FIFINE AT THE FAIR

Done ElvireVous plaît-il, don Juan, nous éclaircir ces beaux mystères?Don JuanMadame, à vous dire la vérité...Done ElvireAh! que vous savez mal vous défendre pour un homme de cour, et qui doit être accoutumé à ces sortes de choses! J'ai pitié de vous voir la confusion que vous avez. Que ne vous armez-vous le front d'une noble effronterie? Que ne me jurez-vous que vous êtes toujours dans les mêmes sentimens pour moi, que vous m'aimez toujours avec une ardeur sans égale, et que rien n'est capable de vous détacher de moi que la mort?—(MOLIERE,Don Juan, Acte i, Sc 3.)Donna ElviraDon Juan, might you please to help one give a guess,Hold up a candle, clear this fine mysteriousness?Don JuanMadam, if needs I must declare the truth,—in short ...Donna ElviraFie, for a man of mode, accustomed at the courtTo such a style of thing, how awkwardly my lordAttempts defence! You move compassion, that 's the word—Dumb-foundered and chapfallen! Why don't you arm your browWith noble impudence? Why don't you swear and vowNo sort of change is come to any sentimentYou ever had for me? Affection holds the bent,You love me now as erst, with passion that makes paleAll ardor else: nor aught in nature can availTo separate us two, save what, in stopping breath,May peradventure stop devotion likewise—death!

Done Elvire

Vous plaît-il, don Juan, nous éclaircir ces beaux mystères?

Don Juan

Madame, à vous dire la vérité...

Done Elvire

Ah! que vous savez mal vous défendre pour un homme de cour, et qui doit être accoutumé à ces sortes de choses! J'ai pitié de vous voir la confusion que vous avez. Que ne vous armez-vous le front d'une noble effronterie? Que ne me jurez-vous que vous êtes toujours dans les mêmes sentimens pour moi, que vous m'aimez toujours avec une ardeur sans égale, et que rien n'est capable de vous détacher de moi que la mort?—(MOLIERE,Don Juan, Acte i, Sc 3.)

Donna Elvira

Don Juan, might you please to help one give a guess,Hold up a candle, clear this fine mysteriousness?

Don Juan, might you please to help one give a guess,

Hold up a candle, clear this fine mysteriousness?

Don Juan

Madam, if needs I must declare the truth,—in short ...

Donna Elvira

Fie, for a man of mode, accustomed at the courtTo such a style of thing, how awkwardly my lordAttempts defence! You move compassion, that 's the word—Dumb-foundered and chapfallen! Why don't you arm your browWith noble impudence? Why don't you swear and vowNo sort of change is come to any sentimentYou ever had for me? Affection holds the bent,You love me now as erst, with passion that makes paleAll ardor else: nor aught in nature can availTo separate us two, save what, in stopping breath,May peradventure stop devotion likewise—death!

Fie, for a man of mode, accustomed at the court

To such a style of thing, how awkwardly my lord

Attempts defence! You move compassion, that 's the word—

Dumb-foundered and chapfallen! Why don't you arm your brow

With noble impudence? Why don't you swear and vow

No sort of change is come to any sentiment

You ever had for me? Affection holds the bent,

You love me now as erst, with passion that makes pale

All ardor else: nor aught in nature can avail

To separate us two, save what, in stopping breath,

May peradventure stop devotion likewise—death!

AMPHIBIANThe fancy I had to-day,Fancy which turned a fear!I swam far out in the bay,Since waves laughed warm and clear.I lay and looked at the sun,The noon-sun looked at me:Between us two, no oneLive creature, that I could see.Yes! There came floating byMe, who lay floating too,Such a strange butterfly!Creature as dear as new:Because the membraned wingsSo wonderful, so wide,So sun-suffused, were thingsLike soul and naught beside.A handbreadth overhead!All of the sea my own,It owned the sky instead;Both of us were alone.I never shall join its flight,For, naught buoys flesh in air.If it touch the sea—good night!Death sure and swift waits there.Can the insect feel the betterFor watching the uncouth playOf limbs that slip the fetter,Pretend as they were not clay?Undoubtedly I rejoiceThat the air comports so wellWith a creature which had the choiceOf the land once. Who can tell?What if a certain soulWhich early slipped its sheath,And has for its home the wholeOf heaven, thus look beneath,Thus watch one who, in the world,Both lives and likes life's way,Nor wishes the wings unfurledThat sleep in the worm, they say?But sometimes when the weatherIs blue, and warm waves temptTo free one's self of tether,And try a life exemptFrom worldly noise and dust,In the sphere which overbrimsWith passion and thought,—why, justUnable to fly, one swims!By passion and thought upborne,One smiles to one's self—"They fareScarce better, they need not scornOur sea, who live in the air!"Emancipate through passionAnd thought, with sea for sky,We substitute, in a fashion,For heaven—poetry:Which sea, to all intent,Gives flesh such noon-disportAs a finer elementAffords the spirit-sort.Whatever they are, we seem:Imagine the thing they know;All deeds they do, we dream;Can heaven be else but so?And meantime, yonder streakMeets the horizon's verge;That is the land, to seekIf we tire or dread the surge:Land the solid and safe—To welcome again (confess!)When, high and dry, we chafeThe body, and don the dress.Does she look, pity, wonderAt one who mimics flight,Swims—heaven above, sea under,Yet always earth in sight?

AMPHIBIAN

The fancy I had to-day,Fancy which turned a fear!I swam far out in the bay,Since waves laughed warm and clear.

The fancy I had to-day,

Fancy which turned a fear!

I swam far out in the bay,

Since waves laughed warm and clear.

I lay and looked at the sun,The noon-sun looked at me:Between us two, no oneLive creature, that I could see.

I lay and looked at the sun,

The noon-sun looked at me:

Between us two, no one

Live creature, that I could see.

Yes! There came floating byMe, who lay floating too,Such a strange butterfly!Creature as dear as new:

Yes! There came floating by

Me, who lay floating too,

Such a strange butterfly!

Creature as dear as new:

Because the membraned wingsSo wonderful, so wide,So sun-suffused, were thingsLike soul and naught beside.

Because the membraned wings

So wonderful, so wide,

So sun-suffused, were things

Like soul and naught beside.

A handbreadth overhead!All of the sea my own,It owned the sky instead;Both of us were alone.

A handbreadth overhead!

All of the sea my own,

It owned the sky instead;

Both of us were alone.

I never shall join its flight,For, naught buoys flesh in air.If it touch the sea—good night!Death sure and swift waits there.

I never shall join its flight,

For, naught buoys flesh in air.

If it touch the sea—good night!

Death sure and swift waits there.

Can the insect feel the betterFor watching the uncouth playOf limbs that slip the fetter,Pretend as they were not clay?

Can the insect feel the better

For watching the uncouth play

Of limbs that slip the fetter,

Pretend as they were not clay?

Undoubtedly I rejoiceThat the air comports so wellWith a creature which had the choiceOf the land once. Who can tell?

Undoubtedly I rejoice

That the air comports so well

With a creature which had the choice

Of the land once. Who can tell?

What if a certain soulWhich early slipped its sheath,And has for its home the wholeOf heaven, thus look beneath,

What if a certain soul

Which early slipped its sheath,

And has for its home the whole

Of heaven, thus look beneath,

Thus watch one who, in the world,Both lives and likes life's way,Nor wishes the wings unfurledThat sleep in the worm, they say?

Thus watch one who, in the world,

Both lives and likes life's way,

Nor wishes the wings unfurled

That sleep in the worm, they say?

But sometimes when the weatherIs blue, and warm waves temptTo free one's self of tether,And try a life exempt

But sometimes when the weather

Is blue, and warm waves tempt

To free one's self of tether,

And try a life exempt

From worldly noise and dust,In the sphere which overbrimsWith passion and thought,—why, justUnable to fly, one swims!

From worldly noise and dust,

In the sphere which overbrims

With passion and thought,—why, just

Unable to fly, one swims!

By passion and thought upborne,One smiles to one's self—"They fareScarce better, they need not scornOur sea, who live in the air!"

By passion and thought upborne,

One smiles to one's self—"They fare

Scarce better, they need not scorn

Our sea, who live in the air!"

Emancipate through passionAnd thought, with sea for sky,We substitute, in a fashion,For heaven—poetry:

Emancipate through passion

And thought, with sea for sky,

We substitute, in a fashion,

For heaven—poetry:

Which sea, to all intent,Gives flesh such noon-disportAs a finer elementAffords the spirit-sort.

Which sea, to all intent,

Gives flesh such noon-disport

As a finer element

Affords the spirit-sort.

Whatever they are, we seem:Imagine the thing they know;All deeds they do, we dream;Can heaven be else but so?

Whatever they are, we seem:

Imagine the thing they know;

All deeds they do, we dream;

Can heaven be else but so?

And meantime, yonder streakMeets the horizon's verge;That is the land, to seekIf we tire or dread the surge:

And meantime, yonder streak

Meets the horizon's verge;

That is the land, to seek

If we tire or dread the surge:

Land the solid and safe—To welcome again (confess!)When, high and dry, we chafeThe body, and don the dress.

Land the solid and safe—

To welcome again (confess!)

When, high and dry, we chafe

The body, and don the dress.

Does she look, pity, wonderAt one who mimics flight,Swims—heaven above, sea under,Yet always earth in sight?

Does she look, pity, wonder

At one who mimics flight,

Swims—heaven above, sea under,

Yet always earth in sight?

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