Wine, Women, and Song | Page 4

versus of the Middle Ages with the stiff
sculptures on a Romanesque font, lifelessly reminiscent of decadent
classical art; while the moduli, in their freshness, elasticity, and vigour
of invention, resemble the floral scrolls, foliated cusps, and grotesque
basreliefs of Gothic or Lombard architecture.
V.
Even in the half-light of what used to be called emphatically the Dark

Ages, there pierce gleams which may be reflections from the past
evening of paganism, or may intimate the earliest dawn of modern
times. One of these is a song, partly popular, partly scholastic,
addressed to a beautiful boy.[1] It begins thus--
"O admirabile veneris idolum"--
and continues in this strain, upon the same rhythm, blending
reminiscences of classical mythology and medieval metaphysic, and
winding up with a reference to the Horatian _Vitas hinnuleo me similis
Chloe_. This poem was composed in the seventh century, probably at
Verona, for mention is made in it of the river Adige. The metre can
perhaps be regarded as a barbarous treatment of the long Asclepiad; but
each line seems to work out into two bars, divided by a marked rest,
with two accents to each bar, and shows by what sort of transition the
modern French Alexandrine may have been developed.
The oddly archaic phraseology of this love-song rendered it unfit for
translation; but I have tried my hand at a kind of hymn in praise of
Rome, which is written in the same peculiar rhythm:[2]--
"O Rome illustrious, of the world emperess!
Over all cities thou
queen in thy goodliness!
Red with the roseate blood of the martyrs,
and
White with the lilies of virgins at God's right hand!
Welcome
we sing to thee; ever we bring to thee
Blessings, and pay to thee
praise for eternity.
"Peter, thou praepotent warder of Paradise,
Hear thou with mildness
the prayer of thy votaries;
When thou art seated to judge the twelve
tribes, O then Show thyself merciful; be thou benign to men;
And
when we call to thee now in the world's distress,
Take thou our
suffrages, master, with gentleness.
"Paul, to our litanies lend an indulgent ear,
Who the philosophers
vanquished with zeal severe:
Thou that art steward now in the Lord's
heavenly house, Give us to taste of the meat of grace bounteous;
So

that the wisdom which filled thee and nourished thee May be our
sustenance through the truths taught by thee."
A curious secular piece of the tenth century deserves more than passing
mention. It shows how wine, women, and song, even in an age which is
supposed to have trembled for the coming destruction of the world, still
formed the attraction of some natures. What is more, there is a certain
modern, as distinguished from classical, tone of tenderness in the
sentiment. It is the invitation of a young man to his mistress, bidding
her to a little supper in his rooms:[3]--
"Come therefore now, my gentle fere,
Whom as my heart I hold full
dear;
Enter my little room, which is
Adorned with quaintest rarities:

There are the seats with cushions spread,
The roof with curtains
overhead;
The house with flowers of sweetest scent
And scattered
herbs is redolent:
A table there is deftly dight
With meats and
drinks of rare delight;
There too the wine flows, sparkling, free;

And all, my love, to pleasure thee.
There sound enchanting
symphonies;
The clear high notes of flutes arise;
A singing girl and
artful boy
Are chanting for thee strains of joy;
He touches with his
quill the wire,
She tunes her note unto the lyre:
The servants carry
to and fro
Dishes and cups of ruddy glow;
But these delights, I will
confess,
Than pleasant converse charm me less;
Nor is the feast so
sweet to me
As dear familiarity.
"Then come now, sister of my heart,
That dearer than all others art,

Unto mine eyes thou shining sun,
Soul of my soul, thou only one!
I
dwelt alone in the wild woods,
And loved all secret solitudes;
Oft
would I fly from tumults far,
And shunned where crowds of people
are.
O dearest, do not longer stay!
Seek we to live and love to-day!

I cannot live without thee, sweet!
Time bids us now our love
complete.
Why should we then defer, my own,
What must be done
or late or soon?
Do quickly what thou canst not shun!

I have no
hesitation."

From Du Méril's collections further specimens of thoroughly secular
poetry might be culled. Such is the panegyric of the nightingale, which
contains the following impassioned lines:[4]--
"Implet silvas atque cuncta modulis arbustula,
Gloriosa valde facta
veris prae laetitia;
Volitando scandit alta arborum cacumina,
Ac
festiva satis gliscit sibilare carmina."
Such are the sapphics on the spring, which, though they date from the
seventh century, have a truly modern sentiment of Nature. Such, too, is
the medieval legend of the Snow-Child, treated comically in burlesque
Latin verse, and meant to be sung to a German tune of love--
Modus Liebinc. To the same category may be referred the horrible, but
singularly striking, series of Latin poems edited from a MS. at Berne,
which set