[1] I owe the substance of this _lai_ to my friend Ezra Pound, who unearthed it, ?a??? e?????a p????, in some Provencal repertory.

THE SAINTS' MAYING

Since green earth is awake Let us now pastime take, Not serving wantonness Too well, nor n.i.g.g.ardness, Which monks of men would make.

But clothed like earth in green, With jocund hearts and clean, We will take hands and go Singing where quietly blow The flowers of Spring's demesne.

The cuckoo haileth loud The open sky; no cloud Doth fleck the earth's blue tent; The land laughs, well content To put off winter shroud.

Now, since 'tis Easter Day, All Christians may have play; The young Saints, all agaze For Christ in Heaven's maze, May laugh who wont to pray.

Then welcome to our round They light on homely ground:-- Agnes, Saint Cecily, Agatha, Dorothy, Margaret, Hildegonde;

Next come with Barbara Lucy and Ursula; And last, queen of the Nine, Clear-eyed Saint Catherine Joyful arrayeth her.

Then chooseth each her lad, And after frolic had Of dance and carolling And playing in a ring, Seek all the woodland shade.

And there for each his la.s.s Her man a nosegay has, Which better than word spoken Might stand to be her token And emblem of her grace.

For Cecily, who bent Her slim white neck and went To Heaven a virgin still, The nodding daffodil, That bends but is not shent.

Lucy, whose wounded eyes Opened in Heaven star-wise, The lady-smock, whose light Doth prank the gra.s.s with white, Taketh for badge and prize.

Because for Lord Christ's hest Men sh.o.r.e thy warm bright breast, Agatha, see thy part Showed in the burning heart Of the white crocus best.

What fate was Barbara's Shut in the tower of bra.s.s, We figure and hold up Within the stiff king-cup That crowns the meadow gra.s.s.

Agnes, than whose King Death Stayed no more delicate breath On earth, we give for dower Wood-sorrel, that frail flower That Spring first quickeneth.

Dorothy, whose shrill voice Bade Heathendom rejoice, The sweet-breath'd cowslip hath; And Margaret, who in death Saw Heaven, her pearly choice.

Then she of virgin brood Whom Prince of Britain woo'd, Ursula, takes by favour The hyacinth whose savour Enskies the sunny wood.

Hildegonde, whose spirit high The Cross did not deny, Yet blusht to feel the shame, Anemones must claim, Whose roses early die.

Last, she who gave in pledge Her neck to the wheel's edge, Taketh the fresh primrose Which (even as she her foes) Redeems the wintry hedge.

So garlanded, entwined, Each as may prompt her mind, The Saints renew for Earth And Heaven such seemly mirth As G.o.d once had design'd.

And when the day is done, And veil'd the goodly Sun, Each man his maid by right Doth kiss and bid Good-night; And home goes every one.

The maids to Heaven do hie To serve G.o.d soberly; The lads, their loves in Heaven, What lowly work is given They do, to win the sky.

_1896._

THE ARGIVE WOMEN[2]

CHTHONOe MYRTILLA RHODOPE PASIPHa.s.sA GORGO SITYS

SCENE

The women's house in the House of Paris in Troy.

TIME.--The Tenth year of the War.

_Helen's women are lying alone in the twilight hour. Chthonoe presently rises and throws a little incense upon the altar flame. Then she begins to speak to the Image of Aphrodite in a low and tired voice._

CHTHONOe

G.o.ddess of burning and little rest, By the hand swaying on thy breast, By glancing eye and slow sweet smile Tell me what long look or what guile Of thine it was that like a spear Pierced her heart, who caged me here In this close house, to be with her Mistress at once and prisoner!

Far from earth and her pleasant ways I lie, whose nights are as my days In this dim house, where on the wall I watch the shadows rise and fall And know not what is reckt or done By men and horses out in the sun, Nor heed their traffic, nor their cheer As forth they go or back, but hear The fountain plash into the pond, The brooding doves, and sighs of fond Lovers whose lips yearn as they sever For longer joy, joy such as never Hath man but in the mind. But what Men do without, that I know not Who see them but as shadows thrown Upon a screen. I see them blown Like clouds of flies about the plain Where the winds sweep them and make vain Their panoplies. They hem the verge Of this high wall to guard us--urge Galloping horses into war And meet in shock of battle, far Below us and our dreams: withal Ten years have past us in this thrall Since Helen came with eyes agleam To Troy, and trod the ways of dream.

GORGO

Men came about us, crying, "The Greeks!

Ships out at sea with high-held peaks Like questing birds!" But I lay still Kissing, nor turned.

RHODOPE

So I, until The herald broke into my sleep, Crying Agamemnon on the deep With ships from high Mykenai. Then I minded he was King of Men-- But not of women in the arms They loved.

MYRTILLA

I heard their shrill alarms Faint and far off, like an old fame.

Below this guarded house men came-- Chariots and horses clasht; they cried King Agamemnon in his pride, Or Hector, or young Diomede; But I was kissing, could not heed Aught save the eyes that held mine bound.

Anon a hush--anon the sound Of hooves resistless, pounding--a cry, "Achilles! Save yourselves!" But I-- Clinging I lay, and sighed in sign That love must weary at last, even mine-- Even mine, Sweetheart!

PASIPHa.s.sA

Who watcht when flared Lord Hector like a meteor, dared The high stockade and fired the ships?

I watcht his lips who had had my lips.