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XXXII Ballades in Blue China [1885]
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With a title, a name, and a crest,
Where the Rabbit is treated with scorn,
And the Hare is accounted a pest,
By the lumbering farmer repressed,
With his dogs, and his guns, and his snares?
But my fathers have ended their quest,
They have gone with the Rabbits and Hares!
“Ah, woe for the clover and corn
That the Rabbit was wont to infest!
Ah, woe for my youth in its morn,
When the farmer obeyed my behest!
Happy days! like a wandering guest
Ye have fled, ye are sped unawares;
But my fathers are now with the blest,
They have gone with the Rabbits and Hares!”
ENVOY
Prince, mourn for a nation oppressed,
And absorbed in her stocks and her shares,
And bereaved of her bravest and best —
They have gone with the Rabbits and Hares!
VALENTINE IN FORM OF BALLADE
The soft wind from the south land sped,
He set his strength to blow,
From forests where Adonis bled,
And lily flowers a-row:
He crossed the straits like streams that flow,
The ocean dark as wine,
To my true love to whisper low,
To be your Valentine.
The Spring half-raised her drowsy head,
Besprent with drifted snow,
“I’ll send an April day,” she said,
“To lands of wintry woe.”
He came, – the winter’s overthrow
With showers that sing and shine,
Pied daisies round your path to strow,
To be your Valentine.
Where sands of Egypt, swart and red,
’Neath suns Egyptian glow,
In places of the princely dead,
By the Nile’s overflow,
The swallow preened her wings to go,
And for the North did pine,
And fain would brave the frost her foe,
To be your Valentine.
ENVOY
Spring, Swallow, South Wind, even so,
Their various voice combine;
But that they crave on me bestow,
To be your Valentine.
BALLADE OF OLD PLAYS
(Les Œuvres de Monsieur Molière. A Paris,
chez Louys Billaine, à la Palme
M.D.C.LXVI.)
LA COUR
When these Old Plays were new, the King,
Beside the Cardinal’s chair,
Applauded, ’mid the courtly ring,
The verses of Molière;
Point-lace was then the only wear,
Old Corneille came to woo,
And bright Du Parc was young and fair,
When these Old Plays were new!
LA COMÉDIE
How shrill the butcher’s cat-calls ring,
How loud the lackeys swear!
Black pipe-bowls on the stage they fling,
At Brécourt, 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:
Ménage’s smirk, de Visé’s stare,
The thefts of Jean Ribou, —[3 - A knavish publisher.]
Ah, publishers were hard to bear
When these Old Plays were new.
Where the Rabbit is treated with scorn,
And the Hare is accounted a pest,
By the lumbering farmer repressed,
With his dogs, and his guns, and his snares?
But my fathers have ended their quest,
They have gone with the Rabbits and Hares!
“Ah, woe for the clover and corn
That the Rabbit was wont to infest!
Ah, woe for my youth in its morn,
When the farmer obeyed my behest!
Happy days! like a wandering guest
Ye have fled, ye are sped unawares;
But my fathers are now with the blest,
They have gone with the Rabbits and Hares!”
ENVOY
Prince, mourn for a nation oppressed,
And absorbed in her stocks and her shares,
And bereaved of her bravest and best —
They have gone with the Rabbits and Hares!
VALENTINE IN FORM OF BALLADE
The soft wind from the south land sped,
He set his strength to blow,
From forests where Adonis bled,
And lily flowers a-row:
He crossed the straits like streams that flow,
The ocean dark as wine,
To my true love to whisper low,
To be your Valentine.
The Spring half-raised her drowsy head,
Besprent with drifted snow,
“I’ll send an April day,” she said,
“To lands of wintry woe.”
He came, – the winter’s overthrow
With showers that sing and shine,
Pied daisies round your path to strow,
To be your Valentine.
Where sands of Egypt, swart and red,
’Neath suns Egyptian glow,
In places of the princely dead,
By the Nile’s overflow,
The swallow preened her wings to go,
And for the North did pine,
And fain would brave the frost her foe,
To be your Valentine.
ENVOY
Spring, Swallow, South Wind, even so,
Their various voice combine;
But that they crave on me bestow,
To be your Valentine.
BALLADE OF OLD PLAYS
(Les Œuvres de Monsieur Molière. A Paris,
chez Louys Billaine, à la Palme
M.D.C.LXVI.)
LA COUR
When these Old Plays were new, the King,
Beside the Cardinal’s chair,
Applauded, ’mid the courtly ring,
The verses of Molière;
Point-lace was then the only wear,
Old Corneille came to woo,
And bright Du Parc was young and fair,
When these Old Plays were new!
LA COMÉDIE
How shrill the butcher’s cat-calls ring,
How loud the lackeys swear!
Black pipe-bowls on the stage they fling,
At Brécourt, 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:
Ménage’s smirk, de Visé’s stare,
The thefts of Jean Ribou, —[3 - A knavish publisher.]
Ah, publishers were hard to bear
When these Old Plays were new.
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