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Exotic or Foreign Forms of Derse.

[Mr. Swinburne, the distinguished English poet, Mr. Austin Dobson, Mr. E. H. Gosse, and several others, have written a great deal recently in exotic forms, which must conform to very strict rules. The most attractive of these forms are the French Ballade and the Rondeau. It would be somewhat wearisome to the young reader to enter into minute descriptions of them; but specimens dealing with attractive subjects may be given; and if he will but notice how the rhymes run, he will have a fair idea of what is meant by a Ballade or a Rondeau. The Ballade is properly written on three rhymes, and for success demands much ingenuity. All the specimens we here give are very true to the form, and Mr. Austin Dobson's old English spelling in the "Loyall Ballade of the Armada" also merits attention.]

I.

A LOYALL BALLADE OF THE ARMADA.

To the Most High, Mightie, and Magnificent Empresse, Elizabeth by the grace of God Queen of England, Fraunce and Ereland, and of Virginia, Defender of the Faith, etc.

KING PHILLIP had vaunted his claimes;

He had sworne for a yeere he would sacke us;
With an Armie of heathenishe names

He was coming to faggot and stacke us ;
Like the theeves of the sea he would tracke us,
And shatter our Shippes on the maine;
But wee had bolde Neptune to backe us,—
And where are the Gallions of Spayne?

His Carackes were christned of Dames

To the kirtles whereof he would tacke us;
With his Saints and his gilded Sterne-frames,
He had thought like an eggeshell to cracke us;
Now Howard may get to his Flaccus,

And Drake to his Devon againe,

And Hawkins bowle rubbers to Bacchus,—
For where are the Gallions of Spayne?

BALLADE OF CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE.

Let his Maiestie hang to St. James

The axe that he whetted to hacke us;
He must playe at some lustier games
Or at sea he can hope to out-thwacke us;
To his mines of Peru he would packe us
To tugge at his bullet and chaine;

Alas! that his Greatness should lacke us!-
But where are the Gallions of Spayne?

ENVOY.

GLORIANA !-the Don may attacke us Whenever his stomacke be faine;

He must reache us before he can racke us, And where are the Gallions of Spayne?

AUSTIN DOBSON.

II.

BALLADE OF CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE.

YE giant shades of Ra and Tum,
Ye ghosts of gods Egyptian,
If murmurs of our planet come

To exiles in the precincts wan
Where fetish or Olympian,

To help or harm no more ye list, Look down, if look ye may, and scan This monument in London mist!

Behold, the hieroglyphs are dumb

That once were read by him that ran When leistron, cymbal, trump, and drum, Wild music of the Bull began ;

221

When through the chanting priestly clan
Walk'd Ramses, with the high sun kiss'd
This stone, with blessing scored and ban—
This monument in London mist.

This stone endures though gods be numb;
Though human effort, plot, and plan,
Be sifted, drifted, like the sum

Of sands in wastes Arabian.

What king may deem him more than man,
What priest says Faith can Time resist.
While this endures, to mark their span—
This monument in London mist?

ENVOY.

Prince, the stone's shade on your divan
Falls; it is longer than ye wist :

It preaches, as times gnomen can,
This monument in London mist!

III.

A. LANG.

THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME.

DOUBLE REFRAIN.

WHEN the ways are heavy with mire and rut
In November fogs, in December snows,

When the North Wind howls, and the doors are shut,—
There is place and enough for the pains of prose ;

223

THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME.

But whenever a scent from the whitethorn blows,
And the jasmine-stars to the lattice climb,
And a Rosalind-face at the casement shows,
Then hey!-for the ripple of laughing rhyme !

When the brain gets dry as an empty nut,
When the reason stands on its squarest toes,
When the mind (like a beard) has a
"formal cut,”—
There is place and enough for the pains of prose;
But whenever the May-blood stirs and glows,
And the young year draws to the "golden prime,"
And Sir Romeo sticks in his ear a rose,—
Then hey!—for the ripple of laughing rhyme !

In a theme where the thoughts have a pedant-strut
In a changing quarrel of "Ayes" and "Noes,"
In a starched procession of "If” and “But,”-
There is place and enough for the pains of prose;
But whenever a soft glance softer grows,

And the light hours dance to the trysting-time,
And the secret is told "that no one knows,"-
for the ripple of laughing rhyme !

Then hey

ENVOY.

In the work-a-day world,—for its needs and woes
There is place and enough for the pains of prose ;
But whenever the May-bells clash and chime;
Then hey!-for the ripple of laughing rhyme?

AUSTIN DOBSON.

AT DAWN.

RONDEAU.

Ar dawn of day, when cow-bells ring
O'er mellowing meadow-lands, where cling
The clover-scented wreaths of mist
Half pearl in hue, half amethyst,
Glad sky-bound larks leap up and sing.

And so my heart doth heavenward spring,
When, like some virginal queen, you bring
Fresh opening buds, by zephyrs kissed
At dawn of day.

The breath, the balm, the glow you fling
Like dew-drops from some bright bird's wing,
Thrill all my being, as I list

To melodies which must desist

When night-fall hath discrowned me king

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