I never wrote a double ballade, and stanzas four and five of the Double Ballade of Primitive Man were contributed by the learned doyen of Anthropology, Mr. E. B. Tylor, author of Primitive Culture.
A tout seigneur tout honneur!
In Ballade of his Choice of a Sepulchre, the Windburg is a hill in Teviotdale. A Portrait of 1783 was written on a French engraving after Morland, and Benedetta Ramus was addressed to a mezzotint (an artist's proof, 'very rare'). It is after Romney and is 'My Beauty,' as Charles Lamb said (once, unluckily, to a Scot) of an engraving, after Lionardo, of some fair dead lady.
The sonnet, Natural Theology, is the germ of what the author has since written, in The Making of Religion, on the long neglected fact that many of the lowest savages known share the belief in a benevolent All Father and Judge of men.
Concerning verses in Rhymes a la Mode, visitors to St. Andrews may be warned not to visit St. Leonard's Chapel, described in the second stanza of Almae Matres. In the writer's youth, and even in middle age, He loitered idly where the tall Fresh-budded mountain-ashes blow Within its desecrated wall.
The once beautiful ruins carpeted with grass and wild flowers have been doubly desecrated by persons, academic persons, having authority and a plentiful lack of taste. The slim mountain-ashes, fair as the young palm-tree that Odysseus saw beside the shrine of Apollo in Delos, have been cut down by the academic persons to whom power is given. The grass and flowers have been rooted up. Hideous little wooden fences enclose the grave slabs: a roof of a massive kind has been dumped down on the old walls, and the windows, once so graceful in their airy lines, have been glazed in a horrible manner, while the ugly iron gate precludes entrance to a shrine which is now a black and dismal dungeon.
"Oh, be that roof as lead to lead Above the dull Restorer's head, A Minstrel's malison is said!"Notes explanatory are added to the Rhymes, and their information, however valuable, need not here be repeated.
A BALLADE OF XXXII BALLADES.
Friend, when you bear a care-dulled eye, And brow perplexed with things of weight, And fain would bid some charm untie The bonds that hold you all too strait, Behold a solace to your fate, Wrapped in this cover's china blue;These ballades fresh and delicate, This dainty troop of Thirty-two!
The mind, unwearied, longs to fly And commune with the wise and great;But that same ether, rare and high, Which glorifies its worthy mate, To breath forspent is disparate:
Laughing and light and airy-new These come to tickle the dull pate, This dainty troop of Thirty-two.
Most welcome then, when you and I, Forestalling days for mirth too late, To quips and cranks and fantasy Some choice half-hour dedicate, They weave their dance with measured rate Of rhymes enlinked in order due, Till frowns relax and cares abate, This dainty troop of Thirty-two.
ENVOY.
Princes, of toys that please your state Quainter are surely none to view Than these which pass with tripping gait, This dainty troop of Thirty-two.
F. P.
TO
AUSTIN DOBSON.
Un Livre est un ami qui change--quelquefois.
1880.
1888
BALLADE TO THEOCRITUS, IN WINTER.
[Greek text which cannot be reproduced]
Id. viii. 56.
Ah! leave the smoke, the wealth, the roar Of London, and the bustling street, For still, by the Sicilian shore, The murmur of the Muse is sweet.
Still, still, the suns of summer greet The mountain-grave of Helike, And shepherds still their songs repeat Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea.
What though they worship Pan no more, That guarded once the shepherd's seat, They chatter of their rustic lore, They watch the wind among the wheat:
Cicalas chirp, the young lambs bleat, Where whispers pine to cypress tree;They count the waves that idly beat Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea.
Theocritus! thou canst restore The pleasant years, and over-fleet;With thee we live as men of yore, We rest where running waters meet:
And then we turn unwilling feet And seek the world--so must it be -WE may not linger in the heat Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea!
ENVOY.
Master,--when rain, and snow, and sleet And northern winds are wild, to thee We come, we rest in thy retreat, Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea!
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 of him that ran When seistron, cymbal, trump, and drum Wild music of the Bull began;When through the chanting priestly clan Walk'd Ramses, and the high sun kiss'd This stone, with blessing scored and ban -This monument in London mist.
The 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 Time's gnomon can, This monument in London mist!
BALLADE OF ROULETTE.
TO R. R.
This life--one was thinking to-day, In the midst of a medley of fancies -Is a game, and the board where we play Green earth with her poppies and pansies.
Let manque be faded romances, Be passe remorse and regret;Hearts dance with the wheel as it dances -The wheel of Dame Fortune's roulette.
The lover will stake as he may His heart on his Peggies and Nancies;The girl has her beauty to lay;
The saint has his prayers and his trances;The poet bets endless expanses In Dreamland; the scamp has his debt:
How they gaze at the wheel as it glances -The wheel of Dame Fortune's roulette!
