PQ 1170 ■ E6 C8 Copy 1 ■-■■■■■■• . 1111 -:-.■■'.■.■■■- ■I 1 sUSP •:■,'■■:• ■ ffffffnTrt' "•''•~" eosgaegapaaQSQBsaaBapsfflsgQPM LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, ! Ma/>.33HTe>--~ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 7 \DmO WONk C*\J\i " If thou hast good eyes, and lookest In my songs, when thou hast tried them, Thou wilt see a fair young maiden Wandering up and down inside them." Bowring's Heine. Just Published, UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME, XjAUS VEKTBR.IS, And Other Poems. BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. C03 Price §1.50. FRENCH Love Songs, AND OTHEE POEMS. FROM THE ORIGINALS OF BAUDELAIRE, A. DE MUSSET, LAMARTINE, V. HUGO, A. CHENIER, H. GAUTIER. BER ANGER, PAR NY, NADAUD, DUPONT, AND OTHERS. SELECTED AND TRANSLATED HARRY CURWEN. r Z9f \VASH\^5> NEW YORK: Carleton, Publisher, Madison Square. MDCCCLXXI. I <& *1 / , Ml \\ y v .4^ C0 Jfamro. I HAVE LITTLE NEED TO WRITE YOU A DEDICATORY SONG. EVERY POEM IN THIS SMALL VOLUME IS A POEM TO YOU ; AND, ALTHOUGH NOTHING BUT THE RIBBON ROUND THE GARLAND IS MINE, THE THOUGHTS ARE THE CHOI- CEST I COULD BORROW, THE WORDS THE MEETEST I COULD GIVE. CONTENTS. ANON. PAGE VI. Colinette 26 CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. VIII. Wine 30 XIV. Hymn to Beauty 50 XXI. Like a Serpent Dancing 65 XXXVI. All in All 107 XLV. The Water-Jet 135 LII. An Afternoon Song 158 LIV. Cain and Abel 163 LV. A Sad Madrigal 164 LVI. Death 165 P. J. DE BERANGER. LXIII. Springtime and Autumn * 175 LXIV. How Fair She is . 177 LXV. The Old Flag 178 --LXVI. The Bacchante ,180 LXVII. The Gray-Hair 5 d Dame 182 LXVIII. Old Age 184 ANDRE CHENIER. II. Mnazilus and Chloe 16 XLIV. An Idyll . . . -. -. ". . . .130 LIII. Camiile . 160 (vii) vin CONTENTS. DEGUERLE. PAGE XXX. The Art of Pleasing 88 DE LA VIGNE. XXII. The Tryst 6 7 XXXVIII. The Oaths 109 DUFRESNY. X. The Morrows 39 PIERRE DUPONT. IX. The Weeping Willow 37 XXVII. A Village Maiden's Song 82 XXXIII. Barcarole . 103 XL. Under the Lindens 112 XLVI. A Serenade 137 THEOPHILE GAUTIER. LVII. To Jessy 168 LVIII. Solitude ' 169 LIX. Sultan Mahmoud 170 LX. Serenade 172 LXI. To the Butterflies 173 LXII. The Spectre of the Rose 174 EMILE DE GIRARDIN. XVIII. For Ever 58 XLI. Of Whom is He Thinking? , . . 113 CONTENTS. ix VICTOR HUGO. PAGE III. My Little Neighbor ....... 18 IV. Truth 19 XVII. Sunset 57 XXVI. New Song to an Old Air . . . . ~~ . . 81 XXXII. In the Church of * * * 92 XXXVII. To a Lady 108 XLVIII. All— All is Love 140 XLIX. A Morning Serenade 142 ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE. I. Almond Blossoms 15 XV. The Gulf of Baya 51 XXIII. A Love Song 68 XXIX. Wisdom 85 XXXIV. The Butterfly 104 XLII. To Elvira 115 LAUCUSSADE. LI. The Roses of Forgetfulness 156 ALFRED DE MUSSET. VII. To a Flower . 28 XIII. To Fanny 48 XIX. Venice 60 XXVIII. Farewell . 84 XXXV. My Spanish Girl . 105 XXXIX. The Marquesa d'Amaegui no L. An Autumn Eve 143 GUSTAVE NADAUD. V. Glycera's Complaint ....... 25 XI. Dreams of Youth . . . . . . . . 4° X CONTENTS. PAGE XX. The Song of. Thirty Years 63 XXV. Sleeplessness 79 XXXI. Ursula 90 - XLVII. Love's Delight 139 PARNY. XII. The Pictures 42 XXIV. On the Death of a Young Girl 78 XLIII. Elegies 116 SAINTE-BEUVE. LXIX. Roundelay . . . 185 LXX. "Oh, Take Away" 186 LXXI. First Love 187 SEGUR. XVI. Remember Me 56 LXXII. L'Envoi to Fanny 190 INTRODUCTION. The superficial knowledge which, as a rule, Englishmen possess of the French language, preventing them, at once, from being satisfied with a translation, or from thoroughly enjoy- ing the original, is perhaps the reason why modern French poetry has been so little stud- ied in England, and has exerted so small an influence upon our literature. We know, in- deed, more of the poets of Greece and Rome, more even of the poets of Germany and Spain — because we know less of their language — than we do of the wonderful school that sprang Phoenix -like from the ashes of the First Republic. A time when men's brains were whirling with the rapidity of new ideas (xi) Xii INTRODUCTION. — a time of massacres and battle-shouts, and exultations, and sorrows — of debauchery hid- eous in its throughness, and of hopes unutter- ably eager — when the old world had fallen utterly, and the new world was still a chaos, could not but give us a mighty race of master singers. From this school, endowed as it was with all the age's eager frenzy, its startling newness, its mad enjoyments of the moment, and its passionate yearnings for the future, the poems contained in this volume, with the ex- ception of a few isolated pieces, have been selected. It would here be impossible to give even the briefest summary of Modern French Poetry — the book and not the introduction must do this — but the writer believes that to a multi- tude of English readers the poems, among others, of Alfred de Musset, Andre Chenier, V. Hugo, Gautier, Nadaud, Parny, and above INTRODUCTION, xm all, of Charles Baudelaire, will have at least the charm of novelty. Whatever seemed at once most characteris- tic of the author, and most fitly adapted to the translator's own capacity, has been chosen. Each piece is given in its entirety, the writer considering himself in no case to be justified in "Bowdlerizing" or altering the original; and if blame or censure should be attached to him for the occasional warmth and passion of the poems — and, with the exception of Charles Baudelaire, French poetry is nothing if not erotic — he can console himself with the thought that with the reverend and approved translat- ors of Catullus and Tibullus, Sapho and Ana- creon, he is at all events in goodly company. The one broad rule the writer has endea- vored to obey — a rule on which he believes the success of all translation depends — has been to make each piece, before all else, a XIV INTRODUCTION. Saxon-English poem ; and feeling, from ex- perience, that collections like this generally suffer from their sameness, the only order he has attempted in the arrangement has been an order of variety. ii Gray's Inn Square, May, 1870. THE FRENCH POETS. ALMOND BLOSSOMS. (lamartine.) The almond blossoms on this tree As emblems of thy charms "were made ; The flowers of life, my sweet, like thee ; Yet ere the summer's gone they fade. E'en let us pluck them as we will In Love's soft hands they die away, And, leaf by leaf, they perish still, Like our short pleasures, day by day. So let us take them in their prime, Dispute them from the zephyr's breath, Enjoy the fragrance while we've time Of perfume soon to fade in death ; (15) 16 MNAZILUS AND CHLOE. For beauty often, as it flies, Is like some rosy morning flower, Which withers in the wreath, and dies A while before the festal hour. Each day must die when once 'tis bom, Each spring-time blushing fresh and coy, Yet each flower on the lap of mom But bids us hasten to enjoy. And so, since all we love and cherish Must fade when most we feel its bliss, Let, let the glowing roses perish, But only 'neath Love's lingering kiss. n. MNAZILUS AND CHLOE. (andre chenier.) CHLOE. O flower-strewn borders ! O tall reeds blowing In rhythmic tunc to the water flowing ! Oh tell me, is Mnazilus near your glades ? Often he comes to your peaceful shades, And often I wish the trembling air Would bring me a message that he is there. MNAZILUS AND CHLOE. 17 MXAZILTJS. O stream ! the mother of flowers, you hold This scented dell in your girdling fold ; Why do you not bring to your winding thrall Chloe, the daintiest flower of all ? CHLOE. If he but knew that I came to dream Of love, and of him beside the stream ! Oh if a glance or a tender smile Could make him tarry a little while — MNAZILUS. . Oh if some kind god would breathe a word Of the thoughts with which my heart is stirr d, Then dare I pray her, when she was near me, To let me love her, at least to hear me ! CHLOE. O joy, 'tis he ! — he speaks — I tremble — Be quiet, O lips ! O eyes, dissemble ! ]\IXAZILUS. The foliage rustled — methought I heard — 'Tis she ! O eyes, say never a word ! CHLOE. What, Mnazilus here ? how strange to meet With you in this lonely green retreat ! 2 18 MY LITTLE NEIGHBOR m:n t azilus. Alone I lay in the shady grass And never expected a soul to pass. in. MY LITTLE NEIGHBOR. (VICTOR HUGO.) If you nothing have to say, Why so often come this way ? Rosy mouth and blue eyes smiling, Stronger heads than mine beguiling From their study and their labor ; Tell me, charming little neighbor, If you nothing have to say, Why so often come this way ? If you nothing have to teach, Why not practise as you preach ? Little hands so softly pressing, Teasing half, and half caressing, Saucy mouth, and sparkling eye, Needs must have a reason why ; If you nothing have to teach Why not practise as you preach ? TRUTH. 19 If you say I have not won you, Why not, sweet one, let me shun you ? Now my books aside are thrown, You I read, and you alone ; If you ever are denying, Why then hinder rne from flying ? If you say I have not won you, Why not, sweet one, let me shun you? IY. TRUTH. (V. HUGO.) I. The merry morn is waking In all its rosy light, While fogs and dreams are taking Flight, with the drowsy night ; Soft eyelashes and roses Open with hope new-born, And everything discloses The happy touch of morn. And everything is singing A morning hymn to love, Flowers and tendrils springing To greet the trees above ; 20 TRUTH. The streams speak to the fountains, The breezes to the pines, The clouds unto the mountains, The grapes unto the vines. One throbbing pulse is shaking All Nature's mighty frame, — The child its toys retaking, The ember 1 d grate its flame ; Love, and folly, and madness, Petty aims, and grand, And fame, and hope, and gladness - To each one what he plann'd. Still, whether loving or sighing, In the bridal garb or pall, We're only drifting, flying To the final goal of all : We all seek what is ours, — A lad the joys of youth, A bee the daintiest flowers, Whilst I am seeking truth ! ii. O Truth ! with deep devotion I've plunged in depths profound, And sought thee in the ocean Where'er the plummets sound ; TRUTH. 21 Tho 1 fogs and mists may bind thee, And shoals and sand-banks mock, We're sure at last to find thee, As firm, as hard as rock ! O Truth ! broad-breasted river Which never can be dry, Where all may bathe for ever, And swim, or sink and die ; A lamp the great God places Near all our mortal things, A light that always graces The thoughts a pure mind brings ! A gnarled tree in flower, "Where strength and beauty blend, Which each man, to his power, Shall either break or bend ; 'Mid wide-spread branches flinging Their shade, when day has sunk, Some to the branches clinging, And others to the trunk. A hill from which all fioweth, A path which all have trod, A gulf to which all goeth — The handiwork of God ! 22 TRUTH. A star we're still blaspheming, Altho', on nearer view, After wild doubts and dreaming, We'll know its ray was true. in. Earth ! lit up with splendor At sunset and sunrise, With gorgeous hues yet tender To suit our mortal eyes ! Shores where waves are dying ! Woods where soft winds play ! O vast horizon ! lying Round all things far away, glorious azure veiling The gulf, till all is still ; Where idly floating, sailing Where'er the breezes will, 1 'mid the reeds conceal me, And list with all my soul To what the waves reveal me In their majestic roll ! O glorious azure smiling On all, from skies above, Each wearied soul beguiling To dreams and thoughts of love ; TRUTH. And, while we're dreaming, seeking To read the mystic spell, That murmuring winds are speaking, That starry pages tell. O mighty ocean wreathing, And girdling all the earth ! Stars which the Master's breathing Call'd to their fiery birth ! Flowers whose hidden meaning We crush beneath our feet, Tho' God, perchance, is gleaning Honey from every sweet ! O valleys rich in May-time ! O woodland shades and plains ! Where village towers in play-time Ring out their merry strains ; Hillocks and mountains bearing The vast skies on your breasts ! Bright stars a gay smile wearing Amid your gloomy nests ! — You are but one book's pages Where all may read and learn : Where poets and where sages May see what most they yearn : Yet every thought unfurl' d there Requires a mystic rod, 24 TRUTH. Tho' some eyes see a world there, And some souls find a God. A Book which is completed By virtuous deeds alone ; Where youthful dreams are greeted By feelings still unknown ; Where those whom age has smitten With wrinkled brows yet vast, Have in the margin written ' ' Behold us come at last ! n A holy book concealing All deeds which God has done ; A thousand names revealing And yet revealing one — A name that always leavens Whate'er we hold of worth, But one name in the heavens, But one name on the earth. A sure book, never failing, For all may drink its balm, Tho' midnight seers are paling Before they find its charm ; Pythagoras nearly guess 1 d it, And Moses knew it well, And all have loved and bless' d it, When once they learn' d the spell. GLYC ERA'S COMPLAINT, 25 V. GLYCERA'S COMPLAINT. (nadaud.) Once Horace, buried deep in thought, Was dreaming all a poet's fancies, While poor Glycera vainly sought To lure him with her softest glances ; Reading his face with eager eyes, Long time unto his knees she clung, Then, stifling her unbidden sighs, She seized upon her lyre, and sung — " What was it, Horace, made you choose me To be the theme of glowing pages, Till in the song itself you lose me, And leave me there for coming ages ? * ' Ah ! how can I but help to know it ? When all your inmost thoughts discover, It was not Love who made you poet, But 'twas the Muse who made you lover. " For 'tis but she who can inspire The songs in which you love me best, When my name trembles on your lyre, Then hers is thrilling in your breast. 26 COLINETTE. " And, Horace, if I bade you throw The songs you make me far away, And take my love instead, I know How scornfully you'd answer 'Nay.' 1 ' Poet ! you reckon fame above These short-lived ties, these friendships sweet, Unmindful that with passionate love Tm wasting, dying at your feet." And Horace, sleeping half, half waking, All heedless of the mournful strain, Was idle songs to Lydia making, While poor Glycera wept in vain. VI. COLINETTE. (anon.) The sweet scents the violets fling Tell me of the belle and pride Of the happy country side Where I pass'd my boyhood's spring : I, a schoolboy when we met, She, a little country maid ; Now beneath the grass she's laid — Poor Colinette! COLINETTE. 27 Playing hide-seek, where the trees Spread their green athwart the sky, She was breathless quite, and I Joyous as a summer's breeze. Ne'er a time to fume and fret, Now, alas ! each turtle dove Murmurs 'mid its tale of love "Poor Colinette!" On this bank, in this sweet spot, Was our parting interview, Closer still our lips we drew, Loving, tho' we knew it not ; Hiding still my fond regret, As I kiss'd away a tear, ' ' Fare-thee-well until next year Poor Colinette ! " Such a tale is very old, Yet we greet it with a sigh, And, I think, the sternest eye Will grow moist er when 'tis told. Altho' many a gay coquette, Poet-like, I've called my flame, On my heart you'll find her name — "Poor Colinette!" 28 TO A FLOWER. VII. TO A FLOWER. (alf. de musset.) What do you wish, sweet floweret, Charming little souvenir Dying half, and half coquette, Tell rne what has brought you here ? In this envelope reposing, You have come a weary way ; When a hand your seal was closing, Had this sweet hand naught to say ? Are you but a wither* d rose On the very point of death ? Or does your sweet bosom close Over one thought-laden breath ? From your pure white buds Fd guess Innocence and girlish years; But your happy leaves confess Hope, tho 1 mix'd, perchance, with tears. Prithee, sweet flower, breathe a hint Of your secret, and my doom ; Is there no meaning in your tint ? Nothing in your rich perfume ? TO A FLO WEE. 29 If there is, then whisper low, Sweet mysterious little guest ; If there is not, say not, "No," But sleep silent on my breast. Ah, too well I know that hand, Full of grace and girlish glee, As it bound this silken band, Ere it sent you forth to me. White it is, yet warm they say, When the tapering ringers twine ; Would that Love could find a way To make such a treasure mine ! But its owner's very sage, And I know not how she'd deem it ! Sweet flower, let us dread her rage, Tell me nothing, — let me dream it ! 30 WINE. VIII. WINE. (CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.) I. The Sou! of Wine. In a flagon weird and olden Sang the Soul of Wine one night, ' ' Mortal, for the love I bear thee — Cheated out of every right — Buried in my crystal prison, And this vermeil seal of mine, I bring merry songs of gladness, And of brotherhood divine. " I can see, O weary mortal ! When the hillside is ablaze In the fierce sun, with what anguish - With what long laborious days, Ye have tended, reared me duly, Tended me, until ye find That the soul once ripen'd in me Proves not ingrate nor unkind. ' ' For I feel a mighty thrilling Of deep pleasure, when I fall Down the gullet of a workman, Wearied with his daily thrall ; WINE. 31 For his warm breast is an haven, And a tomb where I can sleep Far more softly, more contented, Than in caverns icy deep. " Dost thou hear the feast-day's laughter? And the feast-day's chorus 1 d songs ? And the hope that stirs my bosom With the mighty joy it longs ? With thine elbows on the table, And thy gnaiTd arms bare and free, Thou shalt be content and merry, And speak glorious things of me. " I will light a loving passion In the worn eyes of thy wife ; I will change thy sick son's pallor To the healthy hue of life ; I will lit him for the battle, I will be to him the oil That the wrestlers use when struggling, When their limbs are faint with toil. " I will fall upon ye gently, Drop upon ye o'er and o'er, Sweet scatter' d grains of poesy Sown by the eternal Sower ! 32 WINE. Till I deck your fancied promise With the wealth of all rny dowers, And ye spring up toward the heavens, Like the rarest, sweetest flowers ! " ii. The Scavenger's Bottle. Many a time by some reflected lamp, Whose flickering flame is tortured by the wind, Afar in some deep alley — loathsome, damp With its fermenting mass of human kind — We see a scavenger go staggering by, Clutching at nothing as a poet might, Careless of all the crowd's cruel mockery, Pour out his heart in dreams and projects bright ; Breathe solemn vows, and dictate laws supreme, Endow the pauper, shelter the opprcst, Then glow with all the regal powers that seem To have their very centre in his breast. Struggling with woes unutterably deep, Shivering with famine, and with age worn down, Reeling and tottering 'neath the mighty heap Of all the outcast refuse of the town. WINE. 33 These very people, smelling of the lees Of wine butts, pass again with comrades gray With battles fought on distant lands and seas, — Flags and triumphal arches o'er their way Unfold before them, magic splendors rise, And with the sunbeams dazzling from above, With drums and braying clarions and loud cries, They bring back glory to a people drunk with love. Changing Pactolus-like its banks to gold, Wine rolls across Humanity's drear plain, Singing, thro' mortal throats, its exploits bold, And reigning by its gifts, as monarchs reign. To lull the pain — to still the rancor deep Of these old wretches who in silence fall, God half-remorseful had created sleep, Man added wine, the sweetest gift of all ! in. The Murderer's Draught. My wife is dead, and I am free To soak me to my soul's content ; Ah, how her cries have shatter' d me When reeling home without a cent ! 3 34 WINE, Now I'm as happy as a king, The air is fresh, the sun ablaze, There's something in this balmy spring That tells me of our courting days. And yet this burning thirst of mine Would almost take as much to still it As e'en her tomb would hold of wine, And that were no slight task to till it : For I have thrown her down — deep, deep Into a well, and then I hurled The stones and coping in a heap, To shut her in from all the world. For by the thought of that old time, Of which e'en age could not beguile us, And just as in our pas'nate prime, And now, as then, to reconcile us, I pray'd her for a loving tryst At midnight, on the well's dark brink, She came — the trusting fool — by Christ ! We're all fools, more or less, I think ! She had some trace of beauty yet, Tho' overwork'd perchance, and I — I loved her with a mad regret, And so I bade a long "good-bye " 1 WINE. 35 None comprehend me — I alone Of all this sottish set of mine Have ever thought — 'twas all my own — To make a winding sheet of wine. This craving and yearning for drink Left me never a time for love, — 'Twas love against wine on the brink, And I settled my choice with a shove ! — Wine with its black infernal joys, And its horrible train of fears, Its chains with awful clinking noise, Its vials of passion and tears ! — Now quite alone, and free at last, I'll pledge her, in my hideous mirth, And, heedless of the cruel past, 111 fling me down upon the earth : I will sleep as a dog might sleep Id the slimy filth, and the mud, Till the great wagon wheels plunged deep "With a lazy jolt, and a thud Will batter my head like a clod, And crush in my body — Ah, well ! I can laugh at it just as God Can laugh at the Devils and Hell ! 36 WINE. IV. The Solitary's Flagon. A tell-tale glance from deep passionate eyes, Which glides toward us, as the white rays glide From the lazy moon to the trembling tide, Where in naked splendor her beauty lies ; The last purse of gold in a gambler's fingers ; A libertine kiss from your lips, my dear ; The sound of music, as thrilling and clear As a cry, where mortal misery lingers ; — All these are not worth, O Flagon profound ! The healing balms which you scatter around ; — You bring to the Poet — heart-sick, down-trod — Gushings of hopeful youth, and pride, ay pride — A treasure to those who have naught beside ! To make us heroes ! — liken us to God ! v. The Lover's Wine Cud. There's a charm to-day in the boundless air, As if on a steed, unsaddled and bare, We'll ride on a beaker of rosy wine Thro' the fairy land of a sky divine. THE WEEPING WILLOW. 37 And just as two angels might watch below This horrible fever of grief and woe, We'll follow the mirage illumed afar By the rising sun, and the morning star ; And gently balanced upon the w 7 ings Of the whirlwind fierce, and the howling blast, And freed from the trammels of earthly things, Well fly away both of us fast — fast — fast ! And find in the sky, where the morning gleams, The haven and heaven of all our dreams ! IX. THE WEEPING WILLOW. (dupont.) Bexeath a weeping w T illow, Rich with its buds in flower, A violet bed her pillow, The drooping leaves her bower, Darling ! she was lulled to sleep, By the murmur of the deep. Her gentle body presses With a thousand tendernesses Upon the violet bed ; 38 THE WEEPING WILLOW. The jealous branches tremble, With a love they can't dissemble, In deep fringe overhead. And now, as she reposes, The tinge of summer roses Glows deeper on her cheek — 'Mid her rich tresses straying The careless winds are playing At merry hide and seek. The loving waves have caught her Soft image in the water, With many a tender thrill ; So I, when we are parted, Tho 1 weary, broken-hearted, Shall see her image still. Her balmy breast is heaving, And some sweet dream a-weaving Round her its potent charms ; Will she lye much affrighted, At waking, half benighted, In her own lover's arms ? Half waking and half sleeping, From silken lashes peeping, Her soft eyes on me beam ; THE MORROWS. 39 And then I draw her to nie, Each sweet touch thrilling thro' me, — "Dear one, what was your dream ? " Soft cheeks and white neck flushing, Half smiling, and half blushing, — ' ' I dreamt, my own, of you, 1 ' That I slept beneath a willow 1 1 With your fond breast for my pillow, "And, Sweet, my dream is true ! " X. THE MORROWS. (dufresny.) Phyllis, greedier far than kind, When Sylvander pray'd for this, Required of her faithful hind Thirty sheep for one short kiss. The morrow, and the shepherd thought Phyllis kind — the bargain cheap, For from the shepherdess he bought Thirty kisses for one sheep. The morrow, Phyllis, far more tender, Trembling she would lose the bliss. 40 DREAMS OF YOUTH. Was very happy to surrender Thirty sheep for one short kiss. The morrow, Phyllis, nearly mad, Found her flock a bribe too small To buy the kiss the fickle lad Gave Lissette for naught at all. XL DREAMS OF YOUTH. (nadaud.) I still remember when a child What castles I built in the air, What realms I traversed, lorn and wild, And all the marvels I found there, Things wonderful, and how uncouth, Yet rosy with the touch of morn ; Where are the dazzling dreams of youth And the old house where I was born ? To wander on — the world is round — O'er rugged mountain peaks to climb, To conquer storm-girt seas prof ound, — This was a dream perhaps too sublime ! Still Athens would I see, till sooth Sad Fortune bid my projects cease ; DREAMS OF YOUTH. 41 Where are the dazzling dreams of youth, And where the marbled fanes of Greece ? I had read of love in a book, And I said that I too would love, Till I fasten 1 d my soul on a look, Like the stars on the suns above, Till loving I found to my ruth It were better my heart were sear ; Where are the dazzling dreams of youth ? And where the roses of last year ? And then with nobler thoughts and proud, I could foresee my riper age Treading upon this miraged cloud, With a slow, steady step, and sage, — Foresee my wisdom — mine forsooth ! Teaching my stubborn heart to bow ; Where are the dazzling dreams of youth, And where are all Christ's precepts now ? Now autumn's here, farewell to spring ! Yet hope has still a lingering ray, So let us take all Fate can bring, Unmindful what he tears away ; And tho' his promise has no truth, Let him deceive us to the last, Farewell ye dazzling dreams of youth ! Farew T ell ye bright lies of the past ! 42 THE PICTURES. XII. THE PICTURES. (PARNY.) I. The Rose. 'Tis the golden age of youth Maidenhood with childhood greeting, Candor cloth' d with purest truth, Beauty in her brightest mien, — More than this it is Justine ; Yet her foolish heart is beating At Love's whispers, and believing Honeyed vows too oft deceiving ; While her half - veil' d eyes repose On the lover at her feet, Who, with suppliant air and sweet, Offers her a simple rose ; But Justine must still refuse What her heart would fondly choose ; — When a lover gives he'll crave Far more than he ever gave. IT. The Hand. When we love we soon forget All the prudish wary schemes Wise and foolish ever set To oppose a lover's dreams. THE PICTURES. 43 We do not say, resistance will Bind desires and fire them still ; Or, that loving we may borrow Happy days from years of sorrow. — Thus a fancied love would reason, Thus a false coquette would speak, — With a loving girl 'twere treason If she were not kindly weak ; Glowing with the happiness Of the love that thrills her thro', She would never dare to guess Lovers' vows could prove untrue. Justine has received the rose, And her lips are all a-tremble With thoughts, she dare not quite disclose, And cannot quite dissemble ; While a little hand, half coldly Shuns a kiss to meet it boldly, Caressing as it is carest — Perhaps a promise of the rest. in. The Dream. With the dews from poppies shaken Sleep has closed her languid eyes, Closed them till her heart awaken To the meaning of her sio\hs ; 44 THE PICTURES. Till the flush upon her cheeks Deepens to a rosy red, As her small hand vaguely seeks For some one in the downy bed ; And her beating, throbbing breast Heaves aside the useless veil ; Till a sense of languid rest Steals o'er cheeks and eyelids pale, And her coy half- opened mouth Breathes a murmuring incompleteness, Like the zephyr in the south, Sighing in his very sweetness As from flower to flower he flies, With their pilfer' d perfumes laden — So are all the murmur' d sighs Of a loving, timid maiden, When the hot lips of her lover Come in dreams unsought, unbidden, And with burning kisses cover Charms till then for ever hidden ; Till she in her fond arms press him, Shun his touch and then caress him. How happy Justine's slumber seems, When fiird with all these glowing dreams ! But happier far the man whose kisses Are dreamt of in a dream like this is ! [IV. and VI. omitted.] THE PICTURES. 45 v. The Kiss. Ah, Justine ! what have you done ? All this ecstasy of bliss, All this throbbing passion won From one single kiss ! Lingering kisses never cloy On the loving lips we press, But, perhaps, the foretaste e'en of joy Is love's greatest happiness ; And e'en the remembrance, Sweet, Of this first kiss, always will Make your bosom flush and beat, Till your heart be cold and still. Now your lover scarce believes That 'tis his love inspires you : Better to give than to receive, So he joys in the love that fires you. vn. The Morrow. "With a languid dreamy air Justine works with fancied care ; Happiness has left its trace In her pale bewilder'd face ; 46 THE PICTURES. Fain her wearied half -veil' d eyes Would resist sleep's sweet surprise, As with nervous, trembling fingers O'er her canvas work she lingers, Till she rests her throbbing head On her 'broidery frame instead ; — Her voice less firm, but oh how sweet ! Her clasping hands, her trembling feet, Her full red lips still softly parted, Her glance as if her soul were started, All tell the secret tale aright Of the happy fatal night. vin. Infidelity. In a sylvan green retreat A girl is bending, half in shame, While the gallant at her feet Is vowing his eternal flame ; 'Tis Valsin. To the shady cover Poor happy, credulous Justine Comes thinking, dreaming of her lover. 'Twould take a painter's brush, I ween, To limn the sad bewilder' d scene ! THE PICTURES. 47 IX. Regrets. Justine is alone, and sighing And I follow where she goes, To her secret chamber flying — Scene of all her bitter woes ; For a while her stifled grief Is very still, then finds relief In a fit of passionate sobbing ; And her tears, too long represt, Fall in torrents on her breast, Heaving, beating, panting, throbbing, Like the stormy waves of ocean Lovely in its wild emotion : Still with Valsin's kisses binning, For his presence madly yearning ; Kneeling with her wearied head Hiding in the snow-white bed, From the garish snn above, Sighing, sobbing, ' ' Is this love ? " x. The Return. Faithless tho' her lover were, He was constant all the time ; Justine, sweet as she is fair, Has pardon' d him the moment's crime : 48 TO FANNY. Breathing many an ardent vow In his arms he holds her now, To his kisses she replies By her silence and her sighs, Smiling at that passion still Lets that passion have its will. Yet the joy is his alone, And love's pleasure all his own ; For her love, once thrilling madness, Now is Sorrow's crown of sadness ; — Tho 1 the words are never spoken, Yon may hear it in her sighs, You may read it in her eyes, That the charm — the charm is broken ! xin. TO FANNY. (alf. de musset.) After your mother's last ' ' good-night," And her last kiss upon the stair, And when beneath the nickering light You bow your giddy head in prayer ; TO FANNY. 49 When all is silent in the town, And every thought of care has fled, When you let your tresses down, And peer in fright beneath your bed ; When teeming brains have ceased to whirl, And e'en maternal eyes are winking, I wonder, Fan, my darling girl, I wonder what on earth you're thinking ! Who knows ? perhaps of wond'rous bonnets, Just suited to your saucy head, Of novels, cookery books, and sonnets, Of torments and your brother Ted ; Perhaps of the mountains over there, Whose rugged brows are strangely steepled, And perhaps of " Castles in the air," With lovers and with bon-bons peopled, Perhaps of the thrilling real romance That Annie whisper' d over tea, Perhaps of your last new song or dance, Of nothing perhaps — and perhaps of me. 4 50 HYMN TO BEAUTY. XIV. HYMN TO BEAUTY. (BAUDELAIRE.) Whence earnest thou, O Beauty? whence — ah, who can tell ? From the deep blue heavens, or from the depths of hell? With thy pas'nate glances — infernal and divine, Mingling good and evil, like the juice of potent wine ? Thy deep eyes can tell us of sunset and sunrise And thy sweets are scatter 1 d like scents in sultry skies ; Thy kisses are a filter, thy lips a power untold, To make the heroes cowards, and trembling children bold. Cam'st thou from the stars, or from the black abyss ? That we should fawn like dogs, and whine for a touch — a kiss ; Governing all the world, and answerable for naught, Sowing joy in a hope and anguish in a thought. With cruel smiling scorn thou tramplest on the dead — Horror is but a gem to grace thy haughty head, And Murder but a gaud — a chain wherewith to deck In many an amorous fold thy pitiless breasts and neck. THE GULF OF BAY A. 51 Fluttering moth-like round theo in pas'nate haste we yearn To reach thy dazzling splendor, and bless thee as we bum — Panting with joy the lover in his sweet bridal room, , Seems like one death-stricken, caressing and kissing his tomb. Whether from God or Satan, why should mortals care, Beauty wildly lovely, wantonly, weirdly fair ! If with thine eyes, thy smiles thou openest unto me The awf ul unknown portals of vast infinity ! Whether Angel or Siren, from hell or from the skies, What matter? If thou givest, Sweet with the velvet eyes, Rhythme, perfume, light to wile us from our woe, To make the world less hideous, the dreary hours less slow! XV. THE GULF OF BAYA. (lamartine.) Mark you how the peaceful wave Gently dies upon the shore ! — Breezes sweet with pilfer' d store Fan, and dip, and splash and lave The laughing waters evermore ! 52 THE G ULF OF BA YA. Sit we in this faery skiff, Lazily adown we'll row Round the Gulf and past the cliff, "Winding with the river's flow. Now far behind us glides the river, And on we go as if for ever ; And brushing o'er the creamy foam With trembling hands our oars we ply While in the distance seems to die The silvery track that tells of home. What freshness in a dying day ! Plunged into Thetis' bosom white The Sun has yielded up his sway To the pale Queen of Night. The bosoms of the half -closed flowers Open, to give their choicest dowers Of love, to Zephyrs balmy kisses — Ne'er a tiny plant he misses, But carries, and spreads, for very mirth, Over the waves the scents of earth, What sweet songs ! and what sweet laughter ! On the waves, and on the sea, While we hear a moment after Echo hailing them with glee. Mistrustful of the rising moon, And whistling some old Roman tune, The fisher takes his angle home ; THE GULF OF BAY A. 53 While tender youths, and dark-eyed maids, By babbling rills, and myrtle glades, Gather life's blisses as they roam. But already darkness falls, Black and fearsome grows the sea, Gone are all those merry calls, Dread silence where those calls should be ! Now croaks the frog, the night-owl flits, And deep-brow' d Melancholy sits Brooding o'er the ruhrd scene, For every stone and statue fair, Each half-waird Temple crumbling there, Can tell of what has been. For crush' d beneath the weight of some fell despot's sway, Naught is there left of freedom — naught of the olden time, Where, in Italia 1 s borders, can we find to-day Men to hail as heroes, and deeds to term sublime ? Each grass-grown stone — each ruin hoary Should call up burning thoughts of liberty and glory ; Just as in some old temple, tho' of its charms bereft, We feel the influence still the former god has left — 54 THE GULF OF BAY A. Yet Brutus' shades, and Cato's, still fondly call in vain For manly hearts to build the old world up again — Go ask these ruin'd walls, and crumbling as they are, They'll give you happier thoughts, and mem'ries sweeter far ! Here Horace had his country seat, And here in solitude he wrought ; Here quiet ease, and graceful thought, And leisure found a last retreat ; Propertius met his Cynthia here, And to his Delia's glances clear Tibullus breath' d in tuneful notes his tender strain ; And further down behold where hapless Tasso sung — The glorious thoughts that flashed across a poet's brain, Could not shield from penury — could not save from pain, But drove him forth an exile reviled by every tongue ! THE GULF OF BAT A. 55 And back to these same borders at last he came — to die, He came, when Glory call'd him, and perish' d in her womb, The bays he madly yearn' d for again appear' d to fly — The tardy laurel ripen' d but to darken o'er his tomb! O Hill of Bay a ! — Home of Bards sublime ! Beneath thy greensward, and thy scented thyme, All that is noblest in us lie3 ! For Love and Glory now are thine no more. The only answers to my cries Are the dull ocean's sullen sighs, And my own voice re-echoed from the shore ! Thus all is changed, and all is past, Thus we ourselves must pass away ! For nothing in this world can last, But Life and Love are gone as fast As the bright track that mark'd our way ! 56 REMEMBER ME. XVI. REMEMBER ME. (SEGUR.) You must leave me, darling, for glory, fame, and strife, My sad heart shall follow where'er you chance to be — Away ! Shake off the chains that bound your boyhood's life, Follow honor, darling, but still remember me ! To Duty, as to Love, be steadfast, true, and leal, Seek and strive for glory, shame and dishonor flee, ver when you're rushing upon the foeman's steel, First among the foremost, but still remember me. Tho' I tremble for you 'mid the fierce clang of arms, I almost dread the time when peace shall set you free, Then will other maidens, with nobler, lovelier charms, Fondly smile upon you, but still remember me. Love and Mars together cause many a maid to pine, And there'll be broken hearts among the girls you see, Perhaps softer lips you'll press, but none so true as mine, Yes, be happy, darling, but still remember me. SUNSET. 57 XVIL SUNS ET. (V. HUGO.) Oh hey, then, for wings in the clouds, Let me fly away, let me fly, Afar from where mortals in crowds, But weary and sicken and die ! Let me fly to the worlds of the bright, Ere the spark of being is out, Enough of the gloom of the night, , Enough, too, of longing and doubt ! The voice which I hear from on high, 111 understand better up there, Oh hey, then, for wings in the sky, Or a sail-djiven vessel of air ! I am longing to visit the stars, And the flaming cross of the South, And, maybe in Venus or Mars, I'll satisfy longing and drouth. And perhaps, too, a son of the lyre May read the words writ on the sky, In the starry pages of fire, And tell them to all by and by ! 58 FOR EVER. XYIII. FOR EVER. (e. de girardin.) Alas ! IVe made the cruel vow, My cruel mother bade me make, I must not own I love him now, Altho' my loving heart should break ! I must not look the things I feel, I must avoid him when alone, But if his love be true and leal His heart will surely read my own. In vain, I bind myself to keep This law, however hard it be — There is a language, mute but deep, Which will betray in spite of me, And tho', whene'er he tries to speak, Still faithful to the vow I fly,. My very fears will prove me weak And let him guess the reason why. Since I remember once he said He loved a simple dress the best, I'll have some flowers upon my head, And his own bouquet in my breast ; FOR EVER. 59 Til strive to hide my longing glance, And wait, not seek him at the ball, But surely in the passionate dance My throbbing heart will tell him all. If I must sing when he is there, I'll choose one of his f av'rite songs ~ Some sweetly sad, lone, plaintive air, That hopes and fears and loves and longs ; And tho 1 I sing the whole song thro' With downcast looks, and drooping eyes, He'll guess, he'll know that I am true, In spite of all this forced disguise. They bid me laugh away my tears, But how shall I a light heart feign ? No, I will shun all those he fears, Rather than give one moment's pain ; And, tho' I hide my aching heart, I'll live for him — for him alone, And so, when we are forced to part, His heart at last will read my own. 60 VENICE. xsx. VENICE. (alf. de musset.) In Venice not a barque Is stirring, — all is dark, For thro' the gloomy night Breaks ne'er a light. The lion, gaunt and grand, Seated upon the strand, Scans the wide waters o'er For evermore. While many a ship and boat, In groups around him float, Like herons lull'd to sleep Upon the deep. Over the misty sea Fluttering lazily, Streamers and sails unfurl' d, Clinging and curl'd. VENICE, 61 Now the moon's dreamy light Is flooding all the night, From many a glimmering cloud, Her airy shroud — Just as some novice would Draw on her ample hood, Yet leaving still, I ween, Her beauty seen. And the still water flows Past mighty porticoes, And stairs of wealthy knights, .In lordly flights. And the pale statues gleam In the pure light, and seem Like visions of the past, Come back at last ! All silent, save the sound Of guards upon their round, As on the battled wall Their footsteps fall. More than one damsel stays Beneath the pale moon's rays, And waits, with eager ear, Her cavalier ; 62 VENICE. More than one girl admiring The charms she is attiring ; More than one mirror shows Black dominoes. La Yanina is lying, With languid raptures dying, Upon her lover's breast Half MFd to rest. Narcisa, Folly's daughter ! Holds festal on the water, Until the opal morning Is softly dawning. Who then in such a clime But has a madcap time ? Who but to Love can give Life, while he live ? Let the old Doge clock strike, And hammer as it like, And count with jealous spite The hours of night ; But we will count instead, On full lips rosy red, So many kisses earn'd, And then return' d ; THE SONG OF THIRTY YEARS. 63 Count all your charms, my dear ; Count every happy tear, That loving hearts must borrow From joy and sorrow. XX. THE SONG OF THIRTY YEARS. (nadaud.) Time, my pretty one, is flying, Strange that we should meet, Where the very road seems dying, In its last retreat ; And the Sun in gloomy splendor, Lurks behind the hill, E'en a dying day is tender, Let me — let me love you still. Tho' your glances only fashion Ancient memories, There is still a depth of passion In your liquid eyes ; If the Sun his brightness loses Under autunm skies, I can tell what home he chooses, Let me — let me read your eyes. 64 THE SONG OF THIRTY YEARS, Smooth as Parian marble now, In a few years more, Jealous Time will limn your brow, With his tokens o'er, And bleach all your locks, my girl, Now black as jet; Trust me with one glossy curl To kiss and fondle yet. Very soon a rosy, blushing Dimpled cheek like this is, Will lose all its joyous flushing At my long, long kisses ; And your lips will lose, my sweetest, Their gay golden smile, Tho' most fragrant flowers are fleetest, Kiss me with these lips awhile. Soon, alas ! you must surrender All the rounded charms, Of a waist full, yet how slender In my circling arms ; And the balmy scented nest, Of sweet loves and pleasures, Still so rich your snowy breast, Let me — let me count its treasures ! LIKE A SEBPENT DANCING. 05 What no more for ine in truth ? No more for me to-day ? » Has desire, the child of youth, Fled with youth away ? — Nothing when the flame is dying, Nothing, sweet, that will Catch Love flitting — hold him flying ? Let me — let me love you still ! XXI. LIKE A SERPENT DANCING. (BAUDELAIRE.) How I love, my languid girl, Your voluptuous motion, Flashing, as a star might swirl, 'Cross the starry ocean ; With your balmy locks, half free, Falling, falling down, Vagabond and odorous sea, With blue waves and brown ! Like a starting ship awaking At the morning breeze, So my dreamy soul is taking Flight for distant seas. 5 QQ LIKE A SERPENT DANCING. Your deep eyes, which ne'er reveal ^ Bitter things or sweet, Are two frozen gems, where steel And cruel gold rays meet. There is music's sweetest rhyme In your swaying roll, Like a serpent keeping time On a balanced pole. When your head bows 'neath the burden Of its sweet idlesse, Every motion seems a guerdon Of a soft caress. And your body sways and fails As a vessel might, When its full-blown creaking sails Touch the breakers white ; Till your lips are moist and quivering With their pas'nate bliss, And your very soul seems shivering In a liquid kiss ; Like some rare Bohemian wine — Conquering wine and tart, Sowing, sky-like drink divine, Stars within my heart ! THE TRY ST. 67 xxn. THE TRY ST. (de la vigne.) The dawn has charm' d the storm away With purple and with azure dyes, And every rippling wave at play Reflects the glory of the skies ; Upon its cosy, grassy nest, Aroused from dreams of love and bliss, The rose unfolds its glowing breast To woo the zephyr's morning kiss ; While every soaring warbler sings In loving songs unknown before, And to the oak the ivy clings More tenderly than e'er of yore ; — For surely in this dainty dell, Half flooded in a crimson light, The flowers, the grass have heard you tell That you would meet me here to-night. 68 A LOVE SONG. XXIII. A LOVE SONG. (lamartine.) O Lyre ! if thou canst rival on thy strings The tender trembling of the zephyr's wings, Athwart the feathering oar, Or waves that murmur on until they die, Or the fond turtle's plaintive cooing cry, Upon the echoing shore ; If like the balmy breath of some sweet rose Thy chords the glorious mysteries disclose, Deep hidden in the skies, Where angels tell in azure vaults above Their soundless ecstasies of yearning love, — Like soft eyes unto eyes ; If thy sweet strain, in its melodious roll, Could fan and kiss my darling's fainting soul, Like Love's first thrilling breath, And cradle it upon the airy shrouds, As heaven's soft wind the stilly silver clouds, At daylight's purple death ; A LOVE SOJSTG. 69 While sleeping on the dainty flowers she lies — My voice would breathe in longing-laden sighs A lifetime of emotion, Pure as the joys with which her glances fill me, Sweet as the fairy murmurings which thrill me From dreamland's echoing ocean ! Open your eyes, my sweet one ! let me see If your fringed lashes hide one thought of me, — One message from your mind ; To me your liquid depths are far more dear Than the first burst of sunlight warm and clear, To open'd eyes — born blind. One bended arm her drooping neck caresses ; The other, o'er her forehead softly presses Its snow-flush 1 d covering, Just as the turtle, when in search of sleep, Curves her white rounded neck, and plunges deep Her head 'neath ruffled wing. The low-breathed music of her bosom's motion Is mingling with the harmony of ocean ; While her long silken lashes Shadow a moment on her cheek, then seem To pass as quickly as a shadowy dream Across a deep eye flashes. 70 A LOVE SONG. Sweet be your dreams, my darling ! soft your rest ! What thought my own is sending thro' your breast This deep — this long-drawn sigh ? — Twin waves that blanch the white rays of the moon, In billowing motion, then, ah me ! too soon They murmur on to die ! Oh, let me breathe upon your lips and take Your balmy breath, until my sweet awake — The azure of the skies Courts the first welcome from your timid sight, But, sweet, your soft glanc3 when it sees the light, Seeks only for mine eyes. Till our deep glances blend in one long gaze, Like sparkling waves bedeck 1 d with summer's rays, And each to other bears The trembling flames that evermore will burn, When youthful hearts desire, and pant, and yearn With love, and love's despairs. Until a tear-drop gems your drooping lashes, And like a wandering cloud, conceals the flashes That come from lovelit eyes, Just as we see upon some rosy morn The sun conceal' d behind the tears of dawn, — Half hidden in the skies. A LOVE SONG. 71 O Darling, let your soft voice speak In words that thrill me thro' to hear, Till, from their pas'nate meaning weak, They seem to die within mine ear, Bidding my half-lull' d soul awake And list for love and music's sake. A breath, a sigh, then all is still, Yet 'tis enough, my soul has heard The tuneful melody, and will Have power to guess each broken word ; Just as the flowerets in the grass Know what the waves say as they pass. Red lips half parted in a smile, When lingering words expire, Have sounds for me an after while, As thro' some soft iEolian lyre The very wind that passes by Becomes an angel's minstrelsy. Why hide your charms beneath your silken hair ? Let me dispel the cloud that shields your blushes; Why should you blush, my sweet, at being fair ? Yet morn at its own beauty glows and flushes, And loveliness is ever deck'd with modest care, Where beauty is, be sure a veil is nigh, As if to guard it for the sky. 72 A LOVE SONG. Your eyes are sister rivers, Where heaven is imaged bright, Where the soft fringe quivers And shows their azure light, Till each thought that in you lies, Flashes, darling, thro' your eyes, And leaves its image there, Just as on the river's breast The wandering shadows rest Of swans that cleave the air. Your brow, rich locks half veiling, Half covering in their play, Is like a sweet night paling, And longing for the day ; And your mouth, dear, with its smiles Like the retiring wiles Of ocean backward blown, When she half reluctant grieves For the dainty pearls she leaves Upon the borders strewn. Your feet one moment lying Half hidden in the grass, Till all the flowers are vying To kiss them as they pass, And each motion of that warm, Lithesome, dainty, soft-curved form, So unconstrainVl, so free, A LOVE SONG. 73 Blends like some ethereal choir To the soft attuned lyre, In one sweet harmony. Darling ! close your eyes, or I expire ! Their pure chaste flame sets my mad soul on fire, Oh close them, or I die ! Or rather, sweet one, place your hand in mine, Let my fond arms your trembling form entwine, In blissful ecstasy ! Upon the blue lake's edge there is a hill, Whose grass-grown brow is bending, flxt, and still To watch the water's flow; Lit up all day by the bright sun's warm glance, And all day long its quivering shadows dance In the cool depths below. Two oaks, near standing, where a wild-grown vine Clasps their far-outstretch' d boughs, till they entwine, A crown on each girds round, With its pale verdure bright'ning their dull leaves, Till many a happy, gay festoon it weaves, And shadows on the ground. 74 A LOVE SONG There 'neath a deep-brow' d rock that hangs above, A grotto opes — where many a turtle-dove Has coo'd her heart away ; Curtain' d by vines and fig-leaves from the view, Where garish sunbeams slowly loiter thro' To measure out the day. Night, and the freshness of the friendly gloom Preserves long time the timid, fleeting bloom To the sweet violets, And, at its further depth, a crystal stream Is falling, drop by drop, until we dream Of tears and fond regrets. The eye, in piercing this green curtain thro' Marks but the deep blue waves, and skies more blue, And, on the water's breast, The fisher's sail, when boldly out it flings Athwart the liquid sky, like quivering wings Of swallows half at rest. The ear can list to sweet sounds evermore, Like a long kiss, of waves upon the shore, As every riplet dies, Or Philomela's song with passion yearning, Or the far echo from the rocks returning, To mingle with our sighs. A LOVE SONG. 75 Conie, let us seek this happy shade, Now that the broad sun dies away, And flowerets close their buds, and fade Beneath the languid glance of day ; This is a heaven, sweet, meant for thee. Oh raise thy veil, and let me see Eyes that outshine the starry skies ; "Whether you speak, or sigh, or dream Let, dear, a passing, fleeting gleam Come hither from those star-lit eyes. Oh let me ! let me strew with roses, This downy moss, this rustic seat, And, as your dainty form reposes, I'll fling myself beside your feet ; Happy the green-grown turf you press, The buds you thoughtlessly caress, Happy the vermeil lips you kiss With lips more vermeil still than these, Until they cling like garnering bees, There own true loves, in search of bliss ! If a crown of lilies she weaves In her hair, with girlish glee, If but one of the broken leaves Is wafted by the winds to me ; If a soft ringlet of her hair, While toying with the sweet cool air, But wantons with my lips and breath ; 76 A LOVE SONG. If her pure bosom heaves a sigh, Over rny brow there passes by A feeling like the wings of death. Do you remember, dear, the day When the great gods, with tender hand, Cast you forth upon my way — A shadow on a desert sand ? Oh from that hour to this, my own, My life's been bound to yours alone, And, like a goblet from above, O'er-brimming was the cup I quafFd, And still in every long-drawn draught I find sweet innocence and love. Time with his jealous icy blast Will wither all your charms, like sweet flowers past, And dead, in winter's tomb ; Till soft, red lips are kissless, and the joy They now can give, tho' now alas ! too coy, Has perish 1 d with their bloom. Yet when your eyes, veil'd in a cloud of tears, Shall mourn the rigor of the fleeting years, And see each grace depart, A LOVE SONG. 77 When in the past, as in a stream, you gaze, And seek the lovely form of other days, Look rather in my heart ; There will your beauty flourish years untold, There will my loyalty watch you as of old, And keep you still the same ; Just as a golden lamp, some holy maid Might shelter with her hand, while thro' the shade She bears the trembling flame. Oh when Death smiling comes, as come he must, And shatters our twin torches in the dust, A stronger love shall bloom, Then shall my last sweet resting-place be thine And your soft hand clasp' d tenderly in mine, In our last bed, the tomb ! Or, rather, darling, let us fly away, Just as upon some gloiious autumn day Two loving swans might rise, And, still caressing, leave their wonted nest, And seek for brighter lands, and climes more blest, And fuller, deeper skies ! ^7 78 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL. XXIV. ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL. (PARNY.) Her age just flying childhood's playtime, As bright and innocent as Maytime ; Each charm, each grace, each feature told Of Love's affinity and power, And that Love's passions might unfold At any day, at any hour ; Fate, deeming she was all too fair For us, and our drear world of care, Let her give back her soul to heaven, As pure and spotless as 'twas given ; And thus, without a parting sigh, A smile fades off some eager face, And thus the cushat's song might die, Without an echo or a trace ! SLEEPLESSNESS. 79 XXV. SLEEPLESSNESS. (nadaud.) Filling the silent night with dread, The dismal clock is tolling one, As vainly on my burning bed I pray for sleep, or for the Sun ; But Care, the child of grim unrest, Brings a ghost to my whirling brain, And tho' an hundred times represt, An hundred times it comes again ; O Fairy, or Muse, or Immortal, Who scentest my dreams like a posy, Fling open the golden portal Of a land where all is rosy ! Recalling childhood's hours, and giving To the dim future all you dare, Life were scarcely worth the living If Hope and Memory were not there ; 80 SLEEPLESSNESS. People my house, as long ago, With the old friends I mourn and weep — Ah, 'twould appease the daytime's woe Could I but see them in my sleep. Distance and Time would disappear, Just as a flash of light goes b\, And, spurning all that binds me here, I'd cleave the azure of the sky. Ah, what a depth in that blue sky, With nigged mountains softly blent, As here we wandered, you and I, And singing, painting as we went. See, friend, that young girl coyly leaning Across the flower-grown window-sill, Memory forgets her name and meaning, But brings me back her features still ; Is it Minna, or fair Lulu ? Oh whisper your name very low, My Life it is you, it is You — I dare not breathe your name — ah no ! My wound is still open and bleeding, She gives me her hand, half in sorrow, With a voice, how soft in its pleading, She whispers, " To-morrow — to-morrow ! " NEW SONG TO AN OLD AIR. 81 She flics, I will follow my own ! But distance and time overtake me, Till to-morrow leave me alone, And to-morrow do not awake me ! XXVI. NEW SONG TO AN OLD AIR. (V. HUGO.) Is there a tuft of grass, Naught to deface it, Where, in their tiny mass, Sunny flowers grace it ; Where purple, gold, and red, Mix in their scented bed ? Under her fairy tread Softly I'd place it. Is there a loving breast, Fond as the willow Watching the stream at rest, Pure as its billow ; Filled with great thoughts, and free From all infirmity ? Sweet, such were meant for thee, Meant for thy pillow. 82 A VILLAGE MAIDEN'S SONG. Is there a loving dream, Perfumed with roses, Where every sunny beam Fresh charms discloses, Love-dream which God has blest Where fond souls meet, and rest ? Then upon such a nest Thy heart reposes. xxvn. A VILLAGE MAIDEN'S SONG. (dupont.) How happy I am to-day, Under these old trees, Singing blithely, merrily, Snatches of gay glees ; The willow is in flower, With buds the hawthorn gleaming, As I sing the idle thoughts, My silly head is dreaming. A VILLAGE MAIDEN'S SONG. 83 The liappy bird is singing, I am singing too, But my song's worth more than his — Endless, deep and true. The bird is fearful of the wind, And biting frosts and showers, While my happy path is strewn With nothing but gay flowers. If a viper lurk within, I say, nothing loath, " Sir, go your way, I go mine — Room enough for both." My parents love me fondly, And, darling souls, are willing To deck their little idiot out With many a hard-earned shilling. Each one, when I am passing, Tries to steal a glance. And each, when I am dancing, Begs me for a dance. There is only one I love, But will he ever know it ? If he cannot read my love, How can I ever show it ? 84 FABEWELL. Kosy mouth and sparkling eyes Tell him, o'er and o'er, That a maiden longs to be Loved a little more. XXVJLLL FAREWELL. (alf. de musset.) Farewell ! Farewell, tho' maybe, dear, We part for ever, let us bow — Fate calling you has left me here To feel I never loved as now. Not one sad tear — one fond regret Shall well up from my aching heart, I can respect the future yet, And smiling, I can see you start. You go in all your joy and pride, In joy and pride you'll soon come back, When those who for your presence sigh'd, Have pass'd away without a track. WISDOM. 85 Farewell ! fulfil your rosy dreams, Drain Pleasure's cup, 'twill drown her sighs ; The star that o'er your life-path gleams, Will dazzle all our watching eyes. One day, perchance, you'll guess the worth Of one true heart in unison, To cheer us in our fight on earth — And what we feel when this is gone ! XXIX. WISDOM. (lamartine.) Ye who pass away like shades, From this dull dreary world of tears, Travellers thro' these gloomy glades, Brethren mine in griefs and f ears ! List ye now, as deeper, higher, Sounds the thrilling glow T ing lyre, Bidding Thabor's rocks rejoice ; Sion, leveird to the ground, Trembling thinks it is the sound Of the old Segorian's voice. 86 WISDOM. Hapless are the fools who think — Every thought is now a crime, As God bade ye, eat and drink, Gayly live while yet there's time ; He knoweth why the stars are glowing, He knoweth why the waves are flowing, What waves and stars will never show ye, Why day fades 'mid glowing skies, Why man breathes a sigh, then dies, And ye mortals now what know ye ? Sit ye down beside the fountains, Where the shade toys with the breeze, Where, from green-clad hills and mountains, Streams are babbling 1 mid the trees, Where the cooling streams are rushing Press ye out the red juice blushing — Blushing into crimson wine, Hand to hand the cup pass round, Careless heads with myrtles bound, Aching hearts with joys divine. Choose ye then a rose of roses, From the garlands of Sharon, Some sweet maid whose form discloses Charms but meant to be your own ; Toying with her ebon tresses Steep your soul in wild caresses, Live, and love, and be ye wise ; WISDOM. 87 Aught beyond her glowing charms, Aught beyond her clasping arms, Is but vanity and lies. As a lily in the night By the heavy rain down-bome, If the Lord's strong arm should smite, Bow ye down your heads and mourn ; One tear shed before his feet Is an incense far more sweet Than a thousand temples' fires, And a wounded heart's deep sighs Sooner to his presence rise Than the altar's softest lyres. Stars roll onwards in their course, Heedless what their route may be, And the Jordan spends its force Seeking ever for the sea ; Butterflies are flitting till Instinct bears them at its will, Leaflets, when the summer's past, Careless whitherwards they stray, Hurried onwards by the play Of the whirlwind of the blast. Why with care and labor sore Poison ye your bounded lot ? To-day is surely worth far more Than cycles which as yet are not ! 88 THE ART OF PLEASING. Pass away wlien life is spent ! Go, where all your fathers went ! Sleep, where all your fathers lie ! Perhaps another day will dawn, Perhaps a rosier, happier morn Like Aurora in the sky ! XXX. THE ART OF PLEASING. (deguerle. ) You tell me that to bind a lover, You have no beauty — have no charms, And weeping, darling, you discover How vain are all these false alarms ; And yet, because of these sweet fears You ne'er look lovelier than in tears. I love your dimpled smiling frown, Your lips as ripe and red as roses, Your eyes half peeping, half cast down, Your brow where modesty reposes, I love your voice when whispering sweet, Your caressing hands, your clasping arms, I love your dainty little feet, I love you, dear, for all your charms, THE ART OF PLEASING. 89 For in thern all my spirit sees A soul far lovelier than these. Alas ! the rosiest cloud of morn Can only for one moment last, One moment — and 'tis onward borne For ever, on the scouring blast ; For beauty leaves when once 'tis seen But the regret of having been. Soon faded were each beauteous face, Like some dull shapeless block of stone, Without Love's vivifying grace To sculpture out charms all his own. Two words will teach the art of charming To you — to me — to all, my dear, A simple spell, with naught alarming, And, if you cannot find it here, Go, seek it in the stars above — The art of charming is — To love I 90 UBSULA. XXXI. URSULA. (nadaud.) This morning, to my chamber, As I lay there sleeping, Came a fairy, girlish Sprite Round the curtains peeping, Half hiding in the curtains, Half glimmering thro', — I dreamt of you, Ursula — Dreamt of you. She had your face, my darling, And your full soft breast, But there seem'd somewhat in them Yours have ne'er exprest ; Her manner more confiding, Her eyes more blue, I dreamt of you, Ursula, — Dreamt of you. Your modesty was blushing At its sweet alarms, As you coyly clutch' d your robe Over all your charms ; URSULA. 91 But the robe was only tulle, And looking thro', I dreamt of you, Ursula, — Dreamt of you. Drawing gently to my couch, Till so near, so near, That your lips were whispering Secrets in my ear, Heedless then of all the world What could I do ? — I dreamt of you, Ursula, — Dreamt of you. Oh, curse the clumsy servant Hammering at the door ! Till my fairy sprite was gone, And my dream was o 1 er — What can I do but strive, dear, To sleep anew, And drearn of you, Ursula ? — Dream of you ? 92 m THE CHURCH OF * * * xxxn. IN THE CHURCH OF * * * (V. HUGO.) It was an humble church with broadening portico — The church to which we came, Where for three hundred years fond souls had wept their woe, And pas'nate souls their shame. Sad it was, and calm as the twilit sky above, The church to which we came, The un watch' d altar, like a heart bereft of love, Had lost its tapers' flame. Many a child and mother upon this sounding floor Had reverently trod, And from these ancient stalls uprise, for evermore, Deep prayers, like ours, to God ! Mute is the organ now, the master-player gone To angels' songs on high, He, who wrung forth such strains in his deep plegethon As made men long to die ! Oh, for a hand like his ! Oh, for a loving touch To make each note sonorous ! Of yearning hope, and love, and mercy breathe as much As could an angels' chorus ! m THE CHURCH OF * * * 93 Body without a soul, mute in the nave it stands, — A gem case nothing worth ; Yet at the caressing touch of some skill' d master's hands It brings down heaven to earth. For the deep organ's strains, the tempest's burly throe, The streamlet babbling free, Murmur perchance unto some few of us below, Thoughts of Infinity ! The church seems lull'd to rest, enveloped in the gloom Of Nature's sombrest guise, Save where the nickering lamps, in the far distance loom, Like tear-besprinkled eyes. Each passing word we hear, borne on the wings of night — Each scarcely utter' d prayer, As in some lone forest the last bird's drowsy flight, Falls thro' the silent air. And, while we are praying, with souls o'ercome with awe, Half hoping, half afraid, Something, greater, nobler, than mortal ever saw, Seems dying in the shade. 94 IN THE CHUECH OF * * * Sad it was, and calm as the twilit sky above, The church to which we came ; The unwatch'd altar, like a heart bereft of love, Had lost its tapers' flame. Your brow in clasping hands is bended lowly down, Like the rain-smitten grass, While, in the far distance, from the gay, noisy town Numberless voices pass. And the passing voices sing blithely and cheerily, 4 'Now is the time for joy, For us the gold cups brim with red wine merrily, Tho' others' lips they cloy. 4 'Let us love and be happy, for springtime is dying, The urn is quickly fiird. Snatch at the sunny hours and seize them while they're flying, Ere merry lips be still' d. " Let us take from each object the best of its dower, Take soft warmth from the fire, Wine from the ripen' d grape, and perfume from the flower, From soft eyes fond desire ; IN THE CHURCH OF * * * 95 44 Taste them — taste them throughly, while still they can entrance, While still they can beguile Springtime's parting zephyr, and daylight's parting glance, And beauty's parting smile ; u Go to the end of all, still heaping as we live Excesses on excesses, Tho' death be in the touch this touch has power to give The sweetest of caresses. "In the rosy beaker, methinks, I love the best The last drop ever quaff 1 d, There, many a time and oft, lies hidden and comprest The essence of the draught. " Why then should we hasten to skim each pleasure o'er? Should we not rather leap To snatch where some rich pearl, unknown, unseen before, Lies buried in the deep. "With hands o'er-teeming now, fools are we but to gaze At what we scarce can clutch, Just as some breathless child at running, chasing plays, And joys in running much. 96 IN TUB CIIUBCH OF* * * " Enjoy at leisure, 'tis the kindest gift of fate In our short merry bout, Till, like a torch clown huiTd upon the iron grate, Our liyes go sparkling out. " Kot aping him who saw his image in the stream, And wept for't ever after, Since all sweet fruits and flowers on earth, the meetest seem For red lips ripe with laughter. " Sad men, with firm-press' d lips, and eyes serene and cold, Are mortal after all ; Their mighty hearts will melt at the mere touch of gold, And bend to some girl's thrall. 1 ' They fall like us in spite of all their foolish pride, And their yam bitterness, — The loftiest waves upon the foaming, dashing tide Soon grovel with the less. ' i Live we then, and drink we, from even-song to morn Oblivion yields relief, Till the cups are shatter 1 d, and festal napkins torn Like face-cloths of pale grief. IJST THE CHURCH OF * * * „ 97 " The gloomy shade that flits 'cross pleasure's vermeil track, And joy's bright sunny glade "We heed not — eyes cast sunwards, if we look not back We shall not see the shade. "What tho' despair, and grief, and misery and the tomb Above our heads may shake ! What tho' behind us something black as midnight gloom Is dragging in our wake ! " We shall not know it — to the rear all that lowers And tells of mortal woes, Should we then in making a coronet of flowers Have pity on the rose ? "Aught in life worth having — the rest is for the tomb — Is something that will fire us, A merry song — a ray of light — a sweet perfume — With gayer thoughts inspire us. " To-morrow never comes, 'tis evermore to-day, And crown' d with glee and joy — > Oh woeful is the heart that yields to sorrow's sway, And finds that pleasures cloy ! 7 98 IN THE CHURCH OF * * * " Life is some mad ogre that ever craves for more. And craving, shouts and laughs — Till the last torch is quench 1 d, and the last flagon o'er — His regal cup he quaffs." While the great town's voices breaking the dead of night, And swelling thro' the air, Said happiness, and joy, and pride, and love's delight, Your soft mild eyes said "prayer ! " They spoke too loud by far — and you — you spoke too low : " O God who brought me here, And still reserve me here for many a bitter woe Which I must trembling fear, " Have pity on me, for my sailless skiff is led Where'er 'tis willed by You ; If guardian angels watch o'er the pure infant's head, Why not o'er women too ? IN THE CIIURCH OF * * * 99 "I know our days arc naught — our morning, noon, and night Is nothing when 'tis weigh' d 'Gainst Yours — You are the real, the palpable, the bright, Aught else is only shade. "I know it : but within this shade I grope, and fall And fain would ask my way ; Oh, who will answer while I linger, as I call, And listen as I pray ? c i No answer comes, but still as here and there I tread, A wild fear thrills me thro' ; If guardian angels watch o'er the young infant's head, Why not o'er women, too ? " O Lord, near me no prattling lips, no loving eyes, No hearthside where to rest, No lordly palace towering almost to the skies, No lowly mossy nest ; "No bright beacon gleaming to guide me to the land, None who would care to dress it ; Alas, no friendly arm to clasp my outstretched hand, No loving touch to press it ! 100- IN THE CHURCH OF * * * "Lord, far away from You, I fall where I am hurl'd, And weep there as I lie, Forgotten in .the ruins of a dreary world As if thrown out to die ! " Yet have I done no ill in this world hard as brass, You, Lord, know all my ways, Unruffled all my thoughts, and hidden actions, pass Before Your piercing gaze. " Half of my goods I give unto the poor, and call To me the faint and ill, Tho 1 none e'er pity me I comfort, solace all, And surfer, and am still. " Never regardless, Lord, of Your love, or Your hate, Have I said what care I ; But when I see some lingering pilgrim, dreaming wait, I show your door is nigh. " You know it, Lord, and still you let my wild tears flow, Unsoothed, undried, I ween ; All breaks beneath my touch, all trembles where I go, All falls on which I lean. " My life is hapless now, joyless from childhood's hours. Is this, O Lord, Your will ? All sunbeams from the sky, that o'er me looms and lowers, One by one, faded still. ZY THE CHURCH OF * * * 101 " Alas ! for me there is no change of ebb and flow, No change of shade and light, Each day my spirit sinks still lower and more low Among dreams black as night ! " They say on wearied hearts, asick with grief and pain, Your saving help descends ; Sustain me, Lord, I pray ! O Lord my God sustain, — On You my all depends ! " I gazed long time on her, poor creature, as she pray'd So longingly to God, And found her grave, and sweet, and fair, yet passing staid, Worthy the ground she trod. I whisper' d, seeking not to trouble her who pray VI, So sorrow- worn and weak, If by some chance she could not hear within the shade Far kindlier voices speak — For at the fall of years, as at the sunny glow Of youth's bright rosy day, God's holy altar, when a woman bendeth low, Has something still to say. 102 m THE CHURCH OF * * * "Lady, vdiy let these griefs and bitter sorrows blight, Oh why still weep and mourn, You with the charming heart, tho' gloomy as the night, As pure as rosy dawn ? " There are two cups in life — one bitter, and one sweet — All taste, not you alone ; What then if life is crushed beneath your trembling feet, Your soul is still your own. 4 'And very soon your soul will bear you to the breast Of peaceful azure skies, Where troubles cease, and where the weary are at rest, Afar from mortal eyes. " Be like the happy bird, for one short moment staying, As joyously he sings, And fearing, dreading naught, altho' the branch is swaying, Knowing that he has wings." BABCAROLE. 103 XXXIII. BARCAROLE. (P. DUPONT.) Let us leave our oars at rest On the river's sleeping breast, While our fond fancies roam, dear, To some nook, on yonder shore, Where Fate surely has in store Some little cosy home, dear ; And, fiird with all the thoughts this brings, We'll let the idle stream flow by, And Love shall use his fairy wings, And fan our shallop with a sigh. Let us leave, &c. , &c. , &c. I tremble, darling, when you bend To pluck the lilies from the wave, Tho' sweetly spray and sunshine blend Each smiling riplet is a grave. Let us leave, &c, &c, &c. But clasp one arm around my neck, Then gather flowers, I care not how, For if our little skiff should wreck, No power could separate us now ! Let us leave, &e.,