Songs from Vagabondia | Page 8

war?For our lord Gamelbar,?Gamelbar!
THE OUTLAW.
Oh, let my lord laugh in his halls?When he the tale shall tell!?But woe to Jarlwell and its walls?When I shall laugh as well!?And he that laughs the last, lads,?Laughs well, laughs well!
He's lord of many a burg and farm?And mickle thralls and gold,?And I am but my own right arm,?My dwelling-place the wold.?But when we twain meet face to face,?He will hot laugh so bold.
The shame he chuckles as he shows?This time he need not tell;?I'll give his body to the crows,?And his black soul to Hell.?For he that laughs the last, lads,?Laughs well, laughs well!
THE KING'S SON.
"Daughter, daughter, marry no man,?Though a king's son come to woo,?If he be not more than blessing or ban?To the secret soul of you."
"'Tis the King's son, indeed, I ween,?And he left me even but now,?And he shall make me a dazzling queen,?With a gold crown on my brow."
"And are you one that a golden crown,?Or the lust of a name can lure??You had better wed with a country clown,?And keep your young heart pure."
"Mother, the King has sworn, and said?That his son shall wed but me;?And I must gang to the prince's bed,?Or a traitor I shall be."
"Oh, what care you for an old man's wrath??Or what care you for a king??I had rather you fled on an outlaw's path,?A rebel, a hunted thing."
"Mother, it is my father's will,?For the King has promised him fair?A goodly earldom of hollow and hill,?And a coronet to wear."
"Then woe is worth a father's name,?For it names your dourest foe!?I had rather you came the child of shame?Than to have you fathered so."
"Mother, I shall have gold enow,?Though love be never mine,?To buy all else that the world can show?Of good and fair and fine."
"Oh, what care you for a prince's gold,?Or the key of a kingdom's till??I had rather see you a harlot bold?That sins of her own free will.
"For I have been wife for the stomach's sake,?And I know whereof I say;?A harlot is sold for a passing slake,?But a wife is sold for aye.
"Body and soul for a lifetime sell,?And the price of the sale shall be?That you shall be harlot and slave as well?Until Death set you free."
LAURANA'S SONG. FOR "A LADY OF VENICE."
Who'll have the crumpled pieces of a heart??Let him take mine!?Who'll give his whole of passion for a part,?And call't divine??Who'll have the soiled remainder of desire??Who'll warm his fingers at a burnt-out fire??Who'll drink the lees of love, and cast i' the mire?The nobler wine?
Let him come here, and kiss me on the mouth,?And have his will!?Love dead and dry as summer in the South?When winds are still?And all the leafage shrivels in the heat!?Let him come here and linger at my feet?Till he grow weary with the over-sweet,?And die, or kill.
LAUNA DEE.
Weary, oh, so weary?With it all!?Sunny days or dreary--?How they pall!?Why should we be heroes,?Launa Dee,?Striving to no winning??Let the world be Zero's!?As in the beginning?Let it be!
What good comes of toiling,?When all's done??Frail green sprays for spoiling?Of the sun;?Laurel leaf or myrtle,?Love or fame--?Ah, what odds what spray, sweet??Time, that makes life fertile,?Makes its blooms decay, sweet,?As they came.
Lie here with me dreaming,?Cheek to cheek,?Lithe limbs twined and gleaming,?Brown and sleek;?Like two serpents coiling?In their lair.?Where's the good of wreathing?Sprays for Time's despoiling??Let me feel your breathing?In my hair.
You and I together--?Was it so??In the August weather?Long ago!?Did we kiss and fellow,?Side by side,?Till the sunbeams quickened?From our stalks great yellow?Sunflowers, till we sickened?There and died?
Were we tigers creeping?Through the glade?Where our prey lay sleeping,?Unafraid,?In some Eastern jungle??Better so.?I am sure the snarling?Beasts could never bungle?Life as men do, darling,?Who half know.
Ah, if all of life, love,?Were the living!?Just to cease from strife, love,?And from grieving;?Let the swift world pass us,?You and me,?Stilled from all aspiring,--?Sinai nor Parnassus?Longer worth desiring,?Launa Dee!
Just to live like lilies?In the lake!?Where no thought nor will is,?To mistake!?Just to lose the human?Eyes that weep!?Just to cease from seeming?Longer man and woman!?Just to reach the dreaming?And the sleep!
THE MENDICANTS.
We are as mendicants who wait?Along the roadside in the sun.?Tatters of yesterday and shreds?Of morrow clothe us every one.
And some are dotards, who believe?And glory in the days of old;?While some are dreamers, harping still?Upon an unknown age of gold.
Hopeless or witless! Not one heeds,?As lavish Time comes down the way?And tosses in the suppliant hat?One great new-minted gold To-day.
Ungrateful heart and grudging thanks,?His beggar's wisdom only sees?Housing and bread and beer enough;?He knows no other things than these.
O foolish ones, put by your care!?Where wants are many, joys are few;?And at the wilding springs of peace,?God keeps an open house for you.
But that some Fortunatus' gift?Is lying there within his hand,?More costly than a pot of pearls,?His dulness does not understand.
And so his creature heart is