Ban and Arriere Ban | Page 7

the dungeons of
the Bass
Hold a prisoner again.
King Romance with wand of gold
Sways the realms he ruled of yore.

Hills Dalgetty roamed of old,
Valleys of enchanted Kor:
Waves
his sceptre o'er the isles,

Claims the pirates' treasuries,
Through
innumerable miles
Of the siren-haunted seas!
Elfin folk of coast and cave,
Laud him in the woven dance,
All the

tribes of wold and wave
Bow the knee to King Romance!

Wand'ring voices Chaucer knew
On the mountain and the main,

Cry the haunted forest through,
KING ROMANCE HAS COME
AGAIN!
CENTRAL AMERICAN ANTIQUITIES IN SOUTH
KENSINGTON MUSEUM
'Youth and crabbed age
Cannot live together;'
So they say.
On this little page
See you when and whether
That they may.
Age was very old -
Stones from Chichimec
Hardly wrung;
Youth had hair of gold
Knotted on her neck -
Fair and young!
Age was carved with odd
Slaves, and priests that slew them -
God
and Beast;
Man and Beast and God -
There she sat and drew them,
King and
Priest!
There she sat and drew
Many a monstrous head
And antique;
Horrors from Peru,
HUACAS doubly dead,
Dead cacique!
Ere Pizarro came
These were lords of men
Long ago;
Gods without a name,
Born or how or when,
None may know!
Now from Yucatan
These doth Science bear
Over seas;
And methinks a man
Finds youth doubly fair,
Sketching these!
ON CALAIS SANDS
On Calais Sands the grey began,
Then rosy red above the grey,
The

morn with many a scarlet van
Leap'd, and the world was glad with
May!
The little waves along the bay
Broke white upon the shelving
strands;
The sea-mews flitted white as they
On Calais Sands!
On Calais Sands must man with man
Wash honour clean in blood
to-day;
On spaces wet from waters wan
How white the flashing
rapiers play,
Parry, riposte! and lunge! The fray
Shifts for a while,
then mournful stands
The Victor: life ebbs fast away
On Calais
Sands!
On Calais Sands a little space
Of silence, then the plash and spray,

The sound of eager waves that ran
To kiss the perfumed locks astray,

To touch these lips that ne'er said 'Nay,'
To dally with the helpless
hands;
Till the deep sea in silence lay
On Calais Sands!
Between the lilac and the may
She waits her love from alien lands;

Her love is colder than the clay
On Calais Sands!
BALLADE OF YULE
This life's most jolly, Amiens said,
Heigh-ho, the Holly! So sang he.

As the good Duke was comforted
In forest exile, so may we!
The
years may darken as they flee,
And Christmas bring his melancholy:

But round the old mahogany tree
We drink, we sing Heigh-ho, the
Holly!
Though some are dead and some are fled
To lands of summer over
sea,
The holly berry keeps his red,
The merry children keep their
glee;
They hoard with artless secresy
This gift for Maude, and that
for Molly,
And Santa Claus he turns the key
On Christmas Eve,
Heigh-ho, the Holly!
Amid the snow the birds are fed,
The snow lies deep on lawn and lea,

The skies are shining overhead,
The robin's tame that was so free.


Far North, at home, the 'barley bree'
They brew; they give the hour

to folly,
How 'Rab and Allan cam to pree,'
They sing, we sing
Heigh-ho, the Holly!
ENVOI
Friend, let us pay the wonted fee,
The yearly tithe of mirth: be jolly!

It is a duty so to be,
Though half we sigh, Heigh-ho, the Holly!
POSCIMUR--FROM HORACE
Hush, for they call! If in the shade,
My lute, we twain have idly
strayed,
And song for many a season made,
Once more reply;

Once more we'll play as we have played,
My lute and I!
Roman the song: the strain you know,
The Lesbian wrought it long
ago.
Now singing as he charged the foe,
Now in the bay,
Where
safe in the shore-water's flow
His galleys lay.
So sang he Bacchus and the Nine,
And Venus and her boy divine,

And Lycus of the dusky eyne,
The dusky hair;
So shalt thou sing,
ah, Lute of mine,
Of all things fair;
Apollo's glory! Sounding shell,
Thou lute, to Jove desirable,
When
soft thine accents sigh and swell
At festival -
Delight more dear
than words can tell,
Attend my call!
ON HIS DEAD SEA-MEW
FROM THE GREEK
I
Bird of the graces, dear sea-mew, whose note
Was like the halcyon's
song,
In death thy wings and thy sweet spirit float
Still paths of the
night along!
II

THE SAILOR'S GRAVE
Tomb of a shipwrecked seafarer am I,
But thou, sail on!
For
homeward safe did other vessels fly,
Though we were gone.
FROM MELEAGER
I love not the wine-cup, but if thou art fain
I should drink, do thou
taste it, and bring it to me;
If it touch but thy lips it were hard to
refrain,
It were hard from the sweet maid who bears it to flee;
For
the cup ferries over the kisses, and plain
Does it speak of the grace
that was given it by thee.
ON THE GARLAND SENT TO RHODOCLEIA--RUFINUS
GOLDEN EYES
'Ah, Golden Eyes, to win you yet,
I bring mine April coronet,
The
lovely blossoms of the spring,
For you I weave, to you I bring

These roses with the lilies set,
The dewy dark-eyed violet,

Narcissus, and the wind-flower wet:
Wilt thou disdain mine offering?

Ah, Golden Eyes!
Crowned with thy lover's flowers, forget
The pride wherein thy heart
is set,
For thou, like