Puslapio vaizdai
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BALLADE.

Love thou art sweet in the spring-time of sowing
Bitter in reaping and salt as the seas,

Lovely and soft when the young buds are growing
Harsh when the fruitage is ripe on the trees:
Yet who that hath plucked him thy blossom e'er flees
Who that hath drunk of thy sweetness can part,
Tho' he find when thy chalice is drained to the lees
Ashes and dust in the place of a heart?

'Tis myself that I curse at, the wild thoughts flowing
Against myself built up of the breeze

Like mountainous waves to my own o'erthrowing
Strike and I tremble, my shivering knees

Sink thro' the quicksands that round them freeze,
From their treacherous hold I am loth to start :-
In my breast laid bare, had you only the keys,
Ashes and dust in the place of a heart.

The world wide over young hearts are glowing
With high held hopes we believed with ease,
And have them still, but the saddest knowing
Is the knowledge of how by slow degrees
They slip from our side like a swarm of bees
Bearing their sweetness away, and depart
Leaving their stings in our bosom, with these
Ashes and dust in the place of a heart.

Envoi.

Love, free on the uplands, the lawns, and leas;
Priced and sold in the World's base mart:
But the same in the end; tho' at first it please,
Ashes and dust in the place of a heart.

JOHN CAMERon Grant.

BALLADE.-LILITH.

Lady, around thy throat

Gleameth the one gold hair;
And none that hath taken note
Of the first that he looked on fair,
The moment his boyish air

Was moved by that mystic breeze,
But hath felt the spell of thy presence there,
Lilith, the first Love sees!

We sail in an open boat,

'Mid breakers that rage and tear,

And ply the oars by rote

As over the waves we fare,

But never a moment dare

Gaze down at the Form by our knees,

For her eyes that thro' Self and thro' Soul do stare, Lilith, the first Love sees!

Circle of wall and moat,

Vain as the thought to wear
Cunning of knightly coat

Steely and tempered rare,
Against her mute despair;

For none there is who frees

His soul from her spell, who hath all in care,
Lilith, the first Love sees!

L'Envoi.

Maid without mate or pair,

From the Past's pale Presences,

Who is there but next his heart doth bear

Lilith, the first Love sees !

JOHN CAMERON Grant.

BALLADE OF ANTIQUE DANCES.

Before the town had lost its wits,

And scared the bravery from its beaux,
When money-grubs were merely cits,
And verse was crisp and clear as prose,
Ere Chloë and Strephon came to blows
For votes, degrees, and cigarettes,

The world rejoiced to point its toes
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.

The solemn fiddlers touch their kits;
The twinkling clavichord o'erflows
With contrapuntal quirks and hits;
And, with all measure and repose,
Through figures grave as royal shows,
With noble airs and pirouettes,

They move, to rhythms HANDEL knows,
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.

O Fans and Swords, O Sacques and Mits,
That was the better part you chose!
You know not how those gamesome chits
Waltz, Polka, and Schottische arose,
Or how Quadrille-a kind of doze
In time and tune-the dance besets;
You aired your fashion till the close
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.

Envoy.

Muse of the many-twinkling hose, TERPSICHORE, O teach your pets

The charm that shines, the grace that glows In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.

W. E. HENLEY.

BALLADE OF DEAD ACTORS.

Where are the passions they essayed,
And where the tears they made to flow?
Where the wild humours they portrayed
For laughing worlds to see and know?
Othello's wrath and Juliet's woe?
Sir Peter's whims and Timon's gall?
And Millamant and Romeo?—

Into the night go one and all.

Where are the braveries, fresh or frayed?

The plumes, the armours -friend and foe? The cloth of gold, the rare brocade,

The mantles glittering to and fro?

The pomp, the pride, the royal show?

The cries of war and festival?

The youth, the grace, the charm, the glow ?— Into the night go one and all.

The curtain falls, the play is played:
The Beggar packs beside the Beau;
The Monarch troops, and troops the Maid;
The Thunder huddles with the Snow.
Where are the revellers high and low?
The clashing swords? The lover's call?
The dancers gleaming row on row?—
Into the night go one and all.

Envoy.

Prince, in one common overthrow The hero tumbles with the thrall:

As dust that drives, as straws that blow, Into the night go one and all.

9

W. E. HENLEY.

BALLADE OF JUNE.

Lilacs glow, and jasmines climb,
Larks are loud the livelong day.
O the golden summer-prime !

June takes up the sceptre of May,
And the land beneath her sway
Glows, a dream of flowerful closes,
And the very wind's at play
With Sir Love among the roses.

Lights and shadows in the lime
Meet in exquisite disarray.
Hark! the rich recurrent rhyme

Of the blackbird's roundelay!
Where he carols, frank and gay,
Fancy no more glooms or proses;
Joyously she flits away

With Sir Love among the roses.

O the cool sea's slumbrous chime!

O the links that beach the bay,

Tricked with meadow-sweet and thyme,
Where the brown bees murmur and stray!

Lush the hedgerows, ripe the hay!

Many a maiden, binding posies,

Finds herself at Yea-and-Nay

With Sir Love among the roses.

Envoi.

Boys and girls, be wise, I pray! Do as dear Queen June proposes,

For she bids you troop and stay With Sir Love among the roses.

W. E. HENLEY.

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