Ballads in Blue China and Verses and Translations [10]
by the fountain spray With Aucassin and Nicolette.
The grass-grown paths are trod of none Where through the woods they went astray. The spider's traceries are spun Across the darkling forest way. There come no knights that ride to slay, No pilgrims through the grasses wet, No shepherd lads that sang their say With Aucassin and Nicolette!
'Twas here by Nicolette begun Her bower of boughs and grasses gay; 'Scaped from the cell of marble dun 'Twas here the lover found the fay, Ah, lovers fond! ah, foolish play! How hard we find it to forget Who fain would dwell with them as they, With Aucassin and Nicolette.
ENVOY.
Prince, 'tis a melancholy lay! For youth, for love we both regret. How fair they seem, how far away, With Aucassin and Nicolette!
BALLADE AMOUREUSE. AFTER FROISSART.
Not Jason nor Medea wise, I crave to see, nor win much lore, Nor list to Orpheus' minstrelsies; Nor Her'cles would I see, that o'er The wide world roamed from shore to shore; Nor, by St. James, Penelope, - Nor pure Lucrece, such wrong that bore: To see my Love suffices me!
Virgil and Cato, no man vies With them in wealth of clerkly store; I would not see them with mine eyes; Nor him that sailed, sans sail nor oar, Across the barren sea and hoar, And all for love of his ladye; Nor pearl nor sapphire takes me more: To see my Love suffices me!
I heed not Pegasus, that flies As swift as shafts the bowmen pour; Nor famed Pygmalion's artifice, Whereof the like was ne'er before; Nor Oleus, that drank of yore The salt wave of the whole great sea: Why? dost thou ask? 'Tis as I swore - To see my Love suffices me!
BALLADE OF QUEEN ANNE.
The modish Airs, The Tansey Brew, The SWAINS and FAIRS In curtained Pew; Nymphs KNELLER drew, Books BENTLEY read, - Who knows them, who? QUEEN ANNE is dead!
We buy her Chairs, Her China blue, Her red-brick Squares We build anew; But ah! we rue, When all is said, The tale o'er-true, QUEEN ANNE is dead!
Now BULLS and BEARS, A ruffling Crew, With Stocks and Shares, With Turk and Jew, Go bubbling through The Town ill-bred: The World's askew, QUEEN ANNE is dead!
ENVOY.
Friend, praise the new; The old is fled: Vivat FROU-FROU! QUEEN ANNE is dead!
BALLADE OF BLIND LOVE. (AFTER LYONNET DE COISMES.)
Who have loved and ceased to love, forget That ever they loved in their lives, they say; Only remember the fever and fret, And the pain of Love, that was all his pay; All the delight of him passes away From hearts that hoped, and from lips that met - Too late did I love you, my love, and yet I shall never forget till my dying day.
Too late were we 'ware of the secret net That meshes the feet in the flowers that stray; There were we taken and snared, Lisette, In the dungeon of La Fausse Amistie; Help was there none in the wide world's fray, Joy was there none in the gift and the debt; Too late we knew it, too long regret - I shall never forget till my dying day!
We must live our lives, though the sun be set, Must meet in the masque where parts we play, Must cross in the maze of Life's minuet; Our yea is yea, and our nay is nay: But while snows of winter or flowers of May Are the sad year's shroud or coronet, In the season of rose or of violet, I shall never forget till my dying day!
ENVOY.
Queen, when the clay is my coverlet, When I am dead, and when you are grey, Vow, where the grass of the grave is wet, "I shall never forget till my dying day!"
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, Here should failure be confessed; Ends my quest, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover!
ENVOY.
Friend, or stranger kind, or lover,
The grass-grown paths are trod of none Where through the woods they went astray. The spider's traceries are spun Across the darkling forest way. There come no knights that ride to slay, No pilgrims through the grasses wet, No shepherd lads that sang their say With Aucassin and Nicolette!
'Twas here by Nicolette begun Her bower of boughs and grasses gay; 'Scaped from the cell of marble dun 'Twas here the lover found the fay, Ah, lovers fond! ah, foolish play! How hard we find it to forget Who fain would dwell with them as they, With Aucassin and Nicolette.
ENVOY.
Prince, 'tis a melancholy lay! For youth, for love we both regret. How fair they seem, how far away, With Aucassin and Nicolette!
BALLADE AMOUREUSE. AFTER FROISSART.
Not Jason nor Medea wise, I crave to see, nor win much lore, Nor list to Orpheus' minstrelsies; Nor Her'cles would I see, that o'er The wide world roamed from shore to shore; Nor, by St. James, Penelope, - Nor pure Lucrece, such wrong that bore: To see my Love suffices me!
Virgil and Cato, no man vies With them in wealth of clerkly store; I would not see them with mine eyes; Nor him that sailed, sans sail nor oar, Across the barren sea and hoar, And all for love of his ladye; Nor pearl nor sapphire takes me more: To see my Love suffices me!
I heed not Pegasus, that flies As swift as shafts the bowmen pour; Nor famed Pygmalion's artifice, Whereof the like was ne'er before; Nor Oleus, that drank of yore The salt wave of the whole great sea: Why? dost thou ask? 'Tis as I swore - To see my Love suffices me!
BALLADE OF QUEEN ANNE.
The modish Airs, The Tansey Brew, The SWAINS and FAIRS In curtained Pew; Nymphs KNELLER drew, Books BENTLEY read, - Who knows them, who? QUEEN ANNE is dead!
We buy her Chairs, Her China blue, Her red-brick Squares We build anew; But ah! we rue, When all is said, The tale o'er-true, QUEEN ANNE is dead!
Now BULLS and BEARS, A ruffling Crew, With Stocks and Shares, With Turk and Jew, Go bubbling through The Town ill-bred: The World's askew, QUEEN ANNE is dead!
ENVOY.
Friend, praise the new; The old is fled: Vivat FROU-FROU! QUEEN ANNE is dead!
BALLADE OF BLIND LOVE. (AFTER LYONNET DE COISMES.)
Who have loved and ceased to love, forget That ever they loved in their lives, they say; Only remember the fever and fret, And the pain of Love, that was all his pay; All the delight of him passes away From hearts that hoped, and from lips that met - Too late did I love you, my love, and yet I shall never forget till my dying day.
Too late were we 'ware of the secret net That meshes the feet in the flowers that stray; There were we taken and snared, Lisette, In the dungeon of La Fausse Amistie; Help was there none in the wide world's fray, Joy was there none in the gift and the debt; Too late we knew it, too long regret - I shall never forget till my dying day!
We must live our lives, though the sun be set, Must meet in the masque where parts we play, Must cross in the maze of Life's minuet; Our yea is yea, and our nay is nay: But while snows of winter or flowers of May Are the sad year's shroud or coronet, In the season of rose or of violet, I shall never forget till my dying day!
ENVOY.
Queen, when the clay is my coverlet, When I am dead, and when you are grey, Vow, where the grass of the grave is wet, "I shall never forget till my dying day!"
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, Here should failure be confessed; Ends my quest, Where the wide-winged hawk doth hover!
ENVOY.
Friend, or stranger kind, or lover,