Part 4 (1/2)

Yet keeps the beauty of her prime; Child, never Spanish lady's face Was lovely with so wild a grace; Remember the dead summer time.

Think of our loves, our feuds of old, And how you gave your chain of gold To me for a peace offering; And how all night I lay awake To touch and kiss it for your sake,- To touch and kiss the lifeless thing.

Lady, beware, for all we say, This Love shall live another day, Awakened from his deathly sleep; The heart that once has been your shrine For other loves is too divine; A home, my dear, too wide and deep.

What did I say-why do I dream?

Why should I struggle with the stream Whose waves return not any day?

Close heart, and eyes, and arms from me; Farewell, farewell! so must it be, So runs, so runs, the world away,

The season bears upon its wing The swallows and the songs of spring, And days that were, and days that flit; The loved lost hours are far away; And hope and fame are scattered spray For me, that gave you love a day For you that not remember it.

SPRING IN THE STUDENT'S QUARTER.

HENRI MURGER.

WINTER is pa.s.sing, and the bells For ever with their silver lay Murmur a melody that tells Of April and of Easter day.

High in sweet air the light vane sets, The weatherc.o.c.ks all southward twirl; A sou will buy her violets And make Nini a happy girl.

The winter to the poor was sore, Counting the weary winter days, Watching his little fire-wood store, The bitter snow-flakes fell always; And now his last log dimly gleamed, Lighting the room with feeble glare, Half cinder and half smoke it seemed That the wind wafted into air.

Pilgrims from ocean and far isles See where the east is reddening, The flocks that fly a thousand miles From sunsetting to sunsetting; Look up, look out, behold the swallows, The throats that twitter, the wings that beat; And on their song the summer follows, And in the summer life is sweet.

With the green tender buds that know The shoot and sap of l.u.s.ty spring My neighbour of a year ago Her cas.e.m.e.nt, see, is opening; Through all the bitter months that were, Forth from her nest she dared not flee, She was a study for Boucher, She now might sit to Gavarni.

OLD LOVES.

HENRI MURGER.

LOUISE, have you forgotten yet The corner of the flowery land, The ancient garden where we met, My hand that trembled in your hand?

Our lips found words scarce sweet enough, As low beneath the willow-trees We sat; have you forgotten, love?

Do you remember, love Louise?

Marie, have you forgotten yet The loving barter that we made?

The rings we changed, the suns that set, The woods fulfilled with sun and shade?

The fountains that were musical By many an ancient trysting tree- Marie, have you forgotten all?

Do you remember, love Marie?

Christine, do you remember yet Your room with scents and roses gay?

My garret-near the sky 'twas set- The April hours, the nights of May?

The clear calm nights-the stars above That whispered they were fairest seen Through no cloud-veil? Remember, love!

Do you remember, love Christine?