May-Day Part 12

Well and wisely said the Greek, Be thou faithful, but not fond; To the altar's foot thy fellow seek, The Furies wait beyond.

CASELLA.

Test of the poet is knowledge of love, For Eros is older than Saturn or Jove; Never was poet, of late or of yore, Who was not tremulous with love-lore.

SHAKSPEARE.

I see all human wits Are measured but a few, Unmeasured still my Shakspeare sits, Lone as the blessed Jew.

HAFIZ.

Her pa.s.sions the shy violet From Hafiz never hides; Love-longings of the raptured bird The bird to him confides.

NATURE IN LEASTS.

As sings the pine-tree in the wind, So sings in the wind a sprig of the pine; Her strength and soul has laughing France Shed in each drop of wine.

[GREEK t.i.tLE].

'A new commandment,' said the smiling Muse, 'I give my darling son, Thou shalt not preach;'-- Luther, Fox, Behmen, Swedenborg, grew pale, And, on the instant, rosier clouds upbore Hafiz and Shakspeare with their s.h.i.+ning choirs.

TRANSLATIONS.

SONNET OF MICHEL ANGELO BUONAROTI.

Never did sculptor's dream unfold A form which marble doth not hold In its white block; yet it therein shall find Only the hand secure and bold Which still obeys the mind.

So hide in thee, thou heavenly dame, The ill I shun, the good I claim; I, alas! not well alive, Miss the aim whereto I strive.

Not love, nor beauty's pride, Not fortune, nor thy coldness, can I chide, If, whilst within thy heart abide Both death and pity, my unequal skill Fails of the life, but draws the death and ill.

THE EXILE.

FROM THE PERSIAN OF KERMANI.

In Farsistan the violet spreads Its leaves to the rival sky; I ask how far is the Tigris flood, And the vine that grows thereby?

Except the amber morning wind, Not one salutes me here; There is no lover in all Bagdat To offer the exile cheer.

I know that thou, O morning wind!

O'er Kernan's meadow blowest, And thou, heart-warming nightingale!

My father's orchard knowest.

The merchant hath stuffs of price, And gems from the sea-washed strand, And princes offer me grace To stay in the Syrian land;

But what is gold _for_, but for gifts?

And dark, without love, is the day; And all that I see in Bagdat Is the Tigris to float me away.

FROM HAFIZ.

I said to heaven that glowed above, O hide yon sun-filled zone, Hide all the stars you boast; For, in the world of love And estimation true, The heaped-up harvest of the moon Is worth one barley-corn at most, The Pleiads' sheaf but two.

If my darling should depart, And search the skies for prouder friends, G.o.d forbid my angry heart In other love should seek amends.

When the blue horizon's hoop Me a little pinches here, Instant to my grave I stoop, And go to find thee in the sphere.

EPITAPH.

Bethink, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest Mad Destiny this tender stripling played; For a warm breast of maiden to his breast, She laid a slab of marble on his head.

They say, through patience, chalk Becomes a ruby stone; Ah, yes! but by the true heart's blood The chalk is crimson grown.

FRIENDs.h.i.+P.

Thou foolish Hafiz! Say, do churls Know the worth of Oman's pearls?

Give the gem which dims the moon To the n.o.blest, or to none.