ballads lyrics and poems of old france(古法兰西民抒情歌与诗集)

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Ballads and Lyrics of Old France: with Other Poems
1
Ballads and Lyrics of Old
France: with Other Poems
Andrew Lang
Ballads and Lyrics of Old France: with Other Poems
2
LIST OF POETS TRANSLATED
I. CHARLES D'ORLEANS, who has sometimes, for no very obvious
reason, been styled the father of French lyric poetry, was born in May,
1391. He was the son of Louis D'Orleans, the grandson of Charles V., and
the father of Louis XII. Captured at Agincourt, he was kept in England as
a prisoner from 1415 to 1440, when he returned to France, where he died
in 1465. His verses, for the most part roundels on two rhymes, are songs
of love and spring, and retain the allegorical forms of the Roman de la
Rose.
II. FRANCOIS VILLON, 1431-14-? Nothing is known of Villon's
birth or death, and only too much of his life. In his poems the ancient
forms of French verse are animated with the keenest sense of personal
emotion, of love, of melancholy, of mocking despair, and of repentance for
a life passed in taverns and prisons.
III. JOACHIM DU BELLAY, 1525-1560. The exact date of Du
Bellay's birth is unknown. He was certainly a little younger than Ronsard,
who was born in September, 1524, although an attempt has been made to
prove that his birth took place in 1525, as a compensation from Nature to
France for the battle of Pavia. As a poet Du Bellay had the start, by a few
mouths, of Ronsard; his RECUEIL was published in 1549. The question of
priority in the new style of poetry caused a quarrel, which did not long
separate the two singers. Du Bellay is perhaps the most interesting of the
Pleiad, that company of Seven, who attempted to reform French verse, by
inspiring it with the enthusiasm of the Renaissance. His book
L'ILLUSTRATION DE LA LANGUE FRANCAISE is a plea for the
study of ancient models and for the improvement of the vernacular. In this
effort Du Bellay and Ronsard are the predecessors of Malherbe, and of
Andre Chenier, more successful through their frank eagerness than the
former, less fortunate in the possession of critical learning and
appreciative taste than the latter. There is something in Du Bellay's life, in
the artistic nature checked by occupation in affairs - he was the secretary
of Cardinal Du Bellay - in the regret and affection with which Rome
depressed and allured him, which reminds the English reader of the
Ballads and Lyrics of Old France: with Other Poems
3
thwarted career of Clough.
IV. REMY BELLEAU, 1528-1577. Du Belleau's life was spent in the
household of Charles de Lorraine, Marquis d'Elboeuf, and was marked by
nothing more eventful than the usual pilgrimage to Italy, the sacred land
and sepulchre of art.
V. PIERRE RONSARD, 1524-1585. Ronsard's early years gave little
sign of his vocation. He was for some time a page of the court, was in the
service of James V. of Scotland, and had his share of shipwrecks, battles,
and amorous adventures. An illness which produced total deafness made
him a scholar and poet, as in another age and country it might have made
him a saint and an ascetic. With all his industry, and almost religious zeal
for art, he is one of the poets who make themselves, rather than are born
singers. His epic, the Franciade, is as tedious as other artificial epics, and
his odes are almost unreadable. We are never allowed to forget that he is
the poet who read the Iliad through in three days. He is, as has been said of
Le Brun, more mythological than Pindar. His constant allusion to his grey
hair, an affectation which may be noticed in Shelley, is borrowed from
Anacreon. Many of the sonnets in which he 'petrarquizes,' retain the faded
odour of the roses he loved; and his songs have fire and melancholy and a
sense as of perfume from 'a closet long to quiet vowed, with mothed and
dropping arras hung.' Ronsard's great fame declined when is Malherbe
came to 'bind the sweet influences of the Pleiad,' but he has been duly
honoured by the newest school of French poetry.
VI. JACQUES TAHUREAU, 1527-1555. The amorous poetry of
Jacques Tahureau has the merit, rare in his, or in any age, of being the real
expression of passion. His brief life burned itself away before he had
exhausted the lyric effusion of his youth. 'Le plus beau gentilhomme de
son siecle, et le plus dextre e toutes sortes de gentillesses,' died at the age
of twenty-eight, fulfilling the presentiment which tinges, but scarcely
saddens his poetry.
VII. JEAN PASSERAT, 1534-1602. Better known as a political satirist
than as a poet.
POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
VICTOR HUGO. ALFRED DE MUSSET, 1810-1857. GERARD DE
Ballads and Lyrics of Old France: with Other Poems
4
NERVAL, 1801-1855. HENRI MURGER, 1822-1861.
BALLADS.
The originals of the French folk-songs here translated are to be found
in the collections of MM. De Puymaigre and Gerard de Nerval, and in the
report of M. Ampere.
The verses called a 'Lady of High Degree' are imitated from a very
early CHANSON in Bartsch's collection.
The Greek ballads have been translated with the aid of the French
versions by M. Fauriel.
Ballads and Lyrics of Old France: with Other Poems
5
SPRING. CHARLES D'ORLEANS,
1391-1465.
[The new-liveried year. - SIR HENRY WOTTON.]
THE year has changed his mantle cold Of wind, of rain, of bitter air;
And he goes clad in cloth of gold, Of laughing suns and season fair; No
bird or beast of wood or wold But doth with cry or song declare The year
lays down his mantle cold. All founts, all rivers, seaward rolled, The
pleasant summer livery wear, With silver studs on broidered vair; The
world puts off its raiment old, The year lays down his mantle cold.
RONDEL. CHARLES D'ORLEANS, 1391-1465.
[To his Mistress, to succour his heart that is beleaguered by jealousy.]
STRENGTHEN, my Love, this castle of my heart, And with some
store of pleasure give me aid, For Jealousy, with all them of his part,
Strong siege about the weary tower has laid. Nay, if to break his bands
thou art afraid, Too weak to make his cruel force depart, Strengthen at
least this castle of my heart, And with some store of pleasure give me aid.
Nay, let not Jealousy, for all his art Be master, and the tower in ruin laid,
That still, ah Love! thy gracious rule obeyed. Advance, and give me
succour of thy part; Strengthen, my Love, this castle of my heart.
Ballads and Lyrics of Old France: with Other Poems
6
RONDEL. FRANCOIS VILLON,
1460
GOODBYE! the tears are in my eyes; Farewell, farewell, my prettiest;
Farewell, of women born the best; Good-bye! the saddest of good-byes.
Farewell! with many vows and sighs My sad heart leaves you to your rest;
Farewell! the tears are in my eyes; Farewell! from you my miseries Are
more than now may be confessed, And most by thee have I been blessed,
Yea, and for thee have wasted sighs; Goodbye! the last of my goodbyes.
ARBOR AMORIS. FRANCOIS VILLON, 1460
I HAVE a tree, a graft of Love, That in my heart has taken root; Sad
are the buds and blooms thereof, And bitter sorrow is its fruit; Yet, since it
was a tender shoot, So greatly hath its shadow spread, That underneath all
joy is dead, And all my pleasant days are flown, Nor can I slay it, nor
instead Plant any tree, save this alone.
Ah, yet, for long and long enough My tears were rain about its root,
And though the fruit be harsh thereof, I scarcely looked for better fruit
Than this, that carefully I put In garner, for the bitter bread Whereon my
weary life is fed: Ah, better were the soil unsown That bears such growths;
but Love instead Will plant no tree, but this alone.
Ah, would that this new spring, whereof The leaves and flowers flush
into shoot, I might have succour and aid of Love, To prune these branches
at the root, That long have borne such bitter fruit, And graft a new bough,
comforted With happy blossoms white and red; So pleasure should for
pain atone, Nor Love slay this tree, nor instead Plant any tree, but this
alone.
L'ENVOY.
Princess, by whom my hope is fed, My heart thee prays in lowlihead
Ballads and Lyrics of Old France: with Other Poems
7
To prune the ill boughs overgrown, Nor slay Love's tree, nor plant instead
Another tree, save this alone.
BALLAD OF THE GIBBET.
[An epitaph in the form of a ballad that Francois Villon wrote of
himself and his company, they expecting shortly to be hanged.]
BROTHERS and men that shall after us be, Let not your hearts be
hard to us: For pitying this our misery Ye shall find God the more piteous.
Look on us six that are hanging thus, And for the flesh that so much we
cherished How it is eaten of birds and perished, And ashes and dust fill our
bones' place, Mock not at us that so feeble be, But pray God pardon us out
of His grace.
Listen, we pray you, and look not in scorn, Though justly, in sooth, we
are cast to die; Ye wot no man so wise is born That keeps his wisdom
constantly. Be ye then merciful, and cry To Mary's Son that is piteous,
That His mercy take no stain from us, Saving us out of the fiery place. We
are but dead, let no soul deny To pray God succour us of His grace.
The rain out of heaven has washed us clean, The sun has scorched us
black and bare, Ravens and rooks have pecked at our eyne, And feathered
their nests with our beards and hair. Round are we tossed, and here and
there, This way and that, at the wild wind's will, Never a moment my body
is still; Birds they are busy about my face. Live not as we, nor fare as we
fare; Pray God pardon us out of His grace.
L'ENVOY. Prince Jesus, Master of all, to thee We pray Hell gain no
mastery, That we come never anear that place; And ye men, make no
mockery, Pray God pardon us out of His grace.
Ballads and Lyrics of Old France: with Other Poems
8
HYMN TO THE WINDS. DU
BELLAY, 1550.
[The winds are invoked by the winnowers of corn.]
To you, troop so fleet, That with winged wandering feet, Through the
wide world pass, And with soft murmuring Toss the green shades of spring
In woods and grass, Lily and violet I give, and blossoms wet, Roses and
dew; This branch of blushing roses, Whose fresh bud uncloses, Wind-
flowers too. Ah, winnow with sweet breath, Winnow the holt and heath,
Round this retreat; Where all the golden morn We fan the gold o' the corn,
In the sun's heat.
A VOW TO HEAVENLY VENUS. DU BELLAY,
1500
WE that with like hearts love, we lovers twain, New wedded in the
village by thy fane, Lady of all chaste love, to thee it is We bring these
amaranths, these white lilies, A sign, and sacrifice; may Love, we pray,
Like amaranthine flowers, feel no decay; Like these cool lilies may our
loves remain, Perfect and pure, and know not any stain; And be our hearts,
from this thy holy hour, Bound each to each, like flower to wedded flower.
TO HIS FRIEND IN ELYSIUM. DU BELLAY,
1550.
SO long you wandered on the dusky plain, Where flit the shadows
with their endless cry, You reach the shore where all the world goes by,
Ballads and Lyrics of Old France: with Other Poems
9
You leave the strife, the slavery, the pain; But we, but we, the mortals that
remain In vain stretch hands; for Charon sullenly Drives us afar, we may
not come anigh Till that last mystic obolus we gain.
But you are happy in the quiet place, And with the learned lovers of
old days, And with your love, you wander ever-more In the dim woods,
and drink forgetfulness Of us your friends, a weary crowd that press About
the gate, or labour at the oar.
A SONNET TO HEAVENLY BEAUTY. DU
BELLAY, 1550.
IF this our little life is but a day In the Eternal, - if the years in vain
Toil after hours that never come again, - If everything that hath been must
decay, Why dreamest thou of joys that pass away, My soul, that my sad
body doth restrain? Why of the moment's pleasure art thou fain? Nay, thou
hast wings, - nay, seek another stay.
There is the joy whereto each soul aspires, And there the rest that all
the world desires, And there is love, and peace, and gracious mirth; And
there in the most highest heavens shalt thou Behold the Very Beauty,
whereof now Thou worshippest the shadow upon earth.
APRIL. REMY BELLEAU, 1560.
APRIL, pride of woodland ways, Of glad days, April, bringing hope of
prime, To the young flowers that beneath Their bud sheath Are guarded in
their tender time;
April, pride of fields that be Green and free, That in fashion glad and
gay, Stud with flowers red and blue, Every hue, Their jewelled spring
array;
April, pride of murmuring Winds of spring, That beneath the
Ballads and Lyrics of Old France: with Other Poems
10
winnowed air, Trap with subtle nets and sweet Flora's feet, Flora's feet, the
fleet and fair;
April, by thy hand caressed, From her breast Nature scatters
everywhere Handfuls of all sweet perfumes, Buds and blooms, Making
faint the earth and air.
April, joy of the green hours, Clothes with flowers Over all her locks
of gold My sweet Lady; and her breast With the blest Birds of summer
manifold.
April, with thy gracious wiles, Like the smiles, Smiles of Venus; and
thy breath Like her breath, the Gods' delight, (From their height They take
the happy air beneath;)
It is thou that, of thy grace, From their place In the far-oft isles dost
bring Swallows over earth and sea, Glad to be Messengers of thee, and
Spring.
Daffodil and eglantine, And woodbine, Lily, violet, and rose Plentiful
in April fair, To the air, Their pretty petals do unclose.
Nightingales ye now may hear, Piercing clear, Singing in the deepest
shade; Many and many a babbled note Chime and float, Woodland music
through the glade.
April, all to welcome thee, Spring sets free Ancient flames, and with
low breath Wakes the ashes grey and old That the cold Chilled within our
hearts to death.
Thou beholdest in the warm Hours, the swarm Of the thievish bees,
that flies Evermore from bloom to bloom For perfume, Hid away in tiny
thighs.
Her cool shadows May can boast, Fruits almost Ripe, and gifts of
fertile dew, Manna-sweet and honey-sweet, That complete Her flower
garland fresh and new.
Nay, but I will give my praise, To these days, Named with the glad
name of Her (1) That from out the foam o' the sea Came to be Sudden
light on earth and air.
摘要：

BalladsandLyricsofOldFrance:withOtherPoems1BalladsandLyricsofOldFrance:withOtherPoemsAndrewLangBalladsandLyricsofOldFrance:withOtherPoems2LISTOFPOETSTRANSLATEDI.CHARLESD'ORLEANS,whohassometimes,fornoveryobviousreason,beenstyledthefatherofFrenchlyricpoetry,wasborninMay,1391.HewasthesonofLouisD'Orlean...

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