Wine, Women, and Song Part 12

On their steeds the ladies ride, Two fair girls and slender; Modest are their eyes and mild, And their cheeks are tender.

Thus young lilies break the sheath, Budding roses render Blushes, and twinned pairs of stars Climb the heavens with splendour.

Toward Love's Paradise they fare, Such, I ween, their will is; While the strife between the pair Turns their cheeks to lilies; Phyllis Flora flouts, and fair Flora flouteth Phyllis; Flora's hand a hawk doth bear, And a goshawk Phyllis.

After a short s.p.a.ce they came Where a grove was growing; At the entrance of the same Rills with murmur flowing; There the wind with myrrh and spice Redolent was blowing, Sounds of timbrel, harp, and lyre Through the branches going.

All the music man could make There they heard in plenty; Timbrel, psaltery, lyre, and lute, Harp and viol dainty; Voices that in part-song meet Choiring forte, lente; Sounds the diatesseron, Sounds the diapente.

All the tongues of all the birds With full cry were singing; There the blackbird's melody Sweet and true was ringing; Wood-dove, lark, and thrush on high Jocund anthems flinging, With the nightingale, who still To her grief was clinging.

When the girls drew nigh the grove, Some fear came upon them; Further as they fared, the charm Of the pleasance won them; All the birds so sweetly sang That a spell was on them, And their bosoms warmed with love At the welcome shown them.

Man would be immortal if He could there be dwelling: Every branch on every tree With ripe fruit is swelling; All the ways with nard and myrrh And with spice are smelling: How divine the Master is All the house is telling.

Blithesome bands arrest their gaze, Youths and maidens dancing; Bodies beauteous as the stars, Eyes with heaven's light glancing And the bosoms of the girls, At the sight entrancing, Leap to view such marvels new, Joy with joy enhancing!

They their horses check, and light, Moved with sudden pleasure; Half forget what brought them here, Thralled by love and leisure; Till once more the nightingale Tuned her thrilling measure; At that cry each girl again Hugs her hidden treasure.

Round the middle of the grove Was a place enchanted, Which the G.o.d for his own rites Specially had planted; Fauns and nymphs and satyrs here Flowery alleys haunted, And before the face of Love Played and leaped and chaunted.

In their hands they carry thyme, Crowns of fragrant roses; Bacchus leads the choir divine And the dance composes; Nymphs and fauns with feet in tune Interchange their posies; But Silenus trips and reels When the chorus closes.

On an a.s.s the elder borne All the mad crew guideth; Mirth and laughter at the view Through Love's glad heart glideth.

"Io!" shouts the eld; that sound In his throat subsideth, For his voice in wine is drowned, And his old age chideth.

'Mid these pleasant sights appears Love, the young joy-giver; Bright as stars his eyes, and wings On his shoulders s.h.i.+ver; In his left hand is the bow, At his side the quiver; From his state the world may know He is lord for ever.

Leans the boy upon a staff Intertwined with flowers, Scent of nectar from his hair Breathes around the bowers; Hand in hand before him kneel Three celestial Hours, Graces who Love's goblet fill From immortal showers.

It would surely be superfluous to point out the fluent elegance of this poem, or to dwell farther upon the astonis.h.i.+ng fact that anything so purely Renaissance in tone should have been produced in the twelfth century.

Cupid, as was natural, settles the dispute of the two girls by deciding that scholars are more suitable for love than soldiers.

This would be the place to introduce another long descriptive poem, if the nature of its theme rendered it fit for translation. It relates the visit of a student to what he calls the _Templum Veneris_; in other words, to the house of a courtesan. Her attendants are sirens; and the whole poem, dealing with a vulgar incident, is conducted in this mock-heroic strain.[31]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 31: _Carmina Burana_, p. 138.]

XVII.

We pa.s.s now to love-poems of a more purely personal kind. One of these, which is too long for translation and in some respects ill-suited to a modern taste, forms the proper transition from the descriptive to the lyrical section. It starts with phrases culled from hymns to the Virgin:--

"Si linguis angelicis Loquar et humanis."

"Ave formosissima, Gemma pretiosa; Ave decus virginum, Virgo gloriosa!"

These waifs and strays of religious diction are curiously blent with romantic and cla.s.sical allusions. The girl is addressed in the same breath as--

"Blanziflor et Helena, Venus generosa."

Toward the close of the poem, the lover, who at length has reached the object of his heart's desire, breaks into this paean of victorious pa.s.sion:--

"What more? Around the maiden's neck My arms I flung with yearning; Upon her lips I gave and took A thousand kisses burning: Again and yet again I cried, With whispered vows and sighing, This, this alone, sure, sure it was For which my heart was dying!

"Who is the man that does not know The sweets that followed after?

My former pains, my sobs and woe, Were changed for love and laughter: The joys of Paradise were ours In overflowing measure; We tasted every shape of bliss And every form of pleasure."

The next piece which I shall quote differs in some important respects from the general style adopted by the Goliardi in their love-poetry.

It is written in rhyming or leonine hexameters, and is remarkable for its quaint play on names, conceived and executed in a truly medieval taste.

FLOS FLORAE.

No. 30.

Take thou this rose, O Rose! the loves in the rose repose: I with love of the rose am caught at the winter's close: Take thou this flower, my flower, and cherish it in thy bower: Thou in thy beauty's power shalt lovelier blow each hour: Gaze at the rose, and smile, my rose, in mine eyes the while: To thee the roses belong, thy voice is the nightingale's song: Give thou the rose a kiss, it blushes like thy mouth's bliss: Flowers in a picture seem not flowers, but flowers in a dream: Who paints the rose's bloom, paints not the rose's perfume.

In complete contrast to this conceited and euphuistic style of composition stands a slight s.n.a.t.c.h of rustic melody, consisting of little but reiteration and refrain.

A BIRD'S SONG OF LOVE.

No. 31.

Come to me, come, O come!

Let me not die, but come!

Hyria hysria nazaza Trillirivos.

Fair is thy face, O fair!

Fair thine eyes, O how fair!

Hyria hysria nazaza Trillirivos.

Fair is thy flowing hair!

O fair, O fair, how fair!

Hyria hysria nazaza Trillirivos.