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GRACE BEFORE SONG LA FRAISNE CINO NA AUDIART VILLONAUD FOR THIS YULE A VILLONAUD: BALLAD OF THE GIBBET MESMERISM FIFINE ANSWERS IN TEMPORE SENECTUTIS FAMAM LIBROSQUE CANO SCRIPTOR IGNOTUS PRAISE OF YSOLT CAMARADERIE MASKS TALLY-O BALLAD FOR GLOOM FOR E. Mc C AT THE HEART O' ME XENIA OCCIDIT SEARCH AN IDYL FOR GLAUCUS IN DURANCE GUILLAUME DE LORRIS BELATED IN THE OLD AGE OF THE SOUL ALBA BELINGALIS FROM SYRIA FROM THE SADDLE MARVOIL REVOLT AND THUS IN NINEVEH THE WHITE STAG PICCADILLY NOTES

PERSONAE

Grace before Song

Lord God of heaven that with mercy dight Th' alternate prayer-wheel of the night and light Eternal hath to thee, and in whose sight Our days as rain drops in the sea surge fall,

As bright white drops upon a leaden sea Grant so my songs to this grey folk may be:

As drops that dream and gleam and falling catch the sun, Evan'scent mirrors every opal one Of such his splendour as their compass is, So, bold My Songs, seek ye such death as this.

La Fraisne

For I was a gaunt, grave councillor Being in all things wise, and very old, But I have put aside this folly and the cold That old age weareth for a cloak.

I was quite strong--at least they said so-- The young men at the sword-play; But I have put aside this folly, being gay In another fashion that more suiteth me.

I have curled mid the boles of the ash wood, I have hidden my face where the oak Spread his leaves over me, and the yoke Of the old ways of men have I cast aside.

Naught but the wind that flutters in the leaves.

She hath drawn me from mine old ways, Till men say that I am mad; But I have seen the sorrow of men, and am glad, For I know that the wailing and bitterness are a folly. And I? I have put aside all folly and all grief. I wrapped my tears in an ellum leaf And left them under a stone And now men call me mad because I have thrown All folly from me, putting it aside To leave the old barren ways of men, Because my bride Is a pool of the wood, and Though all men say that I am mad It is only that I am glad, Very glad, for my bride hath toward me a great love That is sweeter than the love of women That plague and burn and drive one away.

Aie-e! 'Tis true that I am gay Quite gay, for I have her alone here And no man troubleth us.

Once when I was among the young men.... And they said I was quite strong, among the young men. Once there was a woman.... .... but I forget.... she was.... .... I hope she will not come again.

.... I do not remember.... I think she hurt me once, but.... That was very long ago.

I do not like to remember things any more.

I like one little band of winds that blow In the ash trees here: For we are quite alone Here mid the ash trees.

Cino

Bah! I have sung women in three cities, But it is all the same; And I will sing of the sun.

Lips, words, and you snare them, Dreams, words, and they are as jewels, Strange spells of old deity, Ravens, nights, allurement: And they are not; Having become the souls of song.

Eyes, dreams, lips, and the night goes. Being upon the road once more, They are not. Forgetful in their towers of our tuneing Once for Wind-runeing They dream us-toward and Sighing, say, "Would Cino, Passionate Cino, of the wrinkling eyes, Gay Cino, of quick laughter, Cino, of the dare, the jibe, Frail Cino, strongest of his tribe That tramp old ways beneath the sun-light, Would Cino of the Luth were here!"

Once, twice, a year-- Vaguely thus word they:

But you "My Lord," God's pity! And all I knew were out, My Lord, you Were Lack-land Cino, e'en as I am, O Sinistro.

I have sung women in three cities. But it is all one. I will sing of the sun.

.... eh?.... they mostly had grey eyes, But it is all one, I will sing of the sun.

"'Pollo Phoibee, old tin pan, you Glory to Zeus' aegis-day, Shield o' steel-blue, th' heaven o'er us Hath for boss thy lustre gay!

'Pollo Phoibee, to our way-fare Make thy laugh our wander-lied; Bid thy 'fulgence bear away care. Cloud and rain-tears pass they fleet!

I will sing of the white birds In the blue waters of heaven, The clouds that are spray to its sea.

Na Audiart

NOTE: Any one who has read anything of the troubadours knows well the tale of Bertran of Born and My Lady Maent of Montaignac, and knows also the song he made when she would none of him, the song wherein he, seeking to find or make her equal, begs of each preeminent lady of Langue d'Oc some trait or some fair semblance: thus of Cembelins her "esgart amoros" to wit, her love-lit glance, of Aelis her speech free-running, of the Vicomptess of Chales her throat and her two hands, at Roacoart of Anhes her hair golden as Iseult's; and even in this fashion of Lady Audiart "although she would that ill come unto him" he sought and praised the lineaments of the torse. And all this to make "Una dompna soiseubuda" a borrowed lady or as the Italians translated it "Una donna ideale."

Though thou well dost wish me ill Audiart, Audiart, Where thy bodice laces start As ivy fingers clutching through Its crevices, Audiart, Audiart, Stately, tall and lovely tender Who shall render Audiart, Audiart Praises meet unto thy fashion? Here a word kiss! Pass I on Unto Lady "Miels-de-Ben," Having praised thy girdle's scope How the stays ply back from it; I breathe no hope That thou shouldst.... Nay no whit Bespeak thyself for anything. Just a word in thy praise, girl, Just for the swirl Thy satins make upon the stair, 'Cause never a flaw was there Where thy torse and limbs are met: Though thou hate me, read it set In rose and gold. Or when the minstrel, tale half told, Shall burst to lilting at the phrase "Audiart, Audiart".... Bertrans, master of his lays, Bertrans of Aultaforte thy praise Sets forth, and though thou hate me well, Yea though thou wish me ill Audiart, Audiart. Thy loveliness is here writ till, Audiart, Oh, till thou come again. And being bent and wrinkled, in a form That hath no perfect limning, when the warm Youth dew is cold Upon thy hands, and thy old soul Scorning a new, wry'd casement Churlish at seemed misplacement Finds the earth as bitter As now seems it sweet, Being so young and fair As then only in dreams, Being then young and wry'd, Broken of ancient pride, Thou shalt then soften, Knowing I know not how Thou wert once she Audiart, Audiart For whose fairness one forgave Audiart, Audiart Que be-m vols mal.

Villonaud for this Yule

Towards the Noel that morte saison Then when the grey wolves everychone Drink of the winds their chill small-beer And lap o' the snows food's gueredon Then makyth my heart his yule-tide cheer Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.

Ask ye what ghosts I dream upon? The ghosts of dead loves everyone That make the stark winds reek with fear Lest love return with the foison sun And slay the memories that me cheer Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.

Where are the joys my heart had won? Where are the lips mine lay upon, Aye! where are the glances feat and clear That bade my heart his valour don? I skoal to the eyes as grey-blown mere Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.

Prince: ask me not what I have done Nor what God hath that can me cheer But ye ask first where the winds are gone Wineing the ghosts of yester-year.

A Villonaud

Ballad of the Gibbet

Or the song of the sixth companion

It being remembered that there were six of us with Master Villon, when that expecting presently to be hanged he writ a ballad whereof ye know:

Drink ye a skoal for the gallows tree! Francois and Margot and thee and me, Drink we the comrades merrily That said us, "Till then" for the gallows tree!

Fat Pierre with the hook gauche-main, Thomas Larron "Ear-the-less," Tybalde and that armouress Who gave this poignard its premier stain Pinning the Guise that had been fain To make him a mate of the "Haulte Noblesse" And bade her be out with ill address As a fool that mocketh his drue's disdeign.

Drink we a skoal for the gallows tree! Francois and Margot and thee and me, Drink we to Marienne Ydole, That hell brenn not her o'er cruelly.

Drink we the lusty robbers twain, Black is the pitch o' their wedding-dress, Lips shrunk back for the wind's caress As lips shrink back when we feel the strain Of love that loveth in hell's disdeign And sense the teeth through the lips that press 'Gainst our lips for the soul's distress That striveth to ours across the pain. Drink we skoal to the gallows tree! Francois and Margot and thee and me, For Jehan and Raoul de Vallerie Whose frames have the night and its winds in fee.

Maturin, Guillaume, Jacques d'Allmain, Culdou lacking a coat to bless One lean moiety of his nakedness That plundered St. Hubert back o' the fane: Aie! the lean bare tree is widowed again For Michault le Borgne that would confess In "faith and troth" to a traitoress, "Which of his brothers had he slain?"

But drink we skoal to the gallows tree! Francois and Margot and thee and me:

These that we loved shall God love less And smite alway at their faibleness?

Skoal!! to the Gallows! and then pray we: God damn his hell out speedily And bring their souls to his "Haulte Citee."

Mesmerism

Aye you're a man that! ye old mesmerizer Tyin' your meanin' in seventy swadelin's, One must of needs be a hang'd early riser To catch you at worm turning. Holy Odd's bodykins!

"Cat's i' the water butt!" Thought's in your verse-barrel, Tell us this thing rather, then we'll believe you, You, Master Bob Browning, spite your apparel Jump to your sense and give praise as we'd lief do.

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