ESSAYS IN OLD FRENCH FORMS

A BALLADE OF PROTEST[4]

(To the address of Master Rudyard Kipling, Poetaster)

For long, unjoyed, we've heard you singOf politics and army bills,Of money-lust and cricketing,Of clothes and fear and other things;Meanwhile the palm-trees and the hillsHave lacked a bard to voice their lay;Poet, ere time your lyre string stills,Sing us again of Mandalay!Unsung the East lies glimmering,Unsung the palm trees toss their frills,Unsung the seas their splendors fling,The while you prate of laws and tills.Each man his destiny fulfills;Can it be yours to loose and stray;In sophist garb to waste your quills?—Sing us again of Mandalay!Sing us again in rhymes that ring,In Master-Voice that lives and thrills.Sing us again of wind and wing,Of temple bells and jungle thrills;And if your Pegasus e'er willsTo lead you down some other way,Go bind him in his olden thills—Sing us again of Mandalay!Master, regard the plaint we bring,And hearken to the prayer we pray.Lay down your law and sermoning—Sing us again of Mandalay!

For long, unjoyed, we've heard you sing

Of politics and army bills,

Of money-lust and cricketing,

Of clothes and fear and other things;

Meanwhile the palm-trees and the hills

Have lacked a bard to voice their lay;

Poet, ere time your lyre string stills,

Sing us again of Mandalay!

Unsung the East lies glimmering,Unsung the palm trees toss their frills,Unsung the seas their splendors fling,The while you prate of laws and tills.Each man his destiny fulfills;Can it be yours to loose and stray;In sophist garb to waste your quills?—Sing us again of Mandalay!

Unsung the East lies glimmering,

Unsung the palm trees toss their frills,

Unsung the seas their splendors fling,

The while you prate of laws and tills.

Each man his destiny fulfills;

Can it be yours to loose and stray;

In sophist garb to waste your quills?—

Sing us again of Mandalay!

Sing us again in rhymes that ring,In Master-Voice that lives and thrills.Sing us again of wind and wing,Of temple bells and jungle thrills;And if your Pegasus e'er willsTo lead you down some other way,Go bind him in his olden thills—Sing us again of Mandalay!

Sing us again in rhymes that ring,

In Master-Voice that lives and thrills.

Sing us again of wind and wing,

Of temple bells and jungle thrills;

And if your Pegasus e'er wills

To lead you down some other way,

Go bind him in his olden thills—

Sing us again of Mandalay!

Master, regard the plaint we bring,And hearken to the prayer we pray.Lay down your law and sermoning—Sing us again of Mandalay!

Master, regard the plaint we bring,

And hearken to the prayer we pray.

Lay down your law and sermoning—

Sing us again of Mandalay!

4.Copyright, 1902, by Dodd, Mead & Co.

A FRIVOLOUS RONDEAU

“I co'd reherseA lyric verse.”—The Hesperides.

“I co'd reherse

A lyric verse.”—The Hesperides.

A lyric verse I'll make for you,Fair damsel that the many woo,'Twill be a sonnet on your fan—That aid to love from quaint Japan—And “true” will rhyme with “eyes of blue.”Ah! me, if you but only knewThe toil of setting out to hewFrom words—as I shall try to do—A lyric verse.Fleet metric ghosts I must pursue,And dim rhyme apparitions, too—But yet, 'tis joyfully I scan,And reckon rhymes and think and planFor there's no cheaper present thanA lyric verse.

A lyric verse I'll make for you,Fair damsel that the many woo,'Twill be a sonnet on your fan—That aid to love from quaint Japan—And “true” will rhyme with “eyes of blue.”

A lyric verse I'll make for you,

Fair damsel that the many woo,

'Twill be a sonnet on your fan—

That aid to love from quaint Japan—

And “true” will rhyme with “eyes of blue.”

Ah! me, if you but only knewThe toil of setting out to hewFrom words—as I shall try to do—A lyric verse.

Ah! me, if you but only knew

The toil of setting out to hew

From words—as I shall try to do—

A lyric verse.

Fleet metric ghosts I must pursue,And dim rhyme apparitions, too—But yet, 'tis joyfully I scan,And reckon rhymes and think and planFor there's no cheaper present thanA lyric verse.

Fleet metric ghosts I must pursue,

And dim rhyme apparitions, too—

But yet, 'tis joyfully I scan,

And reckon rhymes and think and plan

For there's no cheaper present than

A lyric verse.

THE RHYMES OF MISTRESS DOROTHY

Bemauled by ev'ry hurrying churlAnd deafened by the city's brawl,A helm-less craft I helpless swirlAdown the street.With battered hat I trip and sprawlAnd like a toy tee-to-tum swirl,To end my strugglings with a fall—But what care I for knock and whirl?—Egad! I heed them not at all;For here comes Dolly—sweetheart girl!—Adown the street!

Bemauled by ev'ry hurrying churlAnd deafened by the city's brawl,A helm-less craft I helpless swirlAdown the street.

Bemauled by ev'ry hurrying churl

And deafened by the city's brawl,

A helm-less craft I helpless swirl

Adown the street.

With battered hat I trip and sprawlAnd like a toy tee-to-tum swirl,To end my strugglings with a fall—

With battered hat I trip and sprawl

And like a toy tee-to-tum swirl,

To end my strugglings with a fall—

But what care I for knock and whirl?—Egad! I heed them not at all;For here comes Dolly—sweetheart girl!—Adown the street!

But what care I for knock and whirl?—

Egad! I heed them not at all;

For here comes Dolly—sweetheart girl!—

Adown the street!

The light that lies in Dolly's eyesIs sun and moon and stars to me;It dims the splendor of the skies—The light that lies in Dolly's eyes—And me-ward shining, testifiesThat Dolly's mine, fore'er to be—The light that lies in Dolly's eyesIs sun and moon and stars to me!

The light that lies in Dolly's eyes

Is sun and moon and stars to me;

It dims the splendor of the skies—

The light that lies in Dolly's eyes—

And me-ward shining, testifies

That Dolly's mine, fore'er to be—

The light that lies in Dolly's eyes

Is sun and moon and stars to me!

Oh, Dolly is my treasury—What more of wealth could I desire?Her lips are rubies set for me,And there between (sweet property!)A string of pearls to smiles conspire;With Dolly as my treasury,What more of wealth could I desire?And when have men of alchemyYet dreamed of gems like those I seeIn Dolly's eyes, as flashing fire,They bid the envious world admire?—Oh, Dolly is my treasury!What more of wealth could I desire?And then her hair!—there cannot beSuch gold beyond the Purple SeaAs this of mine—unpriced and free!Oh, Dolly is my treasury,My sweetheart and my heart's desire!

Oh, Dolly is my treasury—

What more of wealth could I desire?

Her lips are rubies set for me,

And there between (sweet property!)

A string of pearls to smiles conspire;

With Dolly as my treasury,

What more of wealth could I desire?

And when have men of alchemyYet dreamed of gems like those I seeIn Dolly's eyes, as flashing fire,They bid the envious world admire?—Oh, Dolly is my treasury!What more of wealth could I desire?

And when have men of alchemy

Yet dreamed of gems like those I see

In Dolly's eyes, as flashing fire,

They bid the envious world admire?—

Oh, Dolly is my treasury!

What more of wealth could I desire?

And then her hair!—there cannot beSuch gold beyond the Purple SeaAs this of mine—unpriced and free!Oh, Dolly is my treasury,My sweetheart and my heart's desire!

And then her hair!—there cannot be

Such gold beyond the Purple Sea

As this of mine—unpriced and free!

Oh, Dolly is my treasury,

My sweetheart and my heart's desire!

Few roses like your cheeks are red,Few lilies like your brow are fair;Few vassals like your slave are led,Few roses like your cheeks are red,Few dangers like your frown I dread;Few rubies to your lips compare,Few roses like your cheeks are red,Few lilies like your brow are fair.

Few roses like your cheeks are red,

Few lilies like your brow are fair;

Few vassals like your slave are led,

Few roses like your cheeks are red,

Few dangers like your frown I dread;

Few rubies to your lips compare,

Few roses like your cheeks are red,

Few lilies like your brow are fair.

A RONDEAU OF TWO HOURS

“It's a cinch.”—Plato.

From four to six milady fairIs chic and sweet and debonair,For then it is, with smiles and tea,She fills the chappy mob with glee(The jays but come to drink and stare).A rose is nestled in her hair,Like Cupid lurking in his lair—Few of the jays remain heart freeFrom four to six.Oh let them come—I would not careIf all the men on earth were there;For when they go she smiles on me,And, just because she loves me, sheMakes all the ringers take their shareFrom four to six.

From four to six milady fairIs chic and sweet and debonair,For then it is, with smiles and tea,She fills the chappy mob with glee(The jays but come to drink and stare).

From four to six milady fair

Is chic and sweet and debonair,

For then it is, with smiles and tea,

She fills the chappy mob with glee

(The jays but come to drink and stare).

A rose is nestled in her hair,Like Cupid lurking in his lair—Few of the jays remain heart freeFrom four to six.

A rose is nestled in her hair,

Like Cupid lurking in his lair—

Few of the jays remain heart free

From four to six.

Oh let them come—I would not careIf all the men on earth were there;For when they go she smiles on me,And, just because she loves me, sheMakes all the ringers take their shareFrom four to six.

Oh let them come—I would not care

If all the men on earth were there;

For when they go she smiles on me,

And, just because she loves me, she

Makes all the ringers take their share

From four to six.

AN ANTE-CHRISTMAS RONDEAU

“'Tis a sad story, mates.”—Marie Corelli.

It's up to me—the winds are chillAnd snow clouds drift from o'er the hill,At dawn the rime is on the grass,At five o'clock we light the gas,And long gone is the daffodil.Jack Frost draws flowers upon the glassAnd blasts the growing ones—alas!Whene'er he comes to scar and kill,It's up to me.I run not in the croaker class,But when I see the autumn pass,Of crushing woes I have my fill—To buy a Christmas gift for JillA horde of gold I must amass—It's up to me.

It's up to me—the winds are chillAnd snow clouds drift from o'er the hill,At dawn the rime is on the grass,At five o'clock we light the gas,And long gone is the daffodil.

It's up to me—the winds are chill

And snow clouds drift from o'er the hill,

At dawn the rime is on the grass,

At five o'clock we light the gas,

And long gone is the daffodil.

Jack Frost draws flowers upon the glassAnd blasts the growing ones—alas!Whene'er he comes to scar and kill,It's up to me.

Jack Frost draws flowers upon the glass

And blasts the growing ones—alas!

Whene'er he comes to scar and kill,

It's up to me.

I run not in the croaker class,But when I see the autumn pass,Of crushing woes I have my fill—To buy a Christmas gift for JillA horde of gold I must amass—It's up to me.

I run not in the croaker class,

But when I see the autumn pass,

Of crushing woes I have my fill—

To buy a Christmas gift for Jill

A horde of gold I must amass—

It's up to me.

ROUNDEL

If love were all and we could cheatAll gods but Cupid of their due,Our joy in life would be complete.We'd only live that we might woo,(Instead, as now, that we might eat,)And ev'ry lover would be true,—If love were all.Yet, if we found our bread and meatIn kisses it would please but few,Soon life would grow a cloying sweet,If love were all.

If love were all and we could cheatAll gods but Cupid of their due,Our joy in life would be complete.

If love were all and we could cheat

All gods but Cupid of their due,

Our joy in life would be complete.

We'd only live that we might woo,(Instead, as now, that we might eat,)And ev'ry lover would be true,—If love were all.

We'd only live that we might woo,

(Instead, as now, that we might eat,)

And ev'ry lover would be true,—

If love were all.

Yet, if we found our bread and meatIn kisses it would please but few,Soon life would grow a cloying sweet,If love were all.

Yet, if we found our bread and meat

In kisses it would please but few,

Soon life would grow a cloying sweet,

If love were all.

IN VAUDEVILLE

In vaudeville the elder jestRemains the one that's loved the best;For 'tis the custom of the stageTo venerate and honor ageAnd look upon the old as blest.Originality's a pestThat artist's labor hard to best—Conservatism is the rageIn vaudeville.The artist's arms are here expressed:A slapstick argent as a crest(It is an ancient heritage),A seltzer siphon gules—the wageOf newness is a lengthy restIn vaudeville.

In vaudeville the elder jestRemains the one that's loved the best;For 'tis the custom of the stageTo venerate and honor ageAnd look upon the old as blest.

In vaudeville the elder jest

Remains the one that's loved the best;

For 'tis the custom of the stage

To venerate and honor age

And look upon the old as blest.

Originality's a pestThat artist's labor hard to best—Conservatism is the rageIn vaudeville.

Originality's a pest

That artist's labor hard to best—

Conservatism is the rage

In vaudeville.

The artist's arms are here expressed:A slapstick argent as a crest(It is an ancient heritage),A seltzer siphon gules—the wageOf newness is a lengthy restIn vaudeville.

The artist's arms are here expressed:

A slapstick argent as a crest

(It is an ancient heritage),

A seltzer siphon gules—the wage

Of newness is a lengthy rest

In vaudeville.

THE RONDEAU OF RICHES

If I were rich and had a storeOf gold doubloons and louis d'or—A treasure for a pirate crew—Then I would spend it all for you—My heart's delight and conqueror!About your feet upon the floor,Ten thousand rubies I would pour—Regardless of expense, I'd wooIf I were rich.But as I'm not, I can but soarMid fancy's heights and ponder o'erThe things that I would like to do;And as I pass them in reviewIt strikes me that you'd love me moreIf I were rich.

If I were rich and had a storeOf gold doubloons and louis d'or—A treasure for a pirate crew—Then I would spend it all for you—My heart's delight and conqueror!

If I were rich and had a store

Of gold doubloons and louis d'or—

A treasure for a pirate crew—

Then I would spend it all for you—

My heart's delight and conqueror!

About your feet upon the floor,Ten thousand rubies I would pour—Regardless of expense, I'd wooIf I were rich.

About your feet upon the floor,

Ten thousand rubies I would pour—

Regardless of expense, I'd woo

If I were rich.

But as I'm not, I can but soarMid fancy's heights and ponder o'erThe things that I would like to do;And as I pass them in reviewIt strikes me that you'd love me moreIf I were rich.

But as I'm not, I can but soar

Mid fancy's heights and ponder o'er

The things that I would like to do;

And as I pass them in review

It strikes me that you'd love me more

If I were rich.

IN EATING SOUP

In eating soup, it's always wellTo make an effort to excelThe unregenerate who sopWith bread the last surviving dropAs if to them but one befell.And if it burn you do not yell,Or stamp or storm or say “Oh!——well!”—From social grandeur you may flopIn eating soup.And if the appetizing smellUpon you cast a witch's spell,To drain your plate pray do not stop,And please, I pray you, do not slop!A gurgling sound's a social knellIn eating soup.

In eating soup, it's always wellTo make an effort to excelThe unregenerate who sopWith bread the last surviving dropAs if to them but one befell.

In eating soup, it's always well

To make an effort to excel

The unregenerate who sop

With bread the last surviving drop

As if to them but one befell.

And if it burn you do not yell,Or stamp or storm or say “Oh!——well!”—From social grandeur you may flopIn eating soup.

And if it burn you do not yell,

Or stamp or storm or say “Oh!——well!”—

From social grandeur you may flop

In eating soup.

And if the appetizing smellUpon you cast a witch's spell,To drain your plate pray do not stop,And please, I pray you, do not slop!A gurgling sound's a social knellIn eating soup.

And if the appetizing smell

Upon you cast a witch's spell,

To drain your plate pray do not stop,

And please, I pray you, do not slop!

A gurgling sound's a social knell

In eating soup.

LOVE AND THE ROSE

The thorn lives but to shield the rose;Coquetry may but shelter love!(This consolation Hope bestows).The thorn lives but to shield the rose;Though blood from many a thorn wound flowsI'll pluck the rose that blows above—The thorn lives but to shield the rose,Coquetry may but shelter love!Love me more or not at all,Half a rose is less than none;Hear the wretch you hold in thrall!Love me more or not at all!Dilletante love will pall,I would have you wholly won;—Love me more or not at all;Half a rose is less than none!

The thorn lives but to shield the rose;

Coquetry may but shelter love!

(This consolation Hope bestows).

The thorn lives but to shield the rose;

Though blood from many a thorn wound flows

I'll pluck the rose that blows above—

The thorn lives but to shield the rose,

Coquetry may but shelter love!

Love me more or not at all,Half a rose is less than none;Hear the wretch you hold in thrall!Love me more or not at all!Dilletante love will pall,I would have you wholly won;—Love me more or not at all;Half a rose is less than none!

Love me more or not at all,

Half a rose is less than none;

Hear the wretch you hold in thrall!

Love me more or not at all!

Dilletante love will pall,

I would have you wholly won;—

Love me more or not at all;

Half a rose is less than none!

A RONDEAU OF STATESMANSHIP

In politics it's funny howA man may tell you one thing nowAnd say tomorrow that he meantTo voice a different sentimentAnd vow a very different vow.The writ and spoken laws allowEach individual to endowHis words with underground intentIn politics.Thus he who leads in verbal prow-Ness sports the laurel on his brow—So if you wish to representThe acme of the eminent,Learning lying ere you make your bowIn politics.

In politics it's funny howA man may tell you one thing nowAnd say tomorrow that he meantTo voice a different sentimentAnd vow a very different vow.

In politics it's funny how

A man may tell you one thing now

And say tomorrow that he meant

To voice a different sentiment

And vow a very different vow.

The writ and spoken laws allowEach individual to endowHis words with underground intentIn politics.

The writ and spoken laws allow

Each individual to endow

His words with underground intent

In politics.

Thus he who leads in verbal prow-Ness sports the laurel on his brow—So if you wish to representThe acme of the eminent,Learning lying ere you make your bowIn politics.

Thus he who leads in verbal prow-

Ness sports the laurel on his brow—

So if you wish to represent

The acme of the eminent,

Learning lying ere you make your bow

In politics.

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