Ban and Arriere Ban [5]
dally with the helpless hands;
Till the deep sea in silence lay
On Calais Sands!
Between the lilac and the may
She waits her love from alien lands;
Her love is colder than the clay
On Calais Sands!
BALLADE OF YULE
This life's most jolly, Amiens said,
Heigh-ho, the Holly! So sang he.
As the good Duke was comforted
In forest exile, so may we!
The years may darken as they flee,
And Christmas bring his melancholy:
But round the old mahogany tree
We drink, we sing Heigh-ho, the Holly!
Though some are dead and some are fled
To lands of summer over sea,
The holly berry keeps his red,
The merry children keep their glee;
They hoard with artless secresy
This gift for Maude, and that for Molly,
And Santa Claus he turns the key
On Christmas Eve, Heigh-ho, the Holly!
Amid the snow the birds are fed,
The snow lies deep on lawn and lea,
The skies are shining overhead,
The robin's tame that was so free.
Far North, at home, the 'barley bree'
They brew; they give the hour to folly,
How 'Rab and Allan cam to pree,'
They sing, we sing Heigh-ho, the Holly!
ENVOI
Friend, let us pay the wonted fee,
The yearly tithe of mirth: be jolly!
It is a duty so to be,
Though half we sigh, Heigh-ho, the Holly!
POSCIMUR--FROM HORACE
Hush, for they call! If in the shade,
My lute, we twain have idly strayed,
And song for many a season made,
Once more reply;
Once more we'll play as we have played,
My lute and I!
Roman the song: the strain you know,
The Lesbian wrought it long ago.
Now singing as he charged the foe,
Now in the bay,
Where safe in the shore-water's flow
His galleys lay.
So sang he Bacchus and the Nine,
And Venus and her boy divine,
And Lycus of the dusky eyne,
The dusky hair;
So shalt thou sing, ah, Lute of mine,
Of all things fair;
Apollo's glory! Sounding shell,
Thou lute, to Jove desirable,
When soft thine accents sigh and swell
At festival -
Delight more dear than words can tell,
Attend my call!
ON HIS DEAD SEA-MEW
FROM THE GREEK
I
Bird of the graces, dear sea-mew, whose note
Was like the halcyon's song,
In death thy wings and thy sweet spirit float
Still paths of the night along!
II
THE SAILOR'S GRAVE
Tomb of a shipwrecked seafarer am I,
But thou, sail on!
For homeward safe did other vessels fly,
Though we were gone.
FROM MELEAGER
I love not the wine-cup, but if thou art fain
I should drink, do thou taste it, and bring it to me;
If it touch but thy lips it were hard to refrain,
It were hard from the sweet maid who bears it to flee;
For the cup ferries over the kisses, and plain
Does it speak of the grace that was given it by thee.
ON THE GARLAND SENT TO RHODOCLEIA--RUFINUS
GOLDEN EYES
'Ah, Golden Eyes, to win you yet,
I bring mine April coronet,
The lovely blossoms of the spring,
For you I weave, to you I bring
These roses with the lilies set,
The dewy dark-eyed violet,
Narcissus, and the wind-flower wet:
Wilt thou disdain mine offering?
Ah, Golden Eyes!
Crowned with thy lover's flowers, forget
The pride wherein thy heart is set,
For thou, like these or anything,
Has but a moment of thy spring,
Thy spring, and then--the long regret!
Ah, Golden Eyes!'
A GALLOWAY GARLAND
We know not, on these hills of ours,
The fabled asphodel of Greece,
That filleth with immortal flowers
Fields where the heroes are at peace!
Not ours are myrtle buds like these
That breathe o'er isles where memories dwell
Of Sappho, in enchanted seas!
We meet not, on our upland moor,
The singing Maid of Helicon,
You may not hear her music pure
Float on the mountain meres withdrawn;
The Muse of Greece, the Muse is gone!
But we have songs that please us well
And flowers we love to look upon.
More sweet than Southern myrtles far
The bruised Marsh-myrtle breatheth keen;
Parnassus names the flower, the star,
That shines among the well-heads green
The bright Marsh-asphodels between -
Marsh-myrtle and Marsh-asphodel
May crown the Northern Muse a queen
Till the deep sea in silence lay
On Calais Sands!
Between the lilac and the may
She waits her love from alien lands;
Her love is colder than the clay
On Calais Sands!
BALLADE OF YULE
This life's most jolly, Amiens said,
Heigh-ho, the Holly! So sang he.
As the good Duke was comforted
In forest exile, so may we!
The years may darken as they flee,
And Christmas bring his melancholy:
But round the old mahogany tree
We drink, we sing Heigh-ho, the Holly!
Though some are dead and some are fled
To lands of summer over sea,
The holly berry keeps his red,
The merry children keep their glee;
They hoard with artless secresy
This gift for Maude, and that for Molly,
And Santa Claus he turns the key
On Christmas Eve, Heigh-ho, the Holly!
Amid the snow the birds are fed,
The snow lies deep on lawn and lea,
The skies are shining overhead,
The robin's tame that was so free.
Far North, at home, the 'barley bree'
They brew; they give the hour to folly,
How 'Rab and Allan cam to pree,'
They sing, we sing Heigh-ho, the Holly!
ENVOI
Friend, let us pay the wonted fee,
The yearly tithe of mirth: be jolly!
It is a duty so to be,
Though half we sigh, Heigh-ho, the Holly!
POSCIMUR--FROM HORACE
Hush, for they call! If in the shade,
My lute, we twain have idly strayed,
And song for many a season made,
Once more reply;
Once more we'll play as we have played,
My lute and I!
Roman the song: the strain you know,
The Lesbian wrought it long ago.
Now singing as he charged the foe,
Now in the bay,
Where safe in the shore-water's flow
His galleys lay.
So sang he Bacchus and the Nine,
And Venus and her boy divine,
And Lycus of the dusky eyne,
The dusky hair;
So shalt thou sing, ah, Lute of mine,
Of all things fair;
Apollo's glory! Sounding shell,
Thou lute, to Jove desirable,
When soft thine accents sigh and swell
At festival -
Delight more dear than words can tell,
Attend my call!
ON HIS DEAD SEA-MEW
FROM THE GREEK
I
Bird of the graces, dear sea-mew, whose note
Was like the halcyon's song,
In death thy wings and thy sweet spirit float
Still paths of the night along!
II
THE SAILOR'S GRAVE
Tomb of a shipwrecked seafarer am I,
But thou, sail on!
For homeward safe did other vessels fly,
Though we were gone.
FROM MELEAGER
I love not the wine-cup, but if thou art fain
I should drink, do thou taste it, and bring it to me;
If it touch but thy lips it were hard to refrain,
It were hard from the sweet maid who bears it to flee;
For the cup ferries over the kisses, and plain
Does it speak of the grace that was given it by thee.
ON THE GARLAND SENT TO RHODOCLEIA--RUFINUS
GOLDEN EYES
'Ah, Golden Eyes, to win you yet,
I bring mine April coronet,
The lovely blossoms of the spring,
For you I weave, to you I bring
These roses with the lilies set,
The dewy dark-eyed violet,
Narcissus, and the wind-flower wet:
Wilt thou disdain mine offering?
Ah, Golden Eyes!
Crowned with thy lover's flowers, forget
The pride wherein thy heart is set,
For thou, like these or anything,
Has but a moment of thy spring,
Thy spring, and then--the long regret!
Ah, Golden Eyes!'
A GALLOWAY GARLAND
We know not, on these hills of ours,
The fabled asphodel of Greece,
That filleth with immortal flowers
Fields where the heroes are at peace!
Not ours are myrtle buds like these
That breathe o'er isles where memories dwell
Of Sappho, in enchanted seas!
We meet not, on our upland moor,
The singing Maid of Helicon,
You may not hear her music pure
Float on the mountain meres withdrawn;
The Muse of Greece, the Muse is gone!
But we have songs that please us well
And flowers we love to look upon.
More sweet than Southern myrtles far
The bruised Marsh-myrtle breatheth keen;
Parnassus names the flower, the star,
That shines among the well-heads green
The bright Marsh-asphodels between -
Marsh-myrtle and Marsh-asphodel
May crown the Northern Muse a queen