What is to come we know not. But we know That 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 care What 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 dare And we can conquer, though we may not share In the rich quiet of the afterglow What is to come.

(W. E. HENLEY: _What is to Come._)

A man must live! We justify Low 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 why Life 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-cry From 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 ear A 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_, in _A 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, riming _aba, bab, aba_, the refrain riming also with the _b_ lines.

C.--THE VILLANELLE

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 const.i.tute 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 is _aba_, of the conclusion _abaa_. 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's _Les Villanelles_, Paris, 1878. The modern development of the villanelle has been largely influenced by the work of Pa.s.serat (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 apres elle.

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

Si ton amour est fidele, Aussy est ferme ma foy; Je veux aller apres elle.

Ta plainte se renouvelle?

Toujours plaindre je me doy: J'ay perdu ma tourterelle.

En ne voyant plus la belle Plus rien de beau je ne voy: Je veux aller apres elle.

Mort, que tant de fois j'apelle, Prens ce que se donne a toy: J'ai perdu ma tourterelle.

Je veux aller apres elle.

(JEAN Pa.s.sERAT: _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 shy When I saw you last, Rose!

In your bosom it shows There'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 pa.s.sing well.

A double-clappered silver bell That 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 pa.s.sing well.

You must not ask of it the swell Of organs grandiose and sublime-- A dainty thing's the Villanelle;

And, filled with sweetness, as a sh.e.l.l Is filled with sound, and launched in time, It serves its purpose pa.s.sing well.

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

(W. E. HENLEY: _Villanelle._)

Wouldst thou not be content to die When low-hung fruit is hardly clinging And golden Autumn pa.s.ses 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 high Out of the m.u.f.fled earth are springing, And golden Autumn pa.s.ses 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 cry His cruel icy bondage bringing, When golden Autumn hath pa.s.sed by;

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

(EDMUND GOSSE: _Villanelle._)