Is this, then, he so famed for
sleight?
Warner - World's Best Literature - v11 - Fro to Gre
His upper garment was a sort of loose
shirt, with pink and black squares; the ends, lengthening into
narrow slips, were wound several times about his bust and bound
it closely; the sleeves, cut short near the shoulder, and bordered
with intersecting lines of gold, red, and blue, exposed his round,
strong arms, the left furnished with a large metal wristband,
meant to lessen the vibration of the string when he discharged
an arrow from his triangular bow; and the right, ornamented by
a bracelet in the form of a serpent in several coils, held a long
gold sceptre with a lotus bud at the end. The rest of his body
was wrapped in drapery of the finest linen, minutely plaited,
bound about the waist by a belt inlaid with small enamel and
gold plates. Between the band and the belt his torso appeared,
shining and polished like pink granite shaped by a cunning work-
man. Sandals with returned toes, like skates, shod his long nar-
row feet, placed together like those of the gods on the temple
walls.
His smooth beardless face, with large clearly cut features,
which it seemed beyond any human power to disturb, and which
the blood of common life did not color, with its death-like pallor,
sealed lips, enormous eyes enlarged with black lines, the lids no
more lowered than those of the sacred hawk, inspired by its very
immobility a feeling of respectful fear. One might have thought
that these fixed eyes were searching for eternity and the Infinite;
they never seemed to rest on surrounding objects. The satiety
of pleasures, the surfeit of wishes satisfied as soon as expressed,
the isolation of a demigod who has no equal among mortals, the
disgust for perpetual adoration, and as it were the weariness of
continual triumph, had forever frozen this face, implacably gentle
and of granite serenity. Osiris judging the souls could not have
had a more majestic and calm expression.
A large tame lion, lying by his side, stretched out its enor-
mous paws like a sphinx on its pedestal, and blinked its yellow
eyes.
A rope, attached to the litter, bound the war chariots of the
vanquished chiefs to the Pharaoh. He dragged them behind him
like animals in leash. These men, with fierce despairing faces,
their elbows drawn together by a strap and forming an ungrace-
ful angle, tottered awkwardly at every motion of the chariots,
driven by Egyptians.
## p. 6231 (#201) ###########################################
THEOPHILE GAUTIER
6231
Next came the chariots of the young princes royal, drawn by
thoroughbred horses, elegantly and nobly formed, with slender
legs, sinewy houghs, their manes cut short like a brush, har-
nessed by twos, tossing their red-plumed heads, with metal-bossed
headstalls and frontlets. A curved pole, upheld on their withers,
covered with scarlet panels, two collars surmounted by balls of
polished brass, bound together by a light yoke bent like a bow
with upturned ends; a bellyband and breastband elaborately
stitched and embroidered, and rich housings with red or blue
stripes and fringed with tassels, completed this strong, graceful,
and light harness.
The body of the chariot, painted red and white, ornamented
with bronze plaques and half-spheres, something like the umbo
of the shields, was flanked with two large quivers placed diago-
nally opposite each other, one filled with arrows and the other
with javelins. On the front of each, a carved, gilded lion, with
set paws, and muzzle wrinkled into a frightful grin, seemed
ready to spring with a roar upon the enemy.
The young princes had their hair bound with a narrow band,
in which the royal viper was twisted; their only garment was a
tunic gaudily embroidered at the neck and sleeves, and held in
at the waist by a belt of black leather, clasped with a metal
plate engraved with hieroglyphics. In this belt was a long dag-
ger, with triangular brass blade, the handle channeled crosswise,
terminated by a hawk's head.
In the chariot, by the side of each prince, stood the chariot-
eer, who drove it in battle, and the groom, whose business it
was to ward off with the shield the blows aimed at the combat-
ant, while the latter discharged the arrows or threw the javelins
which he took from the quivers on either side of the car.
In the wake of the princes followed the chariots, the Egyp-
tian cavalry, twenty thousand in number, each drawn by two
horses and holding three men. They advanced ten in a line, the
axletrees perilously near together, but never coming in contact
with each other, so great was the address of the drivers.
Several lighter chariots, used for skirmishing and reconnoi-
tring, marched at the head and carried one warrior only, who in
order to leave his hands free for fighting wound the reins around
his body: by bending to the right or the left, or backwards, he
guided or stopped his horses; and it was really wonderful to see
the noble animals, apparently left to themselves, but governed
## p. 6232 (#202) ###########################################
6232
THÉOPHILE GAUTIER
by imperceptible movements, keep up an undisturbedly regular
pace.
The stamping of the horses, held in with difficulty, the thunder-
ing of the bronze-covered wheels, the metallic clash of weapons,
gave to this line something formidable and imposing enough to
raise terror in the most intrepid bosoms. The helmets, plumes,
and breastplates dotted with red, green, and yellow, the gilded
bows and brass swords, glittered and blazed terribly in the light
of the sun, open in the sky, above the Libyan chain, like a great
Osirian eye; and it was felt that the onslaught of such an army
must sweep away the nations like a whirlwind which drives a
light straw before it.
Beneath these innumerable wheels the earth resounded and
trembled, as if it had been moved by some convulsion of nature.
To the chariots succeeded the battalions of infantry, marching
in order, their shields on the left arm; in the right hand the
lance, curved club, bow, sling, or axe, according as they were
armed; the heads of these soldiers were covered with helmets,
adorned with two horsehair tails, their bodies girded with a cui-
rass belt of crocodile-skin. Their impassible look, the perfect reg
ularity of their movements, their reddish copper complexions,
deepened by a recent expedition to the burning regions of Upper
Ethiopia, their clothing powdered with the desert sand, they
awoke admiration by their discipline and courage. With soldiers
like these, Egypt could conquer the world. After them came the
allied troops, recognizable from the outlandish form of their
head-pieces, which looked like truncated mitres, or were sur-
mounted by crescents spitted on sharp points. Their wide-bladed
swords and jagged axes must have produced wounds which could
not be healed.
Slaves carried on their shoulders or on barrows the spoils enu-
merated by the herald, and wild-beast tamers dragged behind
them leashed panthers, cheetahs, crouching down as if trying to
hide themselves, ostriches fluttering their wings, giraffes which
overtopped the crowd by the entire length of their necks, and
even brown bears,-taken, they said, in the Mountains of the
Moon.
The procession was still passing, long after the King had en-
tered his palace.
## p. 6233 (#203) ###########################################
THEOPHILE GAUTIER
6233
FROM THE MARSH
T IS a pond, whose sleepy water
Lies stagnant, covered with a mantle
Of lily pads and rushes.
Under the creeping duck-weed
The wild ducks dip
Their sapphire necks glazed with gold;
At dawn the teal is seen bathing,
And when twilight reigns,
It settles between two rushes and sleeps.
FROM THE DRAGON-FLY›
PON the heather sprinkled
With morning dew;
Upon the wild-rose bush;
UPON
Upon the shady trees;
Upon the hedges
Growing along the path;
Upon the modest and dainty
Daisy,
That droops its dreamy brow;
Upon the rye, like a green billow
Unrolled
By the winged caprice of the wind,
The dragon-fly gently rocks.
THE DOVES
ON
IN THE hill-side, yonder where are the graves,
A fine palm-tree, like a green plume,
Stands with head erect; in the evening the doves
Come to nestle under its cover.
But in the morning they leave the branches;
Like a spreading necklace, they may be seen
Scattering in the blue air, perfectly white,
And settling farther upon some roof.
My soul is the tree where every eve, as they,
White swarms of mad visions
Fall from heaven, with fluttering wings,
To fly away with the first rays.
## p. 6234 (#204) ###########################################
6234
THEOPHILE GAUTIER
THE POT OF FLOWERS
OMETIMES a child finds a small seed,
And at once, delighted with its bright colors,
To plant it he takes a porcelain jar
Adorned with blue dragons and strange flowers.
S°
He goes away.
The root, snake-like, stretches,
Breaks through the earth, blooms, becomes a shrub;
Each day, farther down, it sinks its fibrous foot,
Until it bursts the sides of the vessel.
The child returns: surprised, he sees the rich plant
Over the vase's débris brandishing its green spikes;
He wants to pull it out, but the stem is stubborn.
The child persists, and tears his fingers with the pointed
arrows.
Thus grew love in my simple heart;
I believed I sowed but a spring flower;
'Tis a large aloe, whose root breaks
The porcelain vase with the brilliant figures.
PRAYER
Α
SA guardian angel, take me under your wing;
Deign to stoop and put out, smiling,
Your maternal hand to my little hand
To support my steps and keep me from falling!
For Jesus the sweet Master, with celestial love,
Suffered little children to come to him;
As an indulgent parent, he submitted to their caresses
And played with them without showing weariness.
O you who resemble those church pictures
Where one sees, on a gold background, august Charity
Preserving from hunger, preserving from cold,
A fair and smiling group sheltered in her folds;
Like the nursling of the Divine mother,
For pity's sake, lift me to your lap;
Protect me, poor young girl, alone, an orphan,
Whose only hope is in God, whose only hope is in you!
## p. 6235 (#205) ###########################################
THEOPHILE GAUTIER
6235
THE POET AND THE CROWD
NE day the plain said to the idle mountain:—
ON Nothing ever grows upon thy wind-beaten brow!
To the poet, bending thoughtful over his lyre,
The crowd also said:- Dreamer, of what use art thou?
Full of wrath, the mountain answered the plain:
:-
It is I who make the harvests grow upon thy soil;
I temper the breath of the noon sun,
I stop in the skies the clouds as they fly by.
With my fingers I knead the snow into avalanches,
In my crucible I dissolve the crystals of glaciers,
And I pour out, from the tip of my white breasts,
In long silver threads, the nourishing streams.
The poet, in his turn, answered the crowd:
Allow my pale brow to rest upon my hand.
Have I not from my side, from which runs out my soul,
Made a spring gush to slake men's thirst?
THE FIRST SMILE OF SPRING
HILE to their perverse work
Men run panting,
March that laughs, in spite of showers,
Quietly gets Spring ready.
WH
For the little daisies,
Slyly, when all sleep,
He irons little collars
And chisels gold studs.
Through the orchard and the vineyard,
He goes, cunning hair-dresser,
With a swan-puff,
And powders snow-white the almond-tree.
Nature rests in her bed;
He goes down to the garden
And laces the rosebuds
In their green velvet corsets.
## p. 6236 (#206) ###########################################
6236
THEOPHILE GAUTIER
While composing solfeggios
That he sings in a low tone to the blackbirds,
He strews the meadows with snowdrops
And the woods with violets.
By the side of the cress in the brook
Where drinks the stag, with listening ear,
With his concealed hand he scatters
The silver bells of the lilies of the valley.
Then, when his work is done
And his reign about to end,
On the threshold of April, turning his head,
He says, Spring, you may come!
TH
THE VETERANS
From The Old Guard›
HE thing is worth considering;
Three ghosts of old veterans
In the uniform of the Old Guard,
With two shadows of hussars!
Since the supreme battle
One has grown thin, the other stout;
The coat once made to fit them
Is either too loose or too tight.
Don't laugh, comrade;
But rather bow low
To these Achilles of an Iliad
That Homer would not have invented.
Their faces with the swarthy skin
Speak of Egypt with the burning sun,
And the snows of Russia
Still powder their white hair.
If their joints are stiff, it is because on the
battle-field
Flags were their only blankets;
And if their sleeves don't fit,
It is because a cannon-ball took off their arm.
## p. 6237 (#207) ###########################################
6237
JOHN GAY
(1685-1732)
N THE great society of the wits," said Thackeray, "John Gay
deserves to be a favorite, and to have a good place. " The
wits loved him. Prior was his faithful ally; Pope wrote
him frequent letters of affectionate good advice; Swift grew genial in
his merry company; and when the jester lapsed into gloom, as jest-
ers will, all his friends hurried to coddle and comfort him. His verse
is not of the first order, but the list of "English classics" contains
far poorer; it is entertaining enough to be a pleasure even to bright
children of this generation, and each suc-
ceeding one reads it with an inherited fond-
ness not by any means without help from
its own merits. And the man who invented
comic opera, one of the most enduring molds
in which English humor has been cast, de-
serves the credit of all important literary
pioneers.
JOHN GAY
Kind, lazy, clever John Gay came of a
good, impoverished Devonshire family, which
seems to have done its best for the bright
lad of twelve when it apprenticed him to a
London silk mercer. The boy hated this
employment, grew ill under its fret and con-
finement, went back to the country, studied,
possibly wrote poor verses, and presently drifted back to London.
The cleverest men of the time frequented the crowded taverns and
coffee-houses, and the talk that he heard at Will's and Button's may
have determined his profession. Thither came Pope and Addison,
Swift and Steele, Congreve, St. John, Prior, Arbuthnot, Cibber, Ho-
garth, Walpole, and many a powerful patron who loved good com-
pany.
Perhaps through some kind acquaintance made in this informal
circle, Gay obtained a private secretaryship, and began the flirtation.
with the Muse which became serious only after some years of cold-
ness on that humorous lady's part. His first poem, 'Wine,' published
when he was twenty-three, is not included in his collected works:
perhaps because it is written in blank verse; perhaps because his
maturer taste condemned it. Three years later, in 1711, when the
success of the Spectator was yet new, and Pope had just completed
## p. 6238 (#208) ###########################################
6238
JOHN GAY
his brilliant Art of Criticism,' and Swift was editing the Examiner
and working on that defense of a French peace, The Conduct of the
Allies,' which was to make him the talk of London,-Gay sent forth
his second venture; a curious, unimportant pamphlet, The Present
State of Wit. ' Late in 1713 he is contributing to Dicky Steele's
Guardian, and sending elegies to his 'Poetical Miscellanies'; and a
little later, having become a favorite with the powerful Mr. Pope, he
is made to bring up new reinforcements to the battle of that irasci-
ble gentleman with his ancient enemy Ambrose Phillips. This he
does in The Shepherd's Week,' a sham pastoral, which is full of
wit and easy versification, and shows very considerable talents as a
parodist. This skit the luckless satirist dedicated to Bolingbroke,
whose brilliant star was just passing into eclipse. Swift thought this
harmless courtesy the real cause of the indifference of the Brunswick
princes to the merits of the poet; and in an age when every spark of
literary genius was so carefully nursed and utilized to sustain the
weak dynasty, most likely he was right.
(
For this reason or another, indifferent they were; and in a time
when court favor counted enormously, poor indolent luxury-loving Gay
had to earn his loaf by hard work, or go without it. He produced a
tragi-comi-pastoral farce called 'What D'ye Call It? ' which was the
lineal ancestor of Pinafore and the Pirates of Penzance' in its
method of treating farcical incidents in a grave manner. But the
town did not see the fun of this expedient, and the play failed, though
it contained, among other famous songs, 'Twas When the Seas Were
Roaring. In 1716 Trivia, or the Art of Walking the Streets of
London,' put some money into the poet's empty pocket, thanks to
Pope's good offices. A year later a second comedy of his. Three
Hours after Marriage,' met with well-deserved failure. And now, as
always, when his spirits sank, his good friends showered kindnesses
upon him. Mr. Secretary Pulteney carried him off to Aix. Lord
Bathurst and Lord Burlington were his to command. Many fine gen-
tlemen, and particularly many fine ladies, pressed him to make
indefinite country visits. In 1720 his friends managed the publication
of his poems in two quarto volumes, subscribing for ten, twenty, and
even fifty copies apiece, some of them, and securing to the poet, it
is said, £1,000. The younger Craggs, the bookseller, gave him some
South-Sea stock which rose rapidly, and at one time the improvident
little gentleman found himself in possession of £20,000. All his
friends besought him to sell, but Alnaschar Gay had visions of a
splendid ease and opulence. The bubble burst, and poor Alnaschar
had not wherewithal to pay his broker.
The Duchess of Queensborough (Prior's "Kitty, beautiful and
young") had already annexed the charmer, and now carried him off
## p. 6239 (#209) ###########################################
JOHN GAY
6239
to Petersham.
"I wish you had a little villakin in Mr. Pope's neigh-
borhood," scolds Swift to him; "but you are yet too volatile, and any
lady with a coach and six horses might carry you to Japan;" and
again:-"I know your arts of patching up a journey between stage-
coaches and friend's coaches- for you are as arrant a cockney as
any hosier in Cheapside. I have often had it in my head to put it
into yours, that you ought to have some great work in scheme which
may take up seven years to finish, besides two or three under ones
that may add another thousand pounds to your stock; and then I
shall be in less pain about you. I know you can find dinners, but
you love twelvepenny coaches too well, without considering that the
interest of a whole thousand pounds brings you but half a crown a
day. " Gay went to Bath with the Queensberrys, and to Oxford.
Swift complained to Pope:- "I suppose Mr. Gay will return from Bath
with twenty pounds more flesh, and two hundred pounds less money.
Providence never designed him to be above two-and-twenty, by his
thoughtlessness and gullibility. He has as little foresight of age,
sickness, poverty, or loss of admirers as a girl of fifteen. " And his
dear Mrs. Howard, afterwards Lady Suffolk, took him affectionately
to task:- "Your head is your best friend: it would clothe, lodge,
and feed you; but you neglect it, and follow that false friend your
heart, which is such a foolish, tender thing that it makes others
despise your head, that have not half so good a one on their own
shoulders. In short, John, you may be a snail, or a silkworm; but
by my consent you shall never be a hare again. "
He lived under other great roofs, if not contentedly, at least grace-
fully and agreeably. If his dependent state irked him, his hosts
did not perceive it. To Swift he wrote, indeed, "They wonder at
each other for not providing for me, and I wonder at them all. "
Yet, for the nine years from 1722 to 1731 he had a small official
salary, on which a thriftier or more industrious mortal would have
managed to live respectably even in that expensive age; and for at
least a part of the time he had official lodgings at Whitehall.
In 1725 was published the first edition of his famous 'Fables,'
which had been written for the moral behoof of Prince William,
afterward Duke of Cumberland, of unblessed memory. The book did
not make his fortune with the court, as he had hoped, and in 1723
he produced his best known work, The Beggar's Opera. ' Nobody
had much faith in this "Newgate Pastoral," least of all Swift, who
had first suggested it. But it took the town by storm, running for
sixty-three consecutive nights. As the heroine, Polly Peachum, the
lovely Lavinia Fenton captured a duchess's coronet. The songs were
heard alike in West End drawing-rooms and East End slums. Swift
praised it for its morality, and the Archbishop of Canterbury scored
## p. 6240 (#210) ###########################################
6240
JOHN GAY
it for its condonation of vice. The breath of praise and blame filled
equally its prosperous sails, blew it all over the kingdom wherever a
theatre could be found, and finally wafted it to Minorca. So well did
the opera pay him that Gay wrote a sequel called 'Polly,' which,
being prohibited through some notion of Walpole's, sold enormously
by subscription and earned Gay £1,200.
After this the hospitable Queensberrys seem to have adopted him.
He produced a musical drama, 'Acis and Galatea,' written long be-
fore and set to Handel's music; a few more 'Fables'; a thin opera
called 'Achilles'; and then his work was done. He died in London
of a swift fever, in December 1732, before his kind Kitty and her
husband could reach him, or his other great friend, the Countess of
Suffolk. Arbuthnot watched over him; Pope was with him to the
last; Swift indorsed on the letter that brought him the tidings, “On
my dear friend Mr. Gay's death; received on December 15th, but not
read till the 20th, by an impulse foreboding some misfortune. "
So
faithfully did the "giants," as Thackeray calls them, cherish this
gentle, friendly, affectionate, humorous comrade. He seems indeed
to have been almost the only companion with whom Swift did not at
some time fall out, and of his steadfastness the gloomy great man in
his 'Verses on my Own Death' could write:-
"Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay
A week, and Arbuthnot a day. "
The Trivia and the Shepherd's Week,' the 'Acis and Galatea'
and even the 'Beggar's Opera,' gradually faded into the realm of
"old, forgotten, far-off things"; while the 'Fables' passed through
many editions, found their place in school reading-books, were com-
mitted to memory by three generations of admiring pupils, and in-
Icluded in the most orthodox libraries. Yet criticism now reverts to
the earlier standard; approves the songs, and the minute observation,
the nice phrasing, and the humorous swing of the pastorals and
operas, and finds the fables dull, commonplace, and monotonous.
Pope said in his affectionate epitaph that the poet had been laid in
Westminster Abbey, not for ambition, but-
>
"That the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms, 'Here lies Gay,› »
If to-day the worthy and the good do not know even where he lies,
not the less is he to be gratefully remembered whom the best and
greatest of his own time so much admired, and of whom Pope
and Johnson and Thackeray and Dobson have written with the
warmth of friendship.
## p. 6241 (#211) ###########################################
JOHN GAY
6241
IX-
391
THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS
From the Fables'
F
RIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame.
The child whom many fathers share
Hath seldom known a father's care.
'Tis thus in friendships: who depend
On many, rarely find a friend.
A Hare, who in a civil way
Complied with everything, like Gay,
Was known by all the bestial train
Who haunt the wood or graze the plain.
Her care was, never to offend,
And ev'ry creature was her friend.
As forth she went at early dawn
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunters' cries,
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies.
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;
She hears the near advance of death;
She doubles to mislead the hound,
And measures back her mazy round;
Till fainting in the public way,
Half dead with fear, she gasping lay.
What transport in her bosom grew,
When first the horse appeared in view!
"Let me," says she, "your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a friend.
You know my feet betray my flight;
To friendship every burden's light. "
The Horse replied:- "Poor honest Puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus:
Be comforted, relief is near;
For all your friends are in the rear. "
She next the stately Bull implored;
And thus replied the mighty lord:-
"Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offense, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
## p. 6242 (#212) ###########################################
6242
JOHN GAY
Love calls me hence; a favorite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow:
And when a lady's in the case,
You know all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind;
But see, the Goat is just behind. "
The Goat remarked her pulse was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye;
"My back," says he, "may do you harm:
The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm. "
The Sheep was feeble, and complained
His sides a load of wool sustained:
Said he was slow, confessed his fears;
For hounds eat Sheep, as well as Hares!
She now the trotting Calf addressed,
To save from death a friend distressed.
"Shall I," says he, "of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler passed you by;
How strong are those! how weak am I!
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offense.
Excuse me then. You know my heart:
But dearest friends, alas! must part.
How shall we all lament! Adieu!
For see, the hounds are just in view. "
THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL
From the Fables>
I
IS THERE no hope? the Sick Man said.
The silent doctor shook his head,
And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.
When thus the Man with gasping breath:
I feel the chilling wound of death;
Since I must bid the world adieu,
Let me my former life review.
I grant, my bargains well were made,
But all men overreach in trade;
'Tis self-defense in each profession;
Sure, self-defense is no transgression.
## p. 6243 (#213) ###########################################
JOHN GAY
6243
The little portion in my hands,
By good security on lands,
Is well increased. If unawares,
My justice to myself and heirs
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good sufficient bail;
If I by writ, or bond, or deed,
Reduced a family to need,-
My will hath made the world amends;
My hope on charity depends.
When I am numbered with the dead,
And all my pious gifts are read,
By heaven and earth 'twill then be known,
My charities were amply shown.
An Angel came. Ah, friend! he cried,
No more in flattering hope confide.
Can thy good deeds in former times
Outweigh the balance of thy crimes?
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days?
A pious action's in thy power;
Embrace with joy the happy hour.
Now, while you draw the vital air,
Prove your intention is sincere:
This instant give a hundred pound;
Your neighbors want, and you abound.
But why such haste? the Sick Man whines:
Who knows as yet what Heaven designs?
Perhaps I may recover still;
That sum and more are in my will.
Fool, says the Vision, now 'tis plain,
Your life, your soul, your heaven was gain;
From every side, with all your might,
You scraped, and scraped beyond your right;
And after death would fain atone,
By giving what is not your own.
Where there is life there's hope, he cried;
Then why such haste? -
so groaned and died.
――
## p. 6244 (#214) ###########################################
6244
JOHN GAY
A
THE JUGGLER
From the Fables'
JUGGLER long through all the town
Had raised his fortune and renown;
You'd think (so far his art transcends)
The Devil at his fingers' ends.
Vice heard his fame; she read his bill;
Convinced of his inferior skill,
She sought his booth, and from the crowd
Defied the man of art aloud.
Is this, then, he so famed for sleight?
Can this slow bungler cheat your sight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes.
Provoked, the Juggler cried, 'Tis done.
In science I submit to none.
Thus said, the cups and balls he played;
By turns, this here, that there, conveyed.
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turned to birds.
His little boxes change the grain;
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he shows all fair;
His fingers spreads, and nothing there;
Then bids it rain with showers of gold,
And now his ivory eggs are told.
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amazed spectators hum applause.
Vice now stept forth, and took the place
With all the forms of his grimace.
This magic looking-glass, she cries
(There, hand it round), will charm your eyes.
Each eager eye the sight desired,
And ev'ry man himself admired.
Next to a senator addressing:
See this bank-note; observe the blessing,
Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone;
Upon his lips a padlock shone.
A second puff the magic broke,
The padlock vanished, and he spoke.
Twelve bottles ranged upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor stored,
## p. 6245 (#215) ###########################################
JOHN GAY
6245
By clean conveyance disappear,
And now two bloody swords are there.
A purse she to a thief exposed,
At once his ready fingers closed:
He opes his fist, the treasure's fled:
He sees a halter in its stead.
She bids ambition hold a wand;
He grasps a hatchet in his hand.
A box of charity she shows:
Blow here; and a churchwarden blows.
'Tis vanished with conveyance neat,
And on the table smokes a treat.
She shakes the dice, the board she knocks,
And from her pockets fills her box.
A counter in a miser's hand
Grew twenty guineas at command.
She bids his heir the sum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.
A guinea with her touch you see
Take ev'ry shape but Charity;
And not one thing you saw, or drew,
But changed from what was first in view.
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission owned her art.
Can I such matchless sleight withstand?
How practice hath improved your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You every day, and all day long.
SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED SUSAN
A BALLAD
LL in the Downs the fleet was moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard:
Oh, where shall I my true love find!
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among the crew.
A
William, who high upon the yard
Rocked with the billow to and fro,
## p. 6246 (#216) ###########################################
6246
JOHN GAY
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sighed and cast his eyes below;
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.
So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast
(If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear),
And drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
Believe not what the landmen say,
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind:
They'll tell thee, sailors when away
In every port a mistress find.
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
If to far India's coast we sail,
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright;
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
Though battle call me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms,
William shall to his dear return.
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
The boatswain gave the dreadful word;
The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard:
They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head:
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land:
Adieu! she cries; and waved her lily hand.
## p. 6247 (#217) ###########################################
JOHN GAY
6247
FROM WHAT D'YE CALL IT? >
A BALLAD
'TWAS
WAS when the seas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,
All on a rock reclined.
Wide o'er the foaming billows
She cast a wistful look;
Her head was crowned with willows,
That tremble o'er the brook.
"Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days;
Why didst thou, venturous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest:
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?
"The merchant robbed of pleasure
Sees tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure,
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on,
Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'll find a richer maiden,
But none that loves you so.
"How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain;
Why then, beneath the water,
Should hideous rocks remain?
No eyes the rocks discover
That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep. "
All melancholy lying,
Thus wailed she for her dear!
Repaid each blast with sighing,
Each billow with a tear.
When o'er the white wave stooping,
His floating corpse she spied,-
Then, like a lily drooping,
She bowed her head and died.
## p. 6248 (#218) ###########################################
6248
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
(1815-1884)
HE chief note in Geibel's nature was reverence.
A spirit of
reverent piety, using the phrase in its widest as well as in
its strictly religious sense, characterizes all his poetical
utterances. He intended to devote himself to theology, but the hu-
manistic tendencies of the age, combined with his own peculiar
endowments, led him to abandon the Church for pure literature.
The reverent attitude of mind, however, remained, and has left its
impress even upon his most impassioned love lyrics. It appears too
in his first literary venture, a volume of
'Classical Studies' undertaken in collabo-
ration with his friend Ernst Curtius, in
which is displayed his loving reverence for
the great monuments of Greek antiquity.
He felt himself an exile from Greece, and
like Goethe's Iphigenia, his soul was seek-
ing ever for the land of Hellas. And
through the influence of Bettina von Arnim
this longing was satisfied; he secured the
post of tutor in the household of the Rus-
sian ambassador to Athens.
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
Geibel was only twenty-three years of
age when this good fortune fell to his lot.
He was born at Lübeck on October 18th,
1815. His poetic gifts, early manifested, secured him a welcome in
the literary circles of Berlin. During the two years that he spent in
Greece he was enabled to travel over a large part of the Grecian
Archipelago in the inspiring company of Curtius; and it was upon
their return to Germany in 1840 that the Classical Studies' appeared,
and were dedicated to the Queen of Greece. Then Geibel eagerly
took up the study of French and Spanish, with the result that many
valuable volumes were published in collaboration with Paul Heyse,
Count von Schack, and Leuthold, which introduced to the German
public a vast treasury of song from the literatures of France, Spain,
and Portugal. The first collection of Geibel's own poems in 1843
secured for the poet a modest pension from the King of Prussia.
Geibel also made several essays at dramatic composition. He wrote
for Mendelssohn the text of a 'Lorelei,' but the composer died before
## p. 6249 (#219) ###########################################
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
6249
the music was completed. A comedy called 'Master Andrew' was
successful in a number of cities; and of his more ambitious tragedies,
'Brunhild' and 'Sophonisba,' the latter won the famous Schiller prize
in 1869.
In 1852 Geibel received an appointment as royal reader to Maxi-
milian II. , and was made professor at the University of Munich. It
was also from the King of Bavaria that he procured his patent of no-
bility. In the same year that he took up his residence in Munich he
married; but the death of his wife terminated his happy family rela-
tions three years later, and the death of the King severed his con-
nection with the Bavarian court. Moreover, his sympathy with the
revolutionary poets, such as his intimate friend Freiligrath, his own
enthusiasm for the popular movement, and the faith which he placed
in the King of Prussia, led to bitter attacks upon him in the Bavarian
press, and eventually to his resignation from the faculty of the uni-
versity. He returned to his native city of Lübeck. The Prussian
King trebled his annual income, and the poet was raised above pe-
cuniary cares. The last years of his life were saddened, without
being embittered, by feeble health. He died on April 6th, 1884.
There was sometimes a touch of effeminate sentimentality in Gei-
bel's work, but he did not lack force and virility, as his famous
'Twelve Sonnets' and his political poems, entitled 'Zeitgedichte,'
show. He could speak strong words for right and justice, and in all
his poems there is a musical beauty of language and a perfection of
form that render his songs contributions of permanent value to the
lyric treasury of German literature.
SEE'ST THOU THE SEA?
EE'ST thou the sea? The sun gleams on its wave
SEE'S With splendor bright;
But where the pearl lies buried in its cave
Is deepest night.
The sea am I. My soul, in billows bold,
Rolls fierce and strong;
And over all, like to the sunlight's gold,
There streams my song.
It throbs with love and pain as though possessed
Of magic art,
And yet in silence bleeds, within my breast,
My gloomy heart.
Translation of Frances Hellman. Copyright 1892.
## p. 6250 (#220) ###########################################
6250
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
AS IT WILL HAPPEN
E LOVES thee not! He trifles but with thee! »
They said to her, and then she bowed her
head,
And pearly tears, like roses' dew, wept she.
Oh, that she ever trusted what they said!
For when he came and found his bride in doubt,
"H
Then, from sheer spite, he would not show his sorrow;
He played and laughed and drank, day in, day out,—
To weep from night until the morrow!
'Tis true, an angel whispered in her heart,
"He's faithful still; oh lay thy hand in his! "
And he too felt, 'midst grief and bitter smart,
"She loves thee! After all, thy love she is;
Let but a gentle word pass on each side,
The spell that parts you now will then be broken! "
They came- each looked on each-oh, evil pride! -
That single word remained unspoken!
They parted then. As in a church one oft
Extinguished sees the altar lamps' red fires,
Their light grows dim, then once more flares aloft
In radiance bright, and thereupon expires,-
So died their love; at first lamented o'er,
Then yearned for ardently, and then-forgotten,
Until the thought that they had loved before
Of mere delusion seemed begotten!
But sometimes when the moon shone out at night,
Each started from his couch! Ah, was it not
Bedewed with tears? And tears, too, dimmed their sight,
Because these two had dreamed-I know not what!
And then the dear old times woke in their heart,
Their foolish doubts, their parting, that had driven
Their souls so far, so very far apart,—
Oh God! let both now be forgiven!
Translation of Frances Hellman. Copyright 1892.
## p. 6251 (#221) ###########################################
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
6251
OH
GONDOLIERA
H, COME to me when through the night
The starry legions ride!
Then o'er the sea, in the moonshine bright,
Our gondola will glide.
The air is soft as a lover's jest,
And gently gleams the light;
The zither sounds, and thy soul is blest
To join in this delight.
Oh, come to me when through the night
The starry legions ride!
Then o'er the sea, in the moonshine bright,
Our gondola will glide.
This is the hour for lovers true,
Darling, like thee and me;
Serenely smile the heavens blue
And calmly sleeps the sea.
And as it sleeps, a glance will say
What speech in vain has tried;
The lips then do not shrink away,
Nor is a kiss denied.
Oh, come to me when through the night
The starry legions ride!
Then o'er the sea, in the moonshine bright,
Our gondola will glide.
Translation of Frances Hellman. Copyright 1892.
THE WOODLAND
HE wood grows denser at each stride;
THE No path more, no trail!
Only murm'ring waters glide
Through tangled ferns and woodland flowers pale.
Ah, and under the great oaks teeming
How soft the moss, the grass, how high!
And the heavenly depth of cloudless sky,
How blue through the leaves it seems to me!
Here I'll sit, resting and dreaming,
Dreaming of thee.
Translation of Charles Harvey Genung.
## p. 6252 (#222) ###########################################
6252
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
ONWARD
EASE thy dreaming! Cease thy quailing!
Wander on untiringly.
C
Though thy strength may all seem failing,
Onward! must thy watchword be.
Durst not tarry, though life's roses
Round about thy footsteps throng,
Though the ocean's depth discloses
Sirens with their witching song.
Onward! onward! ever calling
On thy Muse, in life's stern fray,
Till thy fevered brow feels, falling
From above, a golden ray.
Till the verdant wreath victorious
Crown with soothing shade thy brow;
Till the spirit's flames rise glorious
Over thee, with sacred glow.
Onward then, through hostile fire,
Onward through death's agony!
Who to heaven would aspire
Must a valiant warrior be.
AT
Translation of Frances Hellman. Copyright 1892.
AT LAST THE DAYLIGHT FADETH
T LAST the daylight fadeth,
With all its noise and glare;
Refreshing peace pervadeth
The darkness everywhere.
On the fields deep silence hovers;
The woods now wake alone;
What daylight ne'er discovers,
Their songs to the night make known.
And what when the sun is shining
I ne'er can tell to thee,
To whisper it now I am pining,—
Oh, come and hearken to me!
Translation of Frances Hellman. Copyright 1892.
## p. 6253 (#223) ###########################################
6253
AULUS GELLIUS
(SECOND CENTURY A. D. )
ERHAPS Gellius's 'Attic Nights' may claim especial mention
here, as one of the earliest extant forerunners of this
< Library. ' In the original preface (given first among the
citations), Gellius explains very clearly the origin and scope of his
work. It is not, however, a mere scrap-book. There is original mat-
ter in many chapters. In particular, an ethical or philosophic excerpt
has often been framed in a little scene, - doubtless imaginary,— and
cast in the form of a dialogue. We get, even, pleasant glimpses of
autobiography from time to time. The author is not, however, a
deep or forceful character, on the whole. His heart is mostly set on
trifles.
Yet Gellius has been an assiduous student, both in Greece and
Italy; and his book gives us an agreeable, probably an adequate,
view of the fields which are included in the general culture of his
time. Despite its title, the work is chiefly Roman. In history, biog-
raphy, antiquities, grammar, literary criticism, his materials and au-
thors are prevailingly Latin. He is perhaps most widely known and
quoted on early Roman life and usages. Thus, one of his chapters
gives a mass of curious information as to the choice of the Vestal
Virgins. We are also largely indebted to him for citations from lost
authors. We have already quoted under Ennius the sketch, in eigh-
teen hexameters, of a scholar-soldier, believed to be a genial self-
portraiture. These lines are the finest specimen we have of the
'Annales. Similarly, under Cato, we have quoted the chief fragment
of the great Censor's Roman history. For both these treasures we
must thank Gellius. Indeed, throughout the wide fields of Roman
antiquities, history of literature, grammar, etc. , we have to depend
chiefly upon various late Latin scrap-books and compilations, most of
which are not even made up at first hand from creative classical au-
thors. To Gellius, also, the imposing array of writers so constantly
named by him was evidently known chiefly through compendiums
and handbooks. It is suspicious, for instance, that he hardly quotes
a poet within a century of his own time. Repetitions, contradictions,
etc. , are numerous.
Despite its twenty "books" and nearly four hundred (short) chap-
ters, the work is not only light and readable for the most part, but
## p. 6254 (#224) ###########################################
6254
AULUS GELLIUS
quite modest in total bulk: five hundred and fifty pages in the small
page and generous type of Hertz's Teubner text. There is an Eng-
lish translation by Rev. W. Beloe, first printed in 1795, from which
we quote below. Professor Nettleship's (in his 'Essays in Latin Lit-
erature) has no literary quality, but gives a careful analysis of Gel-
lius's subjects and probable sources. There is a revival of interest
in this author in recent years. We decidedly recommend Hertz's at-
tractive volume to any Latin student who wishes to browse beyond
the narrow classical limits.
FROM ATTIC NIGHTS›
ORIGIN AND PLAN OF THE BOOK
MOR
ORE pleasing works than the present may certainly be found:
my object in writing this was to provide my children, as
well as myself, with that kind of amusement in which
they might properly relax and indulge themselves at the inter-
vals from more important business. I have preserved the same
accidental arrangement which I had before used in making the
collection. Whatever book came into my hand, whether it was
Greek or Latin, or whatever I heard that was either worthy of
being recorded or agreeable to my fancy, I wrote down without
distinction and without order. These things I treasured up to
aid my memory, as it were by a store-house of learning; so that
when I wanted to refer to any particular circumstance or word
which I had at the moment forgotten, and the books from which
they were taken happened not to be at hand, I could easily find
and apply it. Thus the same irregularity will appear in these
commentaries as existed in the original annotations, which were
concisely written down without any method or arrangement in
the course of what I at different times had heard or read. As
these observations at first constituted my business and my amuse-
ment through many long winter nights which I spent in Attica,
I have given them the name of 'Attic Nights. '
It is an
old proverb, "A jay has no concern with music, nor a hog with
perfumes: " but that the ill-humor and invidiousness of certain
ill-taught people may be still more exasperated, I shall borrow a
few verses from a chorus of Aristophanes; and what he, a man
of most exquisite humor, proposed as a law to the spectators of
his play, I also recommend to the readers of this volume, that
the vulgar and unhallowed herd, who are averse to the sports of
## p. 6255 (#225) ###########################################
AULUS GELLIUS
6255
the Muses, may not touch nor even approach it.
these:
-
The verses are
SILENT be they, and far from hence remove,
By scenes like ours not likely to improve,
Who never paid the honored Muse her rights,
Who senseless live in wild, impure delights;
I bid them once, I bid them twice begone,
I bid them thrice, in still a louder tone:
Far hence depart, whilst ye with dance and song
Our solemn feast, our tuneful nights prolong.
shirt, with pink and black squares; the ends, lengthening into
narrow slips, were wound several times about his bust and bound
it closely; the sleeves, cut short near the shoulder, and bordered
with intersecting lines of gold, red, and blue, exposed his round,
strong arms, the left furnished with a large metal wristband,
meant to lessen the vibration of the string when he discharged
an arrow from his triangular bow; and the right, ornamented by
a bracelet in the form of a serpent in several coils, held a long
gold sceptre with a lotus bud at the end. The rest of his body
was wrapped in drapery of the finest linen, minutely plaited,
bound about the waist by a belt inlaid with small enamel and
gold plates. Between the band and the belt his torso appeared,
shining and polished like pink granite shaped by a cunning work-
man. Sandals with returned toes, like skates, shod his long nar-
row feet, placed together like those of the gods on the temple
walls.
His smooth beardless face, with large clearly cut features,
which it seemed beyond any human power to disturb, and which
the blood of common life did not color, with its death-like pallor,
sealed lips, enormous eyes enlarged with black lines, the lids no
more lowered than those of the sacred hawk, inspired by its very
immobility a feeling of respectful fear. One might have thought
that these fixed eyes were searching for eternity and the Infinite;
they never seemed to rest on surrounding objects. The satiety
of pleasures, the surfeit of wishes satisfied as soon as expressed,
the isolation of a demigod who has no equal among mortals, the
disgust for perpetual adoration, and as it were the weariness of
continual triumph, had forever frozen this face, implacably gentle
and of granite serenity. Osiris judging the souls could not have
had a more majestic and calm expression.
A large tame lion, lying by his side, stretched out its enor-
mous paws like a sphinx on its pedestal, and blinked its yellow
eyes.
A rope, attached to the litter, bound the war chariots of the
vanquished chiefs to the Pharaoh. He dragged them behind him
like animals in leash. These men, with fierce despairing faces,
their elbows drawn together by a strap and forming an ungrace-
ful angle, tottered awkwardly at every motion of the chariots,
driven by Egyptians.
## p. 6231 (#201) ###########################################
THEOPHILE GAUTIER
6231
Next came the chariots of the young princes royal, drawn by
thoroughbred horses, elegantly and nobly formed, with slender
legs, sinewy houghs, their manes cut short like a brush, har-
nessed by twos, tossing their red-plumed heads, with metal-bossed
headstalls and frontlets. A curved pole, upheld on their withers,
covered with scarlet panels, two collars surmounted by balls of
polished brass, bound together by a light yoke bent like a bow
with upturned ends; a bellyband and breastband elaborately
stitched and embroidered, and rich housings with red or blue
stripes and fringed with tassels, completed this strong, graceful,
and light harness.
The body of the chariot, painted red and white, ornamented
with bronze plaques and half-spheres, something like the umbo
of the shields, was flanked with two large quivers placed diago-
nally opposite each other, one filled with arrows and the other
with javelins. On the front of each, a carved, gilded lion, with
set paws, and muzzle wrinkled into a frightful grin, seemed
ready to spring with a roar upon the enemy.
The young princes had their hair bound with a narrow band,
in which the royal viper was twisted; their only garment was a
tunic gaudily embroidered at the neck and sleeves, and held in
at the waist by a belt of black leather, clasped with a metal
plate engraved with hieroglyphics. In this belt was a long dag-
ger, with triangular brass blade, the handle channeled crosswise,
terminated by a hawk's head.
In the chariot, by the side of each prince, stood the chariot-
eer, who drove it in battle, and the groom, whose business it
was to ward off with the shield the blows aimed at the combat-
ant, while the latter discharged the arrows or threw the javelins
which he took from the quivers on either side of the car.
In the wake of the princes followed the chariots, the Egyp-
tian cavalry, twenty thousand in number, each drawn by two
horses and holding three men. They advanced ten in a line, the
axletrees perilously near together, but never coming in contact
with each other, so great was the address of the drivers.
Several lighter chariots, used for skirmishing and reconnoi-
tring, marched at the head and carried one warrior only, who in
order to leave his hands free for fighting wound the reins around
his body: by bending to the right or the left, or backwards, he
guided or stopped his horses; and it was really wonderful to see
the noble animals, apparently left to themselves, but governed
## p. 6232 (#202) ###########################################
6232
THÉOPHILE GAUTIER
by imperceptible movements, keep up an undisturbedly regular
pace.
The stamping of the horses, held in with difficulty, the thunder-
ing of the bronze-covered wheels, the metallic clash of weapons,
gave to this line something formidable and imposing enough to
raise terror in the most intrepid bosoms. The helmets, plumes,
and breastplates dotted with red, green, and yellow, the gilded
bows and brass swords, glittered and blazed terribly in the light
of the sun, open in the sky, above the Libyan chain, like a great
Osirian eye; and it was felt that the onslaught of such an army
must sweep away the nations like a whirlwind which drives a
light straw before it.
Beneath these innumerable wheels the earth resounded and
trembled, as if it had been moved by some convulsion of nature.
To the chariots succeeded the battalions of infantry, marching
in order, their shields on the left arm; in the right hand the
lance, curved club, bow, sling, or axe, according as they were
armed; the heads of these soldiers were covered with helmets,
adorned with two horsehair tails, their bodies girded with a cui-
rass belt of crocodile-skin. Their impassible look, the perfect reg
ularity of their movements, their reddish copper complexions,
deepened by a recent expedition to the burning regions of Upper
Ethiopia, their clothing powdered with the desert sand, they
awoke admiration by their discipline and courage. With soldiers
like these, Egypt could conquer the world. After them came the
allied troops, recognizable from the outlandish form of their
head-pieces, which looked like truncated mitres, or were sur-
mounted by crescents spitted on sharp points. Their wide-bladed
swords and jagged axes must have produced wounds which could
not be healed.
Slaves carried on their shoulders or on barrows the spoils enu-
merated by the herald, and wild-beast tamers dragged behind
them leashed panthers, cheetahs, crouching down as if trying to
hide themselves, ostriches fluttering their wings, giraffes which
overtopped the crowd by the entire length of their necks, and
even brown bears,-taken, they said, in the Mountains of the
Moon.
The procession was still passing, long after the King had en-
tered his palace.
## p. 6233 (#203) ###########################################
THEOPHILE GAUTIER
6233
FROM THE MARSH
T IS a pond, whose sleepy water
Lies stagnant, covered with a mantle
Of lily pads and rushes.
Under the creeping duck-weed
The wild ducks dip
Their sapphire necks glazed with gold;
At dawn the teal is seen bathing,
And when twilight reigns,
It settles between two rushes and sleeps.
FROM THE DRAGON-FLY›
PON the heather sprinkled
With morning dew;
Upon the wild-rose bush;
UPON
Upon the shady trees;
Upon the hedges
Growing along the path;
Upon the modest and dainty
Daisy,
That droops its dreamy brow;
Upon the rye, like a green billow
Unrolled
By the winged caprice of the wind,
The dragon-fly gently rocks.
THE DOVES
ON
IN THE hill-side, yonder where are the graves,
A fine palm-tree, like a green plume,
Stands with head erect; in the evening the doves
Come to nestle under its cover.
But in the morning they leave the branches;
Like a spreading necklace, they may be seen
Scattering in the blue air, perfectly white,
And settling farther upon some roof.
My soul is the tree where every eve, as they,
White swarms of mad visions
Fall from heaven, with fluttering wings,
To fly away with the first rays.
## p. 6234 (#204) ###########################################
6234
THEOPHILE GAUTIER
THE POT OF FLOWERS
OMETIMES a child finds a small seed,
And at once, delighted with its bright colors,
To plant it he takes a porcelain jar
Adorned with blue dragons and strange flowers.
S°
He goes away.
The root, snake-like, stretches,
Breaks through the earth, blooms, becomes a shrub;
Each day, farther down, it sinks its fibrous foot,
Until it bursts the sides of the vessel.
The child returns: surprised, he sees the rich plant
Over the vase's débris brandishing its green spikes;
He wants to pull it out, but the stem is stubborn.
The child persists, and tears his fingers with the pointed
arrows.
Thus grew love in my simple heart;
I believed I sowed but a spring flower;
'Tis a large aloe, whose root breaks
The porcelain vase with the brilliant figures.
PRAYER
Α
SA guardian angel, take me under your wing;
Deign to stoop and put out, smiling,
Your maternal hand to my little hand
To support my steps and keep me from falling!
For Jesus the sweet Master, with celestial love,
Suffered little children to come to him;
As an indulgent parent, he submitted to their caresses
And played with them without showing weariness.
O you who resemble those church pictures
Where one sees, on a gold background, august Charity
Preserving from hunger, preserving from cold,
A fair and smiling group sheltered in her folds;
Like the nursling of the Divine mother,
For pity's sake, lift me to your lap;
Protect me, poor young girl, alone, an orphan,
Whose only hope is in God, whose only hope is in you!
## p. 6235 (#205) ###########################################
THEOPHILE GAUTIER
6235
THE POET AND THE CROWD
NE day the plain said to the idle mountain:—
ON Nothing ever grows upon thy wind-beaten brow!
To the poet, bending thoughtful over his lyre,
The crowd also said:- Dreamer, of what use art thou?
Full of wrath, the mountain answered the plain:
:-
It is I who make the harvests grow upon thy soil;
I temper the breath of the noon sun,
I stop in the skies the clouds as they fly by.
With my fingers I knead the snow into avalanches,
In my crucible I dissolve the crystals of glaciers,
And I pour out, from the tip of my white breasts,
In long silver threads, the nourishing streams.
The poet, in his turn, answered the crowd:
Allow my pale brow to rest upon my hand.
Have I not from my side, from which runs out my soul,
Made a spring gush to slake men's thirst?
THE FIRST SMILE OF SPRING
HILE to their perverse work
Men run panting,
March that laughs, in spite of showers,
Quietly gets Spring ready.
WH
For the little daisies,
Slyly, when all sleep,
He irons little collars
And chisels gold studs.
Through the orchard and the vineyard,
He goes, cunning hair-dresser,
With a swan-puff,
And powders snow-white the almond-tree.
Nature rests in her bed;
He goes down to the garden
And laces the rosebuds
In their green velvet corsets.
## p. 6236 (#206) ###########################################
6236
THEOPHILE GAUTIER
While composing solfeggios
That he sings in a low tone to the blackbirds,
He strews the meadows with snowdrops
And the woods with violets.
By the side of the cress in the brook
Where drinks the stag, with listening ear,
With his concealed hand he scatters
The silver bells of the lilies of the valley.
Then, when his work is done
And his reign about to end,
On the threshold of April, turning his head,
He says, Spring, you may come!
TH
THE VETERANS
From The Old Guard›
HE thing is worth considering;
Three ghosts of old veterans
In the uniform of the Old Guard,
With two shadows of hussars!
Since the supreme battle
One has grown thin, the other stout;
The coat once made to fit them
Is either too loose or too tight.
Don't laugh, comrade;
But rather bow low
To these Achilles of an Iliad
That Homer would not have invented.
Their faces with the swarthy skin
Speak of Egypt with the burning sun,
And the snows of Russia
Still powder their white hair.
If their joints are stiff, it is because on the
battle-field
Flags were their only blankets;
And if their sleeves don't fit,
It is because a cannon-ball took off their arm.
## p. 6237 (#207) ###########################################
6237
JOHN GAY
(1685-1732)
N THE great society of the wits," said Thackeray, "John Gay
deserves to be a favorite, and to have a good place. " The
wits loved him. Prior was his faithful ally; Pope wrote
him frequent letters of affectionate good advice; Swift grew genial in
his merry company; and when the jester lapsed into gloom, as jest-
ers will, all his friends hurried to coddle and comfort him. His verse
is not of the first order, but the list of "English classics" contains
far poorer; it is entertaining enough to be a pleasure even to bright
children of this generation, and each suc-
ceeding one reads it with an inherited fond-
ness not by any means without help from
its own merits. And the man who invented
comic opera, one of the most enduring molds
in which English humor has been cast, de-
serves the credit of all important literary
pioneers.
JOHN GAY
Kind, lazy, clever John Gay came of a
good, impoverished Devonshire family, which
seems to have done its best for the bright
lad of twelve when it apprenticed him to a
London silk mercer. The boy hated this
employment, grew ill under its fret and con-
finement, went back to the country, studied,
possibly wrote poor verses, and presently drifted back to London.
The cleverest men of the time frequented the crowded taverns and
coffee-houses, and the talk that he heard at Will's and Button's may
have determined his profession. Thither came Pope and Addison,
Swift and Steele, Congreve, St. John, Prior, Arbuthnot, Cibber, Ho-
garth, Walpole, and many a powerful patron who loved good com-
pany.
Perhaps through some kind acquaintance made in this informal
circle, Gay obtained a private secretaryship, and began the flirtation.
with the Muse which became serious only after some years of cold-
ness on that humorous lady's part. His first poem, 'Wine,' published
when he was twenty-three, is not included in his collected works:
perhaps because it is written in blank verse; perhaps because his
maturer taste condemned it. Three years later, in 1711, when the
success of the Spectator was yet new, and Pope had just completed
## p. 6238 (#208) ###########################################
6238
JOHN GAY
his brilliant Art of Criticism,' and Swift was editing the Examiner
and working on that defense of a French peace, The Conduct of the
Allies,' which was to make him the talk of London,-Gay sent forth
his second venture; a curious, unimportant pamphlet, The Present
State of Wit. ' Late in 1713 he is contributing to Dicky Steele's
Guardian, and sending elegies to his 'Poetical Miscellanies'; and a
little later, having become a favorite with the powerful Mr. Pope, he
is made to bring up new reinforcements to the battle of that irasci-
ble gentleman with his ancient enemy Ambrose Phillips. This he
does in The Shepherd's Week,' a sham pastoral, which is full of
wit and easy versification, and shows very considerable talents as a
parodist. This skit the luckless satirist dedicated to Bolingbroke,
whose brilliant star was just passing into eclipse. Swift thought this
harmless courtesy the real cause of the indifference of the Brunswick
princes to the merits of the poet; and in an age when every spark of
literary genius was so carefully nursed and utilized to sustain the
weak dynasty, most likely he was right.
(
For this reason or another, indifferent they were; and in a time
when court favor counted enormously, poor indolent luxury-loving Gay
had to earn his loaf by hard work, or go without it. He produced a
tragi-comi-pastoral farce called 'What D'ye Call It? ' which was the
lineal ancestor of Pinafore and the Pirates of Penzance' in its
method of treating farcical incidents in a grave manner. But the
town did not see the fun of this expedient, and the play failed, though
it contained, among other famous songs, 'Twas When the Seas Were
Roaring. In 1716 Trivia, or the Art of Walking the Streets of
London,' put some money into the poet's empty pocket, thanks to
Pope's good offices. A year later a second comedy of his. Three
Hours after Marriage,' met with well-deserved failure. And now, as
always, when his spirits sank, his good friends showered kindnesses
upon him. Mr. Secretary Pulteney carried him off to Aix. Lord
Bathurst and Lord Burlington were his to command. Many fine gen-
tlemen, and particularly many fine ladies, pressed him to make
indefinite country visits. In 1720 his friends managed the publication
of his poems in two quarto volumes, subscribing for ten, twenty, and
even fifty copies apiece, some of them, and securing to the poet, it
is said, £1,000. The younger Craggs, the bookseller, gave him some
South-Sea stock which rose rapidly, and at one time the improvident
little gentleman found himself in possession of £20,000. All his
friends besought him to sell, but Alnaschar Gay had visions of a
splendid ease and opulence. The bubble burst, and poor Alnaschar
had not wherewithal to pay his broker.
The Duchess of Queensborough (Prior's "Kitty, beautiful and
young") had already annexed the charmer, and now carried him off
## p. 6239 (#209) ###########################################
JOHN GAY
6239
to Petersham.
"I wish you had a little villakin in Mr. Pope's neigh-
borhood," scolds Swift to him; "but you are yet too volatile, and any
lady with a coach and six horses might carry you to Japan;" and
again:-"I know your arts of patching up a journey between stage-
coaches and friend's coaches- for you are as arrant a cockney as
any hosier in Cheapside. I have often had it in my head to put it
into yours, that you ought to have some great work in scheme which
may take up seven years to finish, besides two or three under ones
that may add another thousand pounds to your stock; and then I
shall be in less pain about you. I know you can find dinners, but
you love twelvepenny coaches too well, without considering that the
interest of a whole thousand pounds brings you but half a crown a
day. " Gay went to Bath with the Queensberrys, and to Oxford.
Swift complained to Pope:- "I suppose Mr. Gay will return from Bath
with twenty pounds more flesh, and two hundred pounds less money.
Providence never designed him to be above two-and-twenty, by his
thoughtlessness and gullibility. He has as little foresight of age,
sickness, poverty, or loss of admirers as a girl of fifteen. " And his
dear Mrs. Howard, afterwards Lady Suffolk, took him affectionately
to task:- "Your head is your best friend: it would clothe, lodge,
and feed you; but you neglect it, and follow that false friend your
heart, which is such a foolish, tender thing that it makes others
despise your head, that have not half so good a one on their own
shoulders. In short, John, you may be a snail, or a silkworm; but
by my consent you shall never be a hare again. "
He lived under other great roofs, if not contentedly, at least grace-
fully and agreeably. If his dependent state irked him, his hosts
did not perceive it. To Swift he wrote, indeed, "They wonder at
each other for not providing for me, and I wonder at them all. "
Yet, for the nine years from 1722 to 1731 he had a small official
salary, on which a thriftier or more industrious mortal would have
managed to live respectably even in that expensive age; and for at
least a part of the time he had official lodgings at Whitehall.
In 1725 was published the first edition of his famous 'Fables,'
which had been written for the moral behoof of Prince William,
afterward Duke of Cumberland, of unblessed memory. The book did
not make his fortune with the court, as he had hoped, and in 1723
he produced his best known work, The Beggar's Opera. ' Nobody
had much faith in this "Newgate Pastoral," least of all Swift, who
had first suggested it. But it took the town by storm, running for
sixty-three consecutive nights. As the heroine, Polly Peachum, the
lovely Lavinia Fenton captured a duchess's coronet. The songs were
heard alike in West End drawing-rooms and East End slums. Swift
praised it for its morality, and the Archbishop of Canterbury scored
## p. 6240 (#210) ###########################################
6240
JOHN GAY
it for its condonation of vice. The breath of praise and blame filled
equally its prosperous sails, blew it all over the kingdom wherever a
theatre could be found, and finally wafted it to Minorca. So well did
the opera pay him that Gay wrote a sequel called 'Polly,' which,
being prohibited through some notion of Walpole's, sold enormously
by subscription and earned Gay £1,200.
After this the hospitable Queensberrys seem to have adopted him.
He produced a musical drama, 'Acis and Galatea,' written long be-
fore and set to Handel's music; a few more 'Fables'; a thin opera
called 'Achilles'; and then his work was done. He died in London
of a swift fever, in December 1732, before his kind Kitty and her
husband could reach him, or his other great friend, the Countess of
Suffolk. Arbuthnot watched over him; Pope was with him to the
last; Swift indorsed on the letter that brought him the tidings, “On
my dear friend Mr. Gay's death; received on December 15th, but not
read till the 20th, by an impulse foreboding some misfortune. "
So
faithfully did the "giants," as Thackeray calls them, cherish this
gentle, friendly, affectionate, humorous comrade. He seems indeed
to have been almost the only companion with whom Swift did not at
some time fall out, and of his steadfastness the gloomy great man in
his 'Verses on my Own Death' could write:-
"Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay
A week, and Arbuthnot a day. "
The Trivia and the Shepherd's Week,' the 'Acis and Galatea'
and even the 'Beggar's Opera,' gradually faded into the realm of
"old, forgotten, far-off things"; while the 'Fables' passed through
many editions, found their place in school reading-books, were com-
mitted to memory by three generations of admiring pupils, and in-
Icluded in the most orthodox libraries. Yet criticism now reverts to
the earlier standard; approves the songs, and the minute observation,
the nice phrasing, and the humorous swing of the pastorals and
operas, and finds the fables dull, commonplace, and monotonous.
Pope said in his affectionate epitaph that the poet had been laid in
Westminster Abbey, not for ambition, but-
>
"That the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms, 'Here lies Gay,› »
If to-day the worthy and the good do not know even where he lies,
not the less is he to be gratefully remembered whom the best and
greatest of his own time so much admired, and of whom Pope
and Johnson and Thackeray and Dobson have written with the
warmth of friendship.
## p. 6241 (#211) ###########################################
JOHN GAY
6241
IX-
391
THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS
From the Fables'
F
RIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame.
The child whom many fathers share
Hath seldom known a father's care.
'Tis thus in friendships: who depend
On many, rarely find a friend.
A Hare, who in a civil way
Complied with everything, like Gay,
Was known by all the bestial train
Who haunt the wood or graze the plain.
Her care was, never to offend,
And ev'ry creature was her friend.
As forth she went at early dawn
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunters' cries,
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies.
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;
She hears the near advance of death;
She doubles to mislead the hound,
And measures back her mazy round;
Till fainting in the public way,
Half dead with fear, she gasping lay.
What transport in her bosom grew,
When first the horse appeared in view!
"Let me," says she, "your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a friend.
You know my feet betray my flight;
To friendship every burden's light. "
The Horse replied:- "Poor honest Puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus:
Be comforted, relief is near;
For all your friends are in the rear. "
She next the stately Bull implored;
And thus replied the mighty lord:-
"Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offense, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
## p. 6242 (#212) ###########################################
6242
JOHN GAY
Love calls me hence; a favorite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow:
And when a lady's in the case,
You know all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind;
But see, the Goat is just behind. "
The Goat remarked her pulse was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye;
"My back," says he, "may do you harm:
The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm. "
The Sheep was feeble, and complained
His sides a load of wool sustained:
Said he was slow, confessed his fears;
For hounds eat Sheep, as well as Hares!
She now the trotting Calf addressed,
To save from death a friend distressed.
"Shall I," says he, "of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler passed you by;
How strong are those! how weak am I!
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offense.
Excuse me then. You know my heart:
But dearest friends, alas! must part.
How shall we all lament! Adieu!
For see, the hounds are just in view. "
THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL
From the Fables>
I
IS THERE no hope? the Sick Man said.
The silent doctor shook his head,
And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.
When thus the Man with gasping breath:
I feel the chilling wound of death;
Since I must bid the world adieu,
Let me my former life review.
I grant, my bargains well were made,
But all men overreach in trade;
'Tis self-defense in each profession;
Sure, self-defense is no transgression.
## p. 6243 (#213) ###########################################
JOHN GAY
6243
The little portion in my hands,
By good security on lands,
Is well increased. If unawares,
My justice to myself and heirs
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good sufficient bail;
If I by writ, or bond, or deed,
Reduced a family to need,-
My will hath made the world amends;
My hope on charity depends.
When I am numbered with the dead,
And all my pious gifts are read,
By heaven and earth 'twill then be known,
My charities were amply shown.
An Angel came. Ah, friend! he cried,
No more in flattering hope confide.
Can thy good deeds in former times
Outweigh the balance of thy crimes?
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days?
A pious action's in thy power;
Embrace with joy the happy hour.
Now, while you draw the vital air,
Prove your intention is sincere:
This instant give a hundred pound;
Your neighbors want, and you abound.
But why such haste? the Sick Man whines:
Who knows as yet what Heaven designs?
Perhaps I may recover still;
That sum and more are in my will.
Fool, says the Vision, now 'tis plain,
Your life, your soul, your heaven was gain;
From every side, with all your might,
You scraped, and scraped beyond your right;
And after death would fain atone,
By giving what is not your own.
Where there is life there's hope, he cried;
Then why such haste? -
so groaned and died.
――
## p. 6244 (#214) ###########################################
6244
JOHN GAY
A
THE JUGGLER
From the Fables'
JUGGLER long through all the town
Had raised his fortune and renown;
You'd think (so far his art transcends)
The Devil at his fingers' ends.
Vice heard his fame; she read his bill;
Convinced of his inferior skill,
She sought his booth, and from the crowd
Defied the man of art aloud.
Is this, then, he so famed for sleight?
Can this slow bungler cheat your sight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes.
Provoked, the Juggler cried, 'Tis done.
In science I submit to none.
Thus said, the cups and balls he played;
By turns, this here, that there, conveyed.
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turned to birds.
His little boxes change the grain;
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he shows all fair;
His fingers spreads, and nothing there;
Then bids it rain with showers of gold,
And now his ivory eggs are told.
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amazed spectators hum applause.
Vice now stept forth, and took the place
With all the forms of his grimace.
This magic looking-glass, she cries
(There, hand it round), will charm your eyes.
Each eager eye the sight desired,
And ev'ry man himself admired.
Next to a senator addressing:
See this bank-note; observe the blessing,
Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone;
Upon his lips a padlock shone.
A second puff the magic broke,
The padlock vanished, and he spoke.
Twelve bottles ranged upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor stored,
## p. 6245 (#215) ###########################################
JOHN GAY
6245
By clean conveyance disappear,
And now two bloody swords are there.
A purse she to a thief exposed,
At once his ready fingers closed:
He opes his fist, the treasure's fled:
He sees a halter in its stead.
She bids ambition hold a wand;
He grasps a hatchet in his hand.
A box of charity she shows:
Blow here; and a churchwarden blows.
'Tis vanished with conveyance neat,
And on the table smokes a treat.
She shakes the dice, the board she knocks,
And from her pockets fills her box.
A counter in a miser's hand
Grew twenty guineas at command.
She bids his heir the sum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.
A guinea with her touch you see
Take ev'ry shape but Charity;
And not one thing you saw, or drew,
But changed from what was first in view.
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission owned her art.
Can I such matchless sleight withstand?
How practice hath improved your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You every day, and all day long.
SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED SUSAN
A BALLAD
LL in the Downs the fleet was moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard:
Oh, where shall I my true love find!
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among the crew.
A
William, who high upon the yard
Rocked with the billow to and fro,
## p. 6246 (#216) ###########################################
6246
JOHN GAY
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sighed and cast his eyes below;
The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.
So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast
(If, chance, his mate's shrill call he hear),
And drops at once into her nest.
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
Believe not what the landmen say,
Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind:
They'll tell thee, sailors when away
In every port a mistress find.
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
If to far India's coast we sail,
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright;
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
Thy skin is ivory so white.
Thus every beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
Though battle call me from thy arms,
Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms,
William shall to his dear return.
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
The boatswain gave the dreadful word;
The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard:
They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head:
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land:
Adieu! she cries; and waved her lily hand.
## p. 6247 (#217) ###########################################
JOHN GAY
6247
FROM WHAT D'YE CALL IT? >
A BALLAD
'TWAS
WAS when the seas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,
All on a rock reclined.
Wide o'er the foaming billows
She cast a wistful look;
Her head was crowned with willows,
That tremble o'er the brook.
"Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days;
Why didst thou, venturous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest:
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?
"The merchant robbed of pleasure
Sees tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure,
To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on,
Where gold and diamonds grow,
You'll find a richer maiden,
But none that loves you so.
"How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain;
Why then, beneath the water,
Should hideous rocks remain?
No eyes the rocks discover
That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep. "
All melancholy lying,
Thus wailed she for her dear!
Repaid each blast with sighing,
Each billow with a tear.
When o'er the white wave stooping,
His floating corpse she spied,-
Then, like a lily drooping,
She bowed her head and died.
## p. 6248 (#218) ###########################################
6248
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
(1815-1884)
HE chief note in Geibel's nature was reverence.
A spirit of
reverent piety, using the phrase in its widest as well as in
its strictly religious sense, characterizes all his poetical
utterances. He intended to devote himself to theology, but the hu-
manistic tendencies of the age, combined with his own peculiar
endowments, led him to abandon the Church for pure literature.
The reverent attitude of mind, however, remained, and has left its
impress even upon his most impassioned love lyrics. It appears too
in his first literary venture, a volume of
'Classical Studies' undertaken in collabo-
ration with his friend Ernst Curtius, in
which is displayed his loving reverence for
the great monuments of Greek antiquity.
He felt himself an exile from Greece, and
like Goethe's Iphigenia, his soul was seek-
ing ever for the land of Hellas. And
through the influence of Bettina von Arnim
this longing was satisfied; he secured the
post of tutor in the household of the Rus-
sian ambassador to Athens.
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
Geibel was only twenty-three years of
age when this good fortune fell to his lot.
He was born at Lübeck on October 18th,
1815. His poetic gifts, early manifested, secured him a welcome in
the literary circles of Berlin. During the two years that he spent in
Greece he was enabled to travel over a large part of the Grecian
Archipelago in the inspiring company of Curtius; and it was upon
their return to Germany in 1840 that the Classical Studies' appeared,
and were dedicated to the Queen of Greece. Then Geibel eagerly
took up the study of French and Spanish, with the result that many
valuable volumes were published in collaboration with Paul Heyse,
Count von Schack, and Leuthold, which introduced to the German
public a vast treasury of song from the literatures of France, Spain,
and Portugal. The first collection of Geibel's own poems in 1843
secured for the poet a modest pension from the King of Prussia.
Geibel also made several essays at dramatic composition. He wrote
for Mendelssohn the text of a 'Lorelei,' but the composer died before
## p. 6249 (#219) ###########################################
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
6249
the music was completed. A comedy called 'Master Andrew' was
successful in a number of cities; and of his more ambitious tragedies,
'Brunhild' and 'Sophonisba,' the latter won the famous Schiller prize
in 1869.
In 1852 Geibel received an appointment as royal reader to Maxi-
milian II. , and was made professor at the University of Munich. It
was also from the King of Bavaria that he procured his patent of no-
bility. In the same year that he took up his residence in Munich he
married; but the death of his wife terminated his happy family rela-
tions three years later, and the death of the King severed his con-
nection with the Bavarian court. Moreover, his sympathy with the
revolutionary poets, such as his intimate friend Freiligrath, his own
enthusiasm for the popular movement, and the faith which he placed
in the King of Prussia, led to bitter attacks upon him in the Bavarian
press, and eventually to his resignation from the faculty of the uni-
versity. He returned to his native city of Lübeck. The Prussian
King trebled his annual income, and the poet was raised above pe-
cuniary cares. The last years of his life were saddened, without
being embittered, by feeble health. He died on April 6th, 1884.
There was sometimes a touch of effeminate sentimentality in Gei-
bel's work, but he did not lack force and virility, as his famous
'Twelve Sonnets' and his political poems, entitled 'Zeitgedichte,'
show. He could speak strong words for right and justice, and in all
his poems there is a musical beauty of language and a perfection of
form that render his songs contributions of permanent value to the
lyric treasury of German literature.
SEE'ST THOU THE SEA?
EE'ST thou the sea? The sun gleams on its wave
SEE'S With splendor bright;
But where the pearl lies buried in its cave
Is deepest night.
The sea am I. My soul, in billows bold,
Rolls fierce and strong;
And over all, like to the sunlight's gold,
There streams my song.
It throbs with love and pain as though possessed
Of magic art,
And yet in silence bleeds, within my breast,
My gloomy heart.
Translation of Frances Hellman. Copyright 1892.
## p. 6250 (#220) ###########################################
6250
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
AS IT WILL HAPPEN
E LOVES thee not! He trifles but with thee! »
They said to her, and then she bowed her
head,
And pearly tears, like roses' dew, wept she.
Oh, that she ever trusted what they said!
For when he came and found his bride in doubt,
"H
Then, from sheer spite, he would not show his sorrow;
He played and laughed and drank, day in, day out,—
To weep from night until the morrow!
'Tis true, an angel whispered in her heart,
"He's faithful still; oh lay thy hand in his! "
And he too felt, 'midst grief and bitter smart,
"She loves thee! After all, thy love she is;
Let but a gentle word pass on each side,
The spell that parts you now will then be broken! "
They came- each looked on each-oh, evil pride! -
That single word remained unspoken!
They parted then. As in a church one oft
Extinguished sees the altar lamps' red fires,
Their light grows dim, then once more flares aloft
In radiance bright, and thereupon expires,-
So died their love; at first lamented o'er,
Then yearned for ardently, and then-forgotten,
Until the thought that they had loved before
Of mere delusion seemed begotten!
But sometimes when the moon shone out at night,
Each started from his couch! Ah, was it not
Bedewed with tears? And tears, too, dimmed their sight,
Because these two had dreamed-I know not what!
And then the dear old times woke in their heart,
Their foolish doubts, their parting, that had driven
Their souls so far, so very far apart,—
Oh God! let both now be forgiven!
Translation of Frances Hellman. Copyright 1892.
## p. 6251 (#221) ###########################################
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
6251
OH
GONDOLIERA
H, COME to me when through the night
The starry legions ride!
Then o'er the sea, in the moonshine bright,
Our gondola will glide.
The air is soft as a lover's jest,
And gently gleams the light;
The zither sounds, and thy soul is blest
To join in this delight.
Oh, come to me when through the night
The starry legions ride!
Then o'er the sea, in the moonshine bright,
Our gondola will glide.
This is the hour for lovers true,
Darling, like thee and me;
Serenely smile the heavens blue
And calmly sleeps the sea.
And as it sleeps, a glance will say
What speech in vain has tried;
The lips then do not shrink away,
Nor is a kiss denied.
Oh, come to me when through the night
The starry legions ride!
Then o'er the sea, in the moonshine bright,
Our gondola will glide.
Translation of Frances Hellman. Copyright 1892.
THE WOODLAND
HE wood grows denser at each stride;
THE No path more, no trail!
Only murm'ring waters glide
Through tangled ferns and woodland flowers pale.
Ah, and under the great oaks teeming
How soft the moss, the grass, how high!
And the heavenly depth of cloudless sky,
How blue through the leaves it seems to me!
Here I'll sit, resting and dreaming,
Dreaming of thee.
Translation of Charles Harvey Genung.
## p. 6252 (#222) ###########################################
6252
EMANUEL VON GEIBEL
ONWARD
EASE thy dreaming! Cease thy quailing!
Wander on untiringly.
C
Though thy strength may all seem failing,
Onward! must thy watchword be.
Durst not tarry, though life's roses
Round about thy footsteps throng,
Though the ocean's depth discloses
Sirens with their witching song.
Onward! onward! ever calling
On thy Muse, in life's stern fray,
Till thy fevered brow feels, falling
From above, a golden ray.
Till the verdant wreath victorious
Crown with soothing shade thy brow;
Till the spirit's flames rise glorious
Over thee, with sacred glow.
Onward then, through hostile fire,
Onward through death's agony!
Who to heaven would aspire
Must a valiant warrior be.
AT
Translation of Frances Hellman. Copyright 1892.
AT LAST THE DAYLIGHT FADETH
T LAST the daylight fadeth,
With all its noise and glare;
Refreshing peace pervadeth
The darkness everywhere.
On the fields deep silence hovers;
The woods now wake alone;
What daylight ne'er discovers,
Their songs to the night make known.
And what when the sun is shining
I ne'er can tell to thee,
To whisper it now I am pining,—
Oh, come and hearken to me!
Translation of Frances Hellman. Copyright 1892.
## p. 6253 (#223) ###########################################
6253
AULUS GELLIUS
(SECOND CENTURY A. D. )
ERHAPS Gellius's 'Attic Nights' may claim especial mention
here, as one of the earliest extant forerunners of this
< Library. ' In the original preface (given first among the
citations), Gellius explains very clearly the origin and scope of his
work. It is not, however, a mere scrap-book. There is original mat-
ter in many chapters. In particular, an ethical or philosophic excerpt
has often been framed in a little scene, - doubtless imaginary,— and
cast in the form of a dialogue. We get, even, pleasant glimpses of
autobiography from time to time. The author is not, however, a
deep or forceful character, on the whole. His heart is mostly set on
trifles.
Yet Gellius has been an assiduous student, both in Greece and
Italy; and his book gives us an agreeable, probably an adequate,
view of the fields which are included in the general culture of his
time. Despite its title, the work is chiefly Roman. In history, biog-
raphy, antiquities, grammar, literary criticism, his materials and au-
thors are prevailingly Latin. He is perhaps most widely known and
quoted on early Roman life and usages. Thus, one of his chapters
gives a mass of curious information as to the choice of the Vestal
Virgins. We are also largely indebted to him for citations from lost
authors. We have already quoted under Ennius the sketch, in eigh-
teen hexameters, of a scholar-soldier, believed to be a genial self-
portraiture. These lines are the finest specimen we have of the
'Annales. Similarly, under Cato, we have quoted the chief fragment
of the great Censor's Roman history. For both these treasures we
must thank Gellius. Indeed, throughout the wide fields of Roman
antiquities, history of literature, grammar, etc. , we have to depend
chiefly upon various late Latin scrap-books and compilations, most of
which are not even made up at first hand from creative classical au-
thors. To Gellius, also, the imposing array of writers so constantly
named by him was evidently known chiefly through compendiums
and handbooks. It is suspicious, for instance, that he hardly quotes
a poet within a century of his own time. Repetitions, contradictions,
etc. , are numerous.
Despite its twenty "books" and nearly four hundred (short) chap-
ters, the work is not only light and readable for the most part, but
## p. 6254 (#224) ###########################################
6254
AULUS GELLIUS
quite modest in total bulk: five hundred and fifty pages in the small
page and generous type of Hertz's Teubner text. There is an Eng-
lish translation by Rev. W. Beloe, first printed in 1795, from which
we quote below. Professor Nettleship's (in his 'Essays in Latin Lit-
erature) has no literary quality, but gives a careful analysis of Gel-
lius's subjects and probable sources. There is a revival of interest
in this author in recent years. We decidedly recommend Hertz's at-
tractive volume to any Latin student who wishes to browse beyond
the narrow classical limits.
FROM ATTIC NIGHTS›
ORIGIN AND PLAN OF THE BOOK
MOR
ORE pleasing works than the present may certainly be found:
my object in writing this was to provide my children, as
well as myself, with that kind of amusement in which
they might properly relax and indulge themselves at the inter-
vals from more important business. I have preserved the same
accidental arrangement which I had before used in making the
collection. Whatever book came into my hand, whether it was
Greek or Latin, or whatever I heard that was either worthy of
being recorded or agreeable to my fancy, I wrote down without
distinction and without order. These things I treasured up to
aid my memory, as it were by a store-house of learning; so that
when I wanted to refer to any particular circumstance or word
which I had at the moment forgotten, and the books from which
they were taken happened not to be at hand, I could easily find
and apply it. Thus the same irregularity will appear in these
commentaries as existed in the original annotations, which were
concisely written down without any method or arrangement in
the course of what I at different times had heard or read. As
these observations at first constituted my business and my amuse-
ment through many long winter nights which I spent in Attica,
I have given them the name of 'Attic Nights. '
It is an
old proverb, "A jay has no concern with music, nor a hog with
perfumes: " but that the ill-humor and invidiousness of certain
ill-taught people may be still more exasperated, I shall borrow a
few verses from a chorus of Aristophanes; and what he, a man
of most exquisite humor, proposed as a law to the spectators of
his play, I also recommend to the readers of this volume, that
the vulgar and unhallowed herd, who are averse to the sports of
## p. 6255 (#225) ###########################################
AULUS GELLIUS
6255
the Muses, may not touch nor even approach it.
these:
-
The verses are
SILENT be they, and far from hence remove,
By scenes like ours not likely to improve,
Who never paid the honored Muse her rights,
Who senseless live in wild, impure delights;
I bid them once, I bid them twice begone,
I bid them thrice, in still a louder tone:
Far hence depart, whilst ye with dance and song
Our solemn feast, our tuneful nights prolong.
