Part 6

As though this feat in rhyming were not complex enough, a double sestina of twelve verses of twelve lines has been sometimes written. There are two, at least, of these _tours de force_ in English--one, "The Complaint of Lisa," in Mr. Swinburne's _Poems and Ballads_, Second Series; another, by Mr. George Barlow, in _A Life's Love_, entitled "Alone." It was hoped to include these, but the required space in this little book would have excluded so many specimens of smaller poems, that the desire to make this collection as widely varied and representative as possible forbade their quotation.

THE TRIOLET, as we know it, may be regarded as almost an epitome of the other forms, in its limited space. It introduces one refrain three times, and the second refrain twice, keeps strictly to two rhymes, and is inflexible in its laws, brief though it be. One poet says of it, "It is charming--nothing can be more ingeniously mischievous, more playfully sly, than this tiny trill of epigrammatic melody turning so simply upon its own innocent axis." Those who are unaware of the rules that govern this little stanza, yet often fall in love with the verse itself, possibly because a good example has a pretty sequence of sound, that allures the ear by its musical jingle, and reads like a spontaneous and easy impromptu. Nevertheless, the subtle art needed to acquire the ease that is the charm of a good triolet is generally the result of infinite care. Few things are more simple than to write a triolet--of a sort--yet the triolet affords so little space to explain its motif, and within its five lines must tell its story, and also carry the three other repeated ones easily, and with a definite meaning. To introduce the refrain naturally as the only thing to say, and yet with an air of freshness and an unexpected recognition of a phrase heard before, is in itself no mean difficulty, even in the ballade and rondeau; but when it comes three times in eight lines, and has a second line attached to it on its first and last appearance, it is a matter of small wonder that the successful triolets are not very numerous. That the ideally perfect triolet is as yet unwritten, or at least represented by very few, it may be urged; but if that be true, it should only provoke more attempts, one would fancy. It might be pertinent to ask, if this is the chief objection, how many ideally perfect poems in any set shape, or in free form, the world acknowledges?

The triolet consists (to quote Mr. Dobson) of _eight_ lines with _two_ rhymes. The first pair of lines are repeated as the seventh and eighth, while the first is repeated as the fourth. The order of the rhymes is thus as follows:--a. b. a. a. a. b. a. b. The example (on page 214) by--of all persons in the world--a grave French magistrate, Jacques Ranchin, has been christened by Ménage the "King of _Triolets_."

The first triolet known is in the Cléomadés of Adenèz-le-Roi (1258-1297), a poem of 20,000 verses. In old examples the triolet was devoted to grave verse, but, as M. de Gramont shows, it has now not only abandoned the old ten syllable lines, and is written in those of eight and often six syllables, but from the elegiac dignity of its former subjects, it has become in French verse the form especially devoted to the most ephemeral and trivial subjects. Since M. de Banville renewed its use, triolets are common in French newspapers, and with all due deference be it said--possibly only thereby exposing my own ignorance of the subtle charm conveyed to their readers by their "argot" and "idiom"--as inferior as they are plentiful. There is one, however, that has justly won great favour since its appearance in _Odes Funnambulesques_ of M. Theodore de Banville.

These two French examples (on page 214) are hackneyed by frequent quotation, but are so generally regarded as the most successful of their class that it seemed best not to omit them, nor this one by Froissart, given in most authorities, and called a rondeau by the writer (rondel, rondeau, and triolet being evidently regarded as but one form in his day--the beginning of the fifteenth century), and the modern grouping completely unknown:--

Mon coer s'esbat en oudourant la rose Et s'esjoïst en regardant ma dame. Trop mieulz me vault l'une que l'autre chose, Mon coer s'esbat en oudourant la rose, L'oudour m'est bon, mès dou regart je n'ose Juer trop fort, je le vous jur par m'ame Mon coer s'esbat en oudourant la rose Et s'esjoïst en regardant ma dame.

--_Froissart._

The weak point of the Triolet being the monotony of its refrain, every attempt, at giving a new accent to the words, short of actual punning, is welcomed as a relief. There is an air composed by Charles Delioux, to which all triolets in the pure form may be sung. De Banville quotes the melody in his "Odes Funnambulesques." Most people who have attempted to make rhymes know that when once a haunting melody gains control the words and sentences will try and fit themselves to it; so perhaps a would-be writer of triolets could secure correct form by learning this tune and writing his triolets to it. It is quite certain that this alone would not ensure a good poem, but it might keep one to the usual rhythm and exact number of syllables, with the correct musical accent, singularly near, if not identical, with the poetical one, when properly used. A quaint example found by Mr. Dobson in an old French play is given on page 214, as it has not hitherto been printed in England.

The VILLANELLE has been called "the most ravishing jewel worn by the Muse Erato." The large number of Villanelles in modern English was the most unexpected find that came to light in the course of collecting material for the present volume. Many of these fulfil a condition now held strictly binding, since promulgated by Joseph Boulmier in his own Villanelles--that is, that their length should imitate the example of Jean Passerat's famous model, and be complete in nineteen lines. The rules sound simple, and the result must read easily; but the ease is only to be attained by an elaborate amount of care in production, which those who read only would hardly suspect existed. The accepted model for all to follow will be found on page 242. The example that follows is an interesting translation by Boulmier of Mr. Dobson's Villanelle, "When I saw you last, Rose," first printed by his permission in _Longman's Magazine_ (under the heading "At the Sign of the Ship") for July 1887:--

ROSE.

Vous étiez encore petite Rose, la dernière fois... Dieu! que le temps passe vite.

Fleur innocente qu'abrite Tendrement l'ombre des bois Vous étiez encore petite.

Et déjà la marguerite Va s'effeuillant sous vos doigts... Dieu! que le temps passe vite!

Oh, comme se précipite La vie. A peine j'y crois... Vous étiez encor petite.

Dans votre sein qui palpite Se glisse un hôte sournois... Dieu! que le temps passe vite.

Chez vous Cupidon s'invite: Adieu la paix d'autrefois! Vous étiez encore petite: Dieu! que le temps passe vite!

The Villanelle is written in five three-lined stanzas, concluding with one of four lines. It will be seen that the refrain occupies eight of the nineteen lines, and is of paramount importance; taken from the first and third line of the first stanza, the two supply alternately the last lines from the second to the fifth verse, and both conclude the quatrain which ends the villanelle. Two rhymes only are allowed. The refrains must repeat in the order quoted in the example, the first refrain to conclude the second and fifth stanzas, the second refrain for the first, third, and fifth, and both for the sixth.

"The primitive _Villanelle_ was, in truth, a 'shepherd's song,' and, according to custom, its 'thoughts should be full of sweetness and simplicity,'" a hint given in a "Note on some Foreign Forms of Verse" that has been taken to heart by later writers, who almost invariably select pastoral or idyllic subjects for this most artificial but dainty lyric. Mr. Joseph Boulmier's "_Les Villanelles_," Paris, 1878, contains a valuable essay on the history and construction of the poem, and a series of forty original Villanelles, with twenty-two other poems, all of singular beauty.

The LAI and the VIRELAI are so nearly related that they must be considered together. De Gramont says, that the _lai_ has been unused since the earliest days in French poetry, but as it is invariably quoted in all treatises on the art, he prints a seventeenth century one, evidently written as a specimen to illustrate its laws. De Banville cites the following by Pere Mourgues, from his _Traité de la Poesie_:--

LAI.

Sur l'appui du Monde Que faut-il qu'on fonde D'espoir? Cette mer profonde Et débris féconde Fait voir Calme au matin l'onde; Et l'orage y gronde Le Soir.

As no examples of the Lai are included in this volume, by the courtesy of the author I am allowed to quote the following:--

FROM OVERSEA.

From oversea-- Violets, for memories, I send to thee.

Let them bear thought of me, With pleasant memories To touch the heart of thee, Far oversea.

A little way it is for love to flee, Love wing'd with memories, Hither to thither oversea.

--_William Sharp._

In the French example the form is seen to be composed of couplets of five syllable lines, all on the same rhyme, separated by single lines of two syllables, also on one rhyme throughout the stanza, which therefore employs but two rhymes. The number of lines in each verse was not fixed, nor the number of verses in the complete poem. The LAI has preserved a curious old tradition in the form it appears either in writing or print. As in the verse quoted, the first letter of each line begins exactly under the preceding one; not with the short line indented--that is coming under the middle of the larger ones--usual in other poems composed of lines of irregular length. This detail was called _Arbre fourchu_ (a forked tree), from the fanciful resemblance of a trunk with bare branches projecting, found by imaginative persons in its appearance on paper.

In the Lai each fresh stanza of the poem has its own two rhyme sounds, without reference to the preceding ones. By curtailing this liberty, and compelling each succeeding stanza to take the rhyme for its longer lines, from the short line of the preceding verse the Virelai is produced.

The VIRELAI (ancien) is a lai that preserves a sequence of rhymes throughout. For example, in a twelve-line stanza the rhymes are A. A. b. A. A. b. A. A. b. A. A. b. (the long lines being marked by capital letters, and the shorter by small ones). Therefore, to follow the rules of the virelai, the next verse must have its rhymes B. B. c. B. B. c. B. B. c. B. B. c., and the next C. C. d. C. C. d., and so on until the last verse (taking seven verses for an example) would have G. G. a. G. G. a. G. G. a. G. G. a., its short lines rhyming with the two first lines of the poem. Thus each rhyme appears twice, once in its longer couplets, once in the short single lines. In the English examples this rule is preserved, but the length of the lines are frequently varied.

The VIRELAI (Rhythme d'Alain Chartier) by Boulmier may be quoted as a form yet unused (I believe) in England.

Triste remembrance! Hé! Dieu! quand i'y pense Ce m'est grand penance: Las! de ma iouuence A passé la flour.

Sanz doubter meschance, Bercé d'esperance Plain de desirance Auecq Oubliance Ay faict long seiour.

Nice troubadour Assoty pastour Serf ie feus d' Amour Mais de ma folour Ie n' ay repentance.

Ouyl, maugré Doulour Bel Aage engignour En moy fay retour, Ne fust-ce qu'vng iour... Et ie recommence.

The rhymes are a, a, a, a, b; a, a, a, b; b, b, b, b, a; b, b, b, b, a. As but one example has come to notice, so it must speak for itself, for it would be unfair to deduce rules from a single specimen. Before leaving this heading there is another form, the _Virelai nouveau_, singularly unlike its name. It is curious that both the Rondeau Redoublé and this one, masquerading under the names of well-known forms, should be each unlike their unqualified title, and yet so nearly akin to the other.

The _Virelai nouveau_ is written throughout in two rhymes. Like the _rondeau redoublé_, its first stanza serves as refrain for the later ones, but its initial verse is but a couplet, and the two lines close each stanza alternately until the last, where they appear both together, but in inverse order. Unfortunately, space forbids an example being quoted in its complete length. The one usually chosen is "Le Rimeur Rebuté;" this commences with the couplet--

Adieu vous dy, triste Lyre, C'est trop apprêter à rire.

Then follows a five-line stanza, rhyming a, a, b, a, a, with "Adieu vous dy," etc., for its last line; then an eight-lined one rhymed a, b, a, a, b, a, b, a, the last line being "_C'est trop_," etc.; that is followed by a four-line one closing with first line; then a sixteen-line one, using the second line for its refrain; then a seventeen-line one, with first line ending it; and finally a five-line stanza, its last lines being--

C'est trop apprêter à rire, Adieu vous dy, triste lyre.

If this description conveys its intended meaning, it will be seen that the verses are singularly irregular in form, and choose both the order of the rhymes and the length of the verses exactly at the will of the poet; but each paragraph must not only use its proper refrain to close with, but must bring it in naturally and easily as an inherent part of the verse. The last two lines in the inverted order must also be worked in with equal skill. Excepting one by Mr. Austin Dobson, that appeared in _Evening Hours_ about 1878, this form has been unused, or at least unpublished, in English verse.

* * * * *

The poems in the following collections have been chosen for several reasons--some for their intrinsic excellence, some as examples of pure form, some for their bold attempts to produce variations from the typical models. There has been no limit to the subjects, since the purpose was to give a representative group of the rhythms, treated in the most diverse ways. Even burlesque and diatribe of the use of the forms, masquerading in guise of the enemy they professed to attack, have been welcomed, as the points of the construction of the verse are often seen more clearly in such examples. For similar reasons the parody of the pioneer Ballade, Mr. Austin Dobson's _Prodigals_, is quoted, since the doubtful honour of parody is at least a proof of wide popularity, the only others marked in this way being Mr. Swinburne's '_Dreamland_' and Mr. Lang's '_Primitive Man_.' Here, too, in default of a better place, it may be noted that Mr. Henley's 'Villonism' is not an imitation of the incomprehensible ballades in 'Jargon' or 'Jobelin,' but a paraphrase in thieves' patter of to-day of Villon's _Ballade of Good Counsel_.

It may be that such a medley of themes handled in so many different ways, was never of set purpose grouped side by side before, but is to be hoped that a method in the madness will be found. While conscious of a few noteworthy examples, Rossetti's _Translations from Villon_ to wit, being not included for reasons beyond my control, so it may be that one or two here inserted would have been replaced by later comers, had they not gone to the printer's eternity of stereotype. Started as a collection, but turned perforce to a selection, from the increasing number available, they yet do not aim so much at being a selection of the best work solely, as of the best and least-accessible examples. This explanation of the progress and purpose of the volume is offered in common fairness both to its readers and to those authors who have permitted their works to be included, also to those who by oversight or too late discovery on my part have no examples of their poetry included herein.

* * * * *

[Note to page xxxvi.--For Wyatt's Rondeaus, and alteration of the same into Sonnets by Tottel, in his _Miscellany_, 1557, see Mr. Austin Dobson's Note in the _Athenæum_.]

#The Ballade, The Double Ballade, and The Chant Royal.#

_Ballade en huitains d' octosyllabes._

Chant de May.

_En ce beau mois delicieux,_ _Arbres, fleurs et agriculture,_ _Qui, durant l' yver soucieux,_ _Avez esté en sepulture,_ _Sortez pour servir de pasture_ _Aux troupeaux du plus grand Pasteur:_ _Chacun de vous en sa nature,_ _Louez le nom de Createur._

_Les servans d' amour furieux_ _Parlent de l' amour vaine et dure,_ _Où vous, vrays amans curieux_ _Parlez de l' amour sans laidure._ _Allez aux champs sur la verdure_ _Ouir l' oyseau, parfait chanteur;_ _Mais du plaisir, si peu qu'il dure_ _Louez le nom de Createur._

_Quand vous verrez rire les Cieux_ _Et la terre en sa floriture,_ _Quand vous verrez devant vos yeux_ _Les eaux lui bailler nourriture,_ _Sur peine de grand forfaiture_ _Et d' estre larron et menteur,_ _N' en louez nulle creature,_ _Louez le nom de Createur._

Envoy.

_Prince, pensez, veu la facture,_ _Combien est puissant le facteur;_ _Et vous aussi, mon escriture,_ _Louez le nom de Createur._

--CLEMENT MAROT.

WHERE ARE THE PIPES OF PAN?

In these prosaic days Of politics and trade, Where seldom fancy lays Her touch on man or maid, The sounds are fled that strayed Along sweet streams that ran; Of song the world's afraid; Where are the Pipes of Pan?

Within the busy maze Wherein our feet are stayed, There roam no gleesome fays Like those which once repaid His sight who first essayed The stream of song to span, Those spirits are all laid. Where are the Pipes of Pan?

Dry now the poet's bays; Of song-robes disarrayed He hears not now the praise Which erst those won who played On pipes of rushes made, Before dull days began And love of song decayed. Where are the Pipes of Pan?

_Envoy._

Prince, all our pleasures fade; Vain all the toils of man; And fancy cries dismayed, Where are the Pipes of Pan?

OSCAR FAY ADAMS.

A BALLADE OF EVOLUTION.

In the mud of the Cambrian main Did our earliest ancestor dive: From a shapeless albuminous grain We mortals our being derive. He could split himself up into five, Or roll himself round like a ball; For the fittest will always survive, While the weakliest go to the wall.

As an active ascidian again Fresh forms he began to contrive, Till he grew to a fish with a brain, And brought forth a mammal alive. With his rivals he next had to strive, To woo him a mate and a thrall; So the handsomest managed to wive While the ugliest went to the wall.

At length as an ape he was fain The nuts of the forest to rive; Till he took to the low-lying plain, And proceeded his fellow to knive. Thus did cannibal men first arrive, One another to swallow and maul; And the strongest continued to thrive While the weakliest went to the wall.

_Envoy._

Prince, in our civilised hive Now money's the measure of all; And the wealthy in coaches can drive While the needier go to the wall.

GRANT ALLEN.

BALLADE OF SOLITUDE.

Thank Heaven, in these despondent days, I have at least one faithful friend, Who meekly listens to my lays, As o'er the darkened downs we wend. Nay, naught of mine may him offend; In sooth he is a courteous wight, His constancy needs no amend-- My shadow on a moonlight night.

Too proud to give me perjured praise, He hearkens as we onward tend, And ne'er disputes a doubtful phrase, Nor says he cannot comprehend. Might God such critics always send! He turns not to the left or right, But patient follows to the end-- My shadow on a moonlight night.

And if the public grant me bays, On him no jealousies descend; But through the midnight woodland ways, He velvet-footed will attend; Or where the chalk cliffs downward bend To meet the sea all silver-bright, There will he come, most reverend-- My shadow on a moonlight night.

_Envoy._

O wise companion, I commend Your grace in being silent quite; And envy with approval blend-- My shadow on a moonlight night.

WILLIAM BLACK.

A BALLADE OF BOTHERS.

From country, from coast and from city, From nowhere and goodness knows where, The visitors come without pity, There is not a corner to spare; And students with work to prepare Must charter a captive balloon And study aloft in the air, For the May Week has fallen in June.

The grinding of feet that are gritty So ceaseless on landing and stair; The notes of some drawing-room ditty Disturb the recluse in his lair And cause him to clutch at his hair As he toils in the hot afternoon; But nobody hears if he swear, For the May Week has fallen in June.

Then the damsels supposing its pretty Their art-curtain patterns to wear, And the youths who conceive they are witty, Came round to be stared at, and stare. And amateur buglers that blare, And singers that howl to the moon, Are more than the system can bear; For the May Week has fallen in June.

_Envoi._

Friend, do not be caught in the snare, And strive not to sing or to spoon, Your tripos is all your affair, For the May Week has fallen in June.

From the '_Cambridge Meteor._'

BALLADE OF BELIEF.

Says Herbert: Pray, list to my notion, All ye who the truth would invite; Be Agnostics, and spurn the emotion That ghosts and the gospels excite. In th' Unknown do I find all delight, And in Infinite Energy see All casual cravings unite-- And that's the religion for me.

Says Frederic: Pray list to _my_ notion, Away with Impersonal Might, To Humanity tender promotion, And worship the idëal wight. Though from stock that is Simian hight He may trace out a pure pedigree, Yet to Man will I anthems recite-- And that's the religion for me.

Says Wilfrid: Pray, list to _my_ notion, On the hip I will infidels smite; 'Tis only through Christian devotion That virtues with vices can fight. Whate'er may Theology write, Whatever the Church may decree, My soul shall acknowledge as right-- And that's the religion for me.

_Envoi._

(_Voice of the bewildered one._)

O faith full of riddle and rite, O philosophies deep as the sea, In this posse of problems polite, Prithee, where's the religion for me?

COTSFORD DICK.

BALLADE OF BURIAL.

The sunlight sways the summer sky, Quivers with breath each quicken'd blade, The birds with one another vie To move to mirth the grove and glade, While yonder solemn cavalcade Winds o'er the glebe in gloom august, Chanting a dead man's serenade, Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

A smile is mated to a sigh, One flashes ere the other fade, Farce arm-in-arm with tragedy, So struts the motley masquerade. Youth deems for joy the world is made, Till disappointment deals disgust, Disease defiles the last decade, Ashes to ashes, dust to dast.