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_O wistful, fragile faces, few out of many!_
_The gross, the coa.r.s.e, the brazen,_ _G.o.d knows I cannot pity them, perhaps, as I should do,_ _But, oh, ye delicate, wistful faces,_ _Who hath forgotten you?_
NOTES
NOTE PRECEDENT TO "LA FRAISNE"
"When the soul is exhausted of fire, then doth the spirit return unto its primal nature and there is upon it a peace great and of the woodland
"_magna pax et silvestris_."
Then becometh it kin to the faun and the dryad, a woodland-dweller amid the rocks and streams
"_consociis faunis dryadisque inter saxa sylvarum_."
Ja.n.u.s of Basel.[1]
Also has Mr. Yeats in his "Celtic Twilight" treated of such, and I because in such a mood, feeling myself divided between myself corporal and a self aetherial "a dweller by streams and in woodland," eternal because simple in elements
"_ Aeternus quia simplex naturae_."
Being freed of the weight of a soul "capable of salvation or d.a.m.nation,"
a grievous striving thing that after much straining was mercifully taken from me; as had one pa.s.sed saying as one in the Book of the Dead,
"I, lo I, am the a.s.sembler of souls," and had taken it with him leaving me thus _simplex naturae_, even so at peace and transsentient as a wood pool I made it.
The Legend thus: "Miraut de Garzelas, after the pains he bore a-loving Riels of Calidorn and that to none avail, ran mad in the forest.
"Yea even as Peire Vidal ran as a wolf for her of Penautier though some say that twas folly or as Garulf Bisclavret so ran truly, till the King brought him respite (See 'Lais' Marie de France), so was he ever by the Ash Tree."
Hear ye his speaking: (low, slowly he speaketh it, as one drawn apart, reflecting) (egare).
[Footnote 1: Referendum for contrast. "Daemonalitas" of the Rev. Father Sinistrari of Ameno (1600 circ.) "A treatise wherein is shown that there are in existence on earth rational creatures besides man, endowed like him with a body and soul, that are born and die like him, redeemed by our Lord Jesus Christ, and capable of receiving salvation or d.a.m.nation."
Latin and English text, pub. Liseux, Paris, 1879.]
NOTES ON NEW POEMS
VISION OF ITALY.
1. "_che lo glorifico_." In the Piazza dei Signori, you will find an inscription which translates thus:
"It is here Can Grande della Scala gave welcome to Dante Alighieri, the _same which glorified him_, dedicating to him that third his song eternal."
"C.G. vi accolse D.A. che lo glorifico dedicandogli la terza, delle eterne sue cantiche."
2. Ref. Richard of St. Victor. "On the preparation of the soul for contemplation," where he distinguishes between cogitation, meditation, and contemplation.
In cogitation the thought or attention flits aimlessly about the subject.
In meditation it circles round it, that is, it views it systematically, from all sides, gaining perspective.
In contemplation it radiates from a centre, that is, as light from the sun it reaches out in an infinite number of ways to things that are related to or dependent on it.
The words above are my own, as I have not the Benjamin Minor by me.
Following St. Victor's figure of radiation: Poetry in its acme is expression from contemplation.
3. San Pietro Incarnato. There are several rows of houses intervening between it and the river.
ALBA BELINGALIS
MS. in Latin, with refrain,
"L alba par umet mar atras el poy Pas abigil miraclar Tenebris."
It was and may still be the oldest fragment of Provencal known.
MARVOIL
The Personae are:
Arnaut of Marvoil, a troubadour, date 1170-1200.
The Countess (in her own right) of Burlatz, and of Beziers, being the wife of The Vicomte of Beziers.
Alfonso IV of Aragon.
Tibors of Mont-Ausier. For fuller mention of her see the "razos" on Bertran of Born. She is contemporary with the other persons, but I have no strict warrant for dragging her name into this particular affair.
Marco Londonio's Italian version of "Nel Biancheggiar":
Nel biancheggiar di delicata rosa Risplendono i colori D' occidentali fiori Prima che l'alba, in esultanza ascosa
Voglia baciarli. Ed aleggiar io sento Qual su dolce luto Nel lor linguaggio muto Fiorir di gioia e tocco di tormento
Cosi un' arcano senso di languore, Le sue sognanti dita Fanno scordar la vita Spirando in verso tutto pien d'amore....
Senza morir: che sanno i suoni alati, Vedendo il nostro stato, Ch' e dal dolor turbato, Di lasciarci, morendo, desolati.
