A. LANC XXII Ballades in Blue diina SouU.' j>M LONDON KEGAN l>AU?, ^vCO., i, PATERNOSTER SQUAKK MDCCCLXXX ^LkJ^AJe/^ Jl BALLADE OF XXII BALLADES. Friend, when yoii bear a carc-diilled eye, And brozu perplexed tvith tilings of weight. And fain wotdd bid some charm tmtie The bonds that hold you all too strait, Behold a solace to your fate, Wrapped in this cover's china blue ; These ballades fresh and delicate. This dainty troop of twenty-two ! The mind, unwearied, longs to fly And commune with the wise and great ; But that same ether, 7-are and high. Which glonfles its 'worthy mate. To breath forspent is disparate : Laughing a7td light and ai)y-new These come to tickle the dull pate. This dainty troop of twenty-tzvo. A BALLADE. Most luelcome then, xuhen you and I, Forestalling days for 7nirth too late. To quips a7id cranks and fantasy Some choice half-hour dedicate. They weave their dance loith measured rate Of rhymes enlinked in order due. Till froivns relax and cares abate, This dainty troop of twenty -two. Envoy. Princes, of toys that please your state Quainter are surely none to view Than these which pass zvith tripping gait. This dainty troop of twenty-two. XXII BALLADES IN BLUE CHINA A. LANG XXII Ballades in Blue China Tout Soullas LONDON C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., i, PATERNOSTER SQUARE MDCCCLXXX ISAAC FOOT LIBRARY " Rondearcx, Ballades, Chansons, dizains, firopos 7nenus, Cotnpte tnoy gu'ilz sont de-jenuz : Sefaict il plus rien de nouveau ? " Clement Marot, Dialogue de deux Antoureux. "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 IVinie/s Tale, Act iv. sc- 3. LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BARBARA TO AUSTIN DOBSON. CONTENTS. Page Ballade of Theocritus 9 Ballade of Cleopatra's Needle . . . . 1 1 Ballade of Roulette 13 Ballade of Sleep 15 Ballade of the Midnight Forest . . , . 18 Ballade of the Tweed 21 Ballade of the Book-hunter 23 Ballade of the Voyage to Cythera ... 25 Ballade of the Summer Term .... 28 Ballade of the Muse 30 Ballade against the Jesuits 32 Ballade of Dead Cities 34 Ballade of the Royal Game of Golf . . 36 Double Ballade of Primitive Man ... 38 Ballade of Autumn 41 Ballade of True Wisdom 43 Ballade of Worldly Wealth 45 vi CONTENTS. Page Ballade of Life 47 Ballade of Blue China 49 Ballade of Dead Ladies 51 Ballade of Villon 53 Ballade of his Choice of a Sepulchre . . 55 Dizain 57 VERSES AND TRANSLATIONS. A Portrait of 1783 61 The Moon's Minion 64 In Ithaca 65 Homer 67 The Burial of Moliere 68 Bion 69 Spring 70 Before the Snow 71 Villanelle 72 The Mystery of Queen Persephone . . 74 Ideal 79 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 Helike, 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 mstic lore, They watch the wind among the wheat: XXII BALLADES 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. Theocritus ! thou canst restore The pleasant years, and over-fleet ; With thee we live as men of yore, We rest where mnning waters meet : And then we turn unwilling feet And seek the world — so must it be — We may not linger in the heat Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea ! 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 ! IN BLUE CHINA. BALLADE OF CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE. Ye giant shades of Ra and TuM, 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 W^alk'd Ramses, and the high sun kiss'd This stone, with blessing scored and ban- This monument in London mist. 2 XXII BALLADES 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 ? 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 ! IN BLUE CHINA. 13 BALLADE OF ROULETTE. This life — one was thinking 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 mampie be faded romances. He 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 ! A 14 XXII BALIADES The Kaiser will stake his array Of sabi-es, of Krupps, and of lances ; An Englishman punts with his pay, And glory 'Ct\Q.jeto7i 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 ? 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. IN BLUE CHINA. 15 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 Are mingled here and wed, And bring no drowsihed. 1 6 XXII BALLADES 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 labom-ed With service sung and said ; Have cuU'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 ? Prince, ere the dark be shred By golden shafts, ere low IN BLUE CHINA. 17 And long the shadows creep: Lord of the wand of lead, Soft-footed as the snow, Wilt thou not hear me, Sleep ! i8 XXII BALLADES 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. 'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite When now the wolds are bathed in silver light, 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. IN BLUE CHINA. 19 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 d\A'arf may be, The wild red dwarf, the nixies' enemy ; Then 'mid their mirth, and laughter, and affright, The sudden Goddess enters, tall and white, With one long sigh for summers pass'd away ; The swift feet tear the i\'y 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 roll'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. 20 XXII BALLADES 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. 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 loiips o'er linn and fa', They praise a' ither streams aboon ; They boast their braes o' bonny Doon : Gie mc 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'U see them take in showers o' snaw Some blinking, cauldrife April noon : Rax ower the palmer and march-broun, And syne we'll show a bonny creel, In spring or simmer, late or soon. By fair Tweed-side, at Ashiesteel ! 22 XXII BALLADES There's mony a water, gi-eat 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 fishing-shoon Between the Caddon-burn and Peel, And syne we'll 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 ! nV BLUE CHINA. 23 BALLADE OF THE BOOK-HUNTER. In toii-id 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. 24 XXII BALLADES 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 Spes ! But ah ! the fabled treasure flees ; Grown rarer with the fleeting years, In rich men's shelves they take their ease, Aldines, Bodonis, Elzevirs ! 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 ? m BLUE CHINA, 25 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." 26 XXII BALLADES 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 faiiy coast we M'ould explore. 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 Cj'pris smiled, the golden maid, the queen. And ruined is the palace of our state ; But 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 skiff's, where myrtle thickets smile ; Love's panthers sleep 'mid roses, as of yore : ' ' It may be we shall touch the happy isle ! " IN BLUE CHINA. 27 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 ! " 28 XXII BALIADES BALLADE OF THE SUMMER TERM. {Being a Petition, in the form of a Ballade, praying the University Commissioners to spare the Sttmmer Term.) When Lent and Responsions are ended, When May with 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. When Youth and the summer are mates, * Cf. " Suggestions for Academic Reorganization." IN BLUE CHINA. 29 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 ! 30 XXII BALLADES BALLADE OF THE MUSE. Qiievi til, Alelpomene, seinel. 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 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 ! LV BLUE CHINA. 31 The sons of queenly Rome count me, 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 ! 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? 32 XXII BALLADES 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'll gain it, one and all; The narrow path's a dream fantastical, And Amauld's quite superfluously driven Mirth from the world ! We'll 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 77iay do murder for five ducats gain. Not for a pin, a ribbon, or a peach ; He ventures (most consistently) to teach IN BLUE CHINA. 33 That there are certain cases that befall 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 unshriven ! To shun thy shafts, to 'scape thy hellish thrall, Escobar makes a primrose path to heaven ! c 34 XXII BALIADES 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 towTi 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 ; O'er these — left nameless from of old— As over Shinar's brick and slime, One vast forgetflilness is roU'd — Where are the cities of old time? IN BLUE CHINA. 35 The lapse of ages, and the rust, The fii'e, the frost, the waters cold, Efface the evil and the just ; From Thebes, that Eriphyle sold. To drown'd Caer-Is, whose sweet bells toU'd Beneath the wave a dreamy chime That echo'd from the mountain-hold, — ' ' Where are the cities of old time ? " 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. 36 XXII BALLADES BALLADE OF THE ROYAL GAME OF GOLF. (east fifeshire.) There are laddies will drive ye a ba' To the bum 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. And a lassie can putt — ony she, — Be she Magg)', or Bessie, or Jean, IN BLUE CHINA. 37 But a cleek-shot's the billy for me, Tak' aye tent to be up on the green ! I hae play'd in the frost and the thaw, I hae play'd since the year thirty-three, I hae play'd 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^ Tam Morris, I ken, will agree — Tak' aye tent to be up on the green ! 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 ! 38 XXII BALLADES DOUBLE BALLADE OF PRIMITWE 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 ; 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. IN BLUE CHINA. 39 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) 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man ! On the coasts that incessantly freeze. With his stones, and his bones, and his bows j 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, 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man ! From a status like that of the Crees, Our society's fabric arose, — Develop'd, evolved, if you please. But deluded chronologists chose, 40 XXII BALLADES 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, — his Not recent inclined to suppose Flints Paleolithic like these, Quaternaiy bones such as those ! In Rhinoceros, Mammoth and Co.'s, First epoch, the Human began, Theologians all to e^cpose, — "Tis the mission of Primitive Man. ENVOY. Max, proudly your Aryans pose. But their rigs they undoubtedly ran, For, as every Darwinian knows, 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man ! IN BLUE CHINA. 41 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 man'el 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 ! " 42 XXII BALLADES 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 on 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. IN BLUE CHINA. 43 BALLADE OF TRUE WISDOM. 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 v/ill slay, The maiden wild roses will wreathe for the Hours ; But the wise man will ask, ere libation he pay, Forahousefull of books, anda garden of flowers. 44 XXII BALIADES 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) ! O 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 huiTy, 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. IN BLUE CHINA. 45 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, Marches soldiers to and fro, Gaineth ladies with sweet eyes : These alone can ne'er bestow Youth, and health, and Paradise. 46 XXII BALLADES 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. IN BLUE CHINA. 47 BALLADE OF LIFE. Dead and gone,' — a sorry burden of the Ballad of Life." Deatk"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 Of the proud and mean, Of Judas and John, Of the foul and clean ? — ' ' They are dead and gone 1 " 48 XXII BALLADES 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 ! " J IN BLUE CHINA. 49 BALLADE OF BLUE CHINA. There's a joy without canker or cark, There's a pleasure eternally new, 'Tis 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 ol 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. D 50 XXII BALLADES 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 'Tis 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. IN BLUE CHINA. 51 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 ; 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 ? 52 XXII BALLADES 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 English 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 ? E?sVoy. Prince, all this week 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 ?" 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'll burn your fingers at the feat. And howl like other folks that fiy. All evil folks that love a lie ! And where goes gain that greed amasses. By wile, and trick, and thievery ? 'Tis all to taverns and to lasses ! Rhyme, rail, dance, play the cymbalo sweet, With game, and shame, and jollity, Go jigging through the field and street. With my s fry and morality ; Win gold at gleek, — and that will fly. Where all you gain aX passage passes, — And that's ? You know as v/ell as I, 'Tis all to taverns and to lasses ! 54 XXII BAILADES. Nay, forth from all such filth retreat, Go delve and ditch, in wet or dry, Turn groom, give horse and mule their meat, If you've no clerkly skill to ply ; You'll gain enough, with husbandry, But — sow henipseed and such wild gi^asses. And where goes all you take thereby ? — 'Tis all to taverns and to lasses ! ENVOY. Your clothes, your hose, your broideiy, Your linen that the snow surpasses. Or ere they're worn, off, off they fly, 'Tis all to taverns and to lasses ! IN BLUE CHINA. 55 BALLADE OF HIS CHOICE OF A SEPULCHRE, Here I'd come when weariest ! Here the breast Of the Windburg's tufted over Deep with bracken ; here his crest Takes the west, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover. Silent here are lark and plover ; In the cover Deep below the cushat best Loves his mate, and croons above her O'er their nest. Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover. Bring me here, Life's tired-out guest, To the blest Bed that waits the weary rover, 56 XXII BALLADES Here should failure be confessed ; Ends my quest, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover ! ENVOY. Friend, or stranger kind, or lover, Ah, fulfil a last behest, Let me rest Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover ! IN BLUE CHINA. 57 DIZAIN. As, to the pipe, with rhythmic feet In windings of some old-world dance. The smiling couples cross and meet, Join hands, and then in line advance. So, to these fair old tunes of France, Through all their maze of to-and-fro, The light-heeled numbers laughing go. Retreat, return, and ere they fee, One vioment pause in panting rozv. And seem to say — Vos plaudite ! A. D. VERSES AND TRANSLATIONS. Oronte. — Ce ne sont point de ces grands verspompeii.x. Mais de petit s vers .' "Le Misanthrope," Acte 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 Mei-iie dc Vhoinme, alone in May. What cafi it be, Le vrai merite de Vhomme ? Not gold. Not titles 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. 62 VERSES AND Dreaming beneath the spreadmg 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 folie, Par les Graces meme invente. ' A Julie.' Essais en Prose et en Vers, par Joseph Rouget de Lisle ; Paris. An. V. de la Republique. TRANSLA TIONS. 63 O head unfashionably 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 agan In '93- VERSES AND 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 ; 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 ! " TRANSLA TIONS. 65 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 ! 66 VERSES AND IN ITHACA. " And now am I greatly repenting that ever I left my life with thee, and the immortaHty thou didst promise me." — Letter of Odysseus to Calypso. Luciani Vera Historia. 'Tis thought Odysseus when the strife was o'er 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. TRANS LA TIONS. 67 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. 68 VEKSES AND 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, Moliere, 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 ! TRANSLATIONS. 69 BION. The wail of Moschus on the mountahis 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 alDout 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. 70 VERSES AND 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 daffodiUes 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 lilies set ; My Love, whose lips are softer far Than drowsy poppy petals are. And sweeter than the violet ! TRANSLA TIONS. 7 1 BEFORE THE SNOW. (after albert glatigny.) The winter is upon us, not the snow, The 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. 72 VERSES AND VILLANELLE. TO LUCIA. Apollo left the golden Muse And shepherded a mortal's sheep, Theocritus of Syracuse ! To mock the giant swain that woo's The sea-nymph in the sunny deep, Apollo left the golden Muse, He drove afield his lambs and ewes. Where Milon and where Battus reap, Theocritus of Syracuse ! To watch thy tunny-fishers craise Below the dim Sicilian steep Apollo left the golden Muse. Ye twain did loiter in the dews, Ye slept the swain's unfever'd sleep, Theocritus of Syracuse ! TRANS LA TIONS. 7 3 That Time might half with his confuse Thy songs, — like his, that laugh and leap, — Theocritus of Syracuse, Apollo left the golden Muse ! 74 VERSES AND THE MYSTERY OF QUEEN PERSEPHONE. St. Paul and the Devil disputing about the Immor- tality 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 sub- tlety, but is put to shame by the evidence of three witnesses, namely, Persephone, Hela, and St. Lucy. The Scene is Mount Gerizim. Intrabunt Sanctus Paidiis, et Diabolus, inter se de immortalitate Animae disputantes. SANCTUS PAULTTS. 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 scom ! Lo, if you cast in earth a seed That seemeth to be dead indeed, I wot ye shall have corn ; TRANSLA TIONS. 75 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. 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 ! 76 VERSES AND 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 cantabtmt ires Regina. 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. 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 TRANSLA TIONS. 77 They sorrow, but they shimber 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 gi-assy place, Therein the souls of blessed men Wait each, till comes his love again, To look upon her face ! 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. 78 VERSES AND Get thee to dungeon underground And sit beside thy man, Mahound. I wot I would ye twain were bound For evermore tlierein. Fti£[iat Diabolus ad locum stium. TRANSLATIONS. 79 IDEAL. Suggested by a female head in wax, ofiinknown date, but supposed to be either of the best Greek age, or a -work of Raphael or Leonardo. It is now in 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 Verrocchio 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, 8o VEESES AND TRANSLA TIONS. 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. THE END. CHISWICK press: — CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. f I THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DA STAMPED BELOW. ^ZQim 3 1205 02087 8607 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILIT A A 001 424 154