin de la volupé de leur +musique est la Mort.’—<span class="smcap">Pontus de +Tyard</span>. 1570.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">I.</p> +<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 Ætnaean flowers,<br /> +And their bright mistress fled from summer hours<br /> + With Hades, down the irremeable decline.<br /> +And they have sought her all the wide world through<br /> + Till many years, and wisdom, and much wrong<br /> +<a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>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 style="text-align: center" class="poetry">II.</p> +<p class="poetry">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 /> +Yea, 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> +<h3><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>A 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 /> +<a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>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 /> +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 /> +<i>Ah shadow-loves</i>, <i>and shadow-lips</i>!<br /> + <i>Ah</i>, <i>while ’tis called to-day</i>,<br +/> +<i>Love me</i>, <i>my love, for summer slips</i>,<br /> + <i>And August ebbs away</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</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 /> + <a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>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 /> +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 fled soul find her soul again.</p> +<h3><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</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 +his deathly flesh, was made one with the Spirit that is in the +World.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<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 +/> +<a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>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="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</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> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<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"><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +155</span>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">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 /> +<a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>And all +the turmoil of the Ilian men.<br /> +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.<br /> +Ah, would ‘t were the cloud’s playtime, when the +sun<br /> +Clothes us in raiment of a rosy flame,<br /> +And through the sky we flit, and gather grey,<br /> +Like men that leave their golden youth behind,<br /> +And through their wind-driven ways they gather grey,<br /> +And we like them grow wan, and the chill East<br /> +Receives us, as the Earth accepts all men,—<br /> +But <i>we</i> await the dawn of a new day.</p> +<h2><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>SONNETS TO POETS.</h2> +<h3><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>JACQUES TAHUREAU. 1530.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ah</span> thou! that, +undeceived and unregretting,<br /> + Saw’st Death so near thee on the flowery +way,<br /> +And with no sigh that life was near the setting,<br /> +Took’st the delight and dalliance of the day,<br /> + Happy thou wert, to live and pass away<br /> +Ere life or love had done thee any wrong;<br /> + Ere thy wreath faded, or thy locks grew grey,<br /> +Or summer came to lull thine April song,<br /> +Sweet as all shapes of sweet things unfulfilled,<br /> + Buds bloomless, and the broken violet,<br /> + The first spring days, the sounds +and scents thereof;<br /> +So clear thy fire of song, so early chilled,<br /> + So brief, so bright thy life that gaily met<br /> + Death, for thy Death came hand in +hand with Love.</p> +<h3><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +160</span>FRANÇOIS VILLON. 1450.</h3> +<p class="poetry">List, all that love light mirth, light tears, +and all<br /> + That know the heart of shameful loves, or pure;<br +/> + That know delights depart, desires endure,<br /> +A fevered tribe of ghosts funereal,<br /> +Widowed of dead delights gone out of call;<br /> + List, all that deem the glory of the rose<br /> + Is brief as last year’s suns, or last +year’s snows<br /> +The new suns melt from off the sundial.</p> +<p class="poetry">All this your master Villon knew and sung;<br +/> + Despised delights, and faint foredone desire;<br /> + And shame, a deathless worm, a quenchless fire;<br +/> +And laughter from the heart’s last sorrow wrung,<br /> + When half-repentance but makes evil whole,<br /> + And prayer that cannot help wears out the soul.</p> +<h3><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +161</span>PIERRE RONSARD. 1560.</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 sweet answer to the songs that breathe<br +/> +Through ages, and through ages far away.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yea, and in thee the pulse of ancient +passion<br /> + Leaped, and the nymphs amid the spring-water<br /> +Made bare their lovely limbs in the old fashion,<br /> + And birds’ song in the branches was astir.<br +/> +Ah, but thy songs are sad, thy roses wan,<br /> +Thy bees have fed on yews Sardinian.</p> +<h3><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</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 /> +About whose gates, with weary wings and maimed,<br /> + Thou most wert wont to linger, entering there<br /> + A moment, and returning rapt, with fair<br /> +Tidings that men or heeded not or 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 /> +Old prophecies fulfilled now, old tales true<br /> +In the new world, where all things are made new?</p> +<h3><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>THE +DEATH OF MIRANDOLA. 1494.</h3> +<p>‘The Queen of Heaven appeared, comforting him and +promising that he should not utterly die.’—<span +class="smcap">Thomas More</span>, <i>Life of Piens, Earl of +Mirandola</i>.</p> +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Strange</span> lilies came +with autumn; new and old<br /> + Were mingling, and the old world passed away,<br /> + And the night gathered, and the shadows grey<br /> +Dimmed the kind eyes and dimmed the locks of gold,<br /> + And face beloved of Mirandola.<br /> + The Virgin then, to comfort him and stay,<br /> +Kissed the thin cheek, and kissed the lips acold,<br /> + The lips unkissed of women many a day.<br /> +Nor she alone, for queens of the old creed,<br /> + Like rival queens that tended Arthur, there<br /> +Were gathered, Venus in her mourning weed,<br /> + Pallas and Dian; wise, and pure, and fair<br /> +Was he they mourned, who living did not wrong<br /> +One altar of its dues of wine and song.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">LONDON: +PRINTED BY</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET +SQUARE</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND PARLIAMENT STREET</span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23" +class="footnote">[23]</a> Aphrodite—Avril.</p> +<p><a name="footnote110"></a><a href="#citation110" +class="footnote">[110]</a> From the Romaic.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS AND LYRICS OF OLD FRANCE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 795-h.htm or 795-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/7/9/795 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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