The Stormy Ones
What bark is this by the breezes driven,
With scarce a rag of remaining sail? —
Under the gentle eyes of Heaven
It drifteth, crowded with faces pale.
Who's at the helm with his hair back blowing
(And very badly he seems to steer)?
Loosely his raven locks are flowing, —
The shade of B YRON , by all that's queer!
Close beside him a blushing bevy
Of women on tiger-skins repose, —
Their cheeks are waxen, their eyes are heavy,
They wear loose trousers, and yawn and doze!
Daintily drest but sea-sick slightly,
Leans Chateaubriand over the rail,
Watch'd by an Indian maid politely,
A sort of Choctaw Madame de Stael.
There's Grillparzer, with scowl and swagger,
Kotzebue also, with paper and pen,
Werner, with poison'd bowl and dagger,
All the stormy women and men!
Atala, Charlotte, Medora, Haidee,
Mrs. Haller, may be descried,
Fair of feature, in morals shady,
Caressed and wheedled, — then kick'd aside!
Down below in the cabin, thickly
Gather the revellers, weak of will —
Alfred de Musset with smile so sickly,
Heine with laughter wild and shrill.
Women, too! — actress, cocotte, and gipsy,
Mimi Pinson, and all the rest,
Each bareheaded, with eyeballs tipsy,
Leaning there on a reveller's breast.
Poof! how close it is below here!
Best again to the deck repair —
At least a breath from Heaven may blow here,
But down in the cabin, one chokes for air!
Byron swears as he grasps the tiller,
Haidee sobs as she bites her bun,
And the little stowaway, Joaquin Miller,
Gapes at a symbol and cries " What fun!"
For up at the peak their flag is flying —
A white Death's head, with grinning teeth, —
" Eat, drink, and love, for the day is dying"
Written in cypher underneath.
" Vanity! Vanity! Love and Revel!"
" Take a sip of absinthe, my dear!"
" Religion's a bore, but I like the Devil!"
These are some of the words you hear! ...
Over the vessel so small and crowded,
Walking the winds with solemn tread,
Two shapes are hanging, their faces shrouded, —
They talk as they hearken overhead.
SPIRIT OF ROUSSEAU .
Why rocks this ship upon the main
When all the waves repose?
SPIRIT OF GOETHE .
The breeze is only in the brain,
And so they think it blows!
SPIRIT OF ROUSSEAU .
But all is calm — 'tis summer-time —
Soft sighs the silken swell!
SPIRIT OF GOETHE .
Still, you and I dream'd ere our prime
Our Teacup Storms as well!
Still as glass is the ocean weather,
All is quiet and still and warm,
Yet see! the Stormy Ones crowd together,
Baring their foreheads to front the Storm!
" Thunder and lightning, we defy you!
Fate, we scorn thee!" loud they cry —
" Blow your loudest, O wind on high! You
Can only make us blaspheme and die!"
SPIRIT OF ROUSSEAU .
Methinks the song they sing is stale,
So oft it hath been sung!
SPIRIT OF GOETHE .
That very vessel thro' a gale
I steered, when I was young!
SPIRIT OF ROUSSEAU .
Why do they rave of tempests thus?
The weather's wondrous fair!
SPIRIT OF GOETHE .
Herr God! 'tis too ridiculous —
There's not a breath of air!
Spirits tremendous, you're right precisely!
The song of the Stormy is quite absurd —
There's just a breeze to sail with nicely,
The waves are gentle to boat and bird.
Yonder Liberty's Ark is floating,
And there's the Dove, with the branch in his beak —
Even the Pope on the brine is boating,
Safe in his tub, in spite of the leak!
Go by, O Stormy Ones, dreaming wildly
You breast the waves with heroic mind —
On your brows may the breeze blow mildly,
When you're sea-sick, may Fate be kind!
But O ye Women, black-eyed and blue-eyed,
Who listen still to the old stale song,
Ye victims of mock-heroics! true-eyed,
Credulous, innocent, spite of wrong!
Yours is the sorrow, theirs the pleasure, —
Yours are the tears, and theirs the laugh, —
The cowards sip the froth of the measure,
But give you the poisonous dregs to quaff!
Lords of misrule and of melancholy,
They share among you their devil's dole,
While on the decks of that Ship of Folly
You faint and sicken, O Woman-Soul!
With scarce a rag of remaining sail? —
Under the gentle eyes of Heaven
It drifteth, crowded with faces pale.
Who's at the helm with his hair back blowing
(And very badly he seems to steer)?
Loosely his raven locks are flowing, —
The shade of B YRON , by all that's queer!
Close beside him a blushing bevy
Of women on tiger-skins repose, —
Their cheeks are waxen, their eyes are heavy,
They wear loose trousers, and yawn and doze!
Daintily drest but sea-sick slightly,
Leans Chateaubriand over the rail,
Watch'd by an Indian maid politely,
A sort of Choctaw Madame de Stael.
There's Grillparzer, with scowl and swagger,
Kotzebue also, with paper and pen,
Werner, with poison'd bowl and dagger,
All the stormy women and men!
Atala, Charlotte, Medora, Haidee,
Mrs. Haller, may be descried,
Fair of feature, in morals shady,
Caressed and wheedled, — then kick'd aside!
Down below in the cabin, thickly
Gather the revellers, weak of will —
Alfred de Musset with smile so sickly,
Heine with laughter wild and shrill.
Women, too! — actress, cocotte, and gipsy,
Mimi Pinson, and all the rest,
Each bareheaded, with eyeballs tipsy,
Leaning there on a reveller's breast.
Poof! how close it is below here!
Best again to the deck repair —
At least a breath from Heaven may blow here,
But down in the cabin, one chokes for air!
Byron swears as he grasps the tiller,
Haidee sobs as she bites her bun,
And the little stowaway, Joaquin Miller,
Gapes at a symbol and cries " What fun!"
For up at the peak their flag is flying —
A white Death's head, with grinning teeth, —
" Eat, drink, and love, for the day is dying"
Written in cypher underneath.
" Vanity! Vanity! Love and Revel!"
" Take a sip of absinthe, my dear!"
" Religion's a bore, but I like the Devil!"
These are some of the words you hear! ...
Over the vessel so small and crowded,
Walking the winds with solemn tread,
Two shapes are hanging, their faces shrouded, —
They talk as they hearken overhead.
SPIRIT OF ROUSSEAU .
Why rocks this ship upon the main
When all the waves repose?
SPIRIT OF GOETHE .
The breeze is only in the brain,
And so they think it blows!
SPIRIT OF ROUSSEAU .
But all is calm — 'tis summer-time —
Soft sighs the silken swell!
SPIRIT OF GOETHE .
Still, you and I dream'd ere our prime
Our Teacup Storms as well!
Still as glass is the ocean weather,
All is quiet and still and warm,
Yet see! the Stormy Ones crowd together,
Baring their foreheads to front the Storm!
" Thunder and lightning, we defy you!
Fate, we scorn thee!" loud they cry —
" Blow your loudest, O wind on high! You
Can only make us blaspheme and die!"
SPIRIT OF ROUSSEAU .
Methinks the song they sing is stale,
So oft it hath been sung!
SPIRIT OF GOETHE .
That very vessel thro' a gale
I steered, when I was young!
SPIRIT OF ROUSSEAU .
Why do they rave of tempests thus?
The weather's wondrous fair!
SPIRIT OF GOETHE .
Herr God! 'tis too ridiculous —
There's not a breath of air!
Spirits tremendous, you're right precisely!
The song of the Stormy is quite absurd —
There's just a breeze to sail with nicely,
The waves are gentle to boat and bird.
Yonder Liberty's Ark is floating,
And there's the Dove, with the branch in his beak —
Even the Pope on the brine is boating,
Safe in his tub, in spite of the leak!
Go by, O Stormy Ones, dreaming wildly
You breast the waves with heroic mind —
On your brows may the breeze blow mildly,
When you're sea-sick, may Fate be kind!
But O ye Women, black-eyed and blue-eyed,
Who listen still to the old stale song,
Ye victims of mock-heroics! true-eyed,
Credulous, innocent, spite of wrong!
Yours is the sorrow, theirs the pleasure, —
Yours are the tears, and theirs the laugh, —
The cowards sip the froth of the measure,
But give you the poisonous dregs to quaff!
Lords of misrule and of melancholy,
They share among you their devil's dole,
While on the decks of that Ship of Folly
You faint and sicken, O Woman-Soul!
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.