139 JOHN OF TOURS. (Old French.) JOHN of Tours is back with peace, 'Good-morrow, mother.' 'Good-morrow, son; Your wife has borne you a little one.' 'Go now, mother, go before, Make me a bed upon the floor; As it neared the midnight toll, 'Tell me now, my mother my dear, 'Tell me though, my mother my dear, 'Tell me then, my mother my dear, Daughter, any reds or blues, But the black is most in use.' 'Nay, but say, my mother my dear, Why do you fall weeping here?' 'Oh! the truth must be said,— It's that John of Tours is dead.' 'Mother, let the sexton know That the grave must be for two; 'Aye, and still have room to spare, For you must shut the baby there.' MY FATHER'S CLOSE. (Old French.) INSIDE my father's close, (Fly away O my heart away!) Sweet apple-blossom blows So sweet. Three kings' daughters fair, 'Ah !' says the eldest one, (Fly away O my heart away!) I think the day's begun 'Ah!' says the second one, (Fly away O my heart away!) 'Far off I hear the drum So sweet.' Ah!' says the youngest one, (Fly away O my heart away!) 'It's my true love, my own, 'Oh! if he fight and win,' (Fly away O my heart away!) 'I keep my love for him, Oh! let him lose or win, He hath it still complete. BEAUTY. (A combination from Sappho.) I. Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough, A-top on the topmost twig,-which the pluckers forgot, somehow, Forgot it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it till now. II. Like the wild hyacinth flower which on the hills is found, Which the passing feet of the shepherds for ever tear and wound, Until the purple blossom is trodden into the ground. YOUTH AND LORDSHIP.* (Italian Street-Song.) My young lord's the lover Of earth and sky above, * GIOVENTU E SIGNORIA. Yet for love's desire Green youth lacks the daring; Though one dream of fire, All his hours ensnaring, Burns the boy past bearing,The dream that girls inspire. My young lord's the lover Of every burning thought That Love's will, that Love's skill Within his breast has wrought. Lovely girl, look on him Soft as music's measure; Yield him, when you've won him, Joys and toys at pleasure; But to win your treasure, Softly look upon him. My young lord's the lover Take him to your bosom My young lord's the lover Lovely girl, with vaunting THE LEAF-FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. And now my lord's the lover Of ah! so many a sweet,— Of roses, of spouses, As many as love may greet. THE LEAF. (Leopardi.) 'TORN from your parent bough, Poor leaf all withered now, Where go you?' 'I cannot tell. Storm-stricken is the oak-tree Where I grew, whence I fell. The zephyr and hurricane From highest hills to the plain. I go without fear or grief: And thither the laurel-leaf.' 143 FRANCESCA DA RIMINI. (Dante.) * WHEN I made answer, I began: 'Alas! How many sweet thoughts and how much desire Led these two onward to the dolorous pass!' Then turned to them, as who would fain inquire, And said: Francesca, these thine agonies Wring tears for pity and grief that they inspire :~~ |