PORTRAIT
(FROM "LA MERE INCONNUE")
25 26
27 .
25 26
27 .
Ezra-Pound-Exult-at-Ions
?
Exultations of
Ezra Pound
? University of California Berkeley
From the library of
JAMES D. HART
? r\
x
? EXULTATIONS
? EXULTATIONS OF
EZRA POUND
LONDON
ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET MCMIX
? / am an eternal spirit and the things I make are but ephemera^ yet I endure:
Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath ourfeet and we endure.
? TO
CARLOS TRACY CHESTER
" amicitiae
"
longaevitate
? I HAVE to thank the Editors of the English Review and the Evening-
Standard and St. James's Gazette for permission to include in this volume certain poems which origin ally appeared in those papers.
? t
HISTRION . . . . * vii
CONTENTS GUIDOINVITESYOUTHUS. .
NIGHT LITANY . . SANDALPHON. .
SESTINA : ALTAFORTE PIEREVIDALOLD .
BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE
PAGE . . . . 9
HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS SESTINA FOR YSOLT . . . . . PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MERE INCONNUE")
25 26
27 . 32
-33
38
. .
. .
. .
. .
. .
.
f .
. .
. .
. .
. 10 . 12
. 14 . 16
. 19 . 22
. 23
. . . . .
FAIR HELENA
LAUDANTES DECEM
Aux BELLES DE LONDRES
FRANCESCA
GREEKEPIGRAM. . . . -. 34 COLUMBUS'EPITAPH . . . . . 35 PLOTINUS. . . * . . . . 36 ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS . . . . 37
. '. .
.
? . . .
PAGE . . . 39
THE EYES . .
DEFIANCE. . . . . . . .
v
40 41 42 43 44 46 48 50
SONG.
NEL BlANCHEGGIAR
NILS LYKKE
A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER PLANHFORTHEYOUNGENGLISHKING . . ALBA INNOMINATA
PLANH
. .
. . .
? EXULTATIONS
Guido invites you thus 1 I leave behind and Dante too,
LAPPO
Lo,
I would sail the
seas
with
thee alone
!
Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise, All the blind earth knows not th' emprise Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call.
Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire ; Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire !
"
Lo, thou hast voyaged not ! The ship is mine. 1 ThereferenceistoDante'ssonnet"Guidovorrei. . . "
? Night Litany ODIEU, purifiez nos cceurs!
purifiez nos coeurs
!
Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me
in pleasant places, And the beauty of this thy Venice
hast thou shown unto me Until is its loveliness become unto me
a thing of tears.
O God, what great kindness
have we done in times past
and forgotten it,
That thou givest this wonder unto us,
O God of waters?
O God of the night
What great sorrow
Cometh unto us,
That thou thus repayest us
Before the time of its coming?
O God of silence,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
Purifiez nos cceurs, For we have seen
The glory of the shadow of the likeness of thine handmaid,
? Yea, the glory of the shadow of thy Beauty hath walked
Upon the shadow of the waters In this thy Venice.
And before the holiness Of the shadow of thy handmaid
Have I hidden mine eyes, O God of waters.
O God of silence,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
O God of waters,
make clean our hearts within us
And our lips to show forth thy praise, For I have seen the
Shadow of this thy Venice
Floating upon the waters, And thy stars
Have seen this thing- out of their far courses Have they seen this thing,
O God of waters, Even as are thy stars
Silent unto us in their far-coursing, Even so is mine heart
become silent within me.
Purifiez nos cceurs
O God of the silence^
Purifiez nos coeurs
O God of waters.
ii
? Sandalphon
The angel of prayer according- to the Talmud stands unmoved among the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands.
AND Because
the of the infinite pain
singing
these about me die,
Slayeth them.
Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's
age-long crusading,
Ye know somewhat the strain,
the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing. And therefore ye know after what fashion
This singing hath power destroying.
Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage Unto the Mover of Circles,
Die for the might of their praising,
And the autumn of their marcescent wings
Maketh ever new loam for my forest ;
And these grey ash trees hold within them All the secrets of whatso things
They dreamed before their praises,
And in this grove my flowers,
Fruit of prayerful powers,
Have first their thought of life
And then their being. 12
? Ye marvel that I die not ! forsitan \
Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, Thinking- me part of them that die for praising
yea, tho' it be praising,
past the power of man's mortality to dream or name its phases,
yea, tho' it chant and paean past the might of earth-dwelt soul to think on,
yea, tho' it be praising
as these the winged ones die of.
Ye think me one insensate else die I also
Sith these about me die,
And if I, watching
Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper
and sapphire Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers ;
Marvel and wonder !
Marvel and wonder even as I,
Giving to prayer new language And causing the works to speak
Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, Yet keep my watch in the ash wood.
? Sestina: Altaforte
LOQUITUR : En Bertrans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer- up of strife.
Eccovi !
Judge ye !
Have I dug him up again?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte.
The Leopard," the device of Richard (Cceur de Lion).
I
it all! all this our South stinks peace.
DAMYoNu whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music !
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah ! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple,
opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
II
In hot summer have I great rejoicing
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace,
And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.
HI
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash !
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
""
Papiols is his jongleur.
? Better one hour's stour than a year's peace With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music ! Bah ! there's no wine like the blood's crimson !
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.
V
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth's won and the swords clash For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music !
There's no sound like to swords swords opposing, No cry like the battle's rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash. May God damn for ever all who cry " Peace "
!
VII
And let the music of the swords make them crimson !
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash !
Hell blot black for alway the thought " Peace " IS
!
? Piere Vidal Old
It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through the mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling of this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord had him healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at thatcourt. Hespeaks:
WHEN I but think upon the great dead days d turn mind that
An
Lo ! I do curse my strength
And blame the sun his gladness ; For that the one is dead
And the red sun mocks my sadness.
my upon splendid madness,
Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools !
Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong
When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes, And every jongleur knew me in his song,
And the hounds fled and the deer fled
And none fled over long.
Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear. God ! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot
Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips !
Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier !
Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot 16
? From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night. God ! but the purple of the sky was deep !
Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed
Set deep in crystal ; and because my sleep
Rare visitor came not, the Saints I guerdon
Forthatrestlessness Pieresettokeep
One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks.
Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught, Torn, green and silent in the swollen Rhone,
Green was her mantle, close, and wrought
Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all,
But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought,
And conquered! Ah God! conquered! Silent my mate came as the night was still.
Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love?
PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MERE INCONNUE")
25 26
27 . 32
-33
38
. .
. .
. .
. .
. .
.
f .
. .
. .
. .
. 10 . 12
. 14 . 16
. 19 . 22
. 23
. . . . .
FAIR HELENA
LAUDANTES DECEM
Aux BELLES DE LONDRES
FRANCESCA
GREEKEPIGRAM. . . . -. 34 COLUMBUS'EPITAPH . . . . . 35 PLOTINUS. . . * . . . . 36 ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS . . . . 37
. '. .
.
? . . .
PAGE . . . 39
THE EYES . .
DEFIANCE. . . . . . . .
v
40 41 42 43 44 46 48 50
SONG.
NEL BlANCHEGGIAR
NILS LYKKE
A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER PLANHFORTHEYOUNGENGLISHKING . . ALBA INNOMINATA
PLANH
. .
. . .
? EXULTATIONS
Guido invites you thus 1 I leave behind and Dante too,
LAPPO
Lo,
I would sail the
seas
with
thee alone
!
Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise, All the blind earth knows not th' emprise Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call.
Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire ; Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire !
"
Lo, thou hast voyaged not ! The ship is mine. 1 ThereferenceistoDante'ssonnet"Guidovorrei. . . "
? Night Litany ODIEU, purifiez nos cceurs!
purifiez nos coeurs
!
Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me
in pleasant places, And the beauty of this thy Venice
hast thou shown unto me Until is its loveliness become unto me
a thing of tears.
O God, what great kindness
have we done in times past
and forgotten it,
That thou givest this wonder unto us,
O God of waters?
O God of the night
What great sorrow
Cometh unto us,
That thou thus repayest us
Before the time of its coming?
O God of silence,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
Purifiez nos cceurs, For we have seen
The glory of the shadow of the likeness of thine handmaid,
? Yea, the glory of the shadow of thy Beauty hath walked
Upon the shadow of the waters In this thy Venice.
And before the holiness Of the shadow of thy handmaid
Have I hidden mine eyes, O God of waters.
O God of silence,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
O God of waters,
make clean our hearts within us
And our lips to show forth thy praise, For I have seen the
Shadow of this thy Venice
Floating upon the waters, And thy stars
Have seen this thing- out of their far courses Have they seen this thing,
O God of waters, Even as are thy stars
Silent unto us in their far-coursing, Even so is mine heart
become silent within me.
Purifiez nos cceurs
O God of the silence^
Purifiez nos coeurs
O God of waters.
ii
? Sandalphon
The angel of prayer according- to the Talmud stands unmoved among the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands.
AND Because
the of the infinite pain
singing
these about me die,
Slayeth them.
Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's
age-long crusading,
Ye know somewhat the strain,
the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing. And therefore ye know after what fashion
This singing hath power destroying.
Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage Unto the Mover of Circles,
Die for the might of their praising,
And the autumn of their marcescent wings
Maketh ever new loam for my forest ;
And these grey ash trees hold within them All the secrets of whatso things
They dreamed before their praises,
And in this grove my flowers,
Fruit of prayerful powers,
Have first their thought of life
And then their being. 12
? Ye marvel that I die not ! forsitan \
Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, Thinking- me part of them that die for praising
yea, tho' it be praising,
past the power of man's mortality to dream or name its phases,
yea, tho' it chant and paean past the might of earth-dwelt soul to think on,
yea, tho' it be praising
as these the winged ones die of.
Ye think me one insensate else die I also
Sith these about me die,
And if I, watching
Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper
and sapphire Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers ;
Marvel and wonder !
Marvel and wonder even as I,
Giving to prayer new language And causing the works to speak
Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, Yet keep my watch in the ash wood.
? Sestina: Altaforte
LOQUITUR : En Bertrans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer- up of strife.
Eccovi !
Judge ye !
Have I dug him up again?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte.
The Leopard," the device of Richard (Cceur de Lion).
I
it all! all this our South stinks peace.
DAMYoNu whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music !
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah ! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple,
opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
II
In hot summer have I great rejoicing
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace,
And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.
HI
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash !
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
""
Papiols is his jongleur.
? Better one hour's stour than a year's peace With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music ! Bah ! there's no wine like the blood's crimson !
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.
V
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth's won and the swords clash For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music !
There's no sound like to swords swords opposing, No cry like the battle's rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash. May God damn for ever all who cry " Peace "
!
VII
And let the music of the swords make them crimson !
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash !
Hell blot black for alway the thought " Peace " IS
!
? Piere Vidal Old
It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through the mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling of this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord had him healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at thatcourt. Hespeaks:
WHEN I but think upon the great dead days d turn mind that
An
Lo ! I do curse my strength
And blame the sun his gladness ; For that the one is dead
And the red sun mocks my sadness.
my upon splendid madness,
Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools !
Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong
When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes, And every jongleur knew me in his song,
And the hounds fled and the deer fled
And none fled over long.
Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear. God ! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot
Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips !
Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier !
Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot 16
? From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night. God ! but the purple of the sky was deep !
Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed
Set deep in crystal ; and because my sleep
Rare visitor came not, the Saints I guerdon
Forthatrestlessness Pieresettokeep
One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks.
Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught, Torn, green and silent in the swollen Rhone,
Green was her mantle, close, and wrought
Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all,
But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought,
And conquered! Ah God! conquered! Silent my mate came as the night was still.
Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love? !
Hot is such love and silent,
Silent as fate is, and as strong until It faints in taking and in giving all.
Stark, keen, triumphant, till it plays at death. God ! she was white then, splendid as some tomb
High wrought of marble, and the panting breath Ceased utterly. Well, then I waited, drew, Half-sheathed, then naked from its saffron sheath Drew full this dagger that doth tremble here.
Just then she woke and mocked the less keen blade. Ah God, the Loba ! and my only mate !
Was there such flesh made ever and unmade !
17
B
? God curse the years that turn such women grey !
Behold here Vidal, that was hunted, flayed, Shamed and yet bowed not and that won at last.
And yet I curse the sun for his red gladness,
I that have known strath, garth, brake, dale,
And every run-way of the wood through that great
madness,
Behold me shrivelled as an old oak's trunk And made men's mock'ry in my rotten sadness !
No man hath heard the glory of my days :
No man hath dared and won his dare as I :
One night, one body and one welding flame ! What do ye own, ye niggards ! that can buy Suchgloryoftheearth? Orwhowillwin
Such battle-guerdon with his "prowesse high"?
O Age gone lax ! O stunted followers,
That mask at passions and desire desires, Behold me shrivelled, and your mock of mocks ; And yet I mock you by the mighty fires
That burnt me to this ash.
Ah ! Cabaret ! Ah Cabaret, thy hills again !
Take your hands off me ! . . . [Sniffing the air. Ha! thisscentishot!
18
? Ballad of the Goodly Fere 1 Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhile after the Crucifixion.
we lost the goodliest fere o' all HA'For the priests and the gallows tree?
Aye lover he was of brawny men, O' ships and the open sea.
Ezra Pound
? University of California Berkeley
From the library of
JAMES D. HART
? r\
x
? EXULTATIONS
? EXULTATIONS OF
EZRA POUND
LONDON
ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET MCMIX
? / am an eternal spirit and the things I make are but ephemera^ yet I endure:
Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath ourfeet and we endure.
? TO
CARLOS TRACY CHESTER
" amicitiae
"
longaevitate
? I HAVE to thank the Editors of the English Review and the Evening-
Standard and St. James's Gazette for permission to include in this volume certain poems which origin ally appeared in those papers.
? t
HISTRION . . . . * vii
CONTENTS GUIDOINVITESYOUTHUS. .
NIGHT LITANY . . SANDALPHON. .
SESTINA : ALTAFORTE PIEREVIDALOLD .
BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE
PAGE . . . . 9
HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS SESTINA FOR YSOLT . . . . . PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MERE INCONNUE")
25 26
27 . 32
-33
38
. .
. .
. .
. .
. .
.
f .
. .
. .
. .
. 10 . 12
. 14 . 16
. 19 . 22
. 23
. . . . .
FAIR HELENA
LAUDANTES DECEM
Aux BELLES DE LONDRES
FRANCESCA
GREEKEPIGRAM. . . . -. 34 COLUMBUS'EPITAPH . . . . . 35 PLOTINUS. . . * . . . . 36 ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS . . . . 37
. '. .
.
? . . .
PAGE . . . 39
THE EYES . .
DEFIANCE. . . . . . . .
v
40 41 42 43 44 46 48 50
SONG.
NEL BlANCHEGGIAR
NILS LYKKE
A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER PLANHFORTHEYOUNGENGLISHKING . . ALBA INNOMINATA
PLANH
. .
. . .
? EXULTATIONS
Guido invites you thus 1 I leave behind and Dante too,
LAPPO
Lo,
I would sail the
seas
with
thee alone
!
Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise, All the blind earth knows not th' emprise Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call.
Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire ; Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire !
"
Lo, thou hast voyaged not ! The ship is mine. 1 ThereferenceistoDante'ssonnet"Guidovorrei. . . "
? Night Litany ODIEU, purifiez nos cceurs!
purifiez nos coeurs
!
Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me
in pleasant places, And the beauty of this thy Venice
hast thou shown unto me Until is its loveliness become unto me
a thing of tears.
O God, what great kindness
have we done in times past
and forgotten it,
That thou givest this wonder unto us,
O God of waters?
O God of the night
What great sorrow
Cometh unto us,
That thou thus repayest us
Before the time of its coming?
O God of silence,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
Purifiez nos cceurs, For we have seen
The glory of the shadow of the likeness of thine handmaid,
? Yea, the glory of the shadow of thy Beauty hath walked
Upon the shadow of the waters In this thy Venice.
And before the holiness Of the shadow of thy handmaid
Have I hidden mine eyes, O God of waters.
O God of silence,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
O God of waters,
make clean our hearts within us
And our lips to show forth thy praise, For I have seen the
Shadow of this thy Venice
Floating upon the waters, And thy stars
Have seen this thing- out of their far courses Have they seen this thing,
O God of waters, Even as are thy stars
Silent unto us in their far-coursing, Even so is mine heart
become silent within me.
Purifiez nos cceurs
O God of the silence^
Purifiez nos coeurs
O God of waters.
ii
? Sandalphon
The angel of prayer according- to the Talmud stands unmoved among the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands.
AND Because
the of the infinite pain
singing
these about me die,
Slayeth them.
Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's
age-long crusading,
Ye know somewhat the strain,
the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing. And therefore ye know after what fashion
This singing hath power destroying.
Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage Unto the Mover of Circles,
Die for the might of their praising,
And the autumn of their marcescent wings
Maketh ever new loam for my forest ;
And these grey ash trees hold within them All the secrets of whatso things
They dreamed before their praises,
And in this grove my flowers,
Fruit of prayerful powers,
Have first their thought of life
And then their being. 12
? Ye marvel that I die not ! forsitan \
Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, Thinking- me part of them that die for praising
yea, tho' it be praising,
past the power of man's mortality to dream or name its phases,
yea, tho' it chant and paean past the might of earth-dwelt soul to think on,
yea, tho' it be praising
as these the winged ones die of.
Ye think me one insensate else die I also
Sith these about me die,
And if I, watching
Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper
and sapphire Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers ;
Marvel and wonder !
Marvel and wonder even as I,
Giving to prayer new language And causing the works to speak
Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, Yet keep my watch in the ash wood.
? Sestina: Altaforte
LOQUITUR : En Bertrans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer- up of strife.
Eccovi !
Judge ye !
Have I dug him up again?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte.
The Leopard," the device of Richard (Cceur de Lion).
I
it all! all this our South stinks peace.
DAMYoNu whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music !
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah ! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple,
opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
II
In hot summer have I great rejoicing
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace,
And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.
HI
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash !
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
""
Papiols is his jongleur.
? Better one hour's stour than a year's peace With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music ! Bah ! there's no wine like the blood's crimson !
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.
V
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth's won and the swords clash For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music !
There's no sound like to swords swords opposing, No cry like the battle's rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash. May God damn for ever all who cry " Peace "
!
VII
And let the music of the swords make them crimson !
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash !
Hell blot black for alway the thought " Peace " IS
!
? Piere Vidal Old
It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through the mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling of this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord had him healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at thatcourt. Hespeaks:
WHEN I but think upon the great dead days d turn mind that
An
Lo ! I do curse my strength
And blame the sun his gladness ; For that the one is dead
And the red sun mocks my sadness.
my upon splendid madness,
Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools !
Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong
When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes, And every jongleur knew me in his song,
And the hounds fled and the deer fled
And none fled over long.
Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear. God ! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot
Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips !
Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier !
Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot 16
? From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night. God ! but the purple of the sky was deep !
Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed
Set deep in crystal ; and because my sleep
Rare visitor came not, the Saints I guerdon
Forthatrestlessness Pieresettokeep
One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks.
Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught, Torn, green and silent in the swollen Rhone,
Green was her mantle, close, and wrought
Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all,
But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought,
And conquered! Ah God! conquered! Silent my mate came as the night was still.
Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love?
PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MERE INCONNUE")
25 26
27 . 32
-33
38
. .
. .
. .
. .
. .
.
f .
. .
. .
. .
. 10 . 12
. 14 . 16
. 19 . 22
. 23
. . . . .
FAIR HELENA
LAUDANTES DECEM
Aux BELLES DE LONDRES
FRANCESCA
GREEKEPIGRAM. . . . -. 34 COLUMBUS'EPITAPH . . . . . 35 PLOTINUS. . . * . . . . 36 ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS . . . . 37
. '. .
.
? . . .
PAGE . . . 39
THE EYES . .
DEFIANCE. . . . . . . .
v
40 41 42 43 44 46 48 50
SONG.
NEL BlANCHEGGIAR
NILS LYKKE
A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER PLANHFORTHEYOUNGENGLISHKING . . ALBA INNOMINATA
PLANH
. .
. . .
? EXULTATIONS
Guido invites you thus 1 I leave behind and Dante too,
LAPPO
Lo,
I would sail the
seas
with
thee alone
!
Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry, Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise, All the blind earth knows not th' emprise Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call.
Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams, Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire ; Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire !
"
Lo, thou hast voyaged not ! The ship is mine. 1 ThereferenceistoDante'ssonnet"Guidovorrei. . . "
? Night Litany ODIEU, purifiez nos cceurs!
purifiez nos coeurs
!
Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me
in pleasant places, And the beauty of this thy Venice
hast thou shown unto me Until is its loveliness become unto me
a thing of tears.
O God, what great kindness
have we done in times past
and forgotten it,
That thou givest this wonder unto us,
O God of waters?
O God of the night
What great sorrow
Cometh unto us,
That thou thus repayest us
Before the time of its coming?
O God of silence,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
Purifiez nos cceurs, For we have seen
The glory of the shadow of the likeness of thine handmaid,
? Yea, the glory of the shadow of thy Beauty hath walked
Upon the shadow of the waters In this thy Venice.
And before the holiness Of the shadow of thy handmaid
Have I hidden mine eyes, O God of waters.
O God of silence,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
Purifiez nos cceurs,
O God of waters,
make clean our hearts within us
And our lips to show forth thy praise, For I have seen the
Shadow of this thy Venice
Floating upon the waters, And thy stars
Have seen this thing- out of their far courses Have they seen this thing,
O God of waters, Even as are thy stars
Silent unto us in their far-coursing, Even so is mine heart
become silent within me.
Purifiez nos cceurs
O God of the silence^
Purifiez nos coeurs
O God of waters.
ii
? Sandalphon
The angel of prayer according- to the Talmud stands unmoved among the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished, also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands.
AND Because
the of the infinite pain
singing
these about me die,
Slayeth them.
Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's
age-long crusading,
Ye know somewhat the strain,
the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing. And therefore ye know after what fashion
This singing hath power destroying.
Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage Unto the Mover of Circles,
Die for the might of their praising,
And the autumn of their marcescent wings
Maketh ever new loam for my forest ;
And these grey ash trees hold within them All the secrets of whatso things
They dreamed before their praises,
And in this grove my flowers,
Fruit of prayerful powers,
Have first their thought of life
And then their being. 12
? Ye marvel that I die not ! forsitan \
Thinking me kin with such as may not weep, Thinking- me part of them that die for praising
yea, tho' it be praising,
past the power of man's mortality to dream or name its phases,
yea, tho' it chant and paean past the might of earth-dwelt soul to think on,
yea, tho' it be praising
as these the winged ones die of.
Ye think me one insensate else die I also
Sith these about me die,
And if I, watching
Ever the multiplex jewel, of beryl and jasper
and sapphire Make of these prayers of earth ever new flowers ;
Marvel and wonder !
Marvel and wonder even as I,
Giving to prayer new language And causing the works to speak
Of the earth-horde's age-lasting longing, Even as I marvel and wonder, and know not, Yet keep my watch in the ash wood.
? Sestina: Altaforte
LOQUITUR : En Bertrans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer- up of strife.
Eccovi !
Judge ye !
Have I dug him up again?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte.
The Leopard," the device of Richard (Cceur de Lion).
I
it all! all this our South stinks peace.
DAMYoNu whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music !
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah ! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple,
opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
II
In hot summer have I great rejoicing
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace,
And the light'nings from black heav'n flash crimson, And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing, And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.
HI
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash !
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
""
Papiols is his jongleur.
? Better one hour's stour than a year's peace With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music ! Bah ! there's no wine like the blood's crimson !
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.
V
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth's won and the swords clash For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music !
There's no sound like to swords swords opposing, No cry like the battle's rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash. May God damn for ever all who cry " Peace "
!
VII
And let the music of the swords make them crimson !
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash !
Hell blot black for alway the thought " Peace " IS
!
? Piere Vidal Old
It is of Piere Vidal, the fool par excellence of all Provence, of whom the tale tells how he ran mad, as a wolf, because of his love for Loba of Penautier, and how men hunted him with dogs through the mountains of Cabaret and brought him for dead to the dwelling of this Loba (she-wolf) of Penautier, and how she and her Lord had him healed and made welcome, and he stayed some time at thatcourt. Hespeaks:
WHEN I but think upon the great dead days d turn mind that
An
Lo ! I do curse my strength
And blame the sun his gladness ; For that the one is dead
And the red sun mocks my sadness.
my upon splendid madness,
Behold me, Vidal, that was fool of fools !
Swift as the king wolf was I and as strong
When tall stags fled me through the alder brakes, And every jongleur knew me in his song,
And the hounds fled and the deer fled
And none fled over long.
Even the grey pack knew me and knew fear. God ! how the swiftest hind's blood spurted hot
Over the sharpened teeth and purpling lips !
Hot was that hind's blood yet it scorched me not As did first scorn, then lips of the Penautier !
Aye ye are fools, if ye think time can blot 16
? From Piere Vidal's remembrance that blue night. God ! but the purple of the sky was deep !
Clear, deep, translucent, so the stars me seemed
Set deep in crystal ; and because my sleep
Rare visitor came not, the Saints I guerdon
Forthatrestlessness Pieresettokeep
One more fool's vigil with the hollyhocks.
Swift came the Loba, as a branch that's caught, Torn, green and silent in the swollen Rhone,
Green was her mantle, close, and wrought
Of some thin silk stuff that's scarce stuff at all,
But like a mist wherethrough her white form fought,
And conquered! Ah God! conquered! Silent my mate came as the night was still.
Speech? Words? Faugh! Who talks of words and love? !
Hot is such love and silent,
Silent as fate is, and as strong until It faints in taking and in giving all.
Stark, keen, triumphant, till it plays at death. God ! she was white then, splendid as some tomb
High wrought of marble, and the panting breath Ceased utterly. Well, then I waited, drew, Half-sheathed, then naked from its saffron sheath Drew full this dagger that doth tremble here.
Just then she woke and mocked the less keen blade. Ah God, the Loba ! and my only mate !
Was there such flesh made ever and unmade !
17
B
? God curse the years that turn such women grey !
Behold here Vidal, that was hunted, flayed, Shamed and yet bowed not and that won at last.
And yet I curse the sun for his red gladness,
I that have known strath, garth, brake, dale,
And every run-way of the wood through that great
madness,
Behold me shrivelled as an old oak's trunk And made men's mock'ry in my rotten sadness !
No man hath heard the glory of my days :
No man hath dared and won his dare as I :
One night, one body and one welding flame ! What do ye own, ye niggards ! that can buy Suchgloryoftheearth? Orwhowillwin
Such battle-guerdon with his "prowesse high"?
O Age gone lax ! O stunted followers,
That mask at passions and desire desires, Behold me shrivelled, and your mock of mocks ; And yet I mock you by the mighty fires
That burnt me to this ash.
Ah ! Cabaret ! Ah Cabaret, thy hills again !
Take your hands off me ! . . . [Sniffing the air. Ha! thisscentishot!
18
? Ballad of the Goodly Fere 1 Simon Zelotes speaketh it somewhile after the Crucifixion.
we lost the goodliest fere o' all HA'For the priests and the gallows tree?
Aye lover he was of brawny men, O' ships and the open sea.
