To 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--RUFINUSGOLDEN 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 queenCELIA'S EYES--PASTICHETell me not that babies dwell In the deeps of Celia's eyes;Cupid in each hazel well Scans his beauties with surprise, And would, like Narcissus, drown In my Celia's eyes of brown.
Tell me not that any goes Safe by that enchanted place;Eros dwells with Anteros In the garden of her Face, Where like friends who late were foes Meet the white and crimson Rose.
BRITANNIA--FROM JULES LEMAITRE
Thy mouth is fresh as cherries on the bough, Red cherries in the dawning, and more white Than milk or white camellias is thy brow;And as the golden corn thy hair is bright, The corn that drinks the Sun's less fair than thou;While through thine eyes the child-soul gazeth now -Eyes like the flower that was Rousseau's delight.
Sister of sad Ophelia, say, shall these Thy pearly teeth grow like piano keys Yellow and long; while thou, all skin and bone, Angles and morals, in a sky-blue veil, Shalt hosts of children to the sermon hale, Blare hymns, read chapters, backbite, and intone?
GALLIA
Lady, lady neat Of the roguish eye, Wherefore dost thou hie, Stealthy, down the street, On well-booted feet?
From French novels I
Gather that you fly, Guy or Jules to meet.
Furtive dost thou range, Oft thy cab dost change;So, at least, 'tis said:
Oh, the sad old tale Passionately stale, We've so often read!
THE FAIRY MINISTER
[The Rev. Mr. Kirk of Aberfoyle was carried away by the Fairies in 1692.]
People of Peace! a peaceful man, Well worthy of your love was he, Who, while the roaring Garry ran Red with the life-blood of Dundee, While coats were turning, crowns were falling, Wandered along his valley still, And heard your mystic voices calling From fairy knowe and haunted hill.
He heard, he saw, he knew too well The secrets of your fairy clan;You stole him from the haunted dell, Who never more was seen of man.
Now far from heaven, and safe from hell, Unknown of earth, he wanders free.
Would that he might return and tell Of his mysterious Company!
For we have tired the Folk of Peace;
No more they tax our corn and oil;
Their dances on the moorland cease, The Brownie stints his wonted toil.
No more shall any shepherd meet The ladies of the fairy clan, Nor are their deathly kisses sweet On lips of any earthly man.
