Volume Ii Part 103 (1/2)

AN OLD TUNE After Gerard De Nerval

There is an air for which I would disown Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies,-- A sweet sad air that languishes and sighs, And keeps its secret charm for me alone.

Whene'er I hear that music vague and old, Two hundred years are mist that rolls away; The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold A green land golden in the dying day.

An old red castle, strong with stony towers, And windows gay with many-colored gla.s.s; Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers, That bathe the castle bas.e.m.e.nt as they pa.s.s.

In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair, A lady looks forth from her window high; It may be that I knew and found her fair, In some forgotten life, long time gone by.

Andrew Lang [1844-1912]

REFUGE

Set your face to the sea, fond lover,-- Cold in darkness the sea-winds blow!

Waves and clouds and the night will cover All your pa.s.sion and all your woe: Sobbing waves, and the death within them, Sweet as the lips that once you pressed-- Pray that your hopeless heart may win them!

Pray that your weary life may rest!

Set your face to the stars, fond lover,-- Calm, and silent, and bright, and true!-- They will pity you, they will hover Softly over the deep for you.

Winds of heaven will sigh your dirges, Tears of heaven for you be spent, And sweet for you will the murmuring surges Pour the wail of their low lament.

Set your face to the lonely s.p.a.ces, Vast and gaunt, of the midnight sky!

There, with the drifting cloud, your place is, There with the griefs that cannot die.

Love is a mocking fiend's derision, Peace a phantom, and faith a snare!

Make the hope of your heart a vision-- Look to heaven, and find it there!

William Winter [1836-

MIDSUMMER

After the May time and after the June time Rare with blossoms and perfume sweet, Cometh the round world's royal noon time, The red midsummer of blazing heat, When the sun, like an eye that never closes, Bends on the earth its fervid gaze, And the winds are still, and the crimson roses Droop and wither and die in its rays.

Unto my heart has come this season, O, my lady, my wors.h.i.+ped one, When, over the stars of Pride and Reason, Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun.

Like a great red ball in my bosom burning With fires that nothing can quench or tame, It glows till my heart itself seems turning Into a liquid lake of flame.

The hopes half shy and the sighs all tender, The dreams and fears of an earlier day, Under the noontide's royal splendor, Droop like roses, and wither away.

From the hills of Doubt no winds are blowing, From the isles of Pain no breeze is sent,-- Only the sun in a white heat glowing Over an ocean of great content.