Part 21

Or ere I leave you, love divine, Dead tongues shall stir and utter speech, And running rivers flow with wine, And fishes swim upon the beach; Or ere I leave or shun you, these Lemons shall grow on orange-trees.

The girl confesses her love after this fashion (p. 86):--

Passing across the billowy sea, I let, alas, my poor heart fall; I bade the sailors bring it me; They said they had not seen it fall. I asked the sailors, one and two; They said that I had given it you. I asked the sailors, two and three; They said that I had given it thee. It is not uncommon to speak of love as a sea. Here is a curious play upon this image (p. 227):--

Ho, Cupid! Sailor Cupid, ho! Lend me awhile that bark of thine; For on the billows I will go, To find my love who once was mine: And if I find her, she shall wear A chain around her neck so fair, Around her neck a glittering bond, Four stars, a lily, a diamond.

It is also possible that the same thought may occur in the second line of the next ditty (p. 120):--

Beneath the earth I'll make a way To pass the sea and come to you. 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 passes (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: erêreismena philêmpta] (p. 117):--

What time I see you passing 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 God 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;--God bless him still! God 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 repetition 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 grass 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 pass 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!