Ban and Arriere Ban | Page 5

deeds of arms, but there never was nane sae gay!
THREE PORTRAITS OF PRINCE CHARLES
1731
Beautiful face of a child,?Lighted with laughter and glee,?Mirthful, and tender, and wild,?My heart is heavy for thee!
1744
Beautiful face of a youth,?As an eagle poised to fly forth,?To the old land loyal of truth,?To the hills and the sounds of the North:?Fair face, daring and proud,?Lo! the shadow of doom, even now,?The fate of thy line, like a cloud,?Rests on the grace of thy brow!
1773
Cruel and angry face,?Hateful and heavy with wine,?Where are the gladness, the grace,?The beauty, the mirth that were thine?
Ah, my Prince, it were well,--?Hadst thou to the gods been dear, -?To have fallen where Keppoch fell,?With the war-pipe loud in thine ear!?To have died with never a stain?On the fair White Rose of Renown,?To have fallen, fighting in vain,?For thy father, thy faith, and thy crown!?More than thy marble pile,?With its women weeping for thee,?Were to dream in thine ancient isle,?To the endless dirge of the sea!?But the Fates deemed otherwise,?Far thou sleepest from home,?From the tears of the Northern skies,?In the secular dust of Rome.
? * *
A city of death and the dead,?But thither a pilgrim came,?Wearing on weary head?The crowns of years and fame:?Little the Lucrine lake?Or Tivoli said to him,?Scarce did the memories wake?Of the far-off years and dim.?For he stood by Avernus' shore,?But he dreamed of a Northern glen?And he murmured, over and o'er,?'For Charlie and his men:'?And his feet, to death that went,?Crept forth to St. Peter's shrine,?And the latest Minstrel bent?O'er the last of the Stuart line.
FROM OMAR KHAYYAM
[Rhymed from the prose version of Mr. Justin Huntly M'Carthy]
The Paradise they bid us fast to win?Hath Wine and Women; is it then a sin?To live as we shall live in Paradise,?And make a Heaven of Earth, ere Heaven begin?
The wise may search the world from end to end,?From dusty nook to dusty nook, my friend,?And nothing better find than girls and wine,?Of all the things they neither make nor mend.
Nay, listen thou who, walking on Life's way,?Hast seen no lovelock of thy love's grow grey?Listen, and love thy life, and let the Wheel?Of Heaven go spinning its own wilful way.
Man is a flagon, and his soul the wine,?Man is a lamp, wherein the Soul doth shine,?Man is a shaken reed, wherein that wind,?The Soul, doth ever rustle and repine.
Each morn I say, to-night I will repent,?Repent! and each night go the way I went -?The way of Wine; but now that reigns the rose,?Lord of Repentance, rage not, but relent.
I wish to drink of wine--so deep, so deep -?The scent of wine my sepulchre shall steep,?And they, the revellers by Omar's tomb,?Shall breathe it, and in Wine shall fall asleep.
Before the rent walls of a ruined town?Lay the King's skull, whereby a bird flew down?'And where,' he sang, 'is all thy clash of arms??Where the sonorous trumps of thy renown?'
AESOP
He sat among the woods, he heard?The sylvan merriment: he saw?The pranks of butterfly and bird,?The humours of the ape, the daw.
And in the lion or the frog -?In all the life of moor and fen,?In ass and peacock, stork and dog,?He read similitudes of men.
'Of these, from those,' he cried, 'we come,?Our hearts, our brains descend from these.'?And lo! the Beasts no more were dumb,?But answered out of brakes and trees:
'Not ours,' they cried; 'Degenerate,?If ours at all,' they cried again,?'Ye fools, who war with God and Fate,?Who strive and toil: strange race of men.
'For WE are neither bond nor free,?For WE have neither slaves nor kings,?But near to Nature's heart are we,?And conscious of her secret things.
'Content are we to fall asleep,?And well content to wake no more,?We do not laugh, we do not weep,?Nor look behind us and before;
'But were there cause for moan or mirth,?'Tis WE, not you, should sigh or scorn,?Oh, latest children of the Earth,?Most childish children Earth has borne.'
? * *
They spoke, but that misshapen slave?Told never of the thing he heard,?And unto men their portraits gave,?In likenesses of beast and bird!
LES ROSES DE SADI
This morning I vowed I would bring thee my Roses,?They were thrust in the band that my bodice encloses,?But the breast-knots were broken, the Roses went free.?The breast-knots were broken; the Roses together?Floated forth on the wings of the wind and the weather,?And they drifted afar down the streams of the sea.
And the sea was as red as when sunset uncloses,?But my raiment is sweet from the scent of the Roses,?Thou shalt know, Love, how fragrant a memory can be.
THE HAUNTED TOWER
[Suggested by a poem of Theophile Gautier]
In front he saw the donjon tall?Deep in the woods, and stayed to scan?The guards that slept along the wall,?Or dozed upon the bartizan.?He marked the drowsy flag that hung?Unwaved by wind, unfrayed by shower,?He listened to the birds that sung?Go forth and