Grass of Parnassus THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ifM ^^■iv\l>- GRASS OF PARNASSUS A VOLUME OF VERSES a WORKS BY ANDREW LANG. ANGLING SKETCHES. With Illustrations by W. G. BURN- MuRDOCH. Crown 8vo. js. 6d. CUSTOM AND MYTH : Studies of Early Usage and Belief. With 15 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. BALLADS OF BOOKS. Edited by Andrew Lang. Fcap. 8vo. 6s. LETTERS TO DEAD AUTHORS. Crown Svo. zs. 6d. net. BOOKS AND BOOKMEN. With 2 Coloured Plates and 17 Illustrations. Crown Svo. zs. 6d. net. OLD FRIENDS : Essays in Epistolary Parody. Crown Svo. zs. 6d. net. LETTERS ON LITERATURE. Crown Svo. zs. 6d. net. GRASS OF PARNASSUS. A Volume of Verses. Crown Svo. zs. 6d. net. THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK. Edited by Andrew LANG. With 8 Plates and 130 Illustrations in the Text. Crown ^vo. 6s. THE RED FAIRY BOOK. Edited by Andrew Lang. With 4 Plates and 96 Illustrations in the Text. Crown Svo. 6s. THE BLUE POETRY BOOK. Edited by Andrew Lang. With 12 Plates and 88 Illustrations in the Text. Crown Svo. 6s. THE BLUE POETRY BOOK. Edited by Andrew Lang. New Edition (without the Illustrations), for use in Schools, with Lives of the Authors of Poems. Fcap. Svo. zs. 6d. LONDON : LONGMANS, GREEN. ^ CO. PREFACE TO NEW EDITION. To this edition of Grass of Parnassus about thirty new pieces, either unpublished or hitherto uncollected, have been added. Some of these had appeared in Scribners, Longman's, and Blackwood' s Magazines, in the Scots Observer, and the Illustrated Londo7i News. One or two omissions have also been made. The author cannot resist the pleasure of mentioning that the versions from the Greek Anthology were prompted by the encouraging kindness of the late Mr. James Russell Lowell. 307S52 CONTENTS PAGE Vale xiii To E. M. S XV I. AVE. Twilight on Tweed Clevedon Church Metempsychosis . 3 5 7 Lost in Hades 8 An Old Garden g A Star in the Night lo A Sunset on Yarrow ii Another Way 12 II. OLD RHYMES. With a Fairy Book 17 A Dialogue 19 Martial in Town 21 April on Tweed 23 vni CONTENTS. PAGE Tired of Towns 25 Scythe Song 27 Pen and Ink 28 A Dream 30 The Singing Rose 31 A Review in Rhyme 34 Colinette 36 A Sunset of Watteau 38 Nightingale Weather 40 Love and Wisdom 42 Good-bye 44 An Old Prayer 46 A LA Belle HfeLfeNE 47 Sylvie et Aurelie 49 A Lost Path 51 The Shade of Helen 53 The Song of Orpheus 55 The Grave of Orpheus 56 The Banks of Wye 57 The End of the Term 59 IIL DEEDS OF MEN. Seekers for a City 63 The White Pacha 66 Midnight, January 25, 1886 68 England 69 Advance. Australia 71 Colonel Burnaby 73 Melville and Coghill 74 To Colonel Ian Hamilton 75 CONTENTS. IX IV. SONNETS. PAGE Grass of Parnassus 79 She 80 Herodotus in Egypt 81 Gerard de Nerval 82 RONSARD 83 Love's Miracle 84 Dreams 85 Two Sonnets of the Sirens 86 A Nativity of Sandro Botticelli 88 V. HESPEROTHEN. The Seekers for Ph^acia 9^ A Song of Ph^acia 93 The Departure from Ph^acia 95 A Ballad of Departure 97 They hear the Sirens for the Second Time . . 98 Circe's Isle revisited 100 The Limit of Lands 102 VI. FROM THE FRENCH AND ROMAIC. Hymn to the Winds 107 Moonlight 108 The Grave and the Rose 109 A Vow TO Heavenly Venus no X CONTENTS. PAGE Of his Lady's Old Age iii Shadows of his Lady 112 April 113 An Old Tune 117 Old Loves 118 A Lady of High Degree 120 Iannoula 122 The Milk-white Doe 123 VIL "IN SILLY SOOTH." The Melancholy Muses 129 An Aspiration 131 Ballade of the Penitents 134 To IsAACK Walton 136 Shameful Death 137 The Salmo Irritans 139 A Song of Life and Golf 141 The Old Love and the New 143 Disillusions of Astronomy 145 Tout finit par des Chansons 148 To Daniel Elzevir 150 The Last Chance 152 vin. THE LITTLE GARLAND. Sea Dirge 155 The Age of Wisdom 156 Cleophantis 157 CONTENTS. XI PAGE NiCARETE 158 The Spinning Woman i59 From Diotimus (or Leon i das) 160 Heraclitus 161 Gifts 162 Changeful Beauty ...... 163 Rhodanthe 164 The Prophet 165 Lais 166 Clearista 167 The Fisherman's Tomb 168 Of his Death 169 Rhodope 170 To a Girl 171 To THE Ships 172 Sappho i73 Erinna 174 A Late Convert i75 The Limit of Life 176 Winter Roses i77 The Wayside Well 178 To THE Nymphs i79 The Talisman 180 To Pan and the Nymphs 181 To Demeter and the Hours 182 To Aphrodite of the Fair Voyage 183 To THE Sea 184 Telling the Bees 185 Dewy Garlands 186 Heliodore 187 A Good-night 188 Heliodore dead 189 ( xiii ) Vale. Once the Muse was fair, Once : when we were young, Gay and debonair, Or with pensive air. So she came, she sung. Often, through the noise Of the running stream, Would we hear her voice, Hear it and rejoice, " Dream not 'twas a dream." Could we see her now Come at a command. Withered on her brow Were the wreath, the bough Broken in her hand. Xiv VALE. Nay, as erst the Morn Floating far away, More in ruth than scorn Left her love outworn, Once his locks were grey, So, for ever young, Ever fair, the Muse Leaves us, who have sung Till the lute's unstrung. Doth her grace refuse. 'Tis not she, but we, That are weary now ; Well, howe'er it be, Her we shall not see. Broken is the bough. ( XV ) To E. M. S. " Prima dicta mihi, summa dicenda Camena." The years will pass, and hearts will range, You conquer Time, and Care, and Change. Though Time doth still delight to shed The dust on many a younger head ; Though Care, oft coming, hath the guile From younger lips to steal the smile ; Though Change makes younger hearts wax cold. And sells new loves for loves of old. Time, Change, nor Care, hath learned the art To fleck your hair, to chill your heart, To touch your tresses with the snow, To mar your mirth of long ago. Change, Care, nor Time, while life endure. Shall spoil our ancient friendship sure, The love which flows from sacred springs, In " old unhappy far-off things," From sympathies in grief and joy, Through all the years of man and boy. xvi TO E. M. S. Therefore, to you, the rhymes I strung When even this " brindled " head was young I bring, and later rhymes I bring That flit upon as weak a wing. But still for you, for yours, they sing ! I I. AVE " Our Faith and Troth All time and space controules Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen^ unknowne, and greet as Angels greet.'''' Col. Richard Lovelace, 1649. ( 3 ) Twilight on Tweed, Three crests against the saffron sky, Beyond the purple plain, The kind remembered melody Of Tweed once more again. Wan water from the border hills, Dear voice from the old years, Thy distant music lulls and stills, And moves to quiet tears. Like a loved ghost thy fabled flood Fleets through the dusky land ; Where Scott, come home to die, has stood, My feet returning stand. A mist of memory broods and floats, The Border waters flow; The air is full of ballad notes, Borne out of long ago. TWILIGHT ON TWEED. Old songs that sung themselves to me, Sweet through a boy's day-dream, While trout below the blossom'd tree Plashed in the golden stream. * * * « Twilight, and Tweed, and Eildon Hill, Fair and too fair you be ; You tell me that the voice is still That should have welcomed me. 1870. ( 5 ) Chvedon Church. In Memoriam H. B. Westward I watch the low green hills of Wales, The low sky silver grey, The turbid Channel with the wandering sails Moans through the winter day. There is no colour but one ashen light On tower and lonely tree, The little church upon the windy height Is grey as sky or sea. But there hath he that woke the sleepless Love Slept through these fifty years. There is the grave that has been wept above With more than mortal tears. And far below I hear the Channel sweep And all his waves complain, As Hallam's dirge through all the years must keep Its monotone of pain. CLEVEDON CHURCH. Grey sky, brown waters, as a bird that flies. My heart flits forth from these Back to the winter rose of northern skies, Back to the northern seas. And lo, the long waves of the ocean beat Below the minster grey, Caverns and chapels worn of saintly feet. And knees of them that pray. And I remember me how twain were one Beside that ocean dim, I count the years passed over since the sun That lights me looked on him, And dreaming of the voice that, save in sleep, Shall greet me not again, Far, far below I hear the Channel sweep And all his waves complain. ( 7 ) Metempsychosis. I SHALL not see thee, nay, but I shall know Perchance, the grey eyes in another's eyes, Shall guess thy curls in gracious locks that flow- On purest trows, yea, and the swift surmise Shall follow and track, and find thee in disguise Of all sad things, and fair, where sunsets glow, When through the scent of heather, faint and low. The weak wind whispers to the day that dies. From all sweet art, and out of all old rhyme, Thine eyes and lips are hght and song to me ; The shadows of the beauty of all time, In song or story are but shapes of thee ; Alas, the shadowy shapes ! ah, sweet my dear, Shall life or death bring all thy being near ? ( 8 ) Lost in Hades. I DREAMED that somewhere in the shadowy place, Grief of farewell unspoken was forgot In welcome, and regret remembered not ; And hopeless prayer accomplished turned to praise On lips that had been songless many days ; Hope had no more to hope for, and desire And dread were overpast, in white attire New born we walked among the new world's ways. Then from the press of shades a spirit threw Towards me such apples as these gardens bear ; And turning, I was 'ware of her, and knew And followed her fleet voice and flying hair, — Followed, and found her not, and seeking you I found you never, dearest, anywhere. ( 9 ) An Old Garden. The autumn sun is warm, the soft winds moan, The golden fruits make sweet September air In gardens where the apple blossoms were Through these old Aprils that we twain have known. I pass along the pathAvays overgrown ; Of all the flowers a single poppy there Droops her tired head, a faded flower and fair, One poppy that the wandering breeze hath sown. Here be no roses, and thou lack'st the rose, No lilies fragrant in the lily bed ; One poppy in the bare untended close, Droops, and the sun is shrouded overhead ; The grey sea-mist upon the sea-wind blows, Chill j and methinks the summer-time is dead. lO A Star in the Night. The perfect piteous beauty of thy face Is like a star the dawning drives away" Mine eyes may never see in the bright day Thy pallid halo, thy supernal grace ; But in the night from forth the silent place Thou comest, dim in dreams, as doth a stray Star of the starry flock that in the grey Is seen, and lost, and seen a moment's space. And as the earth at night turns to a star, Loved long ago, and dearer than the sun, So in the spiritual place afar, At night our souls are mingled and made one, And wait till one night fall, and one dawn rise. That brings no noon too splendid for your eyes. ( II ) A Sunset on Yarrow. The wind and the day had lived together, They died together, and far away Spoke farewell in the sultry weather, Out of the sunset, over the heather, The dying wind and the dying day. Far in the south, the summer levin Flushed, a flame in the grey soft air : We seemed to look on the hills of heaven ; You saw within, but to me 'twas given To see your face, as an angel's, there. Never again, ah surely never Shall we wait and watch, where of old we stood, The low good-night of the hill and the river. The faint light fade, and the wan stars quiver, Twain grown one in the solitude. ( 12 ) A not hey IVay. Come to me in my dreams, and then, One saith, I shall be well again. For then the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day. Nay, come not thou in dreams, my sweet, With shadowy robes, and silent feet, And with the voice, and with the eyes That greet me in a soft surprise. Last night, last night, in dreams we met, And how, to-day, shall I forget, Or how, remembering, restrain Mine incommunicable pain ? ANOTHER WAY. 13 Nay, where thy land and people are, Dwell thou remote, apart, afar, Nor mingle with the shapes that sweep The melancholy ways of Sleep. But if, perchance, the shadows break, If dreams depart, if men awake, If face to face at length we see. Be thine the voice to welcome me. II. OLD RHYMES ( 17 ) With a Fairy Book. To E. A. C. Too late they come, too late for you, These old friends that are ever new, Enchanted in our volume blue, For you ere now have wandered o'er A world of tales untold of yore, And learned the later fairy-lore ! Nay, as within her briery brake The Sleeping Beauty did awake, Old tales may rouse them for your sake, And you once more may voyage through The forests that of old we knew, The fairy forests deep in dew. Where you, resuming childish things, Shall listen when the Blue Bird sings. And sit at feast with fairy Kings, c i8 WITH A FAIRY BOOK. And taste their wine, ere all be done, And face more welcome shall be none Among the guests of Oberon. Ay, of that feast shall tales be told, The marvels of that world of gold, To children young, when you are old. When you are old ! Ah, dateless " when," For youth shall perish among men, And Spring herself be ancient then ! ( 19 ) A Dialogue. Lui. Oh, have you found the Fount of Youth, Or have you faced the Fire of Kor? Or whence the form, the eyes, the mouth, The voice, the grace we praised of yore ? Ah, lightly must the years have sped, The long, the labour-laden years. That cast no snows upon your head, Nor dim your eyes with any tears ! And gently must the heart have beat. That, after many days, can send So soft, so kind a blush to greet The advent of so old a friend. Elle. Another tale doth it repeat, My mirror ; and it tells me true ! But Time, the thief of all things sweet, , Has failed to steal one grace ixom you. 20 A DIALOGUE. One touch of youth he cannot steal, One trait there is he leaves you yet ; The boyish loyalty, the leal Absurd, impossible regret ! These are the magic : these restore A phantom of the April prime, Show you the face you liked of yore. And give me back the thefts of Time 21 Martial in Town. Last night, within the stifling train, Lit by the foggy lamp o'erhead, Sick of the sad Last News, I read Verse of that joyous child of Spain, Who dwelt when Rome was waxing cold, Within the Roman din and smoke. And like my heart to me they spoke, These accents of his heart of old : — Brother, had we but time to live, Arid fleet the careless hours together, With all that leisure has to give Of perfect life and peaceful iveather, The Rich Maris halls, the anxious faces. The weary Forum, courts, and cases Should know us not ; but quiet nooks. But summer shade by field and zuell, But country rides, and talk of books, At home, with these, we fain would divell ! 22 MARTIAL IN TOWN. Now neither lives, but day by day Sees the suns wasting in the west, And feels their flight, and doth delay To lead the life he loveth best. So from thy city prison broke, Martial, thy wail for life misspent. And so, through London's noise and smoke My heart replies to the lament. For dear as Tagus with his gold, And swifter Salo, were to thee, So dear to me the woods that fold The streams that circle Fernielea ! ( 23 ) April on Tweed. As birds are fain to build their nest The first soft sunny day, So longing wakens in my breast A month before the May, When now the wind is from the West, And Winter melts away. The snow lies yet on Eildon Hill, But soft the breezes blow. If melting snows the waters fill. We nothing heed the snow. But we must up and take our will, — A fishing will we go ! Below the branches brown and bare, Beneath the primrose lea. The trout lies waiting for his fare, A hungry trout is he ; He's hooked, and springs and splashes there Like salmon from the sea ! 24 APRIL ON TWEED. Oh, April-tide's a pleasant tide, However times may fall, And sweet to welcome Spring, the Bride, You hear the mavis call; But all adown the water-side The Spring's most fair of all. ( 25 ) Tired of Towns. " When we spoke to her of the New Jerusalem, she said she would rather go to a country place in Heaven." — Letters from the Black Country. _ I'm weary of towns, it seems a'most a pity We didn't stop down i' the country and clem, And you say that I'm bound for another city, For the streets o' the New Jerusalem. And the streets are never like Sheffield, here, Nor the smoke don't cling like a smut to them ; But the water o' life flows cool and clear Through the streets o' the New Jerusalem. And the houses, you say, are of jasper cut, And the gates are gaudy wi' gold and gem ; But there's times I could wish as the gates was shut — The gates o' the New Jerusalem. 26 TIRED OF TOWNS. For I come from a country that's over-built Wi' streets that stifle, and walls that hem, And the gorse on a common's worth all the gilt And the gold of your New Jerusalem. And I hope that they'll bring me, in Paradise, To green lanes leafy wi' bough and stem — To a country place in the land o' the skies, And not to the New Jerusalem. ( 27 ) Scythe Song. Mowers, weary and brown, and blithe, What is the word methinks ye know, Endless over-word that the Scythe Sings to the blades of the grass below ? Scythes that swing in the grass and clover, Something, still, they say as they pass ; What is the word that, over and over, Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass ? Hush, ah hush, the Scythes are saying, Hush, and heed not, and fall asleep ; Hush, they say to the grasses swaying, Hush, they sing to the clover deep ! Hush — 'tis the lullaby Time is singing — Hush, and heed not, for all things pass. Hush, ah hush ! and the Scythes are swinging Over the clover, over the grass ! ( 28 ) Pen and htk. Ye wanderers that were my sires, Who read men's fortunes in the hand, Who voyaged with your smithy fires From waste to waste across the land, Why did you leave for garth and town Your life by heath and river's brink, Why lay your gipsy freedom down And doom your child to Pen and Ink ? You wearied of the wild-wood meal That crowned, or failed to crown, the day ; Too honest or too tame to steal You broke into the beaten way : Plied loom or awl like other men, And learned to love the guineas' chink — Oh, recreant sires, who doomed me then To earn so few — with Pen and Ink ! PEN AND INK. 29 Where it hath fallen the tree must lie. 'Tis over late for me to roam, Yet the caged bird who hears the cry Of his wild fellows fleeting home, May feel no sharper pang than mine, Who seem to hear, whene'er I think, Spate in the stream, and wind in pine, Call me to quit dull Pen and Ink. For then the spirit wandering, That slept within the blood, awakes ; For then the summer and the spring I fain would meet by streams and lakes ; But ah, my Birthright long is sold. But custom chains me, link on link, And I must get me, as of old. Back to my tools, to Pen and Ink. ( 30 ) A Dream. Why will you haunt my sleep ? You know it may not be, The grave is wide and deep, That sunders you and me ; In bitter dreams we reap The sorrow we have sown, And I would I were asleep, Forgotten and alone ! We knew and did not know. We saw and did not see. The nets that long ago Fate wove for you and me ; The cruel nets that keep The birds that sob and moan And I would we were asleep. Forgotten and alone ! The Singing Rose. " La Rose qui chante et I'herbe qui egare." White Rose on the grey garden wall. Where now no night-wind whispereth, Call to the far-off flowers, and call With murmured breath and rnusical Till all the Roses hear, and all Sing to my Love what the White Rose saith. White Rose on the grey garden wall That long ago we sung ! Again you come at Summer's call,— Again beneath my windows all With trellised flowers is hung, With clusters of the roses white Like fragrant stars in a green night. THE SINGING ROSE. Once more I hear the sister towers Each unto each reply, The bloom is on those limes of ours, The weak wind shakes the bloom in showers, Snow from a cloudless sky ; There is no change this happy day Within the College Gardens grey ! St. Mary's, Merton, Magdalen — still Their sweet bells chime and swing, The old years answer them, and thrill A wintry heart against its will With memories of the Spring — That Spring we sought the gardens through For flowers which ne'er in gardens grew ! For we, beside our nurse's knee, In fairy tales had heard Of that strange Rose which blossoms free On boughs of an enchanted tree. And sings like any bird ! And of the weed beside the way That leadeth lovers' steps astray ! In vain we sought the Singing Rose Whereof old legends tell, Alas ! we found it not 'mid those THE SINGING ROSE. 33 Within the grey old College close, That budded, flowered, and fell,— We found that herb called " Wanderin<^ " And meet no more, no more in Spring ! Yes, unawares the unhappy grass That leadeth steps astray. We trod, and so it came to pass That never more we twain, alas. Shall walk the self-same way. And each must deem, though neither knows, That neither found the Singing Rose ! ( 34 ) A Review in Rhyme. A LITTLE of Horace, a little of Prior, A sketch of a Milkmaid, a lay of the Squire — These, these are " on draught " " At the Sign of the Lyre ! " A child in Blue Ribbons that sings to herself, A talk of the Books on the Sheraton shelf, A sword of the Stuarts, a wig of the Guelph, A lai^ z. pantonm, a ballade^ a rondeau, A pastel t»y Greuze, and a sketch by Moreau, And the chimes of the rhymes that sing sweet as they go, A fan, and a folio, a ringlet, a glove, 'Neath a dance by Laguerre on the ceiling above. And a dream of the days when the bard was in love, A HE VIEW IN RHYME. 35 A scent of dead roses, a glance at a pun, A toss of old powder, a glint of the sun, They meet in the volume that Dobson has done ! If there's more that the heart of a man can desire. He may search, in his Swinburne, for fury and fire ; If he's wise— he'll alight " At the Sign of the Lyre ! " ( 36 ) Colmette. For a Sketch by Mr. G. Leslie, R.A. France your country, as we know ; Room enough for guessing yet, What lips now or long ago, Kissed and named you — Colinelte. In what fields from sea to sea, By what stream your home was set, Loire or Seine was glad of thee, Marne or Rhone, O Colinette ? Did you stand with maidens ten. Fairer maids were never seen, When the young king and his men Passed among the orchards green ? Nay, old ballads have a note Mournful, we would fain forget ; No such sad old air should float Round your young brows, Colinette. COLINETTE. 37 Say, did Ronsard sing to you, Shepherdess, to lull his pain, When the court went wandering through Rose pleasances of Touraine ? Ronsard and his favourite Rose Long are dust the breezes fret ; You, within the garden close, You are blooming, Colinette. Have I seen you proud and gay. With a patched and perfumed beau, Dancing through the summer day. Misty summer of Watteau ? Nay, so sweet a maid as you Never walked a minuet With the splendid courtly crew ; Nay, forgive me, Colinette. Not from Greuze's canvases Do you cast a glance, a smile ; You are not as one of these, Yours is beauty without guile. Round your maiden brows and hair Maidenhood and Childhood met Crown and kiss you, sweet and fair, New art's blossom, Colinette. ( 38 ) A Simset of IVatfemi. Lui. The silk sail fills, the soft winds wake, Arise and tempt the seas ; Our ocean is the Palace lake. Our waves the ripples that we make Among the mirrored trees. Elle. Nay, sweet the shore, and sweet the song, And dear the languid dream ; The music mingled all day long With paces of the dancing throng, And murmur of the stream. An hour ago, an hour ago. We rested in the shade ; And now, why should we seek to know What way the wilful waters flow ? There is no fairer glade. A SUNSET OF WATTE A U. 39 Lui. Nay, pleasure flits, and we must sail, And seek him everywhere ; Perchance in sunset's golden pale He listens to the nightingale, Amid the perfumed air. Come, he has fled ; you are not you. And I no more am I ; Delight is changeful as the hue Of heaven, that is no longer blue In yonder sunset sky. Elle. Nay, if we seek we shall not find. If we knock none openeth ; Nay, see, the sunset fades behind The mountains, and the cold night wind Blows from the house of Death. ( 40 ) Nightingale Weather. " Serai-je nonnette, oui ou non ? Serai-je nonnette ? je crois que non. Derriere chez mon pere II est un bois taillis, Le rossignol y chante Et le jour et la nuit. II chante pour les filles Qui n'ont pas d'ami ; II ne chant pas pour moi, J'en ai un, Dieu merci." — Old French. I'll never be a nun, I trow, While apple bloom is white as snow, But far more fair to see ; I'll never wear nun's black and white While nightingales make sweet the night Within the apple tree. Ah, listen! 'tis the nightingale,- And in the wood he makes his wail, Within the apple tree ; He singeth of the sore distress Of many ladies loverless ; Thank God, no song for me. NIGHTINGALE WEATHER. 41 For when the broad May moon is low, A gold fruit seen where blossoms blow In the boughs of the apple tree, A step I know is at the gate ; Ah love, but it is long to wait Until night's noon bring thee ! Between lark's song and nightingale's A silent space, while dawning pales, The birds leave still and free For words and kisses musical. For silence and for sighs that fall In the dawn, 'twixt him and me. ( 42 ) Love and Wisdom. "When last we gathered roses in the garden I found my wits, but truly you lost yours." The Broken Heart. July and June brought flowers and love To you, but I would none thereof, Whose heart kept all through summer time A flower of frost and winter rime. Yours was true wisdom — was it not ? Even love ; but I had clean forgot, Till seasons of the falling leaf, All loves, but one that turned to grief. At length at touch of autumn tide When roses fell, and summer died, All in a dawning deep with dew, Love flew to me. Love fled from you. The roses drooped their weary heads, I spoke among the garden beds ; You would not hear, you could not know, Summer and love seemed long ago, LOVE AND WISDOM. 43 As far, as faint, as dim a dream, As to the dead this world may seem. Ah sweet, in winter's miseries, Perchance you may remember this, How Wisdom was not justified In summer time or autumn tide, Though for this once below the sun, Wisdom and Love were made at one ; But Love was bitter-bought enough, And Wisdom light of wing as Love. { 44 ) Good-bye, Kiss me, and say good-bye ; Good-bye, there is no word to say but this, Nor any lips left for my lips to kiss, Nor any tears to shed, when these tears dry ; Kiss me, and say good-bye. Farewell, be glad, forget ; There is no need to say "forget," I know. For youth is youth, and time will have it so. And though your lips are pale, and your eyes wet, Farewell, you must forget. You shall bring home your sheaves, Many, and heavy, and with blossoms twined Of memories that go not out of mind ; Let this one sheaf be twined with poppy leaves When you bring home your sheaves. GOOD-BYE. 45 In garnered loves of thine, The ripe good fruit of many hearts and years, Somewhere let this lie, grey and salt with tears ; It grew too near the sea wind, and the brine Of life, this love of mine. This sheaf was spoiled in spring. And over-long was green, and early sere. And never gathered gold in the late year From autumn suns, and moons of harvesting, But failed in frosts of spring. Yet was it thine, my sweet, This love, though weak as young corn withered, Whereof no man may gather and make bread ; Thine, though it never knew the summer heat ; Forget not quite, my sweet. ( 46 ) An Old Prayer. Xa.7p4 fxoi, di $a(n\, XiKaaixevos iirirocrwdcov. Thou that on every field of earth and sky Didst hunt for Death, who seemed to flee and fear, How great and greatly fallen dost thou lie Slain in the Desert by some wandering spear : " Not here, alas ! " may England say, " not here Nor in this quarrel was it meet to die. But in that dreadful battle drawing nigh To thunder through the Afghan passes sheer, Like Aias by the ships shouldst thou have stood, And in some glen have stayed the stream of flight. The bulwark of thy people and their shield, When Indus or when Helmund ran with blood, Till back into the Northland and the Night The smitten Eagles scattered from the field." ( 74 ) Melville and Coghill. (The Place of the Little Hand.) Dead, with their eyes to the foe, Dead, with the foe at their feet. Under the sky laid low Truly their slumber is sweet, Though the wind from the Camp of the Slain Men blow, And the rain on the wilderness beat. Dead, for they chose to die When that wild race was run ; Dead, for they would not fly, Deeming their work undone, Nor cared to look on the face of the sky, Nor loved the light of the sun. Honour we give them and tears, And the flag they died to save, Rent from the rain of the spears, Wet from the war and the wave, Shall waft men's thoughts through the dust of the years, Back to their lonely grave ! ( 75 ) To Colonel Ian Hamilton. To you, who know the face of war, You, that for England wander far, You that have seen the Ghazis fly From English lads not sworn to die, You that have lain where, deadly chill, The mist crept o'er the Shameful Hill, You that have conquered, mile by mile. The currents of unfriendly Nile, And cheered the march, and eased the strain When Politics made valour vain, Ian, to you, from banks of Ken, We send our lays of Englishmen ! IV. SONNETS ( 79 ) Grass of Parnassus. Pale star that by the lochs of Galloway, In wet green places 'twixt the depth and height Dost keep thine hour while Autumn ebbs away, When now the moors have doffed the heather bright, Grass of Parnassus, flower of my delight, How gladly with the unpermitted bay — Garlands not mine, and leaves that not decay — How gladly would I twine thee if I might I The bays are out of reach ! But far below The peaks forbidden of the Muses' Hill, Grass of Parnassus, thy returning snow Between September and October chill Doth speak to me of Autumns long ago, And these kind faces that are with me still. ( So ) She. To H. R. H. Not in the waste beyond the swamps and sand, The fever-haunted forest and lagoon, Mysterious Kor thy walls forsaken stand, Thy lonely towers beneath the lonely moon, Not there doth Ayesha linger, rune by rune Spelling strange scriptures of a people banned. The world is disenchanted ; over soon Shall Europe send her spies through all the land. Nay, not in Kor, but in whatever spot, In town or field, or by the insatiate sea. Men brood on buried loves, and unforgot. Or break themselves on some divine decree. Or would o'erleap the limits of their lot. There, in the tombs and deathless, dwelleth SHE ! ( 8i ) Herodotus m Egypt. He left the land of youth, he left the young, The smiling gods of Greece ; he passed the isle Where Jason loitered, and where Sappho sung ; He sought the secret-founted wave of Nile, And of their old world, dead a weary while, Heard the priests murmur in their mystic tongue. And through the fanes went voyaging, among Dark tribes that worshipped Cat and Crocodile. He learned the tales of death Divine and birth. Strange loves of Hawk and Serpent, Sky and Earth, The marriage, and the slaying of the Sun. The shrines of gods and beasts he wandered through, And mocked not at their godhead, for he knew Behind all creeds the Spirit that is One. ( 82 ) Gerard de Nerval. Of all that were thy prisons — ah, untamed, Ah, light and sacred soul ! — none holds thee now ; No wall, no bar, no body of flesh, but thou Art free and happy in the lands unnamed, Within whose gates, on weary wings and maimed, Thou still wouldst bear that mystic golden bough The Sibyl doth to singing men allow, Yet thy report folk heeded not, but blamed. And they would smile and wonder, seeing where Thou stood'st, to watch light leaves, or clouds, or wind, Dreamily murmuring a ballad air. Caught from the Valois peasants ; dost thou find A new life gladder than the old times were, A love more fair than Sylvie, and as kind ? ( 83 ) Ronsard. Master, I see thee with the locks of grey, Crowned by the Muses with the laurel-wreath ; I see the roses hiding underneath, Cassandra's gift ; she was less dear than they. Thou, Master, first hast roused the lyric lay. The sleeping song that the dead years bequeath. Hast sung thine answer to the lays that breathe Through ages, and through ages far away. And thou hast heard the pulse of Pindar beat, Known Horace by the fount Bandusian ! Their deathless line thy living strains repeat, But ah, thy voice is sad, thy roses wan, But ah, thy honey is not honey-sweet. Thy bees have fed on yews Sardinian ! ( 84 ) Loves Miracle. With other helpless folk about the gate, The gate called Beautiful, with weary eyes That take no pleasure in the summer skies, Nor all things that are fairest, does she wait ; So bleak a time, so sad a changeless fate Makes her with dull experience early wise, And in the dawning and the sunset, sighs That all hath been, and shall be, desolate. Ah, if Love come not soon, and bid her live, And know herself the fairest of fair things, Ah, if he have no healing gift to give, Warm from his breast, and holy from his wing, Or if at least Love's shadow in passing by Touch not and heal her, surely she must die. ( 85 ) Dreams. He spake not truth, however wise, who said That happy, and that hapless men in sleep Have equal fortune, fallen from care as deep As countless, careless, races of the dead. Not so, for alien paths of dreams we tread, And one beholds the faces that he sighs In vain to bring before his daylit eyes, And waking, he remembers on his bed ; And one with fainting heart and feeble hand Fights a dim battle in a doubtful land Where strength and courage were of no avail ; And one is borne on fairy breezes far To the bright harbours of a golden star Down fragrant fleeting waters rosy pale. ( 86 ) Two Sonnets of the Sirens. " Les Sirenes estoient tant intimes amies et fiddles com. pagnes de Proseipine, qu'elles estoient toujours ensemble. Esmues du juste deuil de la parte de leur chere compagne, et enuyees jusques au desespoir, elles s'arresterent a la mer Sicilienne, ou par leurs chants elles attiroient les navigans, mais I'unique fin de la volupte de leur musique est la Mort." — PoNTUS DE Tyard, 1570. The Sirens once were maidens innocent That through the water-meads with Proserpine Plucked no fire-heated flowers, but were content Cool fritillaries and flag-flowers to twine, With lilies woven and with wet woodbine ; Till once they sought the bright ^tnsean flowers, And their glad mistress fled from summer hours With Hades, far from olive, corn, and vine. And they have sought her all the wide world through Till many years, and wisdom, and much wrong Have filled and changed their song, and o'er the blue Rings deadly sweet the magic of the song. And whoso hears must listen till he die Far on the flowery shores of Sicily. TWO SONNETS OF THE SIRENS. 87 So is it with this singing art of ours, That once with maids went maidenHke, and played With woven dances in the poplar-shade, And all her song was but of lady's bowers And the returning swallows, and spring flowers, Till forth to seek a shadow-queen she strayed, A shadowy land ; and now hath overweighed Her singing chaplet with the snow and showers. Yes, fair well-water for the bitter brine She left, and by the margin of life's sea Sings, and her song is full of the sea's moan, And wild with dread, and love of Proserpine ; And whoso once has listened to her, he His whole life long is slave to her alone. ( 88 ) A Nativity of Sandro Botticelli. With a Greek Inscription, " Wrought in the Troubles of Italy." " Wrought in the troublous times of Italy " By Sandro Botticelli, when for fear Of that Last Judgment, and last day drawing near To end all labour and all revelry. He toiled and prayed in silence. This is she That by the holy cradle sees the bier, And in spice gifts, the hyssop on the spear, And out of Bethlehem, Gethsemane. Between the gold sky and the green o'erhead The Angels, 'tired in green and white and red, Marvel upon her face, wherein combine The mother's love that shone on all of us, And maiden rapture that makes luminous The brows of Lucy and of Catherine. V. HESPEROTHEN By the example of certain Grecian mariners, who, being safely returned from the war about Troy, leave yet again their old lands and gods, seeking they know not what, and choosing neither to abide in the fair Phceacian island, nor to dwell and die with the Sirens, at length end miserably in a desert country by the sea, is set forth the Vanity of Melancholy. And by the land of Phaeacia is to be understood the place of Art and of fair Pleasures ; and by Circe's Isle, the place of bodily delights, whereof men, falling aweary, attain to Eld, and to the darkness of that age. Which thing Master Fran9oys Rabelais feigned, under the similitude of the Isle of the Macrajones. ( 91 ) The Seekers for Phceacia. There is a land in the remotest day, Where the soft night is born, and sunset dies ; The eastern shore sees faint tides fade away, That wash the lands where laughter, tears, and sighs Make life, — the lands below the blue of common skies. But in the west is a mysterious sea, (What sails have seen it, or what shipmen known ?) With coasts enchanted where the Sirens be, With islands where a Goddess walks alone, And in the cedar trees the magic winds make moan. Eastward the human cares of house and home, Cities, and ships, and unknown gods, and loves ; Westward, strange maidens fairer than the foam, And lawless lives of men, and haunted groves. Wherein a god may dwell, and where the Dryad roves. 92 THE SEEKERS FOR FH.-EACIA. The gods are careless of the days and death Of toilsome men, beyond the western seas The gods are heedless of their painful breath, And love them not, for they are not as these ; But in the golden west they live and lie at ease. Yet the Phaeacians well they love, who live At the light's limit, passing careless hours, Most like the gods ; and they have gifts to give. Even wine, and fountains musical, and flowers, And song, and if they will,swift ships,and magic powers. It is a quiet midland ; in the cool Of the twilight comes the god, though no man prayed, To watch the maids and young men beautifu 1 Dance, and they see him, and are not afraid, For they are near of kin to gods, and undismayed. Ah, would the bright red prows might bring us nigh The dreamy isles that the Immortals keep I But with a mist they hide them wondrously, And far the path and dim to where they sleep, — The loved, the shadowy lands, along the shadowy deep. ( 93 ) A Song of Phceacia. The languid sunset, mother of roses, Lingers, a light on the magic seas, The wide fire flames, as a flower uncloses. Heavy with odour, and loose to the breeze. The red rose clouds, without law or leader. Gather and float in the airy plain ; The nightingale sings to the dewy cedar. The cedar scatters his scent to the main. The strange flowers' perfume turns to singing, Heard afar over moonlit seas : The Sirens' song, grown faint in winging, Falls in scent on the cedar trees. As waifs blown out of the sunset, flying, Purple, and rosy, and grey, the birds Brighten the air with their wings ; their crying Wakens a moment the weary herds. 94 A SONG OF PH^ACIA. Butterflies flit from the fairy garden, Living blossoms of flying flowers ; Never the nights with winter harden, Nor moons wax keen in this land of ours. Great fruits, fragrant, green and golden, Gleam in the green, and droop and fall ; Blossom, and bud, and flower unfolden, Swing, and cling to the garden wall. Deep in the woods as twilight darkens, Glades are red with the scented fire ; Far in the dells the white maid hearkens, Song and sigh of the heart's desire. Ah, an-d as moonlight fad€s in morning. Maiden's song in the matin grey, Faints as the first bird's note, a warning, Wakes and wails to the new-born day. The waking song and the dying measure Meet, and the waxing and waning light Meet, and faint with the hours of pleasure, The rose of the sea and the sky is white. ( 95 ) The Departure from Phceacia. THE PHiEACIANS. Why from the dreamy meadows, More fair than any dream, Why seek ye for the shadows Beyond the ocean stream ? Through straits of storm and peril, Through firths unsailed before, Why make you for the sterile. The dark Kimmerian shore ? There no bright streams are flowing, There day and night are one, No harvest time, no sowing, No sight of any sun ; No sound of song or tabor. No dance shall greet you there ; No noise of mortal labour Breaks on the blind chill air. 56 THE DEPARTURE FROM PH/EACIA. Are ours not happy places, Where gods with mortals trod ? Saw not our sires the faces Of many a present god ? THE SEEKERS. Nay, now no god comes hither, In shape that men may see ; They fare we know not whither, We know not what they be. Yea, though the sunset lingers Far in your fairy glades, Though yours the sweetest singers, Though yours the kindest maids, Yet here be the true shadows. Here in the doubtful light ; Amid the dreamy meadows No shadow haunts the night. We seek a city splendid. With light beyond the sun ; Or lands where dreams are ended, And works and days are done. ( 97 ) A Ballad of Departure.' Fair white bird, what song art thou singing In wintry weather of lands o'er sea ? Dear white bird, what way art thou winging, Where no grass grows, and no green tree ? I looked at the far-off fields and grey. There grew no tree but the cypress tree, That bears sad fruits with the flowers of May, And whoso looks on it, woe is he. And whoso eats of the fruit thereof Has no more sorrow, and no more love ; And who sets the same in his garden stead, In a little space he is waste and dead. ' From the Romaic. H ( 98 ) They hear the Sirens for the Second Time. The weary sails a moment slept, The oars were silent for a space, As past Hesperian shores we swept, That were as a remembered face Seen after lapse of hopeless years, In Hades, when the shadows meet, Dim through the mist of many tears. And strange, and though a shadow, sweet. So seemed the half-remembered shore. That slumbered, mirrored in the blue. With havens where we touched of yore. And ports that over well we knew. Then broke the calm before a breeze That sought the secret of the west ; And listless all we swept the seas Towards the Islands of the Blest. l^HEY HEAR THE SIRENS. 99 Beside a golden sanded bay We saw the Sirens, very fair The flowery hill whereon they lay, The flowers set upon their hair. Their old sweet song came down the wind, Remembered music waxing strong, — Ah, now no need of cords to bind, No need had we of Orphic song. It once had seemed a little thing To lay our lives down at their feet. That dying we might hear them sing. And dying see their faces sweet ; But now, we glanced, and passing by, No care had we to tarry long ; Faint hope, and rest, and memory Were more than any Siren's song. lOO Circe s Isle revisited. Ah, Circe, Circe ! in the wood we cried ; Ah, Circe, Circe ! but no voice replied ; No voice from bowers o'ergrown and ruinous As fallen rocks upon the mountain side. There was no sound of singing in the air ; Faded or fled the maidens that were fair. No more for sorrow or joy were seen of us, No light of laughing eyes, or floating hair. The perfume, and the music, and the flame Had passed away ; the memory of shame Alone abode, and stings of faint desire, And pulses of vague quiet went and came. Ah, Circe ! in thy sad cliangcd fairy place. Our dead youth came and looked on us a space. With drooping wings, and eyes of faded fire. And wasted hair about a weary face. CIRCE'S ISLE REVISITED. loi Why had we ever sought the magic isle That seemed so happy in the days erewhile? Why did we ever leave it, where we met A world of happy wonders in one smile? Back to the westward and the waning light We turned, we fled ; the solitude of night Was better than the infinite regret, In fallen places of our dead delight. I02 ) TJic Liiuif of Lands. Between the circlina; ocean sea And the poplars of Persephone There Ues a strip of barren sand, Flecked with the sea's last spray, and strewn With waste leaves of the poplars, blown From gardens of the shadow land. With altars of old sacrifice The shore is set, in mournful wise The mists upon the ocean brood ; Betw^een the water and the air The clouds are born that float and fare Between the water and the wood. Upon the grey sea never sail Of mortals passed within our hail, Where the last weak waves faint and flow ; We heard within the poplar pale The murmur of a doubtful wail Of voices loved so long ago. THE LIMIT OF LANDS. 103 We scarce had care to die or live, We had no honey cake to give, No wine of sacrifice to shed ; There lies no new path over sea, And now we know how faint they be, The feasts and voices of the dead. Ah, flowers and dance ! ah, sun and snow ! Glad life, sad life we did forego To dream of quietness and rest ; Ah, would the fleet sweet roses here Poured light and perfume through the drear Pale year, and wan land of the west. Sad youth, that let the spring go by Because the spring is swift to fly. Sad youth, that feared to mourn or love, Behold how sadder far is this, To know that rest is nowise bUss, And darkness is the end thereof. VI. FROM THE FRENCH AND ROMAIC { I07 ) Hymn to the M^inds. THE WINDS ARE INVOKED BY THE WINNOWERS OF CORN, Du Bellay, 1550. To you, troop so fleet, That with winged wandering feet. Through the wide world pass, And with soft murmuring Toss the green shades of spring In woods and grass, Lily and violet I give, and blossoms wet, Roses and dew ; This branch of blushing roses. Whose fresh bud uncloses, Wind-flowers too. Ah, winnow with sweet breath, Winnow the holt and heath. Round this retreat ; Where all the golden morn We fan the gold o' the corn, In the sun's heat. ( io8 ) Moonlight. Jacques Tahureau. The high Midnight was garlanding her head With many a shining star in shining skies, And, of her grace, a slumber on mine eyes, And, after sorrow, quietness was shed. Far in dim fields cicalas jargoned A thin shrill clamour of complaints and cries ; And all the woods were pallid, in strange wise. With pallor of the sad moon overspread. Then came my lady to that lonely place. And, from her palfrey stooping, did embrace And hang upon my neck, and kissed me over ; Wherefore the day is far less dear than night, And sweeter is the shadow than the light. Since night has made me such a haf)py lover. ( I09 ) The Grave and the Rose. Victor Hugo. The Grave said to the Rose, " What of the de\vs of morn, Love's flower, what end is theirs ? " " And what of souls outworn, Of them whereon doth close The tomb's mouth unawares ? " The Rose said to the Grave. The Rose said, " In the shade From the dawn's tears is made A perfume faint and strange. Amber and honey sweet." "And all the spirits fleet Do suffer a sky-change, More strangely than the dew, To God's own angels new,'' The Grave said to the Rose. no A Vow to Heavenly Venus. Du Bellay. AVe that with Uke hearts love, we lovers twain, New wedded in the village by thy fane, Lady of all chaste love, to thee it is We bring these amaranths, these white lilies, A sign, and sacrifice ; may Love, we pray, Like amaranthine flowers, feel no decay ; Like these cool lilies may our loves remain, Perfect and pure, and know not any stain ; And be our hearts, from this thy holy hour, Bound each to each, like flower to wedded flower. Ill Of his Ladys Old Age. RONSARD. When you are very old, at evening You'll sit and spin beside the fire, and say, Humming my songs, *' Ah well, ah well-a-day ! When I was young, of me did Ronsard sing." None of your maidens that doth hear the thing, Albeit with her weary task foredone. But wakens at my name, and calls you one Blest, to be held in long remembering. I shall be low beneath the earth, and laid On sleep, a phantom in the myrtle shade, While you beside the fire, a grandame grey, My love, your pride, remember and regret ; Ah, love me, love ! we may be happy yet, And gather roses, while 'tis called to-day. 112 Shad 01V s of his Lady. Jacques Tahureau. With i x the sand of what far river lies The gold that gleams in tresses of my Love? AVhat highest circle of the Heavens above Is jewelled with such stars as are her eyes ? And where is the rich sea whose coral vies \Vith her red lips, that cannot kiss enough ? What dawn-lit garden knew the rose, whereof The fled soul lives in her cheeks' rosy guise? What Parian marble that is loveliest Can match the whiteness of her brow and breast ? When drew she breath from the .Sabaean glade ? Oh happy rock and river, sky and sea, Gardens, and glades Sabsean, all that be The far-off splendid semblance of my maid ! II' April. RfeMY Belleau, 1560. April, pride of woodland ways, Of glad days, April, bringing hope of prime, To the young flowers that beneath Their bud sheath Are guarded in their tender time ; April, pride of fields that be Green and free, That in fashion glad and gay. Stud with flowers red and blue. Every hue, Their jewelled spring array ; April, pride of murmuring Winds of spring. That beneath the winnowed air, Trap with subtle nets and sweet Flora's feet. Flora's feet, the fleet and fair ; 1,4 APRIL. April, by thy hand caressed, From her breast, Nature scatters everywhere Handfuls of all sweet perfumes, Buds and blooms, Making faint the earth and air. April, joy of the green hours, Clothes with flowers Over all her locks of gold My sweet Lady ; and her breast With the blest Buds of summer manifold. April, with thy gracious wiles, Like the smiles, Smiles of Venus ; and thy breatli Like her breath, the gods' delight, (From their height They take the happy air beneath ;) It is thou that, of thy grace. From their place In the far-off isles dost bring Swallows over earth and sea, Glad to be Messengers of thee, and Spring, APRIL. 115 Dafifodil and eglantine, And woodbine, Lily, violet, and rose Plentiful in April fair, To the air, Their pretty petals to unclose. Nightingales ye now may hear, Piercing clear. Singing in the deepest shade ; Many and many a babbled note Chime and float, Woodland music through the glade. April, all to welcome thee, Spring sets free Ancient flames, and with low breatli Wakes the ashes grey and old That the cold Chilled within our hearts to death. Thou beholdest in the warm Hours, the swarm Of the thievish bees, that flies Evermore from bloom to bloom For perfume. Hid away in tiny thighs. ii6 APRIL. Her cool shadows May can boast, Fruits almost Ripe, and gifts of fertile dew, Manna-sweet and honey-sweet, That complete Her flower garland fresh and new. Nay, but I will give my praise To these days, Named with the glad name of Her ^ That from out the foam o' the sea Came to be Sudden light on earth and air, ' Aphrodite — Avril. ( 117 ) An Old Ttine. Gerard de Nerval. There is an air for which I would disown Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies, — A sweet sad air that languishes and sighs, And keeps its secret charm for me alone. Whene'er I hear that music vague and old. Two hundred years are mist that rolls away ; The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold A green land golden in the dying day. An old red castle, strong with stony towers, The windows gay with many-coloured glass ; Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers. That bathe the castle basement as they pass. In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair, A lady looks forth from her window high ; It may be that I knew and found her fair, In some forgotten life, long time gone by. ( Ii8 Old Loves. Henri AIurgek. Louise, have you forgotten yet The corner of the flowery land, The ancient garden where we met. My hand that trembled in your hand ? Our lips found words scarce sweet enough, As low beneath the willow-trees We sat ; have you forgotten, love ? Do you remember, love Louise ? Marie, have you forgotten yet The loving barter that we made ? The rings we changed, the suns that set, The woods fulfilled with sun and shade ? The fountains that were musical By many an ancient trysting tree — Marie, have you forgotten all ? Do you remember, love Marie ? OLD LOVES. 119 Christine, do you remember yet Your room with scents and roses gay ? My garret — near the sky 'twas set — The April hours, the nights of May ? The clear cahii nights — the stars above That whispered they were fairest seen Through no cloud-veil ? Remember, love ! Do you remember, love Christine ? Louise is dead, and, well-a-day ! Marie a sadder path has ta'en ; And pale Christine has passed away In southern suns to bloom again. Alas ! for one and all of us — Marie, Louise, Christine forget ; Our bower of love is ruinous, And I alone remember yet. I20 A Lady of High Degree. I be pareld most of prise, I ride after the wild fee. Will ye that I should sing Of the love of a goodly thing, Was no villein's may ? 'Tis all of a knight so free, Under the olive tree, Singing this lay. Her weed was of samite fine, Her mantle of white ermine, Green silk her hose ; Her shoon with silver gay. Her sandals flowers of May, Laced small and close. Her belt was of fresh spring buds, Set with gold clasjijs and studs, Fine linen her shift ; Her purse it was of love, Her chain was the flower thereof, And Love's gift. A LADY OF HIGH DEGREE. 121 Upon a mule she rode, The selle was of brent gold, The bits of silver made ; Three red rose trees there were That overshadowed her, For a sun shade. She riding on a day, Knights met her by the way. They did her grace : " Fair lady, whence ye be ? " " France it is my countrie, I come of a high race. " My sire is the nightingale. That sings, making his wail. In the wild wood, clear ; The mermaid is mother to me, That sings in the salt sea, In the ocean mere." "Ye come of a right good race, And are born of a high place, And of high degree ; Would to God that ye were Given unto me, being fair, My lady and love to be." ( 122 ) laiiuoiila. Romaic Folk-song. All the maidens were merry and wed All to lovers so fair to see : The lover I took to my bridal bed He is not lone; for love and me. I spoke to him and he nothing said, I gave him bread of the wheat so fine ; He did not eat of the bridal bread, He did not drink of the bridal wine. I made him a bed was soft and deep, I made him a bed to sleep with me ; '• Look on me once before you sleep, And look on the flower of my fair body. " Flowers of April, and fresh May-dew, Dew of April and buds of May ; Two white blossoms that bud for you, Buds that blossom before the day." ( 123 ) The Milk-white Doe. French Volks-lied. It was a mother and a maid That walked the woods among, And still the maid went slow and sad, And still the mother sung. "What ails you, daughter Margaret? Why go you pale and wan ? Is it for a cast of bitter love, Or for a false leman ? " "It is not for a false lover That I go sad to see ; But it is for a weary life Beneath the greenwood tree. " For ever in the good daylight A maiden may I go, But always on the ninth midnight I change to a milk-white doe. 124 THE MILK-WHITE DOE. " They hunt me through the green forest With hounds and hunting men ; And ever it is my fair brother That is so fierce and keen." ***** " Good-morrow, mother." " Good-morrow, son ; Where are your hounds so good ? " " Oh, they are hunting a white doe Within the glad greenwood. " And three times have they hunted her, And thrice she's won away ; The fourth time that they follow her The white doe they shall slay." ***** Then out and spoke the forester, As he came from the wood, " Now never saw I maid's gold hair Among the wild deer's blood. " And I have hunted the wild deer In east lands and in west ; And never saw I white doe yet That had a maiden's breast." Then up and spake her fair brother, Between the wine and bread : " Behold I had but one sister, And I have been her dead. THE MILK-WHITE DOE. 125 " But ye must bury my sweet sister With a stone at her foot and her liead, And ye must cover her fair body With the white roses and red. " And I must out to the greenwood, The roof shall never shelter me ; And I shall lie for seven long years On the grass below the hawthorn tree." << VII. IN SILLY SOOTH " ( 129 ) The Melancholy Muses. A WEARY lot is his who longs For something bright in rhyme ; Men, women, children send me songs, Sepulchral or sublime. The songs are all of bale and blight ; Alas ! I do not need them, For almost every one can write, And nobody can read them ! Has merriment gone wholly out ? Have all the hearts been broken ? Must every mortal sing of doubt, From Peebles to Portsoken ? Men rhyme of penalties and pains, Forgetting joy and wassail ; The Muses dwell with stripes and chains In Bunyan's Doubting Castle. Ah, there have all the Pleasures fled, The Cupids all departed. The Muses that to dance we led, Light-footed and light-hearted ! K I30 THE MELANCHOLY MUSES. Will ne'er a Knight go blow the horn, And knock that Giant over, Dispel the dark, let in the morn, Give every Muse a lover? Sad maiden Muses, vowed to pain, Too long, perchance, they've tarried ; There never will be joy again Till every Muse is married ! Ijl An Aspiration. When we have cut each other's throats And robbed each other's land, And turned, and changed, and lost our coats, Till Progress is at stand ; When every " programme's " been gone through This good old world will wake anev/ ! When Science, Art, and Learning cease As Wealth and Commerce die — The children they of Wealth and Peace, With Peace and Wealth they fly- Then Ghosts will walk, and in their train Bring Old Religion back again. 132 AN ASPIRATION. When Hunger, War, and Pestilence Have run their ancient round ; When Law has long been banished hence ; When Hate has cleared the ground ; When men grown few, as once they were, Breathe uncontaminated air — Till then I fain would sleep, and then Be born in other days, A Hermit in some happy glen Where some clear river strays ; Nursed in some Faith — I know not, I — Wherein a man might live and die. Ah, early would I rise to pray. And early would I steal From Chapel, in the dawning grey, To earn the Friday's meal — A Monk who never dreamed of doubt, I'd catch uneducated trout ! A Priest where woman might not come, Nor any household care, A land where Newspapers were dumb From Scandal and from Scare — That Priest Fd be, that land I'd see. Would Fortune work my wish for me ! AN ASPIRATION. 133 O Buddha, if thy tale be true, Of still returning Life, A Monk may I be born anew In valleys far from strife — A Monk where Meggat winds and leaves The lone St. Mar}''s of the Waves.* * The ruined Chapel of Our Lady on St. Mary's Loch, at the head of Yarrow. " The lone St. Mary's of the Waves " is a charming line by Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. ( 134 ) Ballade of the Penitents. " Le repentir de leur premier choix les rend des Penitcns du Diable comme dit Tertullien." — Pascal, Pensees, 1672, p. 178. " Oh, who be ye thus doubtful led And listless through the glad array With languid look, with drooping head, In all this rout of ladies gay ? Ye walk with them, but not as they. Ye tarry sadly in their tents, Why fare ye thus half-hearted, say ? " — " We are St. Satan's Penitents ! " A straiter path we once would tread, Through wilds that knew not of the May; The loads that weighed on us like lead. We bore through thorns and sloughs of clay. No time had we to pause or play With music of glad instruments. But still we clambered : Well-a-day ! We are St. Satan's Penitents ! BALLADE OF THE PENITENIS. 135 " * The path is over steep,' we said, ' The rueful skies are ashen grey, And over harshly are we sped, Still upwards ! Ne'er a stop nor stay ! ' We cast our burdens all away. We fled adown the steep ascents, We were aweary of that way ; We are St. Satan's Penitents." Envov. Fair is the path, and bright the day, Where now we whisper our laments ; With backward glance we go astray, We are St. Satan's Penitents. ( 136 ) To Isaack Walton. Old Isaack, in this angry age of ours, This hungry, angry age, how oft of thee We dream, and thy divine tranquiUity, And all thy pleasure in the dewy flowers, The meads enamelled, and the singing showers. And shelter of the silvery willow-tree. By quiet waters of the river Lee ! Ah, happy hours ! we cry — ah, halcyon hours ! Yet thou, like us, hadst trouble for this realm Of England : for thy dear Church mocked and rent. Thy friends in beggary, thy monarch slain, But naught could thy mild spirit overwhelm. Ah, Father Isaack, teach us thy content When Time brings many a sorrow back again ! ( 137 ) Shameful Death. {The keeper speaks) The biggest trout in the brook ! His weight it was five pound clear, Never he'd wink at a hook,i If you fished for him half the year, And in summer he lay where a tall flag shook In the thin at the tail o' the weir. He did not die by the line, He did not fall to the fly, Not fishing far and fine On the stream where he used to lie, But six bait hooks and a ball o' twine Brought that Big Trout to die ! It was 'Arry from London town, A music-hall cad, and a fast ; 'Arry, and Moses Brown, As had served before the mast. With young George Smith, a clod-hopping clown, Killed that Big Trout at last ! 138 SHAMEFUL DEATH. It's a good long while since then, — I'm a little bit stiff or so, But last year I and my men, Down there, where the alders grow, Rolled 'Arry from town in the mud o' the fen, And kicked him, and let him go ! It's long since the Big Trout died. And my hair is mostly grey, But down by the water-side Mo bathed, on a Sabbath day. And Lor', sir, I laughed till I nearly cried, For we tuk his clothes away ! ( '39 ) The Salnio Irritans. A MOST accommodating fish Is he who lies in stream or pot, Who rises frequent as you wish At Silver Doctor or Jock Scott Or any other fly you've got In all the piscatory clans ; You strike, but ah ! you strike him not ; He is the Salmo Irritans. You give him the accustomed rest ; A quarter of an hour or so — And then you cast your very best, Your heart is throbbing, loud or low. He rises with a splendid show Of silver sides and fins like fans, Perchance you think you've got him ? No ! He is the Salmo Irritans. I40 THE SALMO IRRITANS. You leave him till the eventide, When wandering on by dub and pool A score of other casts you've tried, All fruitless and all beautiful ; But he still rises, calm and cool, Who is not yours, nor any man's ! He leaves you looking like a fool ; He is the Salmo Irritans. Prince, wherefore comes he always short. This demon whom the angler bans ? This is his selfish view of sport, He is the Salmo Irritans I ( HI ) A Song of Life and Golf. The thing they ca' the stimy o't, I find it ilka where ! Ye 'maist lie deid — an unco shot — Anither's ba' is there ! Ye canna win into the hole, However gleg ye be, And aye, where'er ma ba' may roll, Some limmer stimies me ! Chorus — Somebody stimying me, Somebody stimying me, The grass may grow, the ba' may row, Some limmer stimies me ! I lo'ed a lass, a bonny lass. Her lips an' locks were reid ; Intil her heart I couldna pass : Anither man lay deid ! He cam' atween me an' her heart, I turned wi' tearfu' e'e, I couldna loft him, I maun part, The limmer stimied me ! 142 A SONG OF LIFE AND GOLF. I socht a kirk, a bonny kirk, Wi' teind, an' glebe, an' a' ; A bonny yaird to feed a stirk, An' links to ca' the ba' ! Anither lad he cam' an' fleeched — A Convartit U.P. — An' a' in vain ma best I preached. That limmer stimied me ! It's aye the same in life an' gowf, I'm stimied, late an' ear' ; This world is but a weary howf, I'd fain be itherwhere. But whan auld Deith wad hole ma corp, As sure as Deith ye'll see Some coof has played the moudiewarp, Rin in, an' stimied me ! Chorus {if thought desirable). ( 143 ) The Old Love and the New. How oft I've watched her footstep glide Across th' enamelled plain, And deemed she was the fairest bride And I the fondest swain ! How oft with her I've cast me down Beneath the odorous limes, How often twined her daisy crown, In the glad careless times ! By that old wicket ne'er we meet Where still we met of yore. But I have found another sweet Beside the salt sea-shore : With sea- daisies her locks I wreathe, With sea-grass bind her hands. And salt and sharp's the air we breathe Beside the long sea-sands ! 144 THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW. Mine old true love had eyes of blue, And Willow I was her song ; Sea-green her eyes, my lady new, And of the East her tongue. And she that's worsted in the strife, A southland lass is she ; But she that's won — the Neuk o' Fife, It is her ain countrie ! No more the old sweet words we call, These kindly words of yore, — "Over!" "Hardin!" "Leg-bye!" "No ball!" Ah, now we say " Two more ; " And of the " Like" and " Odd" we shout. Till swains and maidens scoff; " The fact is. Cricket's been bowled out By that eternal Golf ! " ( 145 ) Disilhtsions of Astronomy. I ONCE took delight In the Meteorite ; I was eager his passage to scan, For I said, " From some far And mysterious star He is bearing his message to Man. " In sidereal showers There is metal like ours ; They have iron, and therefore have wars ; It is easy to think They may be on the brink Of a social convulsion in Mars." So I followed the flight Of the Meteorite ; I was eager his journey to scan. For I deemed that he came On his pathway of flame For the edification of Man. 146 DISILLUSIONS FROM ASTRONOMY. But, alas ! I have read That his journey is sped From the Earth, as she once was of yore, When the globe was red-hot, And Vesuvius shot Stones at six miles a second or more. From Vesuvius' cup There were rocks that flew up, Out of gravity's reach ; now they fall Which accounts for the flight Of the Meteorite, As I read in Astronomer Ball. So he brings us no news From the stars we peruse, Or in hope, or in terror survey ; He is only a stone From the world that was thrown When the Earth was an infant at play. He conveyed us no germs Of a?noebce, or worms, As Sir William conjectured of yore ; Whence he came doth he fall. Thinks Astronomer Ball : life's a mystery, much as before. DISILLUSIONS FROM ASTRONOMY. 147 And the creeds that come down, With a smile or a frown, To the Earth, from the world's walls of flame : Are they guesses and fears, That flew up to the spheres. And return to the hearts whence they came ? So Dame Science avers ; But these fancies of hers, They are vague as the wandering breeze, And concerning the flight Of the Meteorite, And the rest— I'll beheve what I please. { 148 ) Tout finit par des Chansons. (Ballade en guise de Rondeau.) All ends in song ! Dame Nature toiled In stellar space, by land, by sea. And many a monstrous thing she spoiled, And many another brought to be ; Strange brutes that sprawled, strange stars that flee, Or flare the steadfast signs among : What profit thence— to you or me ? All ends in song ! All ends in song ! But Nature moiled And brought forth Man, who deems him free, Who dreams 'twas his own hand embroiled The tangles of his destiny : Who fashioned empires,— who but he ?— Who fashioned gods, a motley throng : They fall, they fade by Time's decree,— All ends in song ! TOUT FINIT PAR DES CHANSONS. 149 All ends in song ! We strive, are foiled, Are broken-hearted, — even we : Where that old sinful snake is coiled We shake the knowledgeable tree, We listen to the serpent's plea, "As Gods shall ye know Right and Wrong," — • And this is all the mystery, — " All ends in song ! " Envoy. Muse, or in sooth or mockery, Or brief of days, or lasting long, Our love, or hate, or gloom, or glee All ends in song ! ( ISO ) To Daniel Elzevir. (From the Latin of Menage.) What do I see ! Oh gods divine And goddesses — this Book of mine, — This child of many hopes and fears, — Is published by the Elzevirs ! Oh perfect Publishers complete ! Oh dainty volume, new and neat ! The Paper doth outshine the snow, The Print is blacker than the crow, The Title-Page, with crimson bright. The vellum cover smooth and white. All sorts of readers do invite, Ay, and will keep them reading still. Against their will, or with their will ! Thus what of grace the Rhymes may lack The Publisher has given them back. As Milliners adorn the fair Whose charms are something skimp and spare. Oh dulce decus, Elzevirs ! The pride of dead and dawning years, TO DANIEL ELZEVIR. 151 How can a poet best repay The debt he owes your House to-day ? May this round world, while aught endures, Applaud, and buy, these books of yours May purchasers incessant pop. My Elzevirs, within your shop, And learned bards salute, with cheers, The volumes of the Elzevirs, Till your renown fills earth and sky, Till men forget the Stephani, And all that Aldus wrought, and all Turnebus sold in shop or stall, While still may Fate's (and Binders') shears Respect, and spare, the Elzevirs ! ( 152 ) The Last Chance. Within the streams, Pausanias saith, That down Cocytus valley flow, Girdling the grey domain of Death, The spectral fishes come and go ; The ghosts of trout flit to and fro. Persephone, fulfil my wish, And grant that in the shades below My ghost may land the ghosts of fish. viir. THE LITTLE GARLAND ( '55 ) Archias of Byzantium. Sea Dirge. Crushed by the waves upon the crag was I, Who still must hear these waves among the dead, Breaking and brawling on the promontory, Sleepless ; and sleepless is my weary head ! For me did strangers bury on the coast Within the hateful hearing of the deep. Nor Death, that lulleth all, can lull my ghost. One sleepless soul among the souls that sleep ! ( 156 ) Philodemus of Gadara. The Age of Wisdom. " I HAVE loved ! " " And who hath not ? " " Have revelled!" "And who Is untaught in the rites of the revel?" "Nay, more, I've been frenzied ! " " And who but God taught thee to do What thou didst?" "Well, 'tis gone, and the lovelocks are hoar ! " " The grey locks are heralds of wisdom, we played In the season for play, it is over and past ; And now that it's ended, let's all, undismayed, Take the teaching of Time, and be sober at last ! " ( 157 ) Paulus Silentiarius. Cleophantis. Cleophantis is late, and the third lamp I lighted In the socket is sobbing and wasting away, Ah, would that the flame of the heart unrequited Might fade with the love lamp, and die ere the day ! Ah, would that I burned not in fruitless desires. But by Cypris she swore that e'er Hesper began To flood the soft night with his amorous fires, She would come ; nay, she recks not of God nor of man ! ( 158 ) Uncertain. NiC ARETE. She that of old spun with Athene wise, Nicarete, Hath burned her looms and webs in sacrifice, Cypris, to thee ! "Begone ! " she cries, "ye starveling works that wasted Our flower in spring," And garlands hath she ta'en, and lyre, and hasted With them that sing : And merrily she lives in love and pleasure, And still a tithe Of all her gain she vows, in honest measure, To Cypris blythe ! ( 159 ) Leonidas of Tarentum. The Spinning Woman. Morning and evening, sleep she drove away, Old Platthis, — warding hunger from the door, And still to wheel and distaff hummed her lay Hard by the gates of Eld, and bent and hoar : Plying her loom until the dawn was grey, The long course of Athene did she tread : With withered hand by withered knee she spun Sufficient for the loom of goodly thread, Till all her work and all her days were done. And in her eightieth year she saw the wave Of Acheron, — old Platthis, — kind and brave. ( i6o ) From Diotimus {or Leonidas). The hapless rattle from the hill-side came, Late, and self-herded, beaten on by snow, But ah, the herdsman sleepeth, where the flame Of heaven beneath the oak-tree laid him low. ( i6i ) Calliniachiis. Heraclitus. One told me, Heraclitus, of thy fate ; He brought me tears, he brought me memories, Alas, my Carian friend, how oft, how late. We twain have talked the sun adown the skies, And somewhere thou art dust without a date ! But of thy songs Death maketh not his prize. In Death's despite, that stealeth all, they wait, The new year's nightingale that never dies ! M ( l62 ) Antipatcr of Sidon. Gifts. Three maidens, Pallas, give their gifts to thee. The slender woof can they like spiders spin Demo her basket brings, Arsinoe The distaff whence the thread falls fine and thin, And Bacchylis the shuttle that doth sing A busy nightingale among the thread. For pure, and far from every shameful thing, These maidens maidenly would win their bread ! ( i63 ) Anonynnoits. Changeful Beauty. Whether I find thee bright with fair, Or still as bright with raven hair ; ^Vith equal grace thy tresses shine, Ah, queen, and Love will dwell divine In these thy locks, on that far day. When gold or sable turns to grey ! ( i64 ) Agathias. Rhodanthe. Weeping and wakeful all the night I lie, And with the dawn the grace of sleep is near, But swallows flit about me with their cry. And banish drowsihead and bring the tear. Mine eyes must still be weeping, for the dear Thought of Rhodanthe stirs in memory ; Ye chattering foes have done ! it was not I Who silenced Philomel : go, seek the sheer Clefts of the hills, and wail for Itylus Or clamour from the hoopoe's craggy nest, But let sweet sleep an hour abide with us, Perchance a dream may come, and we be blest, A dream may make Rhodanthe piteous, And bring us to that haven of her breast. ( i65 ) AntiphilMs. The Prophet. I KNEW it in your childish grace The dawning of Desire, " Who lives," I said, " will see that face Set all the world on fire ! " They mocked ; but Time has brought to pass The saying over-true ; Prophet and martyr now, alas, I burn for Truth, — and you ! ( i66 ) Poinpeiits. Lais. Lais that bloomed for all the world's delight, Crowned with all love lilies, the fair and dear, Sleeps the predestined sleep, nor knows the flight Of Helios, the gold-reined charioteer : Revel, and kiss, and love, and hate, one Night Darkens, that never lamp of Love may cheer ! ( i67 ) Meleager. Clearista. For Deatli, not for Love, hast thou Loosened thy zone ! Fkites filled thy bower but now, Morning brings moan ! Maids round thy bridal bed Hushed are in gloom, Torches to Love that led Light to the tomb ! ( i68 ) Lconidas of Tarcntuni. The Fishf.rman's Tomh. Theris the Old, the waves that harvested More keen than birds that labour in the sea, With spear and net, by shore and rocky bed, Not with the well-manned galley laboured he ; Him not the star of storms, nor sudden sweep Of wind with all his years hath smitten and bent, But in his hut of reeds he fell asleep. As fades a lamp when all the oil is spent : This tomb nor wife nor children raised, but we His fellow-toilers^ fishers of the sea. ( i69 ) Meleager. Of his Death. Ah Love, my Master, hear me swear By all the locks of Timo's hair, By Demo, and that fragrant spell Wherewith her body doth enchant Such dreams as drowsy lovers haunt. By Ilias' mirth delectable. And by the lamp that sheds his light On love and lovers all the night. By those, ah I^ove, I swear that thou Hast left me but one breath, and now Upon my lips it fluttereth, Yet this I'll yield, my latest breath, Even this, oh T.ove, for thee to Death. ( I70 RjtfiilUS. Rhodope. Thou hast Hera's eyes, thou hast Pallas' hands, And the feet of the Queen of the yellow sands, Thou hast beautiful Aphrodite's breast, Thou art made of each goddess's loveliest ! Happy is he who sees thy face, Happy who hears thy words of grace, And he that shall kiss thee is half divine, But a god who shall win that heart of thine ! ( 171 ) Asclepiades. To A Girl. Believe me, love, it is not good To hoard a mortal maidenhood ; In Hades thou wilt never find, Maiden, a lover to thy mind ; Love's for the living ! presently Ashes and dust in death are we ! ( 172 ) Meleager. To THE Ships. O GENTLE ships that skim the seas, And cleave the strait where Helle' fell, Catch in your sails the Northern breeze. And speed to Cos, where she doth dwell, My Love, and see you greet her well ! And if she looks across the blue. Speak, gentle ships, and tell her true, " He comes, for Love hath brought him back, No sailor, on the landward tack." If thus, oh gentle ships, ye do, Then may ye win the fairest gales, And swifter speed across the blue. While Zeus breathes friendly on your sails. ( 173 ) Antipater of Sidon. Sappho. Sappho thou coverest, ^Eolian land ! The Muse who died, Who with the deathless Muses, hand in hand, Sang, side by side ! Sappho, at once of Cypris and of Love The child and care ; Sappho, that those immortal garlands wove For the Muses' hair ! Sappho, the joy of Hellas, and thy crown, — Ye Sisters dread. Who spin for mortals from the distaff down The threefold thread. Why span ye not for her unending days, Unsetting sun. For her who wrought the imperishable lays Of Helicon ? 174 ) Antipater of Sidon. Erinna. Brief is Erinna's song, her lowly lay, Yet there the Muses sing ; Therefore her memory doth not pass away, Hid by Night's shadowy wing ! But we, — new countless poets, — heaped and hurled All in oblivion lie ; Better the swan's chant than a windy world Of rooks in the April sky ! ( I7S ) Panliis Silentiarius. A Late Convert. I THAT in youth had never been The servant of the Paphian Queen, I that in youth had never felt The shafts of Eros pierce and melt, Cypris ! in later age, half grey, I bow the neck to thee to-day. Pallas, that was my lady, thou Dost more triumphant vanquish now. Than when thou gained'st, over seas. The apple of the Hesperides. ( 176 ) The Li 111 it of Life. Thirty-six is the term that the prophets assign, And the students of stars, to the years that are mine ; Nay, let thirty suffice, for the man who hath passed Thirty years is a Nestor, and he died at last ! ( 177 ) Cymagoras. Winter Roses. Of old we roses bloomed in spring. To-day our crimson cups we bring, In deep midwinter opening. To this thy birthday have we sped, That brings thee near thy bridal bed. Better to die thus garlanded, To perish ere the spring's begun, About thy brows, thou fairest one. Than live and see the April sun. N ( 178 ) Leonidas. The Wayside Well, Not where the sultry pool is fouled by sheep Drink, wayfarer ; but climb a little way, By yonder pastoral pine above the steep, The grassy hillock where the heifers stray : There shalt thou find the snow-cold springs that leap Forth from the rock, and babble through the day. ( 179 ) Moero. To THE Nymphs. Nymphs of Anigrus, daughters of the wave, Whose rosy feet still tread these deeps divine, Hail ye ! and help Cleonymus, who gave Your statues, Goddesses, beneath the pine. ( i8o ) Anonymoits. The Talisman. The wryneck, bird of Nico, that of old Had magic to draw lovers over sea, Or girls from bridal bowers, bedecked with gold, Carved in clear amethyst, I give to thee, Cypris, a talisman that shall be thine ; And bound about its middle is a tress Of purple lambs'-wool, soft and dainty fine, Gift of the Larisssean sorceress. ( i8i ) Anyte. To Pan and the Nymphs. To farmyard nymphs and to the bristly Pan, This gift gave Theudotos, for in the heat They stayed him once, an over-wearied man, And in their hands brought water honey-sweet. ( 182 ) Zonas. To Demeter and the Hours. To Deo of the Fan, to you Whose feet are in the furrows set, Fair Hours, Heronax gives his due. Little hath he, and less ye get : A {^^ ears from the threshing floor. And, on a tripod, scattered seed Scant from the scanty \ slender store Wins he from barren mountain mead. ( i83 ) GcEtulicUS. To Aphrodite of the Fair Voyage. Goddess of the shores, to thee Cakes and tiny gifts I bring, Who shall tempt the Ionian sea, O'er the wide wave voyaging. To Eidothea sail I fast, Shine thou then with kindly power On my love as on my mast, Queen of beach and bridal bower. ( i84 ) Asclepiades. To THE Sea. FathOiMS five keep thou from me, High wash of the stormy sea. There by day, and there by night, Roar and rage with all thy might. If this grave of Eumares Be invaded by the seas, Little wealth they'll find therein — Dust and bones are all they'll win. ( 18S ) Anonymous. Telling the Bees. Naiads, and ye pastures cold, When the bees return with spring. Tell them that Leucippus old Perished in his hare-hunting, Perished on a winter night. Now no more shall he delight In the hives he used to tend, But the valley and the height Mourn a neighbour and a friend. { i86 ) Asclepiades, Dewy Garlands. There hang, my garlands, by her gate, My love's gate wreathing o'er : Nor cast your blossoms now, but wait Until she opes the door ; Then, dank with dew love's eyes have shed, Fall, petals drenched in brine. That so, at least, her golden head May drink these tears of mine. ( i87 ) Me/eager. Heliodore. Pour wine, and cry, again, again, again. To Heliodore! And mingle the sweet word ye call in vain With that ye pour : And bring to me her wreath of yesterday. That's dank with myrrh ; Hesteniae Rosae, ah, my friends, but they Remember her, Lo ! the kind roses, loved of lovers, weep, As who repine ; For if on any breast they see her sleep, It is not mine. ( 188 ) A Good-night. MoERis kissed me her good-night, Did I dream it, did she kiss ? All the rest I know aright, All she did and said, but this ; Did she really kiss me, though ? That I doubt, the rest is plain, Did I dwell with Gods, who go Mortal, now, on earth again ? { i89 ) Meleager. Heliodore dead. Tears for my lady dead^ Heliodore ! Salt tears and ill to shed, Over and o'er. Tears for my lady dead, Sighs do we send, Long love remembered, Mistress and friend. Sad are the songs we sing, Tears that we shed. Empty the gifts we bring, Gifts to the dead. Go tears, and go lament ! Fare from her tomb, Wend where my lady went, Down through the gloom. Ah, for my flower, my love, Hades hath taken ! 19° HELIODORE DEAD. Ah for the dust above, Scattered and shaken ! Mother of all things born, Earth, in thy breast, Lull her that all men mourn, Gently to rest ! HRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCI.ES, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. tt?nxio«iic - J1JL291980 Drm L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 PR _lang-^ 4876 Grass of Parnasus G76 1892 3 1158 00611 2147 uc SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 367 185 6 PR 4876 G76 I892 \ -f / \ i'HJb. lAHHARY