Ballades in Blue China A BALLADE OF XXXII BALLADES. Friend^ when y»u bear a care-dulled eyt^ ylnd brtiv perplexed with things of weighty jind fain would bid some charm untie The btnds that hold you all too straight^ Behold a solace to your fate^ fVrapped in this cover s china blue; These ballades fresh and delicate^ This dainty troop of Thirty-two ! The mindy unwearied, longs to fly yind commune with the wise and great/ But that same ether, rare and high. Which glorifies its worthy mate. To breath forspent is disparate : Laughing and light and airy-new These come to tickle the dull pate. This dainty troop of Thirty-two. Most welcome then, when you and 7, Forestalling days for mirth too late. To quips and cranks and fantasy Some choice half-hour dedicate, They weave their dunce with measured rate Of rhymes enlinked in order due. Till frowns relax and cares abate. This dainty troop of Thirty-two. ENVOY Princes, of toys that please your state Quainter are surely none to view Than these which pass with tripping gait. This dainty troop of Thirty-two. F. P. THE LARK CLASSICS Ballades in Blue China BY ANDREW LANG Godfrey A. S. Wieners AT THE SIGN OF THE LARK NEW YORK UNIVERSITY PRESS • JOHN WILSON AND SON • CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. TO AUSTIN DOBSON " RontUaux, Ballades, CJiansons dizains, promos menuSt Compte tnoy qu' ils sont devenuz .* Le/aict U plus rien de nouveau f " Clement Marot, Dialog^a de deux Amoureux. " I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably." A Winter's Tale, Act IV. sc. 3. 2050200 Preface . . . As a writer of charming prose and equally dainty verse, Andrew Lang is, perhaps, without a superior to- day. Few writers, moreover, have been more prolific or have ranged in a larger field, for to his credit must be placed volumes of poetry, essays, biographies, transla- tions, and folk stories. Born in Scotland in 1844, and graduating at Oxford, for over twenty-five years he has labored so diligently with his pen that few of his contem- poraries are more deservedly popular, while none is more prominent. While not a writer of any particular depth, his books have all appealed to the discriminating public ; and his carefully edited fairy stories (the Blue, the Red, the Green, the Yellow, the Pink, the Grey, and the Violet Fairy Books) have more than endeared him to that most clear-visioned body of critics — the English speaking chil- dren of two continents. Among the most popular of Mr. Lang's works are the "Letters to Dead Authors " (1886), "Essays in Little" (1891), his charming translation of "Aucassin and Nicolete " (1887), and the following collection of verses, printed originally in 1881. . . . Contents Page Ballade to Theocritus, in Winter 3 Ballade of Cleopatra's Needle 5 " Roulette 7 " Sleep 9 " the Midnight Forest 12 " the Tweed 14 " the Book- Hunter 16 " the Voyage to Cythera 18 " the Summer Term 20 " the Muse 22 against the Jesuits 24 of Dead Cities 26 " the Royal Game of Golf 28 Double Ballade of Primitive Man ....... 30 Ballade of Autumn 33 " " True Wisdom 35 " " Worldly Wealth 37 " "Life 39 *' " Blue China 41 ix Contents Pagb Ballade of Dead Ladies 43 Villon's Ballade 45 Ballade of Rabbits and Hares 47 Valentine in Form of Ballade 49 Ballade of Old Plays 51 '* His Books 53 " Esthetic Adjectives 55 " the Pleased Bard 57 for a Baby 59 Amoureuse 61 of Queen Anne 63 " Blind Love 65 *' His Choice of a Sepulchre 67 Dizain 69 VERSES AND TRANSLATIONS A Portrait of 1783 73 The Moon's Minion 76 In Ithaca 78 Homer 79 The Burial of Moliere 80 Contents Page Bion 8i spring 82 Before the Snow 83 Villanelle 84 The Mystery of Queen Persephone 86 Stoker Bill 91 Natural Theology 94 The Odyssey 95 Ideal 96 XI BALLADES IN BLUE CHINA BALLADE TO THEOCRITUS, IN WINTER Id. VIII. 56. AH ! leave the smoke, the wealth, the roar Of London, and the bustling street, For still, by the Sicilian shore, The murmur of the Muse is sweet. Still, still, the suns of summer greet The mountain-grave of Helik^, And shepherds still their songs repeat Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea. What though they worship Pan no more. That guarded once the shepherd's seat, They chatter of their rustic lore, Cicalas chirp, the young lambs bleat, Where whispers pine to cypress tree ; They count the waves that idly beat Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea ! 3 Ballades in Blue China Envoy Master, — when rain, and snow, and sleet And northern winds are wild, to thee We come, we rest in thy retreat. Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea ! Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE YE giant shades of Ra and Turn, Ye ghosts of gods Egyptian, If murmurs of our planet come To exiles in the precincts wan Where, fetish or Olympian, To help or harm no more ye list, Look down, if look ye may, and scan This monument in London mist ! Behold, the hieroglyphs are dumb That once were read of him that ran When seistron, cymbal, trump, and drum Wild music of the Bull began ; When through the chanting priestly clan Walk'd Ramses, and the high sun kiss'd This stone, with blessing scored and ban — This monument in London mist. 5 Ballades in Blue China The stone endures though gods be numb ; Though human effort, plot, and plan Be sifted, drifted, like the sum Of sands in wastes Arabian. What king may deem him more than man, What priest says Faith can Time resist While this endures to mark their span — This monument in London mist? Envoy Prince, the stone's shade on your divan Falls; it is longer than ye wist: It preaches, as Time's gnomon can, This monument in London mist. Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF ROULETTE To R. R. THIS life — one was thinking of to-day, In the midst of a medley of fancies — Is a game, and the board where we play Green earth with her poppies and pansies. Let inauqne be faded romances, Be passe remorse and regret ; Hearts dance with the wheel as it dances — The wheel of Dame Fortune's roulette. The lover will stake as he may His heart on his Peggies and Nancies; The girl has her beauty to lay ; The saint has his prayers and his trances ; The poet bets endless expanses In Dreamland; the scamp has his debt: How they gaze at the wheel as it glances — The wheel of Dame Fortune's roulette ! 7 Ballades in Blue China The Kaiser will stake his array Of sabres, of Krupps, and of lances ; An Englishman punts with his pay, And glory th^jeton of France is; Your artists, or Whistlers or Vances, Have voices or colours to bet ; Will you moan that its motion askance is The wheel of Dame Fortune's roulette ? Envoy The prize that the pleasure enhances? The prize is — at last to forget The changes, the chops, and the chances The wheel of Dame Fortune's roulette. Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF SLEEP THE hours are passing slow, I hear their weary tread Clang from the tower, and go Back to their kinsfolk dead. Sleep ! death's twin brother dread ! Why dost thou scorn me so? The wind's voice overhead Long wakeful here I know, And music from the steep Where waters fall and flow. Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep ? All sounds that might bestow Rest on the fever'd bed, All slumb'rous sounds and low 9 Ballades in Blue China Are mingled here and wed, And bring no drowsihed. Shy dreams flit to and fro With shadowy hair dispread ; With wistful eyes that glow, And silent robes that sweep. Thou wilt not hear me; no? Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep? What cause hast thou to show Of sacrifice unsped? Of all thy slaves below I most have laboured With service sung and said ; Have cull'd such buds as blow, Soft poppies white and red, Where thy still gardens grow, And Lethe's waters weep. Why, then, art thou my foe ? Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep ? lO Ballades in Blue China Envoy Prince, ere the dark be shred By golden shafts, ere low And long the shadows creep ; Lord of the wand of lead, Soft-footed as the snow, Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep ! XI Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF THE MIDNIGHT FOREST (After Theodore de Banville) STILL sing the mocking fairies, as of old, Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree ; The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold. And wolves still dread Diana roaming free In secret woodland with her company. T is thought the peasants' hovels know her rite When now the wolds are bathed in silver hght, And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey, Then down the dells, with blown soft hair and bright, And through the dim wood Dian threads her way. With water-weeds twined in their locks of gold The strange cold forest-fairies dance in glee, Sylphs over-timorous and over-bold Haunt the dark hollows where the dwarf may be, The wild red dwarf, the nixies' enemy ; Then 'mid their mirth, and laughter, and affright, 12 Ballades in Blue China The sudden Goddess enters, tall and white, With one long sigh for summers pass'd away ; The swift feet tear the ivy nets outright And through the dim wood Dian threads her way. She gleans her silvan trophies ; down the wold She hears the sobbing of the stags that flee Mixed with the music of the hunting roU'd, But her delight is all in archery, And naught of ruth and pity wotteth she More than her hounds that follow on the flight ; The goddess draws a golden bow of might And thick she rains the gentle shafts that slay. She tosses loose her locks upon the night. And through the dim wood Dian threads her way. Envoy Prince, let us leave the din, the dust, the spite, The gloom and glare of towns, the plague, the blight; Amid the forest leaves and fountain spray There is the mystic home of our delight, And through the dim wood Dian threads her way. 13 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF THE TWEED (Lowland Scotch) To T. W. Lang THE ferox rins in rough Loch Awe, A weary cry frae ony toun ; The Spey, that loups o'er linn and fa*, They praise a' ither streams aboon ; They boast their braes o' bonny Doon ; Gie me to hear the ringing reel, Where shilfas sing, and cushats croon By fair Tweed-side, at Ashiesteel ! There 's Ettrick, Meggat, Ail, and a'. Where trout swim thick in May and June; Ye '11 see them take in showers o' snaw Some blinking, cauldrife April moon : Rax ower the palmer and march-broun, 14 Ballades in Blue China And syne we '11 show a bonny creel, In spring or simmer, late cr soon, By fair Tweed-side, at Ashiesteel ! There 's mony a water, great or sma', Gaes singing in his siller tune. Through glen and heugh, and hope and shaw, Beneath the sun-licht or the moon : But set us in our fishlng-shoon Between the Caddon-burn and Peel, And syne we '11 cross the heather broun By fair Tweed-side at Ashiesteel ! Envoy Deil take the dirty, trading loon Wad gar the water ca' his wheel. And drift his dyes and poisons doun, By fair Tweed-side at Ashiesteel ! Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF THE BOOK-HUNTER IN torrid heats of late July, In March, beneath the bitter bise^ He book-hunts while the loungers fly, — He book-hunts, though December freeze ; In breeches baggy at the knees. And heedless of the public jeers. For these, for these he hoards his fees, — Aldines, Bodonis, Elzevirs.' No dismal stall escapes his eye, He turns o'er tomes of low degrees, There soiled romanticists may lie. Or Restoration comedies ; Each tract that flutters in the breeze For him is charged with hopes and fears. In mouldy novels fancy sees Aldines, Bodonis, Elzevirs. i6 Ballades in Blue China With restless eyes that peer and spy, Sad eyes that heed not skies nor trees, In dismal nooks he loves to pry, Whose motto evermore is Spcs! But ah ! the fabled treasure flees ; Grown rarer with the fleeting years, In rich men's shelves they take their ease, — Aldines, Bodonis, Elzevirs ! Envoy Prince, all the things that tease and please, — Fame, hope, wealth, kisses, cheers, and tears, What are they but such toys as these, — Aldines, Bodonis, Elzevirs? J7 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF THE VOYAGE TO CYTHERA (After Theodore de Banville) I KNOW Cythera long is desolate ; I know the winds have stripp'd the gardens green. Alas, my friends ! beneath the fierce sun's weight A barren reef lies where Love's flowers have been, Nor ever lover on that coast is seen ! So be it, but we seek a fabled shore, To lull our vague desires with mystic lore, To wander where Love's labyrinths beguile ; There let us land, there dream for evermore : '' It may be we shall touch the happy isle." The sea may be our sepulchre. If Fate, If tempests wreak their wrath on us, serene We watch the bolt of heaven, and scorn the hate Of angry gods that smite us in their spleen. Perchance the jealous mists are but the screen That veils the fairy coast we would explore. 18 Ballades in Blue China Come, though the sea be vex'd, and breakers roar, Come, for the air of this old world is vile, Haste we, and toil, and faint not at the oar; " It may be we shall touch the happy isle." Grey serpents trail in temples desecrate Where Cypris smiled, the golden maid, the queen, And ruined is the palace of our state; And happy Loves flit round the mast, and keen The shrill wind sings the silken cords between. Heroes are we, with wearied hearts and sore, Whose flower is faded and whose locks are hoar. Yet haste, light skiffs, where myrtle thickets smile ; Love's panthers sleep 'mid roses, as of yore; " It may be we shall touch the happy isle ! " Envoy Sad eyes ! the blue sea laughs, as heretofore. Ah, singing birds, your happy music pour ! Ah, poets, leave the sordid earth awhile ; Flit to these ancient gods we still adore : " It may be we shall touch the happy isle ! " 19 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF THE SUMMER TERM {Being a petition, in the form of a Ballade, praying the Uni- versity Commissioners to spare the Summer Term) WHEN Lent and Responsions are ended, When May wi'th fritillaries waits, When the flower of the chestnut is splendid, When drags are at all of the gates (Those drags the philosopher " slates " With a scorn that is truly sublime),* Life wins from the grasp of the Fates Sweet hours and the fleetest of time ! When wickets are bowl'd and defended, When Isis is glad with " the Eights," When music and sunset are blended, * Cf. " Suggestions for Academic Reorganization." 20 Ballades in Blue China When Youth and the summer are mates, When Freshmen are heedless of " Greats," And when note-books are cover'd with rhyme, Ah, these are the hours that one rates — Sweet hours and the fleetest of time ! When the brow of the Dean is unbended At luncheons and mild tete-a-tetes, When the Tutor 's in love, nor offended By blunders in tenses or dates ; When bouquets are purchased of Bates, When the bells in their melody chime, When unheeded the Lecturer prates — Sweet hours and the fleetest of time ! Envoy Reformers of Schools and of States, Is mirth so tremendous a crime? Ah ! spare what grim pedantry hates — Sweet hours and the fleetest of time ! 21 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF THE MUSE Quern tu, Melpomene, semel. THE man whom once, Melpomene, Thou look'st on with benignant sight, Shall never at the Isthmus be A boxer eminent in fight, Nor fares he foremost in the flight Of Grecian cars to victory, Nor goes with Delian laurels dight, The man thou lov'st, Melpomene ! Not him the Capitol shall see, As who hath crush'd the threats and might Of monarchs, march triumphantly ; But Fame shall crown him, in his right 22 Ballades in Blue China Of all the Roman lyre that smite The first; so woods of Tivoli Proclaim him, so her waters bright, The man thou lov'st, Melpomene ! The sons of queenly Rome count niCy Me too, with them whose chants delight, — The poets* kindly company ; Now broken is the tooth of spite, But thou, that temperest aright The golden lyre, all, all to thee He owes — life, fame, and fortune's height - The man thou lov'st, Melpomene ! Envoy Queen, that to mute lips could'st unite The wild swan's dying melody ! Thy gifts, ah ! how shall he requite — The man thou lov'st, Melpomene? 23 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE AGAINST THE JESUITS (After La Fontaine) ROME does right well to censure all the vain Talk of Jansenius, and of them who- preach That earthly joys are damnable ! Tis plain We need not charge at Heaven as at a breach ; No, amble on ! We '11 gain it, one and all ; The narrow path 's a dream fantastical, And Arnauld 's quite superfluously driven Mirth from the world. We '11 scale the heavenly wall, Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven ! He does not hold a man may well be slain Who vexes with unseasonable speech. You may do murder for five ducats gain. Not for a pin, a ribbon, or a peach ; He ventures (most consistently) to teach That there are certain cases that befall 24 Ballades in Blue China When perjury need no good man appal. And life of love (he says) may keep a leaven. Sure, hearing this, a grateful world will bawl, " Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven ! " " For God's sake read me somewhat in the strain Of his most cheering volumes, I beseech! " Why should I name them all? a mighty train — So many, none may know the name of each. Make these your compass to the heavenly beach, These only in your library instal : Burn Pascal and his fellows, great and small, Dolts that in vain with Escobar have striven ; I tell you, and the common voice doth call, Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven ! Envoy Satan^ that pride did hurry to thy fall, Thou porter of the grim infernal hall — Thou keeper of the courts of souls unshriveni To shun thy shafts, to 'scape thy hellish thrall, Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven ! 25 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF DEAD CITIES To E. W. GossE THE dust of Carthage and the dust Of Babel on the desert wold, The loves of Corinth, and the lust, Orchomenos increased with gold ; The town of Jason, over-bold, And Cherson, smitten in her prime — What are they but a dream half-told ? Where are the cities of old time? In towns that were a kingdom's trust, In dim Atlantic forests' fold, The marble wasteth to a crust. The granite crumbles into mould ; 26 Ballades in Blue China O'er these — left nameless from of old — As over Shinar's brick and slime, One vast forgetfulness is roU'd — Where are the cities of old time? The lapse of ages, and the rust, The fire, the frost, the waters cold, Efface the evil and the just; From Thebes, that Eriphyle sold, To drovvn'd Caer-Is, whose sweet bells toll'd Beneath the wave a dreamy chime That echo'd from the mountain-hold, — " Where are the cities of old time?" Envoy Prince, all thy towns and cities must Decay as these, till all their crime, And mirth, and wealth, and toil are thrust Where are the cities of old time. 27 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF THE ROYAL GAME OF GOLF (East Fifeshire) TPIERE are laddies will drive ye a ba* To the burn frae the farthermost tee, But ye mauna think driving is a.\ Ye may heel her, and send her ajee, Ye may land in the sand or the sea; And ye *re dune, sir, ye 're no worth a preen, Tak' the word that an auld man '11 gie, Tak' aye tent to be up on the green ! The auld folk are crouse, and they craw That their putting is pawky and slee ; In a bunker they 're nae gude ava', But to girn, and to gar the sand flee. 28 Ballades in Blue China And a lassie can putt — ony she, — Be Maggy, or Bessie, or Jean, But a cleek-shot's the billy for me, Tak' aye tent to be up on the green ! I hae played in the frost and the thaw, I hae played since the year thirty-three, I hae played in the rain and the snaw. And I trust I may play till I dee ; And I tell ye the truth and nae lee, For I speak o' the thing I hae seen — Tom Morris, I ken, will agree — Tak' aye tent to be up on the green ! Envoy Prince, faith you 're improving a wee. And, Lord, man, they tell me you 're keen; Tak' the best o' advice that can be, Tak' aye tent to be up on the green ! 29 Ballades in Blue China DOUBLE BALLADE OF PRIMITIVE MAN To J. A. Farrer HE lived in a cave by the seas, He lived upon oysters and foes, But his list of forbidden degrees, An extensive morality shows ; Geological evidence goes To prove he had never a pan, But he shaved with a shell when he chose, — Twas the manner of Primitive Man. He worshipp'd the rain and the breeze, He worshipp'd the riVer that flows, And the Dawn, and the Moon, and the trees, And bogies, and serpents, and crows; 30 Ballades in Blue China He buried his dead with their toes Tucked-up, an original plan, Till their knees came right under their nose, - 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man. His communal wives, at his ease, He would curb with occasional blows; Or his State had a queen, like the bees (As another philosopher trows) : When he spoke, it was never in prose, But he sang in a strain that would scan, For (to doubt it, perchance, were morose) 'T was the manner of Primitive Man ! On the coasts that incessantly freeze, With his stones, and his bones, and his bows ; On luxuriant tropical leas. Where the summer eternally glows, He is found, and his habits disclose (Let theology say what she can) That he lived in the long, long agos, 'T was the manner of Primitive Man ! 31 Ballades in Blue China From a status like that of the Crees, Our society's fabric arose, — Develop'd, evolved, if you please, But deluded chronologists chose, In a fancied accordance with Mos es, 4000 B.C. for the span When he rushed on the world and its woes,- 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man! But the mild anthropologist, — he 's Not recent inclined to suppose Flints Palaeolithic like these ! In Rhinoceros, Mammoth and Co.'s, First epoch, the Human began, Theologians all to expose, — 'T is the mission of Primitive Man. Envoy Max, proudly your Aryans pose. But their rigs they undoubtedly ran For, as every Darwinian knows, 'T was the manner of Primitive Man ! 32 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF AUTUMN WE built a castle in the air, In summer weather you and I, The wind and sun were in your hair, — Gold hair against a sapphire sky : When Autumn came, with leaves that fly Before the storm, across the plain, You fled from me, with scarce a sigh — My Love returns no more again ! The windy lights of Autumn flare : I watch the moonlit sails go by ; I marvel how men toil and fare, The weary business that they ply ! Their voyaging is vanity, And fairy gold is all their gain, And all the winds of winter cry, " My Love returns no more again ! " 3 33 Ballades in Blue China Here, in my castle of Despair, I sit alone with memory ; The wind-fed wolf has left his lair, To keep the outcast company. The brooding owl he hoots hard by, The hare shall kindle o?i thy hearth-stane^ The Rhymer's soothest prophecy, — * My Love returns no more again ! Envoy Lady, my home until I die Is here, where youth and hope were slain ; They flit, the ghosts of our July, My Love returns no more again ! * Thomas of Ercildoune. 34 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF TRUE VVISDOr^I WHILE others are asking for beauty or fame, Or praying to know that for which they should pray, Or courting Queen Venus, that affable dame. Or chasing the Muses the weary and grey, The sage has found out a more excellent way — To Pan and to Pallas his incense he showers. And his humble petition puts up day by day, For a house full of books, and a garden of flowers. Inventors may bow to the God that is lame. And crave from the fire on his stithy a ray ; Philosophers kneel to the God without name. Like the people of Athens, agnostics are they ; The hunter a fawn to Diana will slay. The maiden wild roses will wreathe for the Hours ; But the wise man will ask, ere libation he pay, For a house full of books, and a garden of flowers. 35 Ballades in Blue China Oh ! grant me a life without pleasure or blame (As mortals count pleasure who rush through their day With a speed to which that of the tempest is tame) ! Oh ! grant me a house by the beach of a bay, Where the waves can be surly in winter, and play With the sea-weed in summer, ye bountiful powers ! And I 'd leave all the hurry, the noise, and the fray, For a house full of books, and a garden of flowers. Envoy Gods, grant or withhold it ; your *^ yea " and your ** nay " Are immutable, heedless of outcry of ours : But life is worth living, and here we would stay For a house full of books, and a garden of flowers. 36 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF WORLDLY WEALTH (Old French) MONEY taketh town and wall, Fort and ramp without a blow; Money moves the merchants all, While the tides shall ebb and flow ; Money maketh Evil show Like the Good, and Truth like lies: These alone can ne'er bestow Youth, and health, and Paradise. Money maketh festival, Wine she buys, and beds can strow; Round the necks of captains tall, Money wins them chains to throw, Ballades in Blue China Marches soldiers to and fro, Gaineth ladies with sweet eyes : These alone can ne'er bestow Youth, and health, and Paradise. Money wins the priest his stall ; Money mitres buys, I trow. Red hats for the Cardinal, Abbeys for the novice low ; Money maketh sin as snow, Place of penitence supplies : These alone can ne'er bestow Youth, and health, and Paradise. 38 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF LIFE " ' Dead and gone,' — a sorry burden of the Ballad of Life." Death's Jest Book. SAY, fair maids, maying In gardens green, In deep dells straying, What end hath been Two Mays between Of the flowers that shone And your own sweet queen — ** They are dead and gone ! " Say, grave priests, praying In dule and teen, From cells decaying What have ye seen 39 Ballades in Blue China Of the proud and mean, Of Judas and John, Of the foul and clean? — *' They are dead and gone ! " Say, kings, arraying Loud wars to win. Of your manslaying What gain ye glean? " They are fierce and keen. But they fall anon. On the sword that lean, — They are dead and gone ! " Envoy Through the mad world's scene, We are drifting on, To this tune, I ween, "They are dead and gone ! " 40 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF BLUE CHINA THERE 'S a joy without canker or cark, There 's a pleasure eternally new, T is to gloat on the glaze and the mark Of china that's ancient and blue; Unchipp'd all the centuries through It has pass'd, since the chime of it rang, And they fashion'd it, figure and hue, In the reign of the Emperor Hwang. These dragons (their tails, you remark. Into bunches of gillyflowers grew), — When Noah came out of the Ark, Did these lie in wait for his crew? They snorted, they snapp'd, and they slew, They were mighty of fin and of fang, And their portraits Celestials drew In the reign of the Emperor Hwang 41 Ballades in Blue China Here 's a pot with a cot in a park, In a park where the peach-blossoms blew, Where the lovers eloped in the dark, Lived, died, and were changed into two Bright birds that eternally flew Through the boughs of the may, as they sang ; *T is a tale was undoubtedly true In the reign of the Emperor Hwang. Envoy Come, snarl at my ecstasies, do, Kind critic, your " tongue has a tang," But — a sage never heeded a shrew In the reign of the Emperor Hwang. 42 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF DEAD LADIES (After Villon) NAY, tell me now in what strange air The Roman Flora dwells to-day. Where Archippiada hides, and where Beautiful Thais has passed away? Whence answers Echo, afield, astray, By mere or stream, — around, below? Lovelier she than a woman of clay ; Nay, but where is the last year's snow? Where is wise Heloise, that care Brought on Abeilard, and dismay? All for her love he found a snare, A maimed poor monk in orders grey; 43 Ballades in Blue China And where 's the Queen who willed to slay Buridan, that in a sack must go Afloat down Seine, — a perilous way — Nay, but where is the last year's snow? Where 's that White Queen, a lily rare. With her sweet song, the Siren's lay? Where's Bertha Broad-foot, Beatrice fair? Alys and Ermengarde, where are they? Good Joan, whom Enghsh did betray In Rouen town, and burned her? No, Maiden and Queen, no man may say; Nay, but where is the last year's snow? Envoy Prince, all this Aveek thou need'st not pray, Nor yet this year the thing to know. One burden answers, ever and aye, ** Nay, but where is the last year's snow?" 44 Ballades in Blue China VILLON'S BALLADE Of Good Counsel, to his friends of Evil Life NAY, be you pardoner or cheat, Or cogger keen, or mumper shy, You '11 burn your fingers at the feat. And howl like other folks that fry. All evil folks that love a lie ! And where goes gain that greed amasses. By wile, and trick, and thievery? 'T is all to taverns and to lasses ! Rhyme, rail, dance, play the cymbals sweet, With game, and shame, and jollity, Go jigging through the field and street, With my s fry and morality ; 45 Ballades in Blue China Win gold at gleek, — and that will fly, Where all you gain dX passage passes, — And that's? You know as well as I, 'T is all to taverns and to lasses ! Nay, forth from all such filth retreat. Go delve and ditch, in wet and dry. Turn groom, give horse and mule their meat, If you 've no clerkly skill to ply ; You '11 gain enough, with husbandry, But — sow hempseed and such wild grasses. And where goes all you take thereby? — 'T is all to taverns and to lasses ! Envoy Your clothes, your hose, your broidery, Your linen that the snow surpasses, Or ere they 're worn, off, off they fly, 'T is all to taverns and to lasses. 46 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF RABBITS AND HARES IN a vision a Sportsman forlorn I beheld, in an isle of the West, And his purple and linen were torn. And he wailed, as he beat on his breast, — ** My people are men dispossessed. They have vanished, and nobody cares, — They have passed to the place of their rest, They have gone with the Rabbits and Hares ! " Oh, why was a gentleman born With a title, a name, and a crest. Where the Rabbit is treated with scorn, And the Hare is accounted a pest, 47 Ballades in Blue China By the lumbering farmer repressed, With his dogs, and his guns, and his snares? But my fathers have ended their quest, They have gone with the Rabbits and Hares ! " Ah, woe for the clover and corn That the Rabbit was wont to infest ! Ah, woe for my youth in its morn, When the farmer obeyed my behest ! Happy days ! like a wandering guest Ye have fled, ye are sped unawares ; But my fathers are now with the blest, They have gone with the Rabbits and Hares ! " Envoy Prince, mourn for a nation oppressed. And absorbed in her stocks and her shares. And bereaved of her bravest and best — They have gone with the Rabbits and Hares ! 48 Ballades in Blue China VALENTINE IN FORM OF BALLADE THE soft wind from the south land sped, He set his strength to blow, From forests where Adonis bled. And lily flowers a-row : He crossed the straits like streams that flow, The ocean dark as wine, To my true love to whisper low, To be your Valentine. The Spring half-raised her drowsy head, Besprent with drifted snow, *• I '11 send an April day," she said, ** To lands of wintry woe." He came — the winter's overthrow With showers that sing and shine. Pied daisies round your path to strow, To be your Valentine. 4 .19 Ballades in Blue China Where sands of Egypt, swart and red, *Neath suns Egyptian glow, In places of the princely dead, By the Nile's overflow. The swallow preened her wings to go. And for the North did pine, And fain would brave the frost her foe, To be your Valentine. Envoy Spring, Swallow, South Wind, even so, Their various voice combine ; But that they crave on me bestow, To be your Valentine. 50 Ballades in Blue China BALLADE OF OLD PLAYS {Les CEuvres de Monsieur Moliere. A Paris, chez Louys Bil- laine a la Palme. M.D.C. LXVI) La Cour WHEN these Old Plays were new, the King, Beside the Cardinal's chair. Applauded, 'mid the courtly ring. The verses of Moliere ; Point-lace was then the only wear, Old Corneille came to woo. And bright Du Pare was young and fair, When these Old Plays were new ! La Com^die How shrill the butcher's cat-calls ring, How loud the lackeys swear ! Black pipe-bowls on the stage they fling, At Brecourt, fuming there ! SI Ballades in Blue China The Porter 's stabbed ! a Mousquetaire Breaks in with noisy crew — T was all a commonplace affair When these Old Plays were new ! La Ville When these Old Plays were new ! They bring A host of phantoms rare : Old jests that float, old jibes that sting, Old faces peaked with care : Menage's smirk, de Vise's stare, The thefts of Jean Ribou, — * Ah, publishers were hard to bear When these Old Plays were new. Envoy Ghosts, at your Poet's word ye dare To break Death's dungeons through, And frisk, as in that golden air. When these Old Plays were new ! * A knavish publisher. 52 DIZAIN As, to the pipe, with rhythmic feet In windings of some old-world daiice, The smiling couples cross and meet, Join hands ^ and then i?i line advance, So, to these fair old tunes of France, Through all their maze of to-andfro. The light-heeled numbers laughing go, . Retreat, return, and ere they flee. One moment pause in panting row, A?id seem to say — Vos plaudite / A. D. VERSES AND TRANSLATIONS Oronte — Ce ne sont point de ces grands vers pompeux^ Mais de pettts vers ! Le Misanthrope, Act I., Sc. 2. A PORTRAIT OF 1783 YOUR hair and chin are Hke the hair And chin Burne-Jones's ladies wear; You were unfashionably fair In '83; And sad you were when girls are gay, You read a book about Le vrai Merite de rhomtnCy alone in May. What can it be, Le vrai nitrite de Vhommel Not gold, Not tithes that are bought and sold, Not wit that flashes and is cold. But Virtue merely ! Instructed by Jean-Jacques Rousseau (And Jean-Jacques, surely, ought to know) You bade the crowd of foplings go, You glanced severely, 73 Verses and Translations Dreaming beneath the spreading shade Of " that vast hat the Graces made ; " * So Rouget sang — while yet he played With courtly rhyme, And hymned great Doisi's red perruque, And Nice's eyes, and Zulme's look, And dead canaries, ere he shook The sultry time With strains like thunder. Loud and low Methinks I hear the murmur grow, The tramp of men that come and go With fire and sword. They war against the quick and dead, Their flying feet are dashed with red, As theirs the vintaging that tread Before the Lord. * Vous y verrez, belle Julie, Que ce chapeau tout maltraite* Fut, dans un instant de folia. Par les Graces meme invente. 'A Julie.' Essais en Prose et en Vers, par Joseph Lisle : Paris An. V. de la Republique. 74 Verses and Translations O head uiifashionably fair, What end was thine, for all thy care? We only see thee dreaming there : We cannot see The breaking of thy vision, when The Rights of Man were lords of men, When virtue won her own again In '93. 75 Verses and Translations THE MOON'S MINION (From the Prose of C. Baudelaire) THINE eyes are like the sea, my dear, The wand'ring waters, green and grey ; Thine eyes are wonderful and clear, And deep, and deadly, even as they; The spirit of the changeful sea Informs thine eyes at night and noon. She sways the tides, and the heart of thee, The mystic, sad, capricious Moon ! The Moon came down the shining stair Of clouds that fleck the summer sky. She kissed thee, saying, " Child, be fair. And madden men's hearts, even as I ; 76 Verses and Translations Thou shalt love all things strange and sweet, That know me and are known of me ; The lover thou shalt never meet, The land where thou shalt never be ! " She held thee in her chill embrace. She kissed thee with cold lips divine, She left her pallor on thy face, That mystic ivory face of thine ; And now I sit beside thy feet. And all my heart is far from thee, Dreaming of her I shall not meet, And of the land I shall not see ! 77 Verses and Translations IN ITHACA " And now am I greatly repenting that ever I left my life with thee, and the immortality thou didst promise me. " — Letter of Odysseus to Calypso. Luciani Vera Historia. "T^ IS thought Odysseus when the strife was o'er 1 With all the waves and wars, a weary while, Grew restless in his disenchanted isle, And still would watch the sunset, from the shore. Go down the ways of gold, and evermore His sad heart followed after, mile on mile. Back to the Goddess of the magic wile. Calypso, and the love that was of yore. Thou too, thy haven gained, must turn thee yet To look across the sad and stormy space, Years of a youth as bitter as the sea. Ah, with a heavy heart, and eyelids wet. Because, within a fair forsaken place The life that might have been is lost to thee. • 78 Verses and Translations HOMER HOMER, thy song men liken to the sea With all the notes of music in its tone, With tides that wash the dim dominion Of Hades, and light waves that laugh in glee Around the isles enchanted ; nay, to me Thy verse seems as the River of source unknown That glasses Egypt's temples overthrown In his sky-nurtured stream, eternally. No wiser we than men of heretofore To find thy sacred fountains guarded fast ; Enough, thy flood makes green our human shore, As Nilus Egypt, rolling down his vast His fertile flood, that murmurs evermore Of gods dethroned, and empires in the past. 79 Verses and Translations THE BURIAL OF MOLIERE (After J. Truffier) DEAD — he is dead ! The rouge has left a trace On that thin cheek where shone, perchance, a tear, Even while the people laughed that held him dear But yesterday. He died, — and not in grace, And many a black-robed caitiff starts apace To slander him whose Tartuffe made them fear, And gold must win a passage for his bier, And bribe the crowd that guards his resting-place. Ah, MoHere, for that last time of all, Man's hatred broke upon thee, and went by, And did but make more fair thy funeral. Though in the dark they hid thee stealthily. Thy coffin had the cope of night for pall, For torch, the stars along the windy sky ! So Verses and Translations BION THE wail of Moschus on the mountains crying The Muses heard, and loved it long ago; They heard the hollows of the hills replying, They heard the weeping water's overflow ; They winged the sacred strain — the song undying, The song that all about the world must go, — When poets for a poet dead are sighing, The minstrels for a minstrel friend laid low. And dirge to dirge that answers, and the weeping. For Adonais by the summer sea, The plaints for Lycidas, and Thyrsis (sleeping Far from *'the forest ground called Thessaly"), These hold thy memory, Bion, in their keeping, And are but echoes of the moan for thee. 6 Si Verses and Translations SPRING (After Meleager) NOW the bright crocus flames, and now The sHm narcissus takes the rain, And, straying o'er the mountain's brow. The dafifodihes bud again. The thousand blossoms wax and wane On wold, and heath, and fragrant bough. But fairer than the flowers art thou, Than any growth of hill or plain. Ye gardens cast your leafy crown, That my Love's feet may tread it down, Like lilies on the liHes set ; My Love, whose lips are softer far Than drowsy poppy petals are, And sweeter than the violet ! 82 Verses and Translations BEFORE THE SNOW (After Albert Glatigny) THE winter is upon us, not the snow, I'he hills are etched on the horizon bare, The skies are iron grey, a bitter air, The meagre cloudlets shudder to and fro. One yellow leaf the listless wind doth blow. Like some strange butterfly, unclassed and rare. Your footsteps ring in frozen alleys, where The black trees seem to shiver as you go. Beyond lie church and steeple, with their old And rusty vanes that rattle as they veer, A sharper gust would shake them from their hold, Yet up that path, in summer of the year, And past that melancholy pile we strolled To pluck wild strawberries, with merry cheer. 83 Verses and Translations VILLANELLE To Lucia APOLLO left the golden Muse And shepherded a mortal's sheep, Theocritus of Syracuse ! To mock the giant swain that woos The sea-nymph in the sunny deep, Apollo left the golden Muse. Afield he drove his lambs and ewes, Where Milon and where Battus reap, Theocritus of Syracuse ! To watch thy tunny-fishers cruise Below the dim Sicilian steep Apollo left the golden Muse. 84 1 Verses and Translations Yc twain did loiter in the dews, Ye slept the swain's unfever'd sleep, Theocritus of Syracuse ! That Time might half with his confuse Thy songs, — Hke his, that laugh and leap, Theocritus of Syracuse, Apollo left the golden Muse ! V 85 Verses and Translations THE MYSTERY OF QUEEN PERSEPHONE St. Paul and the Devil disputing about the Immortality of Man's Soul, and St. Paul maintaining the same, (from the similitude of the corn-seed sown, which again sprouteth,) the Devil refutes him by his atheistic subtlety, but is put to shame by the evidence of three witnesses, namely, Persephone, Hela, and St. Lucy. The Scene is Mount Gerizim Intrabtint Sanctus Pauhis, et Diabolus^ inter se de irnvtortali- tate Animae disputantes Sanctus Paulus YE say that when a man is dead He never more shall lift his head, As doth the flower perished, Nor break ne sweet ne bitter bread. I hold you much in scorn ! 86 Verses and Translations Lo, if you cast in earth a seed That secmeth to be dead indeed, I wot ye shall have corn ; And all men shall rejoice and reap : And so it fares with them that sleep, The narrow house doth them but keep Until the judgment morn. DiABOLUS There is an end of grief and mirth, There is an end of all things born, And if ye sow into the earth A seed, ye shall have corn ; But if ye sow its withered root It shall not bear you any fruit, It will not sprout and spring again ; And if ye look to gather grain. Of men mote ye have scorn. Man's body buried is the sown Dead root, whose flower is over-blown. 87 Verses and Translations Sanctus Paulus Beshrew thee for thy subtleties That melt the hearts of men with lies, An evil task hath he that tries To still thy subtle tongue ! But look ye round and ye shall see The Dames that Queens of dead men be, I wot there are no mo than three, When all is said and sung. Hie intrabunt et cantabunt ires RegincB Persephone I am the Queen Persephone. The lips of Grecians prayed to me. Saying, I give men sleep ; But I would have ye well to know That with me none do slumber so ; But there be some that weep, And juster souls content to dwell Among the fields of asphodel, By the Nine Waters deep. Verses and Translations Hela I am the Queen of Hela's House, Great clouds I bind upon my brows; Night for a covering. For them I hold, I will ye wot They sorrow, but they slumber not, They have no lust to sing. And never comes a merry voice, Nor doth a soul of them rejoice Until their uprising. Sancta Lucia I am a Queen of Paradise, And who shall look on me, I wis. His spirit shall find grace. Whoso dwells with me walks along In gardens glad with small birds' song, A flowered and grassy place, Therein the souls of blessed men Wait each, till comes his love again, To look upon her face ! 89 Verses and Translations Sanctus Paulus Thou, Sir Diabolus, art shent, I wot that well ye might repent, But till Midsummer fall in Lent, Ye will not cease to sin. Get thee to dungeon underground And sit beside thy man, Mahound. I wot I would ye twain were bound For evermore therein. Fiigiat Diabolus ad locum suum 90 Verses and Translations STOKER BILL (A Ballad of the School-Board Fleet) W HICH my name is Stoker Bill. And a pleasant berth I fill, And the care the ladies take of me is clipping; They have made me pretty snug, With a blooming Persian rug In the Ladies' new ^Esthetic Training Shipping. There 's my Whistler pastels, there, As are quite beyond compare, And a portrait of Miss Connie Gilchrist skipping; From such art we all expect Quite a softening effect. In the Ladies' new /Esthetic Training Shipping. 9^ Verses and Translations And my beer comes in a mug — Such a rare old Rhodian jug ! And here I sits aesthetically sipping ; And I drinks my grog or ale J On a chair by Chippendale — * We Ve no others in our modern training shipping. There 's our first Liftenant, too, Is a rare old (China) Blue, And you do not very often catch him tripping At a monogram or mark, But no more than Noah's ark, Does he know the way to manage this here shipping. But the Boys ? the Boys, they stands With white lilies in their hands. And they do not know the meaning of a whipping : For the whole delightful ship is Like a dream of Lippo Lippi's, More than what you mostly see in modern shipping. 93 Verses and Translations Well, some coves they cuts up rough, And they calls aesthetics stuff, And they says as we 've no business to keep dipping In the rates, but ladies likes it, And our flag we never strikes it — Bless old England's new^Esthetic Training Shipping ! 93 Verses and Translations NATURAL THEOLOGY cTTCt KOL TOLVTOv otofiai aOavaTOiCTLV €v^ea6aL. ITai/TCs Se ©coiv )(aT€OV(T avOpoiTTOL Od. III. 47. "y^^NCE Cagn was like a father, kind and good, \J But he was spoiled by fighting many things; He wars upon the lions in the wood, And breaks the Thunder-bird's tremendous wings; But still we cry to Him, — W^ are thy bjvod — O Cagtty be merciful I and us He brings To herds of elands, and great store of food, And in the desert opens water-springs." So Qing, King Nqsha's Bushman hunter, spoke, Beside the camp-fire, by the fountain fair. When all were weary, and soft clouds of smoke Were fading, fragrant, in the twilit air: And suddenly in each man's heart there woke A pang, a sacred memory of prayer. 94 Verses and Translations THE ODYSSEY AS one that for a weary space has lain Lulled by the song of Circe and her wine In gardens near the pale of Proserpine, Where that ^aean isle forgets the main, And only the low lutes of love complain. And only shadows of wan lovers pine, As such an one were glad to know the brine Salt on his Hps, and the large air again, — So gladly, from the songs of modern speech Men turn, and see the stars, and feel the free Shrill wind beyond the close of heavy flowers, And through the music of the languid hours. They hear like ocean on a western beach The surge and thunder of the Odyssey. Verses and Translations IDEAL Suggested by a female head in wax^ of unknown date, but sup- posed to be either of the best Greek age, or a work of Raphael or Leonardo. It is now iji the Lille Museum. AH, mystic child of Beauty, nameless maid. Dateless and fatherless, how long ago, A Greek, with some rare sadness overweighed, Shaped thee, perchance, and quite forgot his woe ! Or Raphael thy sweetness did bestow While magical his fingers o'er thee strayed, Or that great pupil of Verrochio Redeemed thy still perfection from the shade That hides all fair things lost, and things unborn. Where one has fled from me, that wore thy grace, And that grave tenderness of thine awhile, Nay, still in dreams I see her, but her face Is pale, is wasted with a touch of scorn, And only on thy lips I find her smile. 96 » I II III'!' IIII'I llj|lijll|ll|l||l!ll! nil \\ B 000 002 430 7