Ah, would that I had never been The lover of the Fairy Queen.
Or would that I again might be Asleep below the Eildon Tree, And see her ride the forest way As on that morning of the May!
Or would that through the little town, The grey old place of Ercildoune, And all along the sleepy street The soft fall of the white deer's feet Came, with the mystical command, That I must back to Fairy Land!
FOR A ROSE'S SAKE--FRENCH FOLK-SONG
I laved my hands By the water-side, With willow leaves My hands I dried.
The nightingale sang On the bough of a tree, Sing, sweet nightingale, It is well with thee.
Thou hast heart's delight, I have sad heart's sorrow, For a false false maid That will wed to-morrow.
It is all for a rose That I gave her not, And I would that it grew In the garden plot, And I would the rose-tree Were still to set, That my love Marie Might love me yet!
THE BRIGAND'S GRAVE--MODERN GREEK
The moon came up above the hill, The sun went down the sea, 'Go, maids, and draw the well-water, But, lad, come here to me.
Gird on my jack, and my old sword, For I have never a son, And you must be the chief of all When I am dead and gone.
But you must take my old broadsword, And cut the green boughs of the tree, And strew the green boughs on the ground, To make a soft death-bed for me.
And you must bring the holy priest, That I may sained be, For I have lived a roving life Fifty years under the greenwood tree.
And you shall make a grave for me, And dig it deep and wide, That I may turn about and dream With my old gun by my side.
And leave a window to the east And the swallows will bring the spring, And all the merry month of May The nightingales will sing.'
THE NEW-LIVERIED YEAR--FROM CHARLES D'ORLEANSThe year has changed his mantle cold Of wind, of rain, of bitter air, And he goes clad in cloth of gold Of laughing suns and season fair;No bird or beast of wood or wold But doth in cry or song declare 'The year has changed his mantle cold!'
All founts, all rivers seaward rolled Their pleasant summer livery wear With silver studs on broidered vair, The world puts off its raiment old, The year has changed his mantle cold.
MORE STRONG THAN DEATH--FROM VICTOR HUGO
Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet, Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid, Since I have known your soul and all the bloom of it, And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade, Since it was given to me to hear one happy while The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries, Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile, Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam, A ray, a single ray of your star veiled always, Since I have felt the fall upon my lifetime's stream Of one rose-petal plucked from the roses of your days;I now am bold to say to the swift-changing hours, Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old.
Fleet to the dark abyss with all your fading flowers, One rose that none may pluck within my heart I hold.
Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill The cup fulfilled of love from which my lips are wet, My heart has far more fire than you have frost to chill.
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget.
SILENTIA LUNAE--FROM RONSARD
Hide this one night thy crescent, kindly Moon, So shall Endymion faithful prove, and rest Loving and unawakened on thy breast;So shall no foul enchanter importune Thy quiet course, for now the night is boon, And through the friendly night unseen I fare Who dread the face of foemen unaware, And watch of hostile spies in the bright noon.
Thou know'st, O Moon, the bitter power of Love.
'Tis told how shepherd Pan found ways to move With a small gift thy heart; and of your grace, Sweet stars, be kind to this not alien fire, Because on earth ye did not scorn desire, Bethink ye, now ye hold your heavenly place.
HIS LADY'S TOMB--FROM RONSARD
