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V
"And he died thirty year agone.
I am old now, no sweet thing to see; By G.o.d, though, when I think thereon, And of that good glad time, woe's me, And stare upon my changed body Stark naked, that has been so sweet, Lean, wizen, like a small dry tree, I am nigh mad with the pain of it.
VI
"Where is my faultless forehead's white, The lifted eyebrows, soft gold hair, Eyes wide apart and keen of sight, With subtle skill in the amorous air; The straight nose, great nor small, but fair, The small carved ears of shapeliest growth, Chin dimpling, colour good to wear, And sweet red splendid kissing mouth?
VII
"The shapely slender shoulders small, Long arms, hands wrought in glorious wise, Round little b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the hips withal High, full of flesh, not scant of size, Fit for all amorous masteries; *** ***** *****, *** *** ****** **** ***
VIII
"A writhled forehead, hair gone grey, Fallen eyebrows, eyes gone blind and red, Their laughs and looks all fled away, Yea, all that smote men's hearts are fled; The bowed nose, fallen from goodlihead; Foul flapping ears like water-flags; Peaked chin, and cheeks all waste and dead, And lips that are two skinny rags:
IX
"Thus endeth all the beauty of us.
The arms made short, the hands made lean, The shoulders bowed and ruinous, The b.r.e.a.s.t.s, alack! all fallen in; The flanks too, like the b.r.e.a.s.t.s, grown thin; ** *** *** ***** *****, *** ** **!
For the lank thighs, no thighs but skin, They are specked with spots like sausage-meat.
X
"So we make moan for the old sweet days, Poor old light women, two or three Squatting above the straw-fire's blaze, The bosom crushed against the knee, Like f.a.ggots on a heap we be, Round fires soon lit, soon quenched and done; And we were once so sweet, even we!
Thus fareth many and many an one."
A DOUBLE BALLAD OF GOOD COUNSEL
Now take your fill of love and glee, And after b.a.l.l.s and banquets hie; In the end ye'll get no good for fee, But just heads broken by and by; Light loves make beasts of men that sigh; They changed the faith of Solomon, And left not Samson lights to spy; Good luck has he that deals with none!
Sweet Orpheus, lord of minstrelsy, For this with flute and pipe came nigh The danger of the dog's heads three That ravening at h.e.l.l's door doth lie; Fain was Narcissus, fair and shy, For love's love lightly lost and won, In a deep well to drown and die; Good luck has he that deals with none!
Sardana, flower of chivalry, Who conquered Crete with horn and cry, For this was fain a maid to be And learn with girls the thread to ply; King David, wise in prophecy, Forgot the fear of G.o.d for one Seen was.h.i.+ng either shapely thigh; Good luck has he that deals with none!
For this did Amnon, craftily Feigning to eat of cakes of rye, Deflower his sister fair to see, Which was foul incest; and hereby Was Herod moved, it is no lie, To lop the head of Baptist John For dance and jig and psaltery; Good luck has he that deals with none!
Next of myself I tell, poor me, How thrashed like clothes at wash was I Stark naked, I must needs agree; Who made me eat so sour a pie But Katherine of Vaucelles? thereby, No took third part of that fun; Such wedding-gloves are ill to buy; Good luck has he that deals with none!
But for that young man fair and free To pa.s.s those young maids lightly by, Nay, would you burn him quick, not he; Like broom-horsed witches though he fry, They are sweet as civet in his eye; But trust them, and you're fooled anon; For white or brown, and low or high, Good luck has he that deals with none!
FRAGMENT ON DEATH
And Paris be it or Helen dying, Who dies soever, dies with pain.
He that lacks breath and wind for sighing, His gall bursts on his heart; and then He sweats, G.o.d knows what sweat!--again, No man may ease him of his grief; Child, brother, sister, none were fain To bail him thence for his relief.
Death makes him shudder, swoon, wax pale, Nose bend, veins stretch, and breath surrender, Neck swell, flesh soften, joints that fail Crack their strained nerves and arteries slender.
O woman's body found so tender, Smooth, sweet, so precious in men's eyes, Must thou too bear such count to render?
Yes; or pa.s.s quick into the skies.
[In the original here follows Villon's masterpiece, the matchless _Ballad of the Ladies of Old Time_, so incomparably rendered in the marvellous version of D. G. Rossetti; followed in its turn by the succeeding poem, as inferior to its companion as is my attempt at translation of it to his triumph in that higher and harder field.--A. C. S.]
BALLAD OF THE LORDS OF OLD TIME
(AFTER THE FORMER ARGUMENT)
What more? Where is the third Calixt, Last of that name now dead and gone, Who held four years the Papalist?
Alphonso king of Aragon, The gracious lord, duke of Bourbon, And Arthur, duke of old Britaine?
And Charles the Seventh, that worthy one?
Even with the good knight Charlemain.
The Scot too, king of mount and mist, With half his face vermilion, Men tell us, like an amethyst From brow to chin that blazed and shone; The Cypriote king of old renown, Alas! and that good king of Spain, Whose name I cannot think upon?
Even with the good knight Charlemain.
No more to say of them I list; 'Tis all but vain, all dead and done: For death may no man born resist, Nor make appeal when death comes on.
I make yet one more question; Where's Lancelot, king of far Bohain?
Where's he whose grandson called him son?
Even with the good knight Charlemain.
Where is Guesclin, the good Breton?
The lord of the eastern mountain-chain, And the good late duke of Alenon?
Even with the good knight Charlemain.
BALLAD OF THE WOMEN OF PARIS
Albeit the Venice girls get praise For their sweet speech and tender air, And though the old women have wise ways Of chaffering for amorous ware, Yet at my peril dare I swear, Search Rome, where G.o.d's grace mainly tarries, Florence and Savoy, everywhere, There's no good girl's lip out of Paris.
The Naples women, as folk prattle, Are sweetly spoken and subtle enough: German girls are good at tattle, And Prussians make their boast thereof; Take Egypt for the next remove, Or that waste land the Tartar harries, Spain or Greece, for the matter of love, There's no good girl's lip out of Paris.
