<> -0.7* ,0 o, *v77r* A roO-.>o. '.^^^ .•-•.<> '•^- '" 0*".--^.% * aV *^ :a^^ ^± ^^jt.r.'i ^'.^"^mr^ ^^d^^ -jm^^..\ ^^>.^ 4q ^0^ >/ -'SIK' "^w* -Ka-' '\>.^'''' /^M^'- ■ ^-^^^^"^ ♦ -J? ^* c^ » ■v'^'-y v^^-y' v=^-^v % OK V*^>'' %^^-%^' V-'^-V/ \. V .*^% • 1* .•i-;;^'/'?.. c°*..i^^'% .^^.C^-.-e, ,0* •. ■*-«.«< -'. ■^0 c> » w ^^r^« * * THE SPRINGTIME OF LOVE AND OTHER POEMS BY ALBERT EDMUND TROMBLY BOSTON SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 1914 ■^% i.-^ ?« \ .V Copyright, 1914 Sherman, French 6r» Company / ><^r^ m fO I9!4 g)CI,A379073 TO HER WHO INSPIRED WHAT OF POETRY THIS LITTLE BOOK MAY CONTAIN CONTENTS PROLOGUE To A Supposed Critic THE SPRINGTIME OF LOVE PAGI I. The Desire 1 IL The Return . 2 III. Worldly Sight . S IV. Ablution . 4 V. Love's Reward . 5 VI. Love's Aspiration 6 VII. Vision Restored . 7 VIII. Thou and I . 8 IX. The Guardian Angel 9 X. Love's Contemplation 10 XI. The Sparrow's Song 11 XII. The Carved Initials 12 XIII. Love's Maturing 13 XIV. The Wager . 14 XV. The Wished-for Song 15 XVI. Love's Character . 16 XVII. Love's Ambition . 17 XVIII. Ideal Love . 18 XIX. Love's Previous State 19 XX. The Dream . . 20 INTERLUDE As Wakens on the Morn 23 The Voiceless Cry 24< Blowing from out the Twilight Sky . . 26 A Song of Sweets 27 I HAVE Seen the Maiden Morn .... 28 Where Violets are Springing .... 29 SONNETS PAGE O Worthy to be Sung 83 When Hesper Beams ....... 84 The Eloquence of Silence 85 Love's Star 86 The Memory 37 Love's Immortality 38 The Vanity of Song 39 Love's Answer 40 Love's Intoxication 41 Her Beauty 42 The Nosegay 43 Love's Worship 44 TWO ODES Ode to the Passing Summer 47 Progress 49 SONNETS ON VARIOUS THEMES To B. P 53 To Byron 54 Shelley 57 Keats 58 Robert Browning 59 Preexistence 62 The Passing of the Winter 63 To Death 64 Youth and Spring 65 Saint Helena 66 The Plain of Waterloo 67 To L. A. T 68 To Bliss Perry 69 TRIOLETS PAGE A Triad of Triolets 73 In a Little Green Boat 76 The Reason 77 O Love, were I a Sprite 78 The Barter 79 The Chick-a-dee 80 Good-morrow 81 Good-night 82 To A Chick-a-dee 83 Five Years Old 84 The Greeting 85 Ave Carnevale! 86 Addio Al Carnevale 87 RONDEAUX My Spirit Saith 91 My Bestest Boy 92 O Nevermore 93 Come, Love, Come 94 TRIFLES By Night 97 Lines 98 Nero's Dying Words 99 A Poet's Constancy 100 Three Limericks 101 TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE ASTERIE 107 To Postumus 109 TRANSLATIONS FROM LORENZO DE' MEDICI PAGE I. Vanity OP Vanities 113 II. Hail Venus 114 III. First Sight op his Lady . . .115 IV. Bacchus and Ariadne . . . .116 CHORUS FROM POLIZIANO'S " ORFEO " The Bacchanals 121 EPILOGUE Love PROLOGUE TO A SUPPOSED CRITIC Of what avail to waste thy days In all this idle tittle-tattle? Of woman's love to dote and prattle, And in thy rhyme to sing her praise And laud her in a thousand ways? Attune thy song to nobler lays, And sterner, deeper music raise; With songs of love in life to battle. Of what avail? I thank thee, friend, for thy essays To keep me from a danger fatal; But while his quiver Love doth rattle, Shoots his arrow, goads, and flays. Thine apologues and scornful gaze, Of what avail? THE SPRINGTIME OF LOVE THE DESIRE Methinks that Nature mourns to hear me sigh, For as the brooklet winds and trips along, Now languishing and now with current strong. It murmurs dolefully ; in boscage nigh The soughing wind a plaining melody Is breathing mid the boughs ; the phoebe's song — Whose burthen tells the deep, the wasting wrong Of loneliness — arises to the sky. And I more deeply grieve and yearn for thee: To see thee smile ; to hear thy mellow voice ; To feel, ah me, thy lush lip pressed to mine ; To live a moment in the ecstasy Of love's most fair delight, and so rejoice To quench, to lose my glowing soul in thine ! [1] II THE RETURN As one grown languid with the garish day, Whose jaded spirit — cloyed with care's ex- cess, With what of life doth human hearts op- press — Turns him at length from worldliness awa^^. And kneeling at his temple shrine to pray, Eagerly tells his inmost thankfulness At finding peace that wounded bosoms bless, And tranquil joy, his sorrow to allay; So I, aweary of the world — of men And all their gods, of strife for vaunted Fame: Her tinselled crown, her fair elusive goal — Forsake all else, return to thee again ; And in thy smile, thy voice, thy very name, I breathe afresh, O Priestess of my soul! [2] Ill WORLDLY SIGHT Rarely an eye can gaze beyond its sphere; The maiden pure of heart can nothing see But fair and virtuous deeds ; the votary Of luring wealth no image can uprear Than one of hoarded gold; the simple fear Of death has taught the anchorite to be An inmate of the shrine, nor fancies he That other gods than his to men appear. And they who hear the hymning of my lyre Attuned to sing of thee — thy perfect heart, Thy charm ineffable, thy spirit brave — Will think my love akin to their desire; Their sordid thought to songs of mine impart ; Believe that since I love, I dream and rave ! [3] IV ABLUTION Yet must I shrive this craven soul of mine Of all its earthly lust, — the mad desire Which Nature as a deep volcanic fire Hath fused within my being, as in wine Is mingled with the juices of the vine The ferment's latent heat, — ere I attire Myself in fortitude and from the mire Of worldiness my spirit draw to thine. Then as the worshipper, with bosom free Of human taint, who kneels in tearful prayer And to his God doth immolate his whole, I, too, shall bow me down ; and may it be That, when escaped from this unworthy lair, Thou deign accept my pure, my shriven soul! [4] LOVE'S REWARD Even as others have, so have I sighed : Sighed for the world's applause; for glory, fame; For bay-leaved chaplets that surround the name Of him whom Fortune fawns. And I have vied To gain her hollow smile, but she denied To make me of her troop, for when her flame Was kindled in my breast, she quenched the same And taught me all her purple pomp deride. Yet have I known a glory sweeter far Than aught of Fortune borne, for when I sung Mine artless lay to thee, and saw thine eye Glow with a ravished warmth, as glows the star Of vespertide, I felt around me flung The fairest wreath for which the heart may sigh. [6] VI LOVE'S ASPIRATION Let me but strive as they who contemplate A worthy-seeming end: but let my goal Be wrought of finer ware than gemmy bowl, Or leafy coronal, or kingly state; And may I feel a warm, an earnest hate Of what attaints the heart and moils the soul, And in my spirit hear the clarion roll That calls : " Strive on ! afore the hour is late." For though the world may offer guerdons fair To them who covet wealth or who desire The plaudits of the throng, I cannot see, Amid her gaudiness, a gift so rare As doth await my soul when, mounting higher, 'Tis crowned at last as worthy. Love, of thee. [6] VII VISION RESTORED I CAME, O lovely Virgin, to thy bower. What time the primrose and anemone Enfold their fragrant petals, and the bee Murm'rously wings it from the closing flower; The violet shadows of the evening lower, And from the brake beside the grassy lea The linnet in a clear, far-echoing key Sings with melodious note of twilight's hour. I came to thee, my Love, but nothing knew Of Nature's galaxy ; for who can know. Laden at heart, the beauty of the Spring? Yet when thy gentle kiss, as evening dew. Freshened my thirsting lips, I saw the glow Of Hesperus and heard the linnet sing. £7] VIII THOU AND I Zephyrous winds were breathing fitfully Amid the verdure of the leafy spring, And each soft, balmy gust appeared to bring A dryad's amorous sigh or lover's plea. Beside the cove and from a blighted tree Darted athwart the pool a fisher-king; And as the ripples broke beneath his wing, Forgetful of his cares, he sported free. There lying in a ferny nook, — my bed Of downy moss, my pillow thy fair breast, — I, too, rejoiced; my soul was in mine eye; And golden dreams my heart and fancy fed ; And till the day had sunk beneath the west The world, the universe, was — thou and I. [8] IX THE GUARDIAN ANGEL Ah, well do I remember, when a child, — Ere sallow melancholy had besprent My tender years with sadness, or had blent Her dulling potion with the spirits wild That feed my breast — of moments oft be- guiled With listening in large-eyed wonderment As elders whispered of an angel sent From heaven to keep my bosom undefiled. Years grew upon me; sceptic I became. And often scorned the pretty childhood tale Which once enchanted me; but when thy love Awakened in my heart a kindred flame And taught me, Sweet, thy god-like spirit hail, I knew thee as the guide they'd spoken of. [9] LOVE'S CONTEMPLATION Beloved, hast thou seen the trellised vine When Autumn's sun had kissed to mellowness The clustered fruit, and in their purple dress The grapes seemed bursting with a wealth of wine ? Or seen at early morn the columbine Bowed with its nectar, which the wood-nymphs press To their fair lips as 'neath the leafiness Of oaken groves to their delights recline? Still hath my heart of love a deeper fount Than fruit of wine or bloom of honey-dew; And I have wondered oft how it could be That human clay such lofty heights could mount And love with such a love, — but, ah, 'tis true I then forgot my love was borne to thee. [10] XI THE SPARROW'S SONG Envious clouds were flitting in the sky As frowning on the simple joy that swayed Two kindred souls, but nathless in a glade, 'Neath piney boughs, upon a hilltop high, We happy lay amid a luxury Of loving warmth; and soon the heavens made Accord with our delight, and overlaid Hommock and croft with sunset's crimson dye. Where alder-copse o'erhung the echoing dell, His roundelay the vesper-sparrow sang. Pouring his heart in frenzied melody; And when I asked : " Canst thou his meaning tell?" O Love, thy voice than his more sweetly rang : " He saith : ' I love my Love, my Love loves me.' " [11] XII THE CARVED INITIALS Thrice hath the musk-rose bloomed and past away, And thrice the lark, with each return of Spring, Hath filled the woodland with his carolling. Then fled the frost of Autumn sear and gray. Since I, my Mary, here did lonely stray, And, as a lover will, thy praise did sing In carved symbols of thy name, and fling Around this oak a charm against decay. But now the bark hath overgrown the seam Which youthful ardor made; and standing here I gaze, and wonder if thy poet's rhyme Will save thy memory, and if the stream Of all my love a monument can rear To keep thy fame against the tooth of Time. [1«] XIII LOVE'S MATURING How like a lovely flower hast thou grown : The violet that opes its petalled blue As Dawn appears to kiss away the dew Which Eve o'er vale and moor hath lightly blown ; The arbutus that, when the Winter's flown And smiling Spring is come, blooms into view Mid greening nooks now fresh with grasses new, And weaves the earth a soft and fragrant zone ; For soon as gentle Love had come to dwell Within thy breast, awakening with his lay A deep response, thy heart so pure, so good. With loving largess seemed to overwell. Making thy youth a fair and flowery May, And bringing forth thy rip'ning woman- hood. [18] XIV THE WAGER One day, O happy day ! my Love and I A wager made; and this how it befell: We sate enraptured in a fairy dell Until the twilight glimmered in the sky; At length I spake : " Alas, how moments fly. When in thy company ! Guess thou, and tell The hour ; and if, perchance, thou blunder — well. Each moment costs a kiss; dost thou deny? " She smiled assent; nor thought to ask of me My pledge, but said : " The hour of chimes ; for list, I hear a murmur rising from the South." I showed the dial, laughed full boyishly. For I had won ; and then four times I kissed Her blushing cheek, the fifth her rosy mouth. [1*] XV THE WISHED-FOR SONG Could I, O could I speak a golden tongue, A tongue more sweet than e'er the heav'nly choir Of poets spake when love or keen desire From out their hearts a cadenced echo wrung, More sweet than that divine Apollo flung Upon the morn as, rousing with his fire The dark and sleeping world, he struck his lyre And to the spheres a song of triumph sung; Then would I take a softly-lisping lute And wander out where all the summer long The Zephyrs frolicked over hill and lea ; And as the evening fell, and all was mute In dale or glen, I'd breathe a perfect song ; And, Love, that deathless song would sing of thee! [15] XVI LOVE'S CHARACTER On many a scene the painter fondly dotes Of roses poppy-red and lilies white, Of glorious morns when beams of golden light Pour from the east on fields of mellow oats. Elated with the splendor which he notes, He turns him home, his fancy all bedight; And with warm tints of earths and ochres bright, The vision marks that still before him floats. But how record the glory I have seen Illume thy laughing eye, that mirrors clear A heart which flows with love at every beat.'' A single word is all that I can glean From out my store to paint thy nature, Dear, And that one word, O dare I tell, is — sweet! [16] xvn LOVE'S AMBITION Not mine the lot to have a mountain-fay Grant me whate'er my eager heart desires, As was the fate of our fabled sires When Dian led the chase, and Ares' sway Was over martial strife ; but if to-day I might command the quest my bosom fires, 'Twould not be that for which the worldling hires Or gives his life, his very soul away. Ah, no; 'twould not for earthly treasure be. Nor yet for what the rolling skies above Retain, 'tis said, within their heav'nly clime ; But I would ask that there be granted me A one, an only wish: to love thee. Love, With deep'ning love, through life, and death, and time! [17] xvin IDEAL LOVE NoE more, nor less than lovers do I ween That we should ever be ; for how be more Or wish for less? Methinks that Love can soar On happy wings and wear a jocund mien Where brooks arise and maple groves are green ; But when confined within the hamlet-door, His pinions droop; his bosom, blithe before. Now pines for woodland air and wide demesne. And may our hearts be such that he can find Therein a place to dwell, whose springs are pure And ever fresh, whose air is large and sweet ; Then will he flee and gladly leave behind The realm of meaner souls, and swear, I'm sure. His fairest haunt is where our spirits meet. [18] XIX LOVE'S PREVIOUS STATE Often I mused, when bowed in dreamy thought, Of where our souls abode ere human birth Entwined and bound them with the carnal girth That binds the soul of man, yet never caught A full-assuring voice, a note which taught What we had been — if dwellers of the earth, Of valley, hill, of lake or marshy firth; If birds, or streams, or flowers crimson- wrought. And still I think, whatever our spirits felt. They knew a kindred love: of lark for lark. Of rose for drooping rose; or it may be Thou wert a brook and I the spring that dwelt Beside thy bank and, from a cranny dark, I gave my love, my being unto thee. [19] XX THE DREAM Reclining yester-eve as Philomel Warbled her vesper-hymn, I dreamed I lay Within a beechen grove all green and grey, Where laurel grew and bloomed the asphodel, The arbutus, and many an oaten-bell; And there the Muses, daughters of the May, Sate weaving coronals of fragrant bay. While from their lips harmonious converse fell. And one arose, of graceful mien, and fair, — More fair than I can ever tell thee of, — Who came and placed her garland on my brow; And gazing on her beauty, I was ware How all my senses swooned, for, O my Love, I dimly saw the lovely maid was thou. [20] INTERLUDE AS WAKENS ON THE MORN SONG As wakens on the morn the happy throng Of larks that bid the wood and field rejoice, So in my heart, like a remembered song, Rises and swells the music of thy voice. II As lingers on the eve the fragrant breath Of roses, borne from out the flowery South, So in my ravished soul that knows no death Linger the golden kisses of thy mouth. t^] THE VOICELESS CRY Alas, I sobbed, in vain I sighed. As wakeful on my couch I lay : O would my Love were by my side! II Nor Memory, though oft she tried, Could soothe my hapless, aching heart: O would my Love were by my side! Ill And though my roving thought soared wide. Its end within my breast it found : O would my Love were by my side ! IV My brain could harbor naught beside That all-consuming, raging flame: O would my Love were by my side! The stillness of the night replied And seemed to mock my painful cry : O would my Love were by my side ! [24] VI At last sleep came ; the fever died ; And then I dreamed a dream of sighs O would my Love were by my side! [25] BLOWING FROM OUT THE TWILIGHT SKY SONG Blowing from out the twilight sky, O Wind of the purple West, Steal but a kiss, as you go by. From the girl whom I love best! II An only kiss, O western Wind, From her fresh and rosy mouth; Then hasten along until you find My lips, and quench their drouth ! [26] A SONG OF SWEETS Sweet in Autumn is the fruit That ripens on the vine, And sweet the lightly-fingered lute That sings of love and wine ! Sweet in Summer is the berry; Sweet the columbine! O sweet, too, is the luscious cherry; But sweeter far's my Mary! II Sweet the violet in the May, That in the woodland grows ! Sweet the smell of winnowing hay, Of lilies, and the rose ! Sweet is honey; sweet the merry Throstle's roundelay! sweet is fresh cream from the dairy; But sweeter far's my Mary! [37] I HAVE SEEN THE MAIDEN MORN SONG I HAVE seen the maiden Mom Tint the ears of mellow corn, Turn to pearls the dewy drops Clinging to the clover-tops, Fling upon the meadow stream Ruddy rays that flash and gleam ; Yet I swear such beauty's vile When I see my Mary smile. II I have seen the Vesper Star Rising in the west afar, Glowing like a lonely gem In the Twilight's diadem. Shedding rays of amber light In the path of coming Night; Yet I swear such beauty's vile When I see my Mary smile. [28] WHERE VIOLETS ARE SPRINGING SONG I Where violets are springing And crystal waters flow; Where meadow-larks are singing And scented breezes blow; O there with thee to wander My only wish would be That I might grow the fonder Through Love's eternity; That I might grow the fonder Through Love's eternity. II Where autumn leaves are falling O'er asters pale and sear; Where late the blackbird's calling His last call of the year; O there, with thee beside me, My silence would be prayer That death might deeper hide me Within thy spirit rare; That death might deeper hide me Within thy spirit rare. [29] SONNETS O WORTHY TO BE SUNG WORTHY to be sung, as never I Nor other gifted with the golden speech Of poets sang; O Virgin, who can teach My heart a softer, deeper melody, Than flowers can, and hills, and starry sky, And mossy rocks, and storm-belabored beach ; — I kneel to thee, all trembling, and beseech Thy gentle heart to hear thy lover's sigh. 1 know not what life is, and little care; For tossed and blown upon its murky brine I've sighed and longed to reach its haven — Death. And what but this could ever be my prayer — That thou shouldst press thy lovely lips to mine And with thy kisses steal away my breath.? [33] WHEN HESPER BEAMS When Hesper beams above the western lea, And softly tolls the distant village bell, And Echo wakens in each purple dell. And naught is heard save lulling melody ; Then gladly doth the humble devotee Forsake his dull and solitary cell, Hears on the air serene the vesper swell, And in devotion sinks on pious knee. And I, dear Maid, as wanes the hoary year. And wails the wind among the frosty hills A melancholy song so dolefully. Turn from the lore of callous tomes and hear A voice more sweet than of the laughing rills. And ardent breathe my passion's prayer to thee. [34] THE ELOQUENCE OF SILENCE There is a something far more eloquent Than honeyed speech, than music more pro- found : 'Tis that which Nature speaks when all around, Valleys and hills, the cloudless firmament. The grazing flocks at noon with wandering spent That lying flank a cool and grassy mound. The meadows that with grasshoppers abound. The bees and birds in stilliness are blent. 'Twas thus I spake ; and. Love, thy spirit heard. Thy spirit which my very silence hears. And trembled to receive my love's oblation. My tongue would voice my soul ; 'twas vain ; no word Was on my lips, but from my heart sprang tears. Ecstatic tears of silent adoration! [35] LOVE'S STAR O MY Beloved, since the livid stream Of our life is shallow, let us strive To rend each servile bond and worldly gyve That binds the soul and makes our being seem Yet viler than it is. The hopes that gleam A moment, pain and disillusion rive; And all things earthly it would seem connive At our thinking life a more than dream. So buffeted along this mazy sea. We cannot, as the mariner, adjust Our compass to a point that lies afar; But our haven, our goal must be A consolation for each stifled lust, And love, eternal love, our polar star. [36] THE MEMORY As little waves that hurrying to the shore Kiss th' expectant beach, then fall away, Gather again their foamy-capped array, And all exultant as they did before Over the sand their fresh caresses pour; And as they shake and toss their silvery spray Their beating wakes a soft and murm'rous lay Which sea-bom shells will echo evermore. So played my lips with thine ; and every kiss But made them for the next more warmly sue. And now as I delight to muse upon Those fleeted moments and their rapturous bliss, I find that they my bosom did imbue With what defies e*en death's oblivion. [87] LOVE'S IMMORTALITY Remorseless Time may waste and desolate Thy lovely form, but it can never fret The garland on thy brow which Love hath set To mark thy name and prove thy honored state. Age steals upon us, — 'tis the mortal's fate; And ruthless usurer, he claims his debt: Fair golden locks, and locks of brown or jet He turns to gray; blue eyes he turns to slate. Yet as the rose which, having bloomed and blown. Though north winds bluster and the earth is bare. Lives in the mem'ry all the winter long; So will the glory. Love, which thou hast known Of youth and love, of beauty, O how rare. Forever live within my wreath of song! [88] THE VANITY OF SONG How many times have I essayed to sing Of thee, sweet Girl, but all to what avail! For poesy, though passion-fraught, must fail, Whene'er it wakes to praise so rare a thing. How many times have I essayed to fling About thy heart mine own's delirious wail! Yet song could not but palliate the tale. And make of cries and moans a whispering. And still I feel my songs would not be vain, Although I know that I can never tell My love for thee, nor praise thee as is meet. If I could sometimes catch a single strain Of thoughts that make my trembling bosom swell. My teardrops flow, my burning temples beat! [a9] LOVE'S ANSWER Last eve I heard in twilight's solitude The nightingale awake his amorous lay, Then pause and all his lone complaining stay As if despair his bosom had imbued. But soon with treble soft his chant renewed: So sweet the tones that from a distant bay His Love, in cadences as sweet as they, Answered her mate's melodious interlude. And I remembered then the lonely note I once had blown, which seemed the very knell, The tocsin of the love I sought from thee; But when I blew again, thy mellow throat. Sweetly and soft as lute or silver bell, Echoed and wafted back the song to me. [40] LOVE'S INTOXICATION As in the morn the hectic Bacchanals, Returning from the grove where through the night They made carouse beneath the torches' light, Approach with reeling gait the city walls, — Young Dionysus followed by his thralls. All maddened with the grape; each tipsy wight, Trying to vent his wine-begot delight, " Bacchus ! Bacchus ! Bacchus ! " hoarsely bawls : So I, last eve, reluctantly and slow Turned from the chamber, there where thou and I Revelled with Love until the belfry beat The parting hour, and pensive did I go. All drunken with thy beauty, but to cry A thousand times : " My Mary ! Love ! My Sweet!" [4.1] HER BEAUTY Beauty like thine is Beauty's quintessence ! Not Helen, whom the Trojan bought so dear, Such beauty knew, nor lovely Guinevere, Nor Egypt's queen, nor Dido, who laments In death her lover's flight. O no; the sense Was never quickened by a loveliness the peer .Of thine, which, lovelier grown from year to year, Marks the full tide of Beauty's opulence. For thine is of the passion-laden heart. And finds a voice in every winsome grace Which loves about thy comely form to play. And though I grieve that with my groping art I never can thy god-like beauty trace. Still I rejoice to think my spirit may. [42] THE NOSEGAY Weee I to make a galaxy of sweets, Methinks my choice would be a crescent moon, New-born and silv'ry; an autumnal noon, When all is hushed save a lamb that bleats ; The dying sound of some far bell that beats An Angelus ; the songs that mothers croon To lullaby their babes ; a rose in June ; The throstle's note ; the poesy of Keats. Then might I add a gurgling meadow-stream; The purple hills at eve ; an April shower ; Deep summer skies ; the droning of the bee. And still 'twould make my lovely nosegay seem A thousand times more sweet, my Passion- flower, If with the other sweets I garnered thee! [43] LOVE'S WORSHIP A DAB.K, late autumn mom has left its bed ; Chill, and as one who mourns a secret pain 'Tis overcast, and weeps abundant rain Fast as the tears we lavish on the dead. 'Tis Sabbath, Love; I hear th' occasional tread Of passersby abustling to the fane. Where one, methinks, will pray, and one com- plain ; One bow his heart, and one but bow his head. And musing on these men, their cults and creeds, I wonder if their temples can instil A thought that's worthy of a deity. But this I know, that they might lay their beads And psalters by, did ever once they thrill And tremble with the love I feel for thee! [44] TWO ODES ODE TO THE PASSING SUMMER Go, Summer, go ; But in thy passing, know There is a heart that grieves for thee, A tearful eye to mark thine age and death; Thy spirit, borne away on Autumn's breath, Stealeth my joy from me, My joy and gaiety; And though I would, my pipe can nothing blow Than mournful dirge or song of wasting woe. II Thine were the swarming bee, the fledging bird. The mower's song, the winnowing hay. The heavens' deepest blue, the brooklet heard Trebling along its winding way; And thine the dewy break of day, The breathless noon, the far-heard vesper bell. The buxom rose, the flow'ring bay. The chirp of grasshoppers, the note of Philomel. Ill Thine, too, the songs of love and love's delights : The yearning heart, th' insistent sigh. The passion taught to soar on noble heights. The mean desire left to die, [*T] The plighted troth and sacred tie, The laughing mirth, the pure and simple bliss, The days that all too fleetly fly, The maiden's soft caress, the lover's good-night kiss. IV But all is changed ; a dun and murky haze Darkens the evening sky; the brook Is silent now ; and even the cheerful bays Are seen to wear a saddened look; The nightingale the grove forsook To seek a brighter clime; and all alone I'm left, my grievous loss to brook. To pine for love and thee, to breathe a plaintive moan. Though thou art gone. My heart will dote upon Thy beauty long; and as the blast Of Autumn drives thy fallen leaves along. My pipe shall wail a melancholy song. And I shall weep for thee, To think that it should be That all thy glory, all thy lovely store. Should waste and pass away forevermore. im PROGRESS O THOU of changing seasons born, Goddess whom the race of man Hath worshiped from its early morn In battle, song, and lofty plan; Reveal me where thy banners lead. And that on which thy fires feed. II As childhood, with its simple heart. Runs to meet the heaven's verge. But finds the golden realm depart And farther the horizon surge; So men have vied to follow thee And thou their grasp didst ever flee. Ill Yet thou hast framed the human mind And fashioned both its tongue and eye ; For thee man left the cave behind And raised his anthem to the sky; Thou gavest him the wild desire Which taught him shape his bow and lyre ! IV But whether he is happier now For trusting thee, ah, who can tell? [49] To-day sees laurel on his brow; To-morrow hears his requiem swell. Thou sowest pleasure in thy train, But with it, what poignant pain ! Thy handmaid, Pleasure, taught us steal Delights from every smiling star; Thine other. Sorrow, taught us feel How vain the sweets of Beauty are! The subtler doth the spirit grow, The keener is the heart to woe! VI Better, perchance, if never we Had known the dawning of the day; And if a callous deity Had never breathed upon our clay ; Better have died within the womb Than lived to build ourselves a tomb! VII And yet. Unknowable, lead on! Perchance that with the fleeting years Thy tending Sorrow will have gone And drained the fount of human tears. And thou, perchance, in its rebirth Wilt show the soul a fairer earth. [50] SONNETS ON VARIOUS THEMES TO B. P. Critic, despair not yet; the feeble lays Of sighing youth, unskilled in lofty art, May rouse a nobler song; the lover's heart May catch the strain that sweet Catullus plays. Too true my faulty verse full oft betrays The stamp of bards who cry in every mart, But still methinks the Muse may yet impart To me the lore of minstrelsy. As days Flow into years, and years to decades grow, The selfsame tongue that harsh in childhood spake Doth now the maiden grace with mellow tone; So, too, discordant youth, though loath to know His ardor curbed, may grasp the lute and wake Some wild melodic chord, some dulcet moan. [53] TO BYRON As when at eve the silent heaven burns With golden Hesperus, and ripened grain Stands reaped in mellow sheaves on ev'ry plain, With buoyant heart the reaper homeward turns, And with glad eye his distant cot discerns, Quickens his gait to some low-whistled strain, And happy greets the welcome hearth again That yields the peace his daily labor earns ; So I, when heavy hours oppress my day And life appears devoid of aught but woes. With rapture hail the tranquil evening sky ; Then from all care my spirit turns away. Lured by thy magic voice that ever knows To soothe my soul with mighty melody. [64] 11 I DREAMED I roamcd among JEtolian hills, Mid vales but seldom trod by modem men, Sometime beneath cool cypress groves, and then Through laurel copse and nigh low-babbling rills. And where a throbbing fount with crystal fills A brooklet's bed a minstrel sate; and when I nearer drew, he plucked his harp again And breathed a song which yet my bosom thrills. Of lordly mien the bard ; his seer-like eye Waxed bright with every strain, and morn- ing's hue Swept lightly o'er his pallid cheek and wan ; And as he waked the deep-toned harmony. His eye was fixed afar ; perchance he knew He sang to distant men of " Don Juan." [66] Ill Byeon, of what avail my feeble lute To sing thy praise, and sing it worthily? But tuneless though my simple numbers be, My heart must sing; 'twould break to linger mute. The hour is come when glory's ripened fruit, Mellowed with time, of blight and canker free, Is thine ; and silent they who censured thee And vainly sought to shadow thy repute. Lord of poets ! None has ever sung So wild a note as thine, no human art More truly spake than thy o'erwhelming rhyme ; From out thy warring soul hath Feeling wrung Each swift and glowing chord, and from thy heart Hath Passion cried to every age and clime! [56] SHELLEY As the wild bird of which thy Orphic lay Enraptured sings, — the sweet and heavenly lark Who heralds dawn and, till the hour of dark, Woos with melodic trill the summer day, Poising upon a drooping oaten spray And spreading buoyant wing, doth then em- bark On song and flight, while lofty heavens mark A purer note than ever woodlands may, — So thou dost sing, and spellbound do I hear The west wind breathe among the trembling strings Of thy responsive lute, and feel thee rise From earth to cloud, from cloud to higher sphere. Borne on the breath of thine ecstatic wings. Till thou art lost amid the deepest skies. [57] KEATS What keen delight, within a sylvan glade 'Neath Summer's azure dome, through dreamy hours When croons the humble-bee, and tender flowers Droop their soft heads beneath the freshening shade Of some o'erhanging leaf or rushy blade, Each fragrant bloom athirst for cooling showers — To hear enchanted, until ev'ning lowers. Thy mellow song and golden numbers played ! And wakened to the spirit of thy lute That sings of lovers' woe, of Philomel, Of autumn fruit, and of the Chian seer, Of music breathed upon the shepherd's flute, I feel, thus lost in song, I ne'er can tell If nightingales' or else thy note I hear! [68] ROBERT BROWNING A TRIAD OF SONNETS BaowNiNG, thine is a note and song unique Whose rugged numbers seem as they were sung By other heart than thine, another tongue Is ever heard thine accents boldly speak. Thou deem'st the lover's lute a thing too weak For thy prolific lay, and thou hast wrung Thy song from deeper tones, and found among Thy fellows' hearts the trumpet thou didst seek. So, too, the gale adown from murky skies, Impetuous, dark, and silently doth come Until it meet with sea and wooded turf ; Then with each blast a thousand notes arise. And loud the tempest, now no longer dumb, Speaks through the moaning pines and thund'ring surf! [59] II Roaming at eve among the mossy rocks Of rolling pasture-land, what time the shrill Of grasshoppers is done, and o'er the hill The evening star announceth to the flocks The hour of rest is nigh; while Echo mocks The plaintive note of some lone whip-poor- will — I heard the home-returning shepherds fill Each vale with music blown from reedy stocks. And listening to the happy lads awake With their crude pipes a deep and tender song, Methought of thee, true poet and sublime. Who chos't of unmelodic tones to make, Since it must be, thy numbers clear and strong Than curb thy spirit 'neath insipid rhyme ! [60] Ill Whoever seek in realms of poesy For aught beside soft words and pleasing sound, With which the dilettante's songs abound, Will turn from empty verse and look to thee. Amid thy pages man will hear the free, Deep voice of feeling, learn that he is crowned But through eternal strife, that heaven's found In Love the only path to Deity. Thus oftentime beside the grassy way Where violets rear their heads, a lonely flower L#ess gaudy than the rest is nigh ignored ; And yet to that same bloom, throughout the day. The bee will oft return, for 'neath the bower Of petals pale is golden nectar stored. [61] PREEXISTENCE Full oftentime in reading sweet romance, Romance imbued with hues of red and gold, That sings of ladies fair and warriors bold; Of joust and tournament ; of love, perchance ; Of laurel wreathed around the victor's lance — 'Tis not the tale alone, though charming told And fashioned in the fancy's glowing mould And sung in flowing rhyme, mine ear enchants. A tuneful word, a soft, canorous phrase. Awakes a feeling vague of former life And plunges me in deepest reverie; Then o'er me steals the breath of ancient days : I hear the clash of arms, the din of strife. The sound of harps, the songs of min- strelsy ! [62] THE PASSING OF THE WINTER What means the thawing sod, the waxing sun, The eager freshet bursting from the hill, And from the oaken grove the squirrel's trill, Seeming to tell that frosty days are done? Think they the time of Spring hath yet begun Because the wind that blew so biting chill Hath spent its fitful wrath and ceased to shrill? Think they that Winter's race is fully run? He may, perchance, methinks, be potent yet ; And may, ere breathes the Spring's tri- umphant note. Blow yet a gale ere lapsing into death; As oft a man with glazed eye and set, When low the rattle gurgles In his throat, Rouses himself to gasp away his breath. [63] TO DEATH How often have I seen in early Fall, Ere the fleet swallow yet had southward flown And still the mountain-rill made plaintive moan, Old pallid Rime from his boreal hall In quiet steal across the hilly wall; And ere the tardy rays of morning shone, Chill unto death the callow grain, and prone Upon the meadow lay a hoary pall. Ah, come not thus, O Death, as doth the rime With fatal shaft in some unguarded hour. To smite my day ere it hath reached its June. Stay, stay thy hand until the hour My young and budding mind blooms into flower; Then come, O Death; thou canst not come too soon. [64] YOUTH AND SPRING An azure sky, for Spring is in its May ; The blackbird whistles mid the tender green Of elm and beechen tree, and bees are seen To hover round the apple's blooming spray. Alas, too soon will springtime waste away ; The bees will swarm; its brood the blackbird wean; And where the maidens now the violets glean, Anon shall reapers mow the tasselled hay. O time of blossoming, O season rare. Thou symbol of my years, O tell me why My youth and thou cannot immortal be? To ponder on thy fate is to despair! And deeply doth my hapless bosom sigh : " O Spring, that I might know but youth and thee!" [65] SAINT HELENA A THOUSAND leagues from continental shore, The eye that roves across the Atlantic main Discerns an island rock, round which in vain The tempests rage and tumbling billows roar. Its craggy cliffs and barren soil ignore The force of Time and Storm, as if the reign Of Earth immortal were ; in plaintive strain The sea-birds wail as nigh the rock they soar. Here came the conquered chief when fortune's star That shone o'er Austerlitz and Jena's field, Had waned and sunk beneath dark Water- loo; What fate, he mused, did e'er his glory mar? Not man, he knew, had taught his spirit yield ; They said 'twas God ; alas, perchance 'twas true. [66] THE PLAIN OF WATERLOO O'er Belgian plain the peasant guide still leads The curious traveller, and points the mound Where monument with chiselled art is found To mark where warriors died mid glorious deeds. Now ripening grain bedecks the flowing meads Where once the battle broke; the fertile ground No trace of wasting war retains ; no sound Is heard save a sighing wind amid the reeds. And yet for one in meditation bowed Again the cannon groans ; again is heard The hoarse, intrepid cry : " La garde meurt Mais ne se rend jamais "; and still more loud, Poured from a thousand throats, their dying word Of soldier love : " Vive V Empereur! " [67] TO L. A. T. See how the peasant-lad with graceless hand Patiently moulds the soft and plastic clay, Dreaming of golden times yet far away When he the potter's craft will understand. And artless elders of the boy demand: " Why such design ? " and then attempt to stay The lad's perverted taste, and think his day Were better spent in ploughing meadow land. So thou must not despair, but ever strive The craved skill to gain, for thus alone Can art be wooed, her gentle graces won ; Nor heed the murmur of the human hive That teems with those who ne'er have known That there is aught to till than vale and dun. [68] TO BLISS PERRY Great-hearted friend, who from the busy hour Deignest to hear mine ill-attuned song; Thou critic keen ; the one amidst a throng Who never dost to adulation cower, But boldly striking with undaunted power, Bestowest praise and blame where these be- long. Though ever prone to learn thy censure wrong, — Accept, I pray, my musing's humble flower. O friend, could there be many such as thee, The world would know a minstrelsy that thrills, Apollo's shrine a worthy sacrifice; And fewer pipes would vaunt of poesy. And deeper notes from meadows and the hills Would waken and be wafted to the skies ! [69] TRIOLETS A TRIAD OF TRIOLETS I CAN sing an only song; Mary, 'tis in praise of thee ! Be its burthen sweetly strong! I can sing an only song. Should I sing for ages long, Yet my strain would ever be : I can sing an only song Mary, 'tis in praise of thee ! [73] II Maey looked so very sweet, Robed in lily-white and pink, That my heart unduly beat : Mary looked so very sweet. For a maiden half as feat Eremites would rave, I think; Mary looked so very sweet Robed in lily-white and pink. [74] Ill Mary took my heart away, When we parted yester-eve; Triolet, I bid thee say : Mary took my heart away, Whyfore am I sad to-day? Why fore weep I, whyfore grieve? Mary took my heart away When we parted yester-eve. [75] IN A LITTLE GREEN BOAT In a little green boat, Of a day in June, O ho, to float In a little green boat ! And to hear Love's note Which thou wilt croon In a little green boat Of a day in June! [76] THE REASON You wonder why I'm merry ? I kissed a pretty girl. Her mouth, it seemed a berry ; You wonder why I'm merry? Could she have been a fairy, My head is in a whirl? You wonder why I'm merry? I kissed a pretty girl. [77] LOVE, WERE I A SPRITE O Love, were I a sprite, 'Tis this that I would do : I'd fly to thee by night, Love, were I a sprite. And on thy lips alight And kiss the long night through ; O Love, were I a sprite, 'Tis this that I would do. [78] THE BARTER A ROSE for a kiss Wilt thou barter, Sweet ? Fair exchange is this : A rose for a kiss. 'Twere sad to miss A chance so meet; A rose for a kiss Wilt thou barter, Sweet? [79] THE CHICKADEE Sing, little fellow, Chick-a-dee-dee ! Birches are yellow Sing, little fellow! Sing us thy mellow, Gay-hearted glee; Sing, little fellow, Chick-a-dee-dee ! [80] GOOD-MORROW Good-morrow, Love, good-morrow! Kisses do I bring! Now your lips I'll borrow: Good-morrow, Love, good-morrow ! Night's the time to sorrow, Mom for me to sing: Good-morrow, Love, good-morrow! Kisses do I bring! [81] GOOD-NIGHT GooivNiGHT, Love, good-night! This the song I send thee. Hear its numbers light : Good-night, Love, good-night. Till the east is bright, Slumber soft attend thee ! Good-night, Love, good-night: This the song I send thee. [88] TO A CHICK- A-DEE (Which had lost its tail) You'ee so very, very funny, Little Mister Bob ! With a tail like that of Bunny, You're so very, very funny ! But your heart is always sunny, And you're always on the job; You're so very, very funny. Little Mister Bob. [83] FIVE YEARS OLD Sweet five years old, Would / were five ! Little heart of gold ; Sweet five years old. Mine's worn and cold, W ith five times five ; Sweet five 3^ears old, Would / were five ! [84] THE GREETING With a hug and a kiss And a tra-la-la ! I'll greet thee, Miss, With a hug and a kiss. How different 'tis To leave thee, ah ! With a hug and a kiss, And a tra-la-la. [85] AVE CARNEVALE! The carnival's come, O my sweet Mary! Let us strike up and drum The carnival's come ! " Who could ever be glum With you, my fairy? The carnival's come, O my sweet Mary ! [86] ADDIO AL CARNEVALE The carnival's done, O my sweet Girlie ! How fast weeks run ! The carnival's done. And how hard after fun Not to feel too surly ; The carnival's done, O my sweet Girlie ! [8T] II The carnival's over, Mary dear ! Time's such a rover; The carnival's over. But it had its clover, Now for ivy seer ; The carnival's over, O Mary dear! [88] RONDEAUX MY SPIRIT SAITH My spirit saith : " Ah, could I be Of flesh and earth and senses free, To starry heights I then could soar, Forget the world forevermore, And know myself a deity. " The heavenly spheres would sing ta me Their deep and awful melody ; All meaner sounds would I ignore," My spirit saith. " But vain the wish ! My bended knee Must yet endure its slavery; And though my hand is bruised and sore With knocking at my prison door, The senses will not yield the key," My spirit saith. [91] MY BESTEST BOY " My bestest boy ! " O silvery tongue, Nor glen nor grove has ever rung At even with so sweet a note From Philomela's golden throat, Nor woodlands where the thrushes sung. For, this bosom wild and young, The wildest, wild, wild hearts among, Is ravished when it hears thee quote: " My bestest boy." But when life's pendulum has swung Till age's bead of years is strung, Till round my brow and temples float Grey locks, — how often. Love, I dote. If in thy heart will still have clung: " My bestest boy ! " [92] O NEVERMORE O NEVEEMORE Can summcr skies Restore the rose that wilted lies, The blushes of the rip'ning fruit, The pipings of the river-coot, The drone of bees, the butterflies! And where the yellowing aspen sighs. His oft-repeated melodies The linnet will return to flute, O nevermore ! But Love, whose ardor never dies. Will tune and pluck his silver lute ; Yet in the aging heart and mute. Whence yearning moans no longer rise, His song will waken ecstasies, O nevermore! [93] COME, LOVE, COME Come, Love, come ! A breath of Spring Is in the air! A bluebird's wing Flashes across the sky ; the rose Is budding ; fast the brooklet flows ; Voluptuous doves are coo-coo-ing. The branches of the orchard swing A lonely robin who doth fling His note to every wind that blows : " Come, Love, come ! " O Springtime, hasten thou and bring My rosy-lipped and blue-eyed thing! Tell her what perchance she knows, That as the lovely season grows, With madder strain my spirits sing: " Come, Love, come I " [94] TRIFLES BY NIGHT The happy moon smiled down and said; Why sad? " But, ah, could she have read The yearning of my breast, — The love and deep unrest, The oft repeated sigh for thee, The prayer, the moan, the cry for thee ; No smile had been her lip to grace. She would have worn a sadder face. [97] LINES 'Tis sunset's hour; the splendor of departing day The world enfolds; beneath the arched way The placid river Charles in silence flows ; With gold and red its tranquil surface glows. Far to the east a massive purple cloud Sails the heavens' blue; though lone, yet proud To be monarch of illimitable skies; And there beneath its passing shadow lies The great metropolis; a human hive Where men to serve their gods in conflict strive. [98] NERO'S DYING WORDS When wicked Nero saw that he Could not from his pursuers flee, He bade his servant hold his sword For him to run upon, then turned him toward His former realm, and sobbed, " O Rome, I sigh That thou shouldst lose so great a bard as I." [99] A POET'S CONSTANCY SONG I Ye ask if I be constant, Constant in my love ; Alas ! alas ! Ye sceptics, What are ye dreaming of? II 'Tis this mine only answer: " Nor men, nor gods above, Plave ever been as I have So constantly in love." Ill To-day I love my Lucy, And yesterday 'twas Nan, To-morrow 'twill be Julia, Or Ruth, or Mary-Ann ! [100] THREE LIMERICKS I There was a young man of Ark Who said : " I'm still in the dark ; But if ever I marry, 'Twill be with a fairy, A seraph, or Else-a-Clark ! " [101] II There was a fellow of Sorrill, Who thought of women and war ill ; " If ever I wed, I hope," he said, « To dwell by Abbey-Morrill ! " [10»] Ill Theee was a poet of Bonnor, Who swore ; " Upon my honor ! I never would mate With any fate, But, O, rd Mary O'Connor!" [lOS] TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE ASTERIE (Ode VII, Book III) Why weepest thou for Gyges, Asterie, The youth of steadfast faith, whom back to thee The Zephyrs fair in early Spring, Enriched with Orient wealth, will bring. II Impelled to Oricum by southern wind When the raving Goat had left the East behind, Now cold he lies, mid floods of tears. Through sleepless nights of anxious fears. Ill His yearning hostess' agent now essays With craft to tempt him in a thousand ways, And says that Chloe sighs, that she Bums with the flame that wasteth thee, IV And shows how once a faithless woman prest The weakling Proetus, through her charges drest With falsehood's guise, to hasten on The death of chaste Bellerophon. [107] Then tells of temperate Peleus' jeopardy Who fled Magnesia's fair Hippolyte; And falsely to excuse the sin, Shows where in story such has been. VI In vain; thy constant lover turns away More deaf than rocks within Icarian bay. Of thine own neighbor's charms beware! Enipeus may prove too fair; YII For none of equal skill to wheel the steed Doth e'er appear upon the Martian mead, Nor one with equal speed to glide In swimming down the Tuscan tide. VIII At twilight's hour secure thy house; nor heed From streets below the sound of doleful reed; Though he of cruelty complain, Do thou inflexible remain. [108] TO POSTUMUS (Ode XIV, Book II) I O PosTUMUs, my Postumus, alas, No piety, mid years that fleeting pass, Can wrinkles and old age delay, And death with its overwhelming sway. II Nor Pluto, hard of heart, can you allay By sacrificing bulls each passing day. Who vilest Geryon doth enslave With Tityus by the doleful wave; III The doleful wave which we must journey o'er, We who consume the earth's abundant store ; Nor boots it whether kings we be Or men who know but poverty. IV In vain from cruel war shall we emerge And from the wailing Adriatic surge; Through Autumn shall we fear in vain The south wind, breathing woeful bane. [109] Cocytus, flowing sluggishly and dark, And Danaid's odious children must we mark; And Sisyphus must we behold Doomed to toil for years untold. VI You must forsake your pleasing wife, your land And home; of trees now nurtured by your hand Not one will follow you, their lord. Except the cypresses abhorred. VII And then an heir more worthy will consume Your Csecuban, now sealed as in a tomb, With nobler wine the pavement stain Than one at pontiff feast may drain. [110] TRANSLATIONS FROM LORENZO DE' MEDICI VANITY OF VANITIES How all our hopes are futile and in vain, How fail the plans of which we idly dream, And how the world in ignorance doth teem, 'Tis Death, the king of all, that maketh plain. One lives in song and in the joust's domain; Another doth his life for virtue deem; One scorns the world and things that worldly seem; Another hides what in his heart has lain. Vain cares and futile thoughts, the diverse fates That Nature in a varied aspect gives, Are seen forever on the changing earth. For all is fleeting here, a moment lives ; How fickle Fortune is, how void of worth ! Alone doth Death abide ; he ever waits. [113] II HAIL VENUS FoESAKE thine isle, thine isle of pleasure rare ; Thy realm forsake all beautiful and still, Cyprian goddess ; come beside the rill That bathes the green and tender grasses there ; Come to the shady nook and cooling air That doth a murm'ring in the brook instil, To music of the bird's enamored thrill. O make thine own abode this region fair! And if thou com'st amid these waters clear, Take thou thy cherished son for company, For here his might is never reckoned of; Bring thou the virgin nymphs of Dian here. Who wander now from every danger free, And little heed the potency of love. [114] Ill FIRST SIGHT OF HIS LADY Oft I recall, for ne'er the time can be When from my memory will glide away Remembrance of her gown, the hour, and day When first I gazed upon her fixedly. And, Love, what then she seemed is known to thee. Who in her company didst ever stay ; How beautiful she was, how sweet and gay, I cannot tell, nor think sufficiently. When o'er the high and snowy-crested peak Apollo spreads his glorious golden beam. So fell about her gown each silky braid. Of neither time nor place I care to speak ; 'Tis ever day where such a sun doth gleam. And paradise where dwells so fair a maid. [115] IV BACCHUS AND ARIADNE Youth is so delightful, O, Though forever on the wing! Who wants pleasure, let him take it! Of the morrow naught we know. II Bacchus comes with Ariadne; Lovely both, and in Love's tether; Since time flies and mocks us sadly, They forever cling together. And these nymphs in every weather Merry make: they'll ne'er forsake it. Who wants pleasure, let him take it ; Of the morrow naught we know! Ill Here the little satyrs come; Smitten are they with the nymphs. In the woods and caverns dumb They have watched to catch a glimpse. Drunken now, the little imps Dance and leap: they'll ne'er forsake it. Who wants pleasure, let him take it; Of the morrow naught we know. [116] IV But the nymphs are rather wary, Lest the satyrs prove deceiving; Yet, since none to Love are chary Save the ugly and the thieving. All together interweaving, They carouse: they'll ne'er forsake it. Who wants pleasure, let him take it ; Of the morrow naught we know. Then this load that's coming after Is Silenus on an ass; Old and drunk and brimming laughter, Plump with flesh and years, alas ; Though he cannot stand, he'll pass. For he's merry, — won't forsake it : Who wants pleasure, let him take it; Of the morrow naught we know. VI Then steps Midas into measure; What he touches turns to gold. But what boots the having treasure If it leaves the bosom cold? What delight can people hold Who've such thirst and ne'er forsake it? Who wants pleasure, let him take it ; Of the morrow naught we know. [117] VII All ye, open wide your ears : Do not heed to-morrow's call! Let the youth and those of years, — Women, men, — be happy all ! Each sad feeling, let it fall! Let's make merry, ne'er forsake it! Who wants pleasure, let him take it ; Of the morrow naught we know. VIII Maids and all ye lovers gay, Long live Bacchus, long live Love! Play ye, sing, and dance away! Let the heart with ardor bum ! Toil and grief forever spurn! What must be, why, let's forsake it! Who wants pleasure, let him take it; Of the morrow naught we know. Youth is so delightful, O, Though forever on the wing! [118] CHORUS FROM POLIZIANO'S " ORFEO " THE BACCHANALS Bacchus, let each follow thee! Bacchus, Bacchus, hejo ! heigho ! Who would tipple, who would drink, Come and tipple, come up, do ! Let it as in funnels sink! I will come and tipple too. Here is wine enough for you; First, though, give a drink to me! II Bacchus, let each follow thee! I've already drained my cup. Give that flagon here a bit! O this mountain's rolling up. And I seem to lose my wit ! Here and there the others flit; That's the way, too, they see me! Ill Bacchus, let each follow thee! I'm already dead with sleep. Am I drunken, yes or no? Standing, I can't longer keep. You are drunken, too, I know. Each one do as I do, so: Each one suck it down like me ! [121] IV Bacchus, let each follow thee! Each one cry out, " Bacchus, Bacchus ! " Each one pouring down the brew! Then we'll sing until it rack us. Tipple, you, and you, and you! With the dancing I am through. Each one cry out, " Heyo, heigho ! " Bacchus, let each follow you. Bacchus, Bacchus, heyo, heigho! [l^a] EPILOGUE LOVE Let barren hearts and hoary age deride, And scornful mock thee as the toy of youth. What else expect of wilted souls? Forsooth, They knew thee not ; and when the passion died Within their bosoms vile, they loudly cried: " 'Tis not in Love that we may hope for truth, His altars teem with sacrifice uncouth." Alas, to think that Lust is Love beside ! O Love, in all this world, this darkling maze. Where men from god to god confused turn, 'Tis thou alone a ray of hope dost give; And so my tongue will sing in grateful praise; Within thy shrine my incense constant bum ; And with my dying breath I'll bid thee live ! W 18 i/ 1 r « • • , "^.i 6* .'-..^o. ^**\.i;^/**^ c° •°■^•• 0' ♦ ^-^ NT * . : ^^'\ S-' ^ >"-nK .iP\'J^^*,^ ^ .*^Lr* * .^^'"-^. .n^ . " • V- ^'' '/ ""* v^P;/ ,0* .'••, ^o. * A WERT BOOKBfNDINC Cfant\i(le Pd Nov.-Dec 1988 :\