(ROSSETTI: _The Ballad of Dead Ladies_, from the French of François Villon, 1450.)
This is a notable translation of a notable ballade, but it will be observed that it does not follow the strict rules as to the number of rimes. In Mr. Andrew Lang's _Ballades of Blue China_ is a formally correct translation.
Where are the cities of the plain? And where the shrines of rapt Bethel? And Calah, built of Tubal-Cain? And Shinar whence King Amraphal Came out in arms, and fought, and fell, Decoyed into the pits of slime By Siddim, and sent sheer to hell; Where are the cities of old time?
Where now is Karnak, that great fane With granite built, a miracle? And Luxor smooth without a stain, Whose graven scriptures still we spell? The jackal and the owl may tell, Dark snakes around their ruins climb, They fade like echo in a shell; Where are the cities of old time?
And where is white Shusan, again, Where Vashti's beauty bore the bell, And all the Jewish oil and grain Were brought to Mithridath to sell, Where Nehemiah would not dwell, Because another town sublime Decoyed him with her oracle? Where are the cities of old time?
Prince, with a dolorous, ceaseless knell, Above their wasted toil and crime The waters of oblivion swell: Where are the cities of old time?
In this ballade Mr. Gosse finely reproduces the more serious tones of the old form, and imitates the ancient custom of addressing the envoy to royalty. This _motif_, of old things lost, is a favorite one for the serious ballade, being suggested by Villon's _Ballade of Dead Ladies_. Compare Mr. Lang's _Ballade of Dead Cities_, in _Ballades of Blue China_.
On the other hand, the next specimen illustrates the use of the form for the light familiarity of _vers de société_ and parody.
He lived in a cave by the seas, He lived upon oysters and foes, But his list of forbidden degrees An extensive morality shows; Geological evidence goes To prove he had never a pan, But he shaved with a shell when he chose, 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!
He worshipp'd the rain and the breeze, He worshipp'd the river that flows, And the Dawn, and the Moon, and the trees, And bogies, and serpents, and crows; He buried his dead with their toes Tucked up, an original plan, Till their knees came right under their nose, 'Twas the manner of Primitive Man!