Chapter 19

'Those move easiest that have learned to dance,'

what better discipline, among others, could possibly be devised for 'those about to versify' than a course of Rondeaux, Triolets, and Ballades?" Mr. Dobson refers to the article by Mr. Gosse already cited, and "to theOdes Funambulesques, thePetit Traité de Poésie Française, and other works of M. Théodore de Banville. To M. de Banville in particular and to the second French Romantic School in general, the happy modernization in France of the old measures of Marot, Villon, and Charles of Orleans is mainly to be ascribed." (Latter Day Lyrics, ed. W. D. Adams, pp. 334 ff.)[47]

Says Mr. Gleeson White: "The taste for thesetours de forcein the art of verse-making is no doubt an acquired one; yet to quote the first attempt to produce a lyric with a repeated burden would take one back to the earliest civilization.... Whether the first refrains were used for decorative effect only, or to give the singer time to recollect or improvise the next verse, it matters little, since the once mere adjunct was made in later French use an integral and vital part of the verse. The charm of these strictly written verses is undoubtedly increased by some knowledge of their technical rules.... To approach ideal perfection, nothing less than implicit obedience to all the rules is the first element of success; but the task is by no means finished there. Every quality that poetry demands, whether clearness of thought, elegance of expression, harmonious sound, or faultless rhythm, is needed as much in these shapes as in unfettered verse.... It may be said, without fear of exaggeration, that all the qualities required to form a perfect lyric in poetry are equally needful here,plusa great many special ones the forms themselves demand.To the students of any art there is always a peculiar charm when the highest difficulties are surmounted with such ease that the consummate art is hidden to all who know not the magic password to unveil it." (Ballades and Rondeaus, Introduction, pp. xli, xlii.) "No one is compelled to use these complex forms, but if chosen, their laws must be obeyed to the letter if success is to be obtained. The chief pleasure they yield consists in the apparent spontaneity, which is the result of genius, if genius be indeed the art of taking infinite pains; or, if that definition is rejected, they must yet exhibit the art which conceals art, whether by intense care in every minute detail, or a happy faculty for naturally wearing these fetters." (Ib., pp. l, li.)

The ballade commonly consists of three stanzas, with an envoy. In modern usage the stanzas usually contain either eight or ten lines, and the envoy half as many as the stanza; but in earlier usage both stanza and envoy varied, and the latter might be omitted altogether. The rimes in all the stanzas must be identical in the corresponding lines, but the riming words must be different. The most characteristic element is the refrain,—the keynote of the poem,—which forms the last line of each stanza, including the envoy. The favorite rime-scheme for the eight-line stanza isababbcbc, with the envoybcbc. Mr. White says of the envoy that it "is not only a dedication, but should be the peroration of the subject, and richer in its wording and more stately in its imagery than the preceding verses, to convey the climax of the whole matter, and avoid the suspicion that it is a mere postscript."

Flee fro the prees, and dwelle with sothfastnesse,Suffyce unto thy good, though hit be smal;For hord hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse,Prees hath envye, and wele blent overal;Savour no more than thee bihove shal;Werk wel thy-self, that other folk canst rede;And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.Tempest thee noght al croked to redresse,In trust of hir that turneth as a bal:Gret reste slant in litel besinesse;And eek be war to sporne ageyn an al;Stryve noght, as doth the crokke with the wal.Daunte thy-self, that dauntest otheres dede;And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.That thee is sent, receyve in buxumnesse;The wrastling for this worlde axeth a fal.Her nis non hoom, her nis but wildernesse:Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beste, out of thy stal!Know thy contree, look up, thank God of al;Hold the hye wey, and lat thy gost thee lede:And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.EnvoyTherfore, thou vache, leve thyn old wrecchednesseUnto the worlde; leve now to be thral;Crye him mercy, that of his hy goodnesseMade thee of noght, and in especialDraw unto him, and pray in generalFor thee, and eek for other, hevenlich mede;And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.

Tempest thee noght al croked to redresse,In trust of hir that turneth as a bal:Gret reste slant in litel besinesse;And eek be war to sporne ageyn an al;Stryve noght, as doth the crokke with the wal.Daunte thy-self, that dauntest otheres dede;And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.

That thee is sent, receyve in buxumnesse;The wrastling for this worlde axeth a fal.Her nis non hoom, her nis but wildernesse:Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beste, out of thy stal!Know thy contree, look up, thank God of al;Hold the hye wey, and lat thy gost thee lede:And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.

Envoy

Therfore, thou vache, leve thyn old wrecchednesseUnto the worlde; leve now to be thral;Crye him mercy, that of his hy goodnesseMade thee of noght, and in especialDraw unto him, and pray in generalFor thee, and eek for other, hevenlich mede;And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.

(Chaucer:Balade de bon conseyl.ab. 1385.)

Here Chaucer follows the rules of the ballade carefully, but in the "rime royal" stanza. It will be noticed that the rime-word "al" seems to be repeated, but it is used each time in adistinct sense, hence—according to the rules of Chaucer's time, as of modern French—is regarded as a different rime-word each time.

Compare, also, Chaucer'sFortune("Balades de visage sanz peinture"), made of three ballades, with one envoy; theBalade to RosemoundandMoral Balade on Gentilesse, without envoys; the ballades onLak of Stedfastnesseand theCompleint of Chaucer to his Empty Purse, with envoys addressed to the king; also the ballade in the Prologue to theLegend of Good Women, B-text, ll. 249-269. TheCompleynt of Venus, likeFortune, is in three ballades, with one envoy, and is of special interest as being based on three French ballades of Graunson.[48]Says Chaucer:"And eek to me hit is a greet penaunce,Sith rym in English hath swich scarsitee,To folowe word by word the curiositeeOf Graunson, flour of hem that make in Fraunce."In the Prologue to theLegend of Good Women, when Chaucer is accused by the god of love for his translation of theRomance of the Rose, Alcestis defends him by enumerating his other works, which include:"many an ympne for your halydayes,That highten Balades, Roundels, Virelayes."(B-text, ll. 422 f.)On the roundels, see below; none of Chaucer's virelays have come down to us. Chaucer's contemporary, John Gower, also wrote ballades, but in French.

"And eek to me hit is a greet penaunce,Sith rym in English hath swich scarsitee,To folowe word by word the curiositeeOf Graunson, flour of hem that make in Fraunce."

In the Prologue to theLegend of Good Women, when Chaucer is accused by the god of love for his translation of theRomance of the Rose, Alcestis defends him by enumerating his other works, which include:

"many an ympne for your halydayes,That highten Balades, Roundels, Virelayes."

(B-text, ll. 422 f.)

On the roundels, see below; none of Chaucer's virelays have come down to us. Chaucer's contemporary, John Gower, also wrote ballades, but in French.

Tell me now in what hidden way isLady Flora the lovely Roman?Where's Hipparcha, and where is Thais,Neither of them the fairer woman?Where is Echo, beheld of no man,Only heard on river and mere,—She whose beauty was more than human?—But where are the snows of yester-year?Where's Héloise, the learned nun,For whose sake Abeillard, I ween,Lost manhood and put priesthood on?(From love he won such dule and teen!)And where, I pray you, is the QueenWho willed that Buridan should steerSewed in a sack's mouth down the Seine?—But where are the snows of yester-year?White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,With a voice like any mermaiden,—Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,And Ermengarde the lady of Maine,—And that good Joan whom EnglishmenAt Rouen doomed and burned her there,—Mother of God, where are they then?—But where are the snows of yester-year?—Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,Where they are gone, nor yet this year,Except with this for an overword,—But where are the snows of yester-year?

Where's Héloise, the learned nun,For whose sake Abeillard, I ween,Lost manhood and put priesthood on?(From love he won such dule and teen!)And where, I pray you, is the QueenWho willed that Buridan should steerSewed in a sack's mouth down the Seine?—But where are the snows of yester-year?

White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,With a voice like any mermaiden,—Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,And Ermengarde the lady of Maine,—And that good Joan whom EnglishmenAt Rouen doomed and burned her there,—Mother of God, where are they then?—But where are the snows of yester-year?—

Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,Where they are gone, nor yet this year,Except with this for an overword,—But where are the snows of yester-year?

(Rossetti:The Ballad of Dead Ladies, from the French of François Villon, 1450.)

This is a notable translation of a notable ballade, but it will be observed that it does not follow the strict rules as to the number of rimes. In Mr. Andrew Lang'sBallades of Blue Chinais a formally correct translation.

Where are the cities of the plain?And where the shrines of rapt Bethel?And Calah, built of Tubal-Cain?And Shinar whence King AmraphalCame out in arms, and fought, and fell,Decoyed into the pits of slimeBy Siddim, and sent sheer to hell;Where are the cities of old time?Where now is Karnak, that great faneWith granite built, a miracle?And Luxor smooth without a stain,Whose graven scriptures still we spell?The jackal and the owl may tell,Dark snakes around their ruins climb,They fade like echo in a shell;Where are the cities of old time?And where is white Shusan, again,Where Vashti's beauty bore the bell,And all the Jewish oil and grainWere brought to Mithridath to sell,Where Nehemiah would not dwell,Because another town sublimeDecoyed him with her oracle?Where are the cities of old time?EnvoyPrince, with a dolorous, ceaseless knell,Above their wasted toil and crimeThe waters of oblivion swell:Where are the cities of old time?

Where now is Karnak, that great faneWith granite built, a miracle?And Luxor smooth without a stain,Whose graven scriptures still we spell?The jackal and the owl may tell,Dark snakes around their ruins climb,They fade like echo in a shell;Where are the cities of old time?

And where is white Shusan, again,Where Vashti's beauty bore the bell,And all the Jewish oil and grainWere brought to Mithridath to sell,Where Nehemiah would not dwell,Because another town sublimeDecoyed him with her oracle?Where are the cities of old time?

Envoy

Prince, with a dolorous, ceaseless knell,Above their wasted toil and crimeThe waters of oblivion swell:Where are the cities of old time?

(Edmund Gosse:Ballad of Dead Cities.)

In this ballade Mr. Gosse finely reproduces the more serious tones of the old form, and imitates the ancient custom of addressing the envoy to royalty. Thismotif, of old things lost, is a favorite one for the serious ballade, being suggested by Villon'sBallade of Dead Ladies. Compare Mr. Lang'sBallade of Dead Cities, inBallades of Blue China.

On the other hand, the next specimen illustrates the use of the form for the light familiarity ofvers de sociétéand parody.

He lived in a cave by the seas,He lived upon oysters and foes,But his list of forbidden degreesAn extensive morality shows;Geological evidence goesTo prove he had never a pan,But he shaved with a shell when he chose,'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!He worshipp'd the rain and the breeze,He worshipp'd the river that flows,And the Dawn, and the Moon, and the trees,And bogies, and serpents, and crows;He buried his dead with their toesTucked up, an original plan,Till their knees came right under their nose,'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!His communal wives, at his ease,He would curb with occasional blows;Or his state had a queen, like the bees(As another philosopher trows):When he spoke it was never in prose,But he sang in a strain that would scan,For (to doubt it, perchance, were morose)'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!EnvoyMax, proudly your Aryans pose,But their rigs they undoubtedly ran,For, as every Darwinian knows,'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!

He worshipp'd the rain and the breeze,He worshipp'd the river that flows,And the Dawn, and the Moon, and the trees,And bogies, and serpents, and crows;He buried his dead with their toesTucked up, an original plan,Till their knees came right under their nose,'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!

His communal wives, at his ease,He would curb with occasional blows;Or his state had a queen, like the bees(As another philosopher trows):When he spoke it was never in prose,But he sang in a strain that would scan,For (to doubt it, perchance, were morose)'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!

Envoy

Max, proudly your Aryans pose,But their rigs they undoubtedly ran,For, as every Darwinian knows,'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!

(Andrew Lang:Ballade of Primitive Man.)

In Mr. Lang'sBallades of Blue Chinathis appears as adouble ballade, with three more stanzas.

From the sunny climes of France,Flying to the west,Came a flock of birds by chance,There to sing and rest:Of some secrets deep in quest,—Justice for their wrongs,—Seeking one to shield their breast,One to write their songs.Melodies of old romance,Joy and gentle jest,Notes that made the dull heart danceWith a merry zest;—Maids in matchless beauty drest,Youths in happy throngs;—These they sang to tempt and testOne to write their songs.In old London's wide expanseBuilt each feathered guest,—Man's small pleasure to entrance,Singing him to rest,—Came, and tenderly confessed,Perched on leafy prongs,Life were sweet if they possessedOne to write their songs.EnvoyAustin, it was you they blest:Fame to you belongs!Time has proven you're the bestOne to write their songs.

Melodies of old romance,Joy and gentle jest,Notes that made the dull heart danceWith a merry zest;—Maids in matchless beauty drest,Youths in happy throngs;—These they sang to tempt and testOne to write their songs.

In old London's wide expanseBuilt each feathered guest,—Man's small pleasure to entrance,Singing him to rest,—Came, and tenderly confessed,Perched on leafy prongs,Life were sweet if they possessedOne to write their songs.

Envoy

Austin, it was you they blest:Fame to you belongs!Time has proven you're the bestOne to write their songs.

(Frank Dempster Sherman:To Austin Dobson.)

Mr. Austin Dobson is said to have been the first to reintroduce the ballade into English poetry, and the present specimen is a tribute to his success by an American poet.

Bird of the bitter bright gray golden mornScarce risen upon the dusk of dolorous years,First of us all and sweetest singer bornWhose far shrill note the world of new men hearsCleave the cold shuddering shade as twilight clears;When song new-born put off the old world's attireAnd felt its tune on her changed lips expire,Writ foremost on the roll of them that cameFresh girt for service of the latter lyre,Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name!

(Swinburne:Ballad of François Villon, Prince of all Ballad-Makers, st. i.)

This specimen represents the ballade in ten-line stanzas.

There is also an extended form of the ballade, called theChant Royal, with five stanzas and envoy, the stanzas consisting of eleven verses. The usual rime-scheme isababccddede, with envoyddede. For admirable specimens, see Mr. Dobson'sDance of Deathand Mr. Gosse'sPraise of Dionysus, inBallades and Rondeaus, pp. 98, 100. Mr. White says of this form: "The chant royal in the old form is usually devoted to the unfolding of an allegory in its five stanzas, the envoy supplying the key; but this is not always observed in modern examples. Whatever be the subject, however, it must always march in stately rhythm with splendid imagery, using all the poetic adornments of sonorous, highly-wrought lines and rich embroidery of words, to clothe a theme in itself a lofty one. Unless the whole poem is constructed with intense care, the monotony of its sixty-one lines rhymed on five sounds is unbearable." (Ballades and Rondeaus, Introduction, p. liv.)

Rondelis the old French form of the wordrondeau, and the terms are therefore naturally interchangeable. They have been applied to a number of different forms, all characterized by a refrain so repeated as to link together different parts of the structure. Two of these forms are particularly familiar. The first (called more commonly therondel) consists of fourteen lines, with only two rimes; the first two lines constitute the refrain, and are commonly repeated as the seventh and eighth and again as the thirteenth and fourteenth. The rime-scheme varies, but is oftenABba, abAB, abbaAB(the capitals indicating the repeated lines of the refrain). Sometimes the form is shortened to thirteen lines, the second line of the refrain not being repeated at the close. The second principal form (called more commonly therondeau) consists of thirteen lines, with two rimes, and an unrimed refrain, taken from the opening words of the first line, which follows the eighth line and is again repeated at the end. The common rime-scheme isaabba,aab (refrain), aabba (refrain). Both these forms are found in early French poetry, together with many variations. The modern distinction betweenrondeauandrondelis artificial but convenient.

Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe,That hast this wintres weders over-shake,And driven awey the longe nightes blake!Seynt Valentyn, that art ful hy on-lofte,Thus singen smale foules for thy sake:Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe,That hast this wintres weders over-shake.Wel han they cause for to gladen ofte,Sith ech of hem recovered hath his make;Ful blisful may they singen whan they wake:Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe,That hast this wintres weders over-shake,And driven awey the longe nightes blake.

Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe,That hast this wintres weders over-shake,And driven awey the longe nightes blake!

Seynt Valentyn, that art ful hy on-lofte,Thus singen smale foules for thy sake:Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe,That hast this wintres weders over-shake.

Wel han they cause for to gladen ofte,Sith ech of hem recovered hath his make;Ful blisful may they singen whan they wake:Now welcom somer, with thy sonne softe,That hast this wintres weders over-shake,And driven awey the longe nightes blake.

(Chaucer:Qui bien aime a tard oublie, inThe Parlement of Foules, ll. 680-692. ab. 1380.)

This is the "roundel" sung by the birds "to do Nature honour and plesaunce." "The note" we are told was made in France. It will be seen that Chaucer employs a form with three-line refrain, of which the first two lines are twice repeated, the last only once:ABB,abAB,abbABB. The same form is used in the three roundels ofMerciles Beaute.

Too hard it is to singIn these untuneful times,When only coin can ring,And no one cares for rhymes!Alas! for him who climbsTo Aganippe's spring:—Too hard it is to singIn these untuneful times!His kindred clip his wing;His feet the critic limes;If Fame her laurel bringOld age his forehead rimes:—Too hard it is to singIn these untuneful times!

Too hard it is to singIn these untuneful times,When only coin can ring,And no one cares for rhymes!

Alas! for him who climbsTo Aganippe's spring:—Too hard it is to singIn these untuneful times!

His kindred clip his wing;His feet the critic limes;If Fame her laurel bringOld age his forehead rimes:—Too hard it is to singIn these untuneful times!

(Austin Dobson:Too hard it is to sing.)

Underneath this tablet rest,Grasshopper by autumn slain,Since thine airy summer nestShivers under storm and rain.Freely let it be confessedDeath and slumber bring thee gainSpared from winter's fret and pain,Underneath this tablet rest.Myro found thee on the plain,Bore thee in her lawny breast,Reared this marble tomb amainTo receive so small a guest!Underneath this tablet rest,Grasshopper by autumn slain.

Underneath this tablet rest,Grasshopper by autumn slain,Since thine airy summer nestShivers under storm and rain.

Freely let it be confessedDeath and slumber bring thee gainSpared from winter's fret and pain,Underneath this tablet rest.

Myro found thee on the plain,Bore thee in her lawny breast,Reared this marble tomb amainTo receive so small a guest!Underneath this tablet rest,Grasshopper by autumn slain.

(Edmund Gosse:After Anyte of Tegea.)

In this the second line of the refrain is omitted where we should expect it as line eight, the scheme of the first part of the rondel being changed toABab, abbA.

The ways of Death are soothing and serene,And all the words of Death are grave and sweet.From camp and church, the fireside and the street,She signs to come, and strife and song have been.A summer night descending, cool and greenAnd dark, on daytime's dust and stress and heat,The ways of Death are soothing and serene,And all the words of Death are grave and sweet.O glad and sorrowful, with triumphant mienAnd hopeful faces look upon and greetThis last of all your lovers, and to meetHer kiss, the Comforter's, your spirit lean.—The ways of Death are soothing and serene.

The ways of Death are soothing and serene,And all the words of Death are grave and sweet.From camp and church, the fireside and the street,She signs to come, and strife and song have been.

A summer night descending, cool and greenAnd dark, on daytime's dust and stress and heat,The ways of Death are soothing and serene,And all the words of Death are grave and sweet.

O glad and sorrowful, with triumphant mienAnd hopeful faces look upon and greetThis last of all your lovers, and to meetHer kiss, the Comforter's, your spirit lean.—The ways of Death are soothing and serene.

(W. E. Henley:The Ways of Death.)

Ma foi, c'est fait de moi, car IsabeauM'a conjuré de lui faire un rondeau.Cela me met en peine extrême.Quoi! treize vers, huit en-èau, cinq en-ème!Je lui ferais aussitôt un bateau.En voilà cinq pourtant en un monceau,Faisons-en huit, en invoquant Brodeau,Et puis mettons, par quelque stratagème:Ma foi, c'est fait.Si je pouvais encore de mon cerveauTirer cinq vers, l'ouvrage serait beau;Mais cependant je suis dedans l'onzième:Et si je crois que je fais le douzième,En voilà treize ajustés au niveau.Ma foi, c'est fait!

Ma foi, c'est fait de moi, car IsabeauM'a conjuré de lui faire un rondeau.Cela me met en peine extrême.Quoi! treize vers, huit en-èau, cinq en-ème!Je lui ferais aussitôt un bateau.

En voilà cinq pourtant en un monceau,Faisons-en huit, en invoquant Brodeau,Et puis mettons, par quelque stratagème:Ma foi, c'est fait.

Si je pouvais encore de mon cerveauTirer cinq vers, l'ouvrage serait beau;Mais cependant je suis dedans l'onzième:Et si je crois que je fais le douzième,En voilà treize ajustés au niveau.Ma foi, c'est fait!

(Voiture:Rondeau, ab. 1640. InŒuvres de Voiture, ed. Ubicini, vol. ii. p. 314.)

This is perhaps the most famous of rondeaus of the type which Voiture did much to make popular.

What no pardy ye may be sureThinck not to make me to yor lureWith wordes and chere so contrariengSwete and sowre contrewaingTo much it were still to endureTrouth is tryed where craft is in ureBut though ye have had my herte cureTrow ye I dote withoute endingWhat no pardyThough that with pain I do procureFor to forgett that ons was pureWtin my hert shall still that thingUnstable unsure and waveringBe in my mynde without recureWhat no pardye.

(Sir Thomas Wyatt: Rondeau in Wyatt MS., reproduced inAnglia, vol. xviii. p. 478. ab. 1540.)

Besides the rondeaus found in the Wyatt MS., three poems of Wyatt's, published in Tottel'sSongs and Sonnets(1557), were evidently intended as rondeaus (see Arber's Reprint, pp. 53, 73). The editor, not understanding the form or thinking it too unfamiliar to be popular, seems to have changed it to a sort of sonnet, omitting the refrain at the end and making a complete line of it as the ninth of the poem. These hidden rondeaus were discussed by Mr. Dobson in theAthenæumfor 1878 (vol. i. p. 380); see also Alscher'sSir Thomas Wyatt und seine Stellung, etc.

Thou fool! if madness be so rife,That, spite of wit, thou'lt have a wife,I'll tell thee what thou must expect—After the honeymoon neglect,All the sad days of thy whole life;To that a world of woe and strife,Which is of marriage the effect—And thou thy woe's own architect,Thou fool!Thou'lt nothing find but disrespect,Ill words i' th' scolding dialect,For she'll all tabor be, or fife;Then prythee go and whet thy knife,And from this fate thyself protect,Thou fool!

Thou fool! if madness be so rife,That, spite of wit, thou'lt have a wife,I'll tell thee what thou must expect—After the honeymoon neglect,All the sad days of thy whole life;

To that a world of woe and strife,Which is of marriage the effect—And thou thy woe's own architect,Thou fool!

Thou'lt nothing find but disrespect,Ill words i' th' scolding dialect,For she'll all tabor be, or fife;Then prythee go and whet thy knife,And from this fate thyself protect,Thou fool!

(Charles Cotton:Rondeau.ab. 1675. Quoted by Guest,English Rhythms, Skeat ed., p. 645.)

A good rondeau I was induced to showTo some fair ladies some short while ago;Well knowing their ability and taste,I asked should aught be added or effaced,And prayed that every fault they'd make me know.The first did her most anxious care bestowTo impress one point from which I ne'er should go:"Upon a good beginning must be basedA good rondeau."Zeal bid the other's choicest language glow:She softly said: "Recount your weal or woe,Your every subject, free from pause or haste;Ne'er let your hero fail, nor be disgraced."The third: "With varying emphasis should flowA good rondeau."

The first did her most anxious care bestowTo impress one point from which I ne'er should go:"Upon a good beginning must be basedA good rondeau."

Zeal bid the other's choicest language glow:She softly said: "Recount your weal or woe,Your every subject, free from pause or haste;Ne'er let your hero fail, nor be disgraced."The third: "With varying emphasis should flowA good rondeau."

(J. R. Best:Ung Bon Rondeau, inRondeaulx. Translated from the French, ed. 1527. 1838. Quoted inBallades and Rondeaus, Introduction, p. xxxviii.)

Death, of thee do I make my moan,Who hadst my lady away from me,Nor wilt assuage thine enmityTill with her life thou hast my own;For since that hour my strength has flown.Lo! what wrong was her life to thee,Death?Two we were, and the heart was one;Which now being dead, dead I must be,Or seem alive as lifelesslyAs in the choir the painted stone,Death!

Two we were, and the heart was one;Which now being dead, dead I must be,Or seem alive as lifelesslyAs in the choir the painted stone,Death!

(Rossetti:To Death, of his Lady, from the French of Villon, 1450.)

This represents an early short form of the rondeau.

With pipe and flute the rustic PanOf old made music sweet for man;And wonder hushed the warbling bird,And closer drew the calm-eyed herd,—The rolling river slowlier ran.Ah! would,—ah! would, a little span,Some air of Arcady could fanThis age of ours, too seldom stirredWith pipe and flute!But now for gold we plot and plan;And from Beersheba unto DanApollo's self might pass unheard,Or find the night-jar's note preferred.—Not so it fared, when time beganWith pipe and flute!

With pipe and flute the rustic PanOf old made music sweet for man;And wonder hushed the warbling bird,And closer drew the calm-eyed herd,—The rolling river slowlier ran.

Ah! would,—ah! would, a little span,Some air of Arcady could fanThis age of ours, too seldom stirredWith pipe and flute!

But now for gold we plot and plan;And from Beersheba unto DanApollo's self might pass unheard,Or find the night-jar's note preferred.—Not so it fared, when time beganWith pipe and flute!

(Austin Dobson:With Pipe and Flute.)

What is to come we know not. But we knowThat what has been was good—was good to show,Better to hide, and best of all to bear.We are the masters of the days that were:We have lived, we have loved, we have suffered—even so.Shall we not take the ebb who had the flow?Life was our friend. Now, if it be our foe—Dear, though it break and spoil us!—need we careWhat is to come?Let the great winds their worst and wildest blow,Or the gold weather round us mellow slow:We have fulfilled ourselves, and we can dareAnd we can conquer, though we may not shareIn the rich quiet of the afterglowWhat is to come.

Shall we not take the ebb who had the flow?Life was our friend. Now, if it be our foe—Dear, though it break and spoil us!—need we careWhat is to come?

Let the great winds their worst and wildest blow,Or the gold weather round us mellow slow:We have fulfilled ourselves, and we can dareAnd we can conquer, though we may not shareIn the rich quiet of the afterglowWhat is to come.

(W. E. Henley:What is to Come.)

A man must live! We justifyLow shift and trick to treason high,A little vote for a little gold,To a whole senate bought and sold,With this self-evident reply.But is it so? Pray tell me whyLife at such cost you have to buy?In what religion were you told"A man must live"?There are times when a man must die.Imagine for a battle-cryFrom soldiers with a sword to hold—From soldiers with the flag unrolled—This coward's whine, this liar's lie,"A man must live"!

A man must live! We justifyLow shift and trick to treason high,A little vote for a little gold,To a whole senate bought and sold,With this self-evident reply.

But is it so? Pray tell me whyLife at such cost you have to buy?In what religion were you told"A man must live"?

There are times when a man must die.Imagine for a battle-cryFrom soldiers with a sword to hold—From soldiers with the flag unrolled—This coward's whine, this liar's lie,"A man must live"!

(Charlotte Perkins Stetson:A Man Must Live.)

A Roundel is wrought as a ring or a starbright sphere,With craft of delight and with cunning of sound unsought,That the heart of the hearer may smile if to pleasure his earA roundel is wrought.Its jewel of music is carven of all or of aught—Love, laughter, or mourning—remembrance of rapture or fear—That fancy may fashion to hang in the ear of thought.As a bird's quick song runs round, and the hearts in us hear—Pause answers to pause, and again the same strain caught,So moves the device whence, round as a pearl or tear,A roundel is wrought.

A Roundel is wrought as a ring or a starbright sphere,With craft of delight and with cunning of sound unsought,That the heart of the hearer may smile if to pleasure his earA roundel is wrought.

Its jewel of music is carven of all or of aught—Love, laughter, or mourning—remembrance of rapture or fear—That fancy may fashion to hang in the ear of thought.

As a bird's quick song runs round, and the hearts in us hear—Pause answers to pause, and again the same strain caught,So moves the device whence, round as a pearl or tear,A roundel is wrought.

(Swinburne:The Roundel, inA Century of Roundels.)

Mr. Swinburne has reintroduced the old word-form "roundel," to distinguish this style of rondeau, of his own devising, with nine long lines, rimingaba, bab, aba, the refrain riming also with theblines.

This highly intricate form was originally used for pastoral or idyllic verse, and it is commonly reserved, as Mr. Dobson observes, for subjects "full of sweetness and simplicity." In its typical form it consists of nineteen lines, divided into five groups or stanzas of three and one of four. There are but two rimes, and the two verses which constitute the refrain recur again and again,line 1 reappearing as line 6, line 12, and line 18, while line 3 reappears as line 9, line 15, and line 19. The rime scheme of all the tercets isaba, of the conclusionabaa. Those villanelles are considered most highly finished in which the refrain recurs with slightly different significations.

On the history of this form, see J. Boulmier'sLes Villanelles, Paris, 1878. The modern development of the villanelle has been largely influenced by the work of Passerat (1534-1602), whose most famous villanelle is the following specimen:

J'ay perdu ma tourterelle;Est-ce-point elle que j'oy?Je veux aller après elle.Tu regrettes ta femelle;Hélas! aussy fay-je moy:J'ay perdu ma tourterelle.Si ton amour est fidèle,Aussy est ferme ma foy;Je veux aller après elle.Ta plainte se renouvelle?Toujours plaindre je me doy:J'ay perdu ma tourterelle.En ne voyant plus la bellePlus rien de beau je ne voy:Je veux aller après elle.Mort, que tant de fois j'apelle,Prens ce que se donne à toy:J'ai perdu ma tourterelle.Je veux aller après elle.

J'ay perdu ma tourterelle;Est-ce-point elle que j'oy?Je veux aller après elle.

Tu regrettes ta femelle;Hélas! aussy fay-je moy:J'ay perdu ma tourterelle.

Si ton amour est fidèle,Aussy est ferme ma foy;Je veux aller après elle.

Ta plainte se renouvelle?Toujours plaindre je me doy:J'ay perdu ma tourterelle.

En ne voyant plus la bellePlus rien de beau je ne voy:Je veux aller après elle.

Mort, que tant de fois j'apelle,Prens ce que se donne à toy:J'ai perdu ma tourterelle.Je veux aller après elle.

(Jean Passerat:Villanelle.)

When I saw you last, Rose,You were only so high;—How fast the time goes!Like a bud ere it blows,You just peeped at the sky,When I saw you last, Rose!Now your petals unclose,Now your May-time is nigh;—How fast the time goes!And a life,—how it grows!You were scarcely so shyWhen I saw you last, Rose!In your bosom it showsThere's a guest on the sly;How fast the time goes!Is it Cupid? Who knows!Yet you used not to sigh,When I saw you last, Rose;—How fast the time goes!

When I saw you last, Rose,You were only so high;—How fast the time goes!

Like a bud ere it blows,You just peeped at the sky,When I saw you last, Rose!

Now your petals unclose,Now your May-time is nigh;—How fast the time goes!

And a life,—how it grows!You were scarcely so shyWhen I saw you last, Rose!

In your bosom it showsThere's a guest on the sly;How fast the time goes!

Is it Cupid? Who knows!Yet you used not to sigh,When I saw you last, Rose;—How fast the time goes!

(Austin Dobson:When I Saw You Last, Rose.)

A dainty thing's the Villanelle.Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,It serves its purpose passing well.A double-clappered silver bellThat must be made to clink in chime,A dainty thing's the Villanelle;And if you wish to flute a spell,Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,It serves its purpose passing well.You must not ask of it the swellOf organs grandiose and sublime—A dainty thing's the Villanelle;And, filled with sweetness, as a shellIs filled with sound, and launched in time,It serves its purpose passing well.Still fair to see and good to smellAs in the quaintness of its prime,A dainty thing's the Villanelle,It serves its purpose passing well.

A dainty thing's the Villanelle.Sly, musical, a jewel in rhyme,It serves its purpose passing well.

A double-clappered silver bellThat must be made to clink in chime,A dainty thing's the Villanelle;

And if you wish to flute a spell,Or ask a meeting 'neath the lime,It serves its purpose passing well.

You must not ask of it the swellOf organs grandiose and sublime—A dainty thing's the Villanelle;

And, filled with sweetness, as a shellIs filled with sound, and launched in time,It serves its purpose passing well.

Still fair to see and good to smellAs in the quaintness of its prime,A dainty thing's the Villanelle,It serves its purpose passing well.

(W. E. Henley:Villanelle.)

Wouldst thou not be content to dieWhen low-hung fruit is hardly clingingAnd golden Autumn passes by?Beneath this delicate rose-gray sky,While sunset bells are faintly ringing,Wouldst thou not be content to die?For wintry webs of mist on highOut of the muffled earth are springing,And golden Autumn passes by.O now when pleasures fade and fly,And Hope her southward flight is winging,Wouldst thou not be content to die?Lest Winter come, with wailing cryHis cruel icy bondage bringing,When golden Autumn hath passed by;And thou with many a tear and sigh,While life her wasted hands is wringing,Shall pray in vain for leave to dieWhen golden Autumn hath passed by.

Wouldst thou not be content to dieWhen low-hung fruit is hardly clingingAnd golden Autumn passes by?

Beneath this delicate rose-gray sky,While sunset bells are faintly ringing,Wouldst thou not be content to die?

For wintry webs of mist on highOut of the muffled earth are springing,And golden Autumn passes by.

O now when pleasures fade and fly,And Hope her southward flight is winging,Wouldst thou not be content to die?

Lest Winter come, with wailing cryHis cruel icy bondage bringing,When golden Autumn hath passed by;

And thou with many a tear and sigh,While life her wasted hands is wringing,Shall pray in vain for leave to dieWhen golden Autumn hath passed by.

(Edmund Gosse:Villanelle.)

Spring knocks at winter's frosty door:In boughs by wild March breezes swayedThe bonnie bluebirds sing once more.The brooks have burst their fetters hoar,And greet with noisy glee the glade;Spring knocks at winter's frosty door.The swallow soon will northward soar,The rush uplift its gleaming blade,The bonnie bluebirds sing once more.Soon sunny skies their gold will pourO'er meads that breezy maples shade;Spring knocks at winter's frosty door.Along the reedy river's shore,Fleet fauns will frolic unafraid,The bonnie bluebirds sing once more.And Love, the Love we lost of yore,Will come to twine the myrtle braid;Spring knocks at winter's frosty door,The bonnie bluebirds sing once more.

Spring knocks at winter's frosty door:In boughs by wild March breezes swayedThe bonnie bluebirds sing once more.

The brooks have burst their fetters hoar,And greet with noisy glee the glade;Spring knocks at winter's frosty door.

The swallow soon will northward soar,The rush uplift its gleaming blade,The bonnie bluebirds sing once more.

Soon sunny skies their gold will pourO'er meads that breezy maples shade;Spring knocks at winter's frosty door.

Along the reedy river's shore,Fleet fauns will frolic unafraid,The bonnie bluebirds sing once more.

And Love, the Love we lost of yore,Will come to twine the myrtle braid;Spring knocks at winter's frosty door,The bonnie bluebirds sing once more.

(Clinton Scollard:Spring Knocks at Winter's Frosty Door.)

The triolet is really a diminutive form of the Rondeau, and was not originally distinguished by name. It consists of eight lines, with two rimes, lines 1 and 2 recurring as lines 7 and 8, and line 1 also as line 4. The rime-scheme isABaAabAB. Here, as in the villanelle, a change of signification in the repeated lines is thought to add to the charm of the form.

A French specimen, from Ranchin, is cited by Mr. Gleeson White as being called by some "the king of triolets":

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