New Collected Rhymes

Andrew Lang

Andrew Lang

New Collected Rhymes

PREFACE

This poor little flutter of rhymes would not have been let down the wind: the project would have been abandoned but for the too flattering encouragement of a responsible friend. I trust that he may not “live to rue the day,” like Keith of Craigentolly in the ballad.

The “Loyal Lyrics” on Charles and James and the White Rose must not be understood as implying a rebellious desire for the subversion of the present illustrious dynasty.

“These are but symbols that I sing,

These names of Prince, and rose, and King;

Types of things dear that do not die,

But reign in loyal memory.

Across the water surely they

Abide their twenty-ninth of May;

And we shall hail their happy reign,

When Life comes to his own again,” —

over the water that divides us from the voices and faces of our desires and dreams.

Of the ballads, The Young Ruthven and The Queen of Spain were written in competition with the street minstrels of the close of the sixteenth century. The legend on which The Young Ruthven is based is well known; The Queen of Spain is the story of the Florencia, a ship of the Spanish Armada, wrecked in Tobermory Bay, as it was told to me by a mariner in the Sound of Mull. In Keith of Craigentolly the family and territorial names of the hero or villain are purposely altered, so as to avoid injuring susceptibilities and arousing unavailing regrets.

DEDICATORY

In Augustinum Dobson

Jam Rude Donatum

Dear Poet, now turned out to grass

(Like him who reigned in Babylon),

Forget the seasons overlaid

By business and the Board of Trade:

And sing of old-world lad and lass

As in the summers that are gone.

Back to the golden prime of Anne!

When you ambassador had been,

And brought o’er sea the King again,

Beatrix Esmond in his train,

Ah, happy bard to hold her fan,

And happy land with such a Queen!

We live too early, or too late,

You should have shared the pint of Pope,

And taught, well pleased, the shining shell

To murmur of the fair Lepel,

And changed the stars of St. John’s fate

To some more happy horoscope.

By duchesses with roses crowned,

And fed with chicken and champagne,

Urbane and witty, and too wary

To risk the feud of Lady Mary,

You should have walked the courtly ground

Of times that cannot come again.

Bring back these years in verse or prose,

(I very much prefer your verse!)

As on some Twenty-Ninth of May

Restore the splendour and the sway,

Forget the sins, the wars, the woes —

The joys alone must you rehearse.

Forget the dunces (there is none

So stupid as to snarl at you);

So may your years with pen and book

Run pleasant as an English brook

Through meadows floral in the sun,

And shadows fragrant of the dew.

And thus at ending of your span —

As all must end – the world shall say,

“His best he gave: he left us not

A line that saints could wish to blot,

For he was blameless, though a man,

And though the poet, he was gay!”

LOYAL LYRICS

How the Maid Marched from Blois

(Supposed to be narrated by James Power, or Polwarth, her Scottish banner-painter.)

The Maiden called for her great destrier,

But he lashed like a fiend when the Maid drew near:

“Lead him forth to the Cross!” she cried, and he stood

Like a steed of bronze by the Holy Rood!

Then I saw the Maiden mount and ride,

With a good steel sperthe that swung by her side,

And girt with the sword of the Heavenly Bride,

That is sained with crosses five for a sign,

The mystical sword of St. Catherine.

And the lily banner was blowing wide,

With the flowers of France on the field of fame

And, blent with the blossoms, the Holy Name!

And the Maiden’s blazon was shown on a shield,

Argent, a dove, on an azure field;

That banner was wrought by this hand, ye see,

For the love of the Maid and chivalry.

Her banner was borne by a page of grace,

With hair of gold, and a lady’s face;

And behind it the ran