People will think I"m gone away; But, dear, I shall be seeing you.
People will say that I am dead; But we"ll pluck roses white and red: People will think I"m lost for aye; But we"ll pluck roses, you and I.
All the little daily incidents are beautified by love. Here is a lover who thanks the mason for making his window so close upon the road that he can see his sweetheart as she pa.s.ses (p. 118):--
Blest be the mason"s hand who built This house of mine by the roadside, And made my window low and wide For me to watch my love go by.
And if I knew when she went by, My window should be fairly gilt; And if I knew what time she went, My window should be flower-besprent.
Here is a conceit which reminds one of the pretty epistle of Philostratus, in which the footsteps of the beloved are called _[Greek: erereismena philempta]_ (p. 117):--
What time I see you pa.s.sing by; I sit and count the steps you take: You take the steps; I sit and sigh: Step after step, my sighs awake.
Tell me, dear love, which more abound, My sighs or your steps on the ground?
Tell me, dear love, which are the most, Your light steps or the sighs they cost?
A girl complains that she cannot see her lover"s house (p. 117):-
I lean upon the lattice, and look forth To see the house where my lover dwells.
There grows an envious tree that spoils my mirth: Cursed be the man who set it on these hills!
But when those jealous boughs are all unclad, I then shall see the cottage of my lad: When once that tree is rooted from the hills, I"ll see the house wherein my lover dwells.
In the same mood a girl who has just parted from her sweetheart is angry with the hill beyond which he is travelling (p. 167):--
I see and see, yet see not what I would: I see the leaves atremble on the tree: I saw my love where on the hill he stood, Yet see him not drop downward to the lea.
O traitor hill, what will you do?
I ask him, live or dead, from you.
O traitor hill, what shall it be?
I ask him, live or dead, from thee.
All the songs of love in absence are very quaint. Here is one which calls our nursery rhymes to mind (p. 119):--
I would I were a bird so free, That I had wings to fly away: Unto that window I would flee, Where stands my love and grinds all day.
Grind, miller, grind; the water"s deep!
I cannot grind; love makes me weep.
Grind, miller, grind; the waters flow!
I cannot grind; love wastes me so.
The next begins after the same fashion, but breaks into a very shower of benedictions (p. 118):--
Would G.o.d I were a swallow free, That I had wings to fly away: Upon the miller"s door I"d be, Where stands my love and grinds all day: Upon the door, upon the sill, Where stays my love;--G.o.d bless him still!
G.o.d bless my love, and blessed be His house, and bless my house for me; Yea, blest be both, and ever blest My lover"s house, and all the rest!
The girl alone at home in her garden sees a wood-dove flying by and calls to it (p. 179):--
O dove, who fliest far to yonder hill, Dear dove, who in the rock hast made thy nest, Let me a feather from thy pinion pull, For I will write to him who loves me best.
And when I"ve written it and made it clear, I"ll give thee back thy feather, dove so dear: And when I"ve written it and sealed it, then I"ll give thee back thy feather love-laden.
A swallow is asked to lend the same kind service (p. 179):--
O swallow, swallow, flying through the air, Turn, turn, I prithee, from thy flight above!
Give me one feather from thy wing so fair, For I will write a letter to my love.
When I have written it and made it clear, I"ll give thee back thy feather, swallow dear; When I have written it on paper white, I"ll make, I swear, thy missing feather right; When once "tis written on fair leaves of gold, I"ll give thee back thy wing and flight so bold.
Long before Tennyson"s song in the "Princess," it would seem that swallows were favourite messengers of love. In the next song which I translate, the repet.i.tion of one thought with delicate variation is full of character (p. 178):--
O swallow, flying over hill and plain, If thou shouldst find my love, oh bid him come!
And tell him, on these mountains I remain Even as a lamb who cannot find her home: And tell him, I am left all, all alone, Even as a tree whose flowers are overblown: And tell him, I am left without a mate Even as a tree whose boughs are desolate: And tell him, I am left uncomforted Even as the gra.s.s upon the meadows dead.
The following is spoken by a girl who has been watching the lads of the village returning from their autumn service in the plain, and whose damo comes the last of all (p. 240):--
O dear my love, you come too late!
What found you by the way to do?
I saw your comrades pa.s.s the gate, But yet not you, dear heart, not you!
If but a little more you"d stayed, With sighs you would have found me dead; If but a while you"d keep me crying, With sighs you would have found me dying.
The _amantium irae_ find a place too in these rustic ditties. A girl explains to her sweetheart (p. 240):--
"Twas told me and vouchsafed for true, Your kin are wroth as wroth can be; For loving me they swear at you, They swear at you because of me; Your father, mother, all your folk, Because you love me, chafe and choke!
Then set your kith and kin at ease; Set them at ease and let me die: Set the whole clan of them at ease; Set them at ease and see me die!
Another suspects that her damo has paid his suit to a rival (p.
200):--
On Sunday morning well I knew Where gaily dressed you turned your feet; And there were many saw it too, And came to tell me through the street: And when they spoke, I smiled, ah me!
But in my room wept privately; And when they spoke, I sang for pride, But in my room alone I sighed.
Then come reconciliations (p. 223):--
Let us make peace, my love, my bliss!
For cruel strife can last no more.
If you say nay, yet I say yes: "Twixt me and you there is no war.
Princes and mighty lords make peace; And so may lovers twain, I wis: Princes and soldiers sign a truce; And so may two sweethearts like us: Princes and potentates agree; And so may friends like you and me.
There is much character about the following, which is spoken by the damo (p. 223):--
As yonder mountain height I trod, I chanced to think of your dear name; I knelt with clasped hands on the sod, And thought of my neglect with shame: I knelt upon the stone, and swore Our love should bloom as heretofore.
Sometimes the language of affection takes a more imaginative tone, as in the following (p. 232):--
Dearest, what time you mount to heaven above, I"ll meet you holding in my hand my heart: You to your breast shall clasp me full of love, And I will lead you to our Lord apart.
Our Lord, when he our love so true hath known, Shall make of our two hearts one heart alone; One heart shall make of our two hearts, to rest In heaven amid the splendours of the blest.
This was the woman"s. Here is the man"s (p. 113):--
If I were master of all loveliness, I"d make thee still more lovely than thou art: If I were master of all wealthiness, Much gold and silver should be thine, sweetheart: If I were master of the house of h.e.l.l, I"d bar the brazen gates in thy sweet face; Or ruled the place where purging spirits dwell, I"d free thee from that punishment apace.
Were I in paradise and thou shouldst come, I"d stand aside, my love, to make thee room; Were I in paradise, well seated there, I"d quit my place to give it thee, my fair!
Sometimes, but very rarely, weird images are sought to clothe pa.s.sion, as in the following (p. 136):--