Volume Iv Part 15 (1/2)

All for her love he found a snare, A maimed poor monk in orders gray; And where's the Queen who willed to slay Buridan, that in a sack must go Afloat down Seine,--a perilous way-- Nay, but where is the last year's snow?

Where's that White Queen, a lily rare, With her sweet song, the Siren's lay?

Where's Bertha Broad-foot, Beatrice fair?

Alys and Ermengarde, where are they?

Good Joan, whom English did betray In Rouen town, and burned her? No, Maiden and Queen, no man may say; Nay, but where is the last year's snow?

ENVOY Prince, all this week thou needst not pray, Nor yet this year the thing to know.

One burden answers, ever and aye, ”Nay, but where is the last year's snow?”

Andrew Lang [1844-1912]

A BALLAD OF DEAD LADIES After Villon From ”If I Were King”

I wonder in what Isle of Bliss Apollo's music fills the air; In what green valley Artemis For young Endymion spreads the snare: Where Venus lingers debonair: The Wind has blown them all away-- And Pan lies piping in his lair-- Where are the G.o.ds of Yesterday?

Say where the great Semiramis Sleeps in a rose-red tomb; and where The precious dust of Caesar is, Or Cleopatra's yellow hair: Where Alexander Do-and-Dare; The Wind has blown them all away-- And Redbeard of the Iron Chair; Where are the Dreams of Yesterday?

Where is the Queen of Herod's kiss, And Phryne in her beauty bare; By what strange sea does Tomyris With Dido and Ca.s.sandra share Divine Proserpina's despair; The Wind has blown them all away-- For what poor ghost does Helen care?

Where are the Girls of Yesterday?

ENVOY Alas for lovers! Pair by pair The Wind has blown them all away: The young and yare, the fond and fair: Where are the Snows of Yesterday?

Justin Huntly McCarthy [1860-1936]

IF I WERE KING After Villon From ”If I Were King”

All French folk, whereso'er ye be, Who love your country, sail and sand, From Paris to the Breton sea, And back again to Norman strand, Forsooth ye seem a silly band, Sheep without shepherd, left to chance-- Far otherwise our Fatherland, If Villon were the King of France!

The figure on the throne you see Is nothing but a puppet, planned To wear the regal bravery Of silken coat and gilded wand.

Not so we Frenchmen understand The Lord of lion's heart and glance, And such a one would take command If Villon were the King of France!

His counsellors are rogues, Perdie!

While men of honest mind are banned To creak upon the Gallows Tree, Or squeal in prisons over-manned We want a chief to bear the brand, And bid the d.a.m.ned Burgundians dance.

G.o.d! Where the Oriflamme should stand If Villon were the King of France!

ENVOY Louis the Little, play the grand; Buffet the foe with sword and lance; 'Tis what would happen, by this hand, If Villon were the King of France!

Justin Huntly McCarthy [1860-1936]

A BALLADE OF SUICIDE

The gallows in my garden, people say, Is new and neat and adequately tall.