Others shall behold the sunThrough the long uncounted years,—Not a maid in after timeWise as thou!
For the gods have given theeTheir best gift, an equal mind 5That can only love, be glad,And fear not.
Let thy strong spirit never fear,Nor in thy virgin soul be thou afraid.The gods themselves and the almightier fatesCannot avail to harm
With outward and misfortunate chance 5The radiant unshaken mind of himWho at his being’s centre will abide,Secure from doubt and fear.
His wise and patient heart shall shareThe strong sweet loveliness of all things made, 10And the serenity of inward joyBeyond the storm of tears.
Will none say of Sappho,Speaking of her lovers,And the love they gave her,—Joy and days and beauty,Flute-playing and roses, 5Song and wine and laughter,—
Will none, musing, murmur,“Yet, for all the roses,All the flutes and lovers,Doubt not she was lonely 10As the sea, whose cadenceHaunts the world for ever.”
When I have departed,Say but this behind me,“Love was all her wisdom,All her care.
“Well she kept love’s secret,— 5Dared and never faltered,—Laughed and never doubtedLove would win.
“Let the world’s rough triumphTrample by above her, 10She is safe foreverFrom all harm.
“In a land that knows notBitterness nor sorrow,She has found out all 15Of truth at last.”
There is no more to say now thou art still,There is no more to do now thou art dead,There is no more to know now thy clear mindIs back returned unto the gods who gave it.
Now thou art gone the use of life is past, 5The meaning and the glory and the pride,There is no joyous friend to share the day,And on the threshold no awaited shadow.
Play up, play up thy silver flute;The crickets all are brave;Glad is the red autumnal earthAnd the blue sea.
Play up thy flawless silver flute; 5Dead ripe are fruit and grain.When love puts on his scarlet coat,Put off thy care.
A beautiful child is mine,Formed like a golden flower,Cleis the loved one.And above her I valueNot all the Lydian land, 5Nor lovely Hellas.
Ah, but now henceforthOnly one meaningHas life for me.
Only one purport,Measure and beauty, 5Has the bright world.
What mean the wood-winds,Colour and morning,Bird, stream, and hill?
And the brave city 10With its enchantment?Thee, only thee!
Softly the wind moves through the radiant morning,And the warm sunlight sinks into the valley,Filling the green earth with a quiet joyance,Strength, and fulfilment.
Even so, gentle, strong and wise and happy, 5Through the soul and substance of my being,Comes the breath of thy great love to me-ward,O thou dear mortal.
What the west wind whispersAt the end of summer,When the barley harvestRipens to the sickle,Who can tell? 5
What means the fine musicOf the dry cicada,Through the long noon hoursOf the autumn stillness,Who can say? 10
How the grape ungatheredWith its bloom of bluenessGreatens on the trellisOf the brick-walled garden,Who can know? 15
Yet I, too, am greatened,Keep the note of gladness,Travel by the wind’s road,Through this autumn leisure,—By thy love. 20
Indoors the fire is kindled;Beechwood is piled on the hearthstone;Cold are the chattering oak-leaves;And the ponds frost-bitten.
Softer than rainfall at twilight, 5Bringing the fields benedictionAnd the hills quiet and greyness,Are my long thoughts of thee.
How should thy friend fear the seasons?They only perish of winter 10Whom Love, audacious and tender,Never hath visited.
You ask how love can keep the mortal soulStrong to the pitch of joy throughout the years.
Ask how your brave cicada on the boughKeeps the long sweet insistence of his cry;
Ask how the Pleiads steer across the night 5In their serene unswerving mighty course;
Ask how the wood-flowers waken to the sun,Unsummoned save by some mysterious word;
Ask how the wandering swallows find your eavesUpon the rain-wind with returning spring; 10
Ask who commands the ever-punctual tideTo keep the pendulous rhythm of the sea;
And you shall know what leads the heart of manTo the far haven of his hopes and fears.
Like a tall forest were their spears,Their banners like a silken sea,When the great host in splendour passedAcross the crimson sinking sun.
And then the bray of brazen horns 5Arose above their clanking march,As the long waving column filedInto the odorous purple dusk.
O lover, in this radiant worldWhence is the race of mortal men, 10So frail, so mighty, and so fond,That fleets into the vast unknown?
My lover smiled, “O friend, ask notThe journey’s end, nor whence we are.That whistling boy who minds his goatsSo idly in the grey ravine,
“The brown-backed rower drenched with spray, 5The lemon-seller in the street,And the young girl who keeps her firstWild love-tryst at the rising moon,—
“Lo, these are wiser than the wise.And not for all our questioning 10Shall we discover more than joy,Nor find a better thing than love!
“Let pass the banners and the spears,The hate, the battle, and the greed;For greater than all gifts is peace, 15And strength is in the tranquil mind.”
Ye who have the stable worldIn the keeping of your hands.Flocks and men, the lasting hills,And the ever-wheeling stars;
Ye who freight with wondrous things 5The wide-wandering heart of manAnd the galleon of the moon,On those silent seas of foam;
Oh, if ever ye shall grantTime and place and room enough 10To this fond and fragile heartStifled with the throb of love,
On that day one grave-eyed Fate,Pausing in her toil, shall say,“Lo, one mortal has achieved 15Immortality of love!”
I heard the gods reply:“Trust not the future with its perilous chance;The fortunate hour is on the dial now.
“To-day be wise and great,And put off hesitation and go forth 5With cheerful courage for the diurnal need.
“Stout be the heart, nor slowThe foot to follow the impetuous will,Nor the hand slack upon the loom of deeds.
“Then may the Fates look up 10And smile a little in their tolerant way,Being full of infinite regard for men.”
The sun on the tide, the peach on the bough,The blue smoke over the hill,And the shadows trailing the valley-side,Make up the autumn day.
Ah, no, not half! Thou art not here 5Under the bronze beech-leaves,And thy lover’s soul like a lonely childRoams through an empty room.
If death be good,Why do the gods not die?If life be ill,Why do the gods still live?
If love be naught, 5Why do the gods still love?If love be all,What should men do but love?
Tell me what this life means,O my prince and lover,With the autumn sunlightOn thy bronze-gold head?
With thy clear voice sounding 5Through the silver twilight,—What is the lost secretOf the tacit earth?
Ye have heard how Marsyas,In the folly of his pride,Boasted of a matchless skill,—When the great god’s back was turned;
How his fond imagining 5Fell to ashes cold and grey,When the flawless player cameIn serenity and light.
So it was with those I lovedIn the years ere I loved thee. 10Many a saying sounds like truth,Until Truth itself is heard.
Many a beauty only livesUntil Beauty passes by,And the mortal is forgot 15In the shadow of the god.
Hour by hour I sit,Watching the silent door.Shadows go by on the wall,And steps in the street.
Expectation and doubt 5Flutter my timorous heart.So many hurrying home—And thou still away.
Once in the shining street,In the heart of a seaboard town,As I waited, behold, there cameThe woman I loved.
As when, in the early spring, 5A daffodil blooms in the grass,Golden and gracious and glad,The solitude smiled.
How strange is love, O my lover!With what enchantment and powerDoes it not come upon mortals,Learned or heedless!
How far away and unreal, 5Faint as blue isles in a sunsetHaze-golden, all else of life seems,Since I have known thee!
How to say I love you:What, if I but live it,Were the use in that, love?Small, indeed.
Only, every moment 5Of this waking lifetimeLet me be your loverAnd your friend!
Ah, but then, as sure asBlossom breaks from bud-sheath, 10When along the hillsideSpring returns,
Golden speech should flowerFrom the soul so cherished,And the mouth your kisses 15Filled with fire.
Hark, love, to the tambourinesOf the minstrels in the street,And one voice that throbs and soarsClear above the clashing time!
Some Egyptian royal love-lilt, 5Some Sidonian refrain,Vows of Paphos or of Tyre,Mount against the silver sun.
Pleading, piercing, yet serene,Vagrant in a foreign town, 10From what passion was it born,In what lost land over sea?
Over the roofs the honey-coloured moon,With purple shadows on the silver grass,
And the warm south-wind on the curving sea,While we two, lovers past all turmoil now,
Watch from the window the white sails come in, 5Bearing what unknown ventures safe to port!
So falls the hour of twilight and of loveWith wizardry to loose the hearts of men,
And there is nothing more in this great worldThan thou and I, and the blue dome of dusk. 10
In the quiet garden world,Gold sunlight and shadow leavesFlicker on the wall.
And the wind, a moment since,With rose-petals strewed the path 5And the open door.
Now the moon-white butterfliesFloat across the liquid air,Glad as in a dream;
And, across thy lover’s heart, 10Visions of one scarlet mouthWith its maddening smile.
Soft was the wind in the beech-trees;Low was the surf on the shore;In the blue dusk one planetLike a great sea-pharos shone.
But nothing to me were the sea-sounds, 5The wind and the yellow star,When over my breast the bannerOf your golden hair was spread.
Have you heard the news of Sappho’s garden,And the Golden Rose of Mitylene,Which the bending brown-armed rowers latelyBrought from over sea, from lonely Pontus?
In a meadow by the river Halys, 5Where some wood-god hath the world in keeping,On a burning summer noon they found her,Lovely as a Dryad, and more tender.
Her these eyes have seen, and not anotherShall behold, till time takes all things goodly, 10So surpassing fair and fond and wondrous,—Such a slave as, worth a great king’s ransom,
No man yet of all the sons of mortalsBut would lose his soul for and regret not;So hath Beauty compassed all her children 15With the cords of longing and desire.
Only Hermes, master of word music,Ever yet in glory of gold languageCould ensphere the magical remembranceOf her melting, half sad, wayward beauty, 20
Or devise the silver phrase to frame her,The inevitable name to call her,Half a sigh and half a kiss when whispered,Like pure air that feeds a forge’s hunger.
Not a painter in the Isles of Hellas 25Could portray her, mix the golden tawnyWith bright stain of poppies, or ensanguineLike the life her darling mouth’s vermilion,
So that, in the ages long hereafter,When we shall be dust of perished summers, 30Any man could say who found that likeness,Smiling gently on it, “This was Gorgo!”
Love is so strong a thing,The very gods must yield,When it is welded fastWith the unflinching truth.
Love is so frail a thing, 5A word, a look, will kill.Oh lovers, have a careHow ye do deal with love.
Hadst thou, with all thy loveliness, been true,Had I, with all my tenderness, been strong,We had not made this ruin out of life,This desolation in a world of joy,My poor Gorgo. 5
Yet even the high gods at times do err;Be therefore thou not overcome with woe,But dedicate anew to greater loveAn equal heart, and be thy radiant selfOnce more, Gorgo. 10
As, on a morn, a traveller might emergeFrom the deep green seclusion of the hills,By a cool road through forest and through fern,Little frequented, winding, followed longWith joyous expectation and day-dreams, 5And on a sudden, turning a great rockCovered with frondage, dark with dripping water,Behold the seaboard full of surf and sound,With all the space and glory of the worldAbove the burnished silver of the sea,— 10
Even so it was upon that first spring dayWhen time, that is a devious path for men,Led me all lonely to thy door at last;And all thy splendid beauty, gracious and glad,(Glad as bright colour, free as wind or air, 15And lovelier than racing seas of foam)Bore sense and soul and mind at once awayTo a pure region where the gods might dwell,Making of me, a vagrant child before,A servant of joy at Aphrodite’s will. 20
Where shall I look for thee,Where find thee now,O my lost Atthis?
Storm bars the harbour,And snow keeps the pass 5In the blue mountains.
Bitter the wind whistles,Pale is the sun,And the days shorten.
Close to the hearthstone, 10With long thoughts of thee,Thy lonely lover
Sits now, rememberingAll the spent hoursAnd thy fair beauty. 15
Ah, when the hyacinthWakens with spring,And buds the laurel,
Doubt not, some morningWhen all earth revives, 20Hearing Pan’s flute-call
Over the river-beds,Over the hills,Sounding the summons,
I shall look up and behold 25In the door,Smiling, expectant,
Loving as everAnd glad as of old,My own lost Atthis! 30
A sad, sad face, and saddest eyes that everBeheld the sun,Whence came the grief that makes of all thy beautyOne sad sweet smile?
In this bright portrait, where the painter fixed them, 5I still beholdThe eyes that gladdened, and the lips that loved me,And, gold on rose,
The cloud of hair that settles on one shoulderSlipped from its vest. 10I almost hear thy Mitylenean love-songIn the spring night,
When the still air was odorous with blossoms,And in the hourThy first wild girl’s-love trembled into being, 15Glad, glad and fond.
Ah, where is all that wonder? What god’s maliceUndid that joyAnd set the seal of patient woe upon thee,O my lost love? 20
Why have the gods in derisionSevered us, heart of my being?Where have they lured thee to wander,O my lost lover?
While now I sojourn with sorrow, 5Having remorse for my comrade,What town is blessed with thy beauty,Gladdened and prospered?
Nay, who could love as I loved thee,With whom thy beauty was mingled 10In those spring days when the swallowsCame with the south wind?
Then I became as that shepherdLoved by Selene on Latmus,Once when her own summer magic 15Took hold upon her
With a sweet madness, and thenceforthHer mortal lover must wanderOver the wide world for ever,Like one enchanted. 20
Like a red lily in the meadow grasses,Swayed by the wind and burning in the sunlight,I saw you, where the city chokes with traffic,Bearing among the passers-by your beauty,Unsullied, wild, and delicate as a flower. 5And then I knew, past doubt or peradventure,Our loved and mighty Eleusinian motherHad taken thought of me for her pure worship,And of her favour had assigned my comradeFor the Great Mysteries,—knew I should find you 10When the dusk murmured with its new-made lovers,And we be no more foolish but wise children,And well content partake of joy together,As she ordains and human hearts desire.
When in the spring the swallows all return,And the bleak bitter sea grows mild once more,With all its thunders softened to a sigh;
When to the meadows the young green comes back,And swelling buds put forth on every bough, 5With wild-wood odours on the delicate air;
Ah, then, in that so lovely earth wilt thouWith all thy beauty love me all one way,And make me all thy lover as before?
Lo, where the white-maned horses of the surge, 10Plunging in thunderous onset to the shore,Trample and break and charge along the sand!
Cold is the wind where Daphne sleeps,That was so tender and so warmWith loving,—with a lovelinessThan her own laurel lovelier.
Now pipes the bitter wind for her, 5And the snow sifts about her door,While far below her frosty hillThe racing billows plunge and boom.
Hark, where Poseidon’sWhite racing horsesTrample with tumultThe shelving seaboard!
Older than Saturn, 5Older than Rhea,That mournful music,Falling and surging
With the vast rhythmCeaseless, eternal, 10Keeps the long tallyOf all things mortal.
How many loversHath not its lullingCradled to slumberWith the ripe flowers, 15
Ere for our pleasureThis golden summerWalked through the corn-landsIn gracious splendour! 20
How many loved onesWill it not croon to,In the long spring-daysThrough coming ages,
When all our day-dreams 25Have been forgotten,And none remembersEven thy beauty!
They too shall slumberIn quiet places, 30And mighty sea-soundsCall them unheeded.
Hark, my lover, it is spring!On the wind a faint far callWakes a pang within my heart,Unmistakable and keen.
At the harbour mouth a sail 5Glimmers in the morning sun,And the ripples at her prowWhiten into crumbling foam,
As she forges outward boundFor the teeming foreign ports. 10Through the open window now,Hear the sailors lift a song!
In the meadow ground the frogsWith their deafening flutes begin,—The old madness of the world 15In their golden throats again.
Little fifers of live bronze,Who hath taught you with wise loreTo unloose the strains of joy,When Orion seeks the west? 20
And you feathered flute-players,Who instructed you to fillAll the blossomy orchards nowWith melodious desire?
I doubt not our father Pan 25Hath a care of all these things.In some valley of the hillsFar away and misty-blue,
By quick water he hath cutA new pipe, and set the wood 30To his smiling lips, and blown,That earth’s rapture be restored.
And those wild Pandean stopsMark the cadence life must keep.O my lover, be thou glad; 35It is spring in Hellas now.
When the early soft spring wind comes blowingOver Rhodes and Samos and Miletus,From the seven mouths of Nile to Lesbos,Freighted with sea-odours and gold sunshine,
What news spreads among the island people 5In the market-place of Mitylene,Lending that unwonted stir of gladnessTo the busy streets and thronging doorways?
Is it word from Ninus or Arbela,Babylon the great, or Northern Imbros? 10Have the laden galleons been sightedStoutly labouring up the sea from Tyre?
Nay, ’tis older news that foreign sailorWith the cheek of sea-tan stops to prattleTo the young fig-seller with her basket 15And the breasts that bud beneath her tunic,
And I hear it in the rustling tree-tops.All this passionate bright tender bodyQuivers like a leaf the wind has shaken,Now love wanders through the aisles of springtime. 20
I am more tremulous than shaken reeds,And love has made me like the river water.
Thy voice is as the hill-wind over me,And all my changing heart gives heed, my lover.
Before thy least lost murmur I must sigh, 5Or gladden with thee as the sun-path glitters.
Over the wheat-field,Over the hill-crest,Swoops and is goneThe beat of a wild wing,Brushing the pine-tops, 5Bending the poppies,Hurrying NorthwardWith golden summer.
What premonition,O purple swallow, 10Told thee the happyHour of migration?Hark! On the threshold(Hush, flurried heart in me!),Was there a footfall? 15Did no one enter?
Soon will a shepherdIn rugged Dacia,Folding his gentleEwes in the twilight, 20Lifting a levelGaze from the sheepfold,Say to his fellows,“Lo, it is springtime.”
This very hour 25In Mitylene,Will not a young girlSay to her lover,Lifting her moon-whiteArms to enlace him, 30Ere the glad sigh comes,“Lo, it is lovetime!”
Once more the rain on the mountain,Once more the wind in the valley,With the soft odours of springtimeAnd the long breath of remembrance,O Lityerses! 5
Warm is the sun in the city.On the street corners with laughterTraffic the flower-girls. BeautyBlossoms once more for thy pleasureIn many places. 10
Gentlier now falls the twilight,With the slim moon in the pear-trees;And the green frogs in the meadowsBlow on shrill pipes to awakenThee, Lityerses. 15
Gladlier now crimson morningFlushes fair-built Mitylene,—Portico, temple, and column,—Where the young garlanded womenPraise thee with singing. 20
Ah, but what burden of sorrowTinges their slow stately chorus,Though spring revisits the glad earth?Wilt thou not wake to their summons,O Lityerses? 25
Shall they then never behold thee,—Nevermore see thee returningDown the blue cleft of the mountains,Nor in the purple of eveningWelcome thy coming? 30
Nevermore answer thy glowingYouth with their ardour, nor cherishWith lovely longing thy spirit,Nor with soft laughter beguile thee,O Lityerses? 35
Heedless, assuaged, art thou sleepingWhere the spring sun cannot find thee,Nor the wind waken, nor woodlandsBloom for thy innocent raptureThrough golden hours? 40
Hast thou no passion nor pityFor thy deserted companions?Never again will thy beautyQuell their desire nor rekindle,O Lityerses? 45
Nay, but in vain their clear voicesCall thee. Thy sensitive beautyIs become part of the fleetingLoveliness, merged in the pathosOf all things mortal. 50
In the faint fragrance of flowers,On the sweet draft of the sea-wind,Linger strange hints now that loosenTears for thy gay gentle spirit,O Lityerses! 55
Now the hundred songs are made,And the pause comes. Loving Heart,There must be an end to summer,And the flute be laid aside.
On a day the frost will come, 5Walking through the autumn world,Hushing all the brave endeavourOf the crickets in the grass.
On a day (Oh, far from now!)Earth will hear this voice no more; 10For it shall be with thy loverAs with Linus long ago.
All the happy songs he wroughtFrom remembrance soon must fade,As the wash of silver moonlight 15From a purple-dark ravine.
Frail as dew upon the grassOr the spindrift of the sea,Out of nothing they were fashionedAnd to nothing must return. 20
Nay, but something of thy love,Passion, tenderness, and joy,Some strange magic of thy beauty,Some sweet pathos of thy tears,
Must imperishably cling 25To the cadence of the words,Like a spell of lost enchantmentsLaid upon the hearts of men.
Wild and fleeting as the notesBlown upon a woodland pipe, 30They must haunt the earth with gladnessAnd a tinge of old regret.
For the transport in their rhythmWas the throb of thy desire,And thy lyric moods shall quicken 35Souls of lovers yet unborn.
When the golden days arrive,With the swallow at the eaves,And the first sob of the south-windSighing at the latch with spring, 40
Long hereafter shall thy nameBe recalled through foreign lands,And thou be a part of sorrowWhen the Linus songs are sung.
[Illustration: The King’s Classics]
111 St. Martin’s Lane, London
PROFESSOR I. GOLLANCZ, Litt.D.
ALTHOUGH The King’s Classics are to be purchased for ⅙ net per volume, the series is unique in that
(1) the letterpress, paper, and binding are unapproached by anysimilar series.
(2) “Competent scholars in every case have supervised this series,which can therefore be received with confidence.”—Athenæum,
(3) With few exceptions, the volumes in this series are included in no similar series, while several are copyright.
“Right Royal Series.”—Literary World.
“We note with pleasure that competent scholars in every case have supervised this Series, which can therefore be received with confidence.”—Athenæum.
The Series of “King’s Classics,” issued under the General Editorship of Professor I. GOLLANCZ, aims at introducing to the larger reading public many noteworthy works of literature not readily accessible in cheap form, or not hitherto rendered into English. Each volume is edited by some expert scholar, and has a summary introduction dealing with the main and essential facts of the literary history of the book; at the end there are the necessary notes for a right understanding of references and textual difficulties; where necessary, there is also a carefully-compiled index. As will be at once seen from the accompanying list, much original and new work has been secured for the Series, and it will be recognised that the “King’s Classics” differentiate themselves in a very marked way from the many reprints of popular books.
It should be noted, however, that while primarily rare masterpieces are included in the “King’s Classics,” modern popular classics, more especially such as have not yet been adequately or at all annotated, are not excluded from the Series.
* * * * *
NOTE.—At the date of this list, May 1, 1907, Nos. 1-35 were published.Numbers subsequent to 35 are at press or about to go to press.
The “King’s Classics” are printed on antique laid paper, 16mo. (6 X 4½ inches), gilt tops, and are issued in the following styles and prices. Each volume has a frontispiece, usually in photogravure.
Quarter bound, antique grey boards, ⅙ net.
Red Cloth, ⅙ net.
Quarter Vellum, grey cloth sides, 2/6 net.
Special three-quarter Vellum, Oxford side-papers, gilt tops, silkmarker, 5/- net.
***Nos. 2, 20 and 24 are double volumes. Price, Boards or Cloth, 3/-net; Quarter Vellum, 5/- net; special three-quarter Vellum, 7/6 net.
1. THE LOVE OF BOOKS: being the Philobiblon of RICHARD DE BURY.
Translated by E.C. THOMAS. Frontispiece, Seal of Richard de Bury (asBishop of Durham).
3. THE CHRONICLE OF JOCELIN OF BRAKELOND, MONK OF ST. EDMUNDSBURY: a Picture of Monastic and Social Life in the XIIth Century.
Newly translated, from the original Latin, with notes, table of datesrelating to the Abbey of St. Edmundsbury, and index, by L.C. JANE,M.A., sometime Exhibitioner in Modern History at University College,Oxon., and with an Introduction by the Right Rev. Abbot GASQUET.Frontispiece, Seal of Abbot Samson (A.D. 1200).
***20. THE NUN’S RULE, or Ancren Riwle, in Modern English.
Being the injunctions of Bishop Poore intended for the guidance of nuns or anchoresses, as set forth in the famous thirteenth-century MS. referred to above.
Editor, the Right Rev. Abbot GASQUET. Frontispiece, Seal of BishopPoore.
Double volume.
From Bartholomæus Anglicus. Edited with notes, index and glossary by ROBERT STEELE. Preface by the late WILLIAM MORRIS. Frontispiece, an old illumination, representing Astrologers using Astrolabes.
[The book is drawn from one of the most widely-read works of mediæval times. Its popularity is explained by its scope, which comprises explanations of allusions to natural objects met with in Scripture and elsewhere. It was, in fact, an account of the properties of things in general.]
Newly translated from the Anglo-French by ALICE KEMP-WELCH, with an introduction by Professor BRANDIN. Frontispiece, Whittington Castle in Shropshire, the seat of the Fitzwarines.
Newly translated from the old French by Mrs. CROSLAND. Introduction byProfessor BRANDIN, University of London. Frontispiece.
Translated and edited by A.J. GRANT. With frontispiece representing an early bronze figure of Charlemagne from the Musée Carnavalet, Paris.
We have here given us two “Lives” of Charlemagne by contemporary authorities—one by Eginhard and the other by the Monk of St. Gall. Very different in style, when brought together in one volume each supplies the deficiencies of the other.
Mediæval students’ songs, translated from the Latin, with an essay, byJOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS. Frontispiece after a fifteenth-century woodcut.
By WILLIAM LANGLAND;in modern English byProfessor SKEAT, Litt.D.Frontispiece, “God Speed the Plough,” from an old MS.
8. CHAUCER’S KNIGHT’S TALE, or Palamon and Arcite.
In modern English byProfessor SKEAT, Litt.D. Frontispiece, “The Canterbury Pilgrims,” from an illuminated MS.
9. CHAUCER’S MAN OF LAW’S TALE, Squire’s Tale, and Nun’s Priest’s Tale.
In modern English byProfessor SKEAT, Litt.D. Frontispiece from an illuminated MS.
10. CHAUCER’S PRIORESS’S TALE, Pardoner’s Tale, Clerk’s Tale, and Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale.
In modern English byProfessor SKEAT, Litt.D. Frontispiece, “The Patient Griselda,” from the well-known fifteenth-century picture of the Umbrian School in the National Gallery.
In modern English, with notes and introduction, by Professor W.W. SKEAT, Litt.D. Frontispiece, “Ariadne Deserted,” after the painting by ANGELICA KAUFMANN.
The popular Elizabethan book containing twelve classical love-stories— “Sinorex and Camma,” “Tereus and Progne,” etc.—in style the precursor of Euphues, now first reprinted under the editorship of Professor I. GOLLANCZ. Frontispieces, a reproduction of the original title, and of an original page.
In two volumes.
21. THE MEMOIRS OF ROBERT CARY, Earl of Monmouth.
Being a contemporary record of the life of that nobleman as Warden of the Marches and at the Court of Elizabeth.
Editor, G.H. POWELL. With frontispiece from the original edition, representing Queen Elizabeth in a state procession, with the Earl of Monmouth and others in attendance.
By THOMAS DEKKER. Editor, R.B. MCKERROW. Frontispiece, The nave of St.Paul’s Cathedral at the time of Elizabeth.
Editor, C.C. STOPES. Frontispiece, Portrait of the Earl of Southampton.
4. THE LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE, Knight.
By his son-in-law, WILLIAM ROPER. With letters to and from his famous daughter, Margaret Roper. Frontispiece, Portrait of Sir Thomas More, after Holbein.
33. THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THOMAS MORE. By ANNE MANNING. Preface by RICHARD GARNETT. Frontispiece, “The Family of Sir Thomas More.”
Now for the first time edited fromthe first edition byROBERT STEELE. Frontispiece, Portrait of Sir Thomas More, after an early engraving.
44. THE FOUR LAST THINGS, together with the Life of Pico della Mirandola and the English Poems.
By Sir THOMAS MORE. Edited by DANIEL O’CONNOR. Frontispiece after two designs from the “Daunce of Death.”
43. SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE’S ESSAY ON GARDENS, together with other Carolean Essays on Gardens.
Edited, and with notes and introduction, by A. FORBES SIEVEKING, F.S.A. Frontispiece, Portrait of Sir William Temple, and five reproductions of early “garden” engravings.
5. EIKON BASILIKE: or, The King’s Book.
Edited by EDWARD ALMACK, F.S.A. Frontispiece, Portrait of King Charles I. This edition, which has been printed from an advance copy of the King’s Book seized by Cromwell’s soldiers, is the first inexpensive one for a hundred years in which the original spelling of the first edition has been preserved.
Parts III. and IV., bringing the series up to modern times, will shortly be announced under the same editorship.
Being Original Poems by English Kings and other Royal and NoblePersons, now first collected and edited by W. BAILEY-KEMPLING.Frontispiece, Portrait of King James I. of Scotland, after an earlyengraving.
By JOHN EVELYN, the famous diarist. Re-edited from the edition ofSamuel Wilberforce, Bishop of Oxford. Frontispiece, Portrait ofMargaret Godolphin engraved on copper.
Editor, JAMES WHITE, possibly with the assistance of CHARLES LAMB,cf. the Introduction. Frontispiece, Sir John Falstaff dancing to Master Brooks’ fiddle, from the original edition.
Comprising Boccaccio’s Life of Dante, Leonardo Bruni’s Life of Dante, and other important contemporary records.
Translated and edited by the Rev. PHILIP H. WICKSTEED. Frontispiece,The Death-mask of Dante.
The Italian text with D.G. ROSSETTI’S translation on the opposite page.Introduction and notes by Professor H. OELSNER Ph.D., Lecturer inRomance Literature, Oxford University. Frontispiece after the originalwater-colour sketch for “Dante’s Dream,” by D.G. ROSSETTI.
From “The Golden Ass” of Apuleius, translated by W. ADLINGTON (1566), edited by W.H.D. ROUSE, Litt.D. With frontispiece representing the “Marriage of Cupid and Psyche,” after a gem now in the British Museum.
From early translations. Editor, W.H.D. ROUSE, Litt.D. Frontispiece,“Scipio, Laelius and Cato conversing,” from a fourteenth-century MS.
Translated by EDWARD FITZGERALD. Editor, H. OELSNER, M.A., Ph.D.Frontispiece, Portrait of Calderon, from an etching by M. EGUSQUIZA.
Double volume.
Edited, and with notes and introduction. Frontispiece.
The introduction of Sir WALTER SCOTT. Preface by Miss C. SPURGEON.Frontispiece, Portrait of Walpole, after a contemporary engraving.
Frontispiece, Portrait of George Eliot, from a water-colour drawing byMrs. CHARLES BRAY. Introduction by RICHARD GARNETT.
Introduction by RICHARD GARNETT. Frontispiece, Portrait of OliverGoldsmith.
By CHARLES READE. Frontispiece, Portrait of Peg Woffington.Introduction by RICHARD GARNETT.
16. POLONIUS, a Collection of Wise Saws and Modern Instances.
By EDWARD FITZGERALD. With portrait of Edward FitzGerald from the miniature by Mrs. E.M.B. RIVETT-CARNAC as frontispiece; notes and index. Contains a preface by EDWARD FITZGERALD, on Aphorisms generally.
The introduction and notes have been written by W. BASIL WORSFOLD,M.A., and the frontispiece is taken from the portrait of Wordsworthby H.W. PICKERSGILL, R.A., in the National Gallery. A map of the LakeDistrict is added.
Double volume.
25. THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE and other Poems by WILLIAM MORRIS.
Editor, ROBERT STEELE. With reproduction of DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI’S picture of “Lancelot and Guenevere at King Arthur’s tomb” as frontispiece.
Edited with introduction and notes by W. BASIL WORSFOLD, M.A. Two volumes, each with portrait of Browning as frontispiece.
In two volumes.
Editor, EDWARD HUTTON. Frontispiece, Poe’s cottage.
34. SAPPHO: One Hundred Lyrics By BLISS CARMAN, With frontispiece after a Greek gem.
To be continued.
NOTE.—At the date of this list, May1, 1907, Nos. 1-35 were published. Numbers subsequent to 35 are at press or about to go to press_.
A Series of volumes of reprints, under the general editorship of Professor I. GOLLANCZ, embodying the Romances, Novels, and Plays used by Shakespeare as the direct sources and originals of his plays. 6½ x 5¼ inches, gilt tops, in the following styles. Each volume will contain a photogravure frontispiece reproduction of the original title. Publication of Nos. 1 and 2 in June; No. 3 in September, and thereafter at short intervals.
Quarter-bound antique grey boards, 2/6 net.
Whole gold brown velvet persian, 4/- net.
Three-quarter vellum, Oxford side-papers, gilt tops, silk marker, 6/- net; Postage, 4_d_.
1. LODGE’S “ROSALYNDE”: the original of Shakespeare’s “As You Like It.”
Edited by W.W. GREG, M.A.
2. GREENE’S “DORASTUS AND FAWNIA”: the original of Shakespeare’s “Winter’s Tale.”
Edited by P.G. THOMAS, Professor of English Literature, BedfordCollege, University of London.
3. BROOKE’S POEM OF “ROMEUS AND JULIET”: the original of Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet,” as edited by P.A. DANIEL, modernised and re-edited by J.J. MUNRO.
4. “THE TROUBLESOME REIGN OF KING JOHN”: the Play rewritten by Shakespeare as “King John.”
Edited by F.J. FURNIVALL, D. Litt.
5, 6. “THE HISTORY OF HAMLET.” Together with other Documents illustrative of the source of Shakespeare’s play, and an Introductory Study of the Legend of Hamlet by Professor I. GOLLANCZ, Litt.D., who also edits the work. (NOTE.—No. 6 will fill 2 volumes.)
7. “THE PLAY OF KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS”: the old play on the subject of King Lear.
Edited by SIDNEY LEE, D. Litt.
***Also 520 special sets (500 for sale) on larger paper, about 7½ x 5¾ inches, half-bound parchment, boards, gilt tops, as a Library Edition. Sold in sets only. Per volume, 5/- net; Postage, 4d.
***Among other items THE SHAKESPEARE LIBRARY—of which the aboveSeries forms the first section—will contain a complete Old-spellingShakespeare, edited by Dr. FURNIVALL. A full prospectus of TheShakespeare Library is in preparation, and will be sent post free onapplication.
R. Clay & Sons, Ltd., London and Bungay.