Ballads in Blue China and Verses and Translations [9]
shrill the butcher's cat-calls ring, How loud the lackeys swear! Black pipe-bowls on the stage they fling, At Brecourt, fuming there! The Porter's stabbed! a Mousquetaire Breaks in with noisy crew - 'Twas all a commonplace affair When these Old Plays were new!
LA VILLE.
When these Old Plays were new! They bring A host of phantoms rare: Old jests that float, old jibes that sting, Old faces peaked with care: Menage's smirk, de Vise's stare, The thefts of Jean Ribou,--{4} Ah, publishers were hard to bear When these Old Plays were new.
ENVOY.
Ghosts, at your Poet's word ye dare To break Death's dungeons through, And frisk, as in that golden air, When these Old Plays were new!
BALLADE OF HIS BOOKS.
Here stand my books, line upon line They reach the roof, and row by row, They speak of faded tastes of mine, And things I did, but do not, know: Old school books, useless long ago, Old Logics, where the spirit, railed in, Could scarcely answer "yes" or "no" - The many things I've tried and failed in!
Here's Villon, in morocco fine, (The Poet starved, in mud and snow,) Glatigny does not crave to dine, And Rene's tears forget to flow. And here's a work by Mrs. Crowe, With hosts of ghosts and bogies jailed in; Ah, all my ghosts have gone below - The many things I've tried and failed in!
He's touched, this mouldy Greek divine, The Princess D'Este's hand of snow; And here the arms of D'Hoym shine, And there's a tear-bestained Rousseau: Here's Carlyle shrieking "woe on woe" (The first edition, this, he wailed in); I once believed in him--but oh, The many things I've tried and failed in!
ENVOY.
Prince, tastes may differ; mine and thine Quite other balances are scaled in; May you succeed, though I repine - "The many things I've tried and failed in!"
BALLADE OF THE DREAM.
Swift as sound of music fled When no more the organ sighs, Sped as all old days are sped, So your lips, love, and your eyes, So your gentle-voiced replies Mine one hour in sleep that seem, Rise and flit when slumber flies, Following darkness like a dream!
Like the scent from roses red, Like the dawn from golden skies, Like the semblance of the dead From the living love that hies, Like the shifting shade that lies On the moonlight-silvered stream, So you rise when dreams arise, Following darkness like a dream!
Could some spell, or sung or said, Could some kindly witch and wise, Lull for aye this dreaming head In a mist of memories, I would lie like him who lies Where the lights on Latmos gleam, - Wake not, find not Paradise Following darkness like a dream!
ENVOY.
Sleep, that giv'st what Life denies, Shadowy bounties and supreme, Bring the dearest face that flies Following darkness like a dream!
BALLADE OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS.
Fair islands of the silver fleece, Hoards of unsunned, uncounted gold, Whose havens are the haunts of Peace, Whose boys are in our quarrel bold; OUR bolt is shot, our tale is told, Our ship of state in storms may toss, But ye are young if we are old, Ye Islands of the Southern Cross!
Ay, WE must dwindle and decrease, Such fates the ruthless years unfold; And yet we shall not wholly cease, We shall not perish unconsoled; Nay, still shall Freedom keep her hold Within the sea's inviolate fosse, And boast her sons of English mould, Ye Islands of the Southern Cross!
All empires tumble--Rome and Greece - Their swords are rust, their altars cold! For us, the Children of the Seas, Who ruled where'er the waves have rolled, For us, in Fortune's books enscrolled, I read no runes of hopeless loss; Nor--while YE last--our knell is tolled, Ye Islands of the Southern Cross!
ENVOY.
Britannia, when thy hearth's a-cold, When o'er thy grave has grown the moss, Still Rule Australia shall be trolled In Islands of the Southern Cross!
BALLADE OF AUCASSIN
Where smooth the southern waters run By rustling leagues of poplars grey, Beneath a veiled soft southern sun, We wandered out of yesterday, Went maying through that ancient May Whose fallen flowers are fragrant yet, And loitered
LA VILLE.
When these Old Plays were new! They bring A host of phantoms rare: Old jests that float, old jibes that sting, Old faces peaked with care: Menage's smirk, de Vise's stare, The thefts of Jean Ribou,--{4} Ah, publishers were hard to bear When these Old Plays were new.
ENVOY.
Ghosts, at your Poet's word ye dare To break Death's dungeons through, And frisk, as in that golden air, When these Old Plays were new!
BALLADE OF HIS BOOKS.
Here stand my books, line upon line They reach the roof, and row by row, They speak of faded tastes of mine, And things I did, but do not, know: Old school books, useless long ago, Old Logics, where the spirit, railed in, Could scarcely answer "yes" or "no" - The many things I've tried and failed in!
Here's Villon, in morocco fine, (The Poet starved, in mud and snow,) Glatigny does not crave to dine, And Rene's tears forget to flow. And here's a work by Mrs. Crowe, With hosts of ghosts and bogies jailed in; Ah, all my ghosts have gone below - The many things I've tried and failed in!
He's touched, this mouldy Greek divine, The Princess D'Este's hand of snow; And here the arms of D'Hoym shine, And there's a tear-bestained Rousseau: Here's Carlyle shrieking "woe on woe" (The first edition, this, he wailed in); I once believed in him--but oh, The many things I've tried and failed in!
ENVOY.
Prince, tastes may differ; mine and thine Quite other balances are scaled in; May you succeed, though I repine - "The many things I've tried and failed in!"
BALLADE OF THE DREAM.
Swift as sound of music fled When no more the organ sighs, Sped as all old days are sped, So your lips, love, and your eyes, So your gentle-voiced replies Mine one hour in sleep that seem, Rise and flit when slumber flies, Following darkness like a dream!
Like the scent from roses red, Like the dawn from golden skies, Like the semblance of the dead From the living love that hies, Like the shifting shade that lies On the moonlight-silvered stream, So you rise when dreams arise, Following darkness like a dream!
Could some spell, or sung or said, Could some kindly witch and wise, Lull for aye this dreaming head In a mist of memories, I would lie like him who lies Where the lights on Latmos gleam, - Wake not, find not Paradise Following darkness like a dream!
ENVOY.
Sleep, that giv'st what Life denies, Shadowy bounties and supreme, Bring the dearest face that flies Following darkness like a dream!
BALLADE OF THE SOUTHERN CROSS.
Fair islands of the silver fleece, Hoards of unsunned, uncounted gold, Whose havens are the haunts of Peace, Whose boys are in our quarrel bold; OUR bolt is shot, our tale is told, Our ship of state in storms may toss, But ye are young if we are old, Ye Islands of the Southern Cross!
Ay, WE must dwindle and decrease, Such fates the ruthless years unfold; And yet we shall not wholly cease, We shall not perish unconsoled; Nay, still shall Freedom keep her hold Within the sea's inviolate fosse, And boast her sons of English mould, Ye Islands of the Southern Cross!
All empires tumble--Rome and Greece - Their swords are rust, their altars cold! For us, the Children of the Seas, Who ruled where'er the waves have rolled, For us, in Fortune's books enscrolled, I read no runes of hopeless loss; Nor--while YE last--our knell is tolled, Ye Islands of the Southern Cross!
ENVOY.
Britannia, when thy hearth's a-cold, When o'er thy grave has grown the moss, Still Rule Australia shall be trolled In Islands of the Southern Cross!
BALLADE OF AUCASSIN
Where smooth the southern waters run By rustling leagues of poplars grey, Beneath a veiled soft southern sun, We wandered out of yesterday, Went maying through that ancient May Whose fallen flowers are fragrant yet, And loitered