Voice From The Banquet

Pour! and keep on pouring, The vintage which the ancient Rhine doth yield, Crowned with her hundred castles! Let it foam and bubble Forth to our sight, and then deep in the breast Tell what rare treasure hath the sun matured Within the hills which well may England crave, And France, land of good wines and heroes brave!

Then let the maddening dance Whirl thee away! O what a waving sea Of tresses blond and dark all proudly blending! O the hot breath that mingles Itself with thine! O roses quickly faded! O eyes that know to exchange the hasty flash The while, of a thousand mingled notes the strain Pours forth the sigh of pleasure acute to pain!

O sweet deflowering Of burning cheeks, and pressure of hand in hand, The hurried beating of the breast near breast, The cunning strategy, Now in the ear to lodge the precious secret, The little parleys carried on by smiles, The sweet imagining of joys that hide 'Neath her shy glance one presses at his side.

See how from these our feasts The common people get the benefit, And civil charity finds large increase! Thanks to the heavenly power That ill and good allots, a judgment stern Has easement in a graceful piety; And we the happy progeny of mirth, Shed like the sun a radiance o'er the earth!

VOICE FROM THE GARRET.

The bread gave out, the work Fell off on which did hang our life, And trembling sat before the fireless hearth My mother, and watched me. Pale was the face and mute with some great fear The while she watched: until, as if pursued By that mute stare, after the long, long day I could endure no more, and stole away.

Down through the winter's mist Poured the high moon a livid radiance Above the muddy alley, then disappeared Behind the clouds. So did The light of youth but shine to disappear Upon the sorrow-mingled pathway of my life. A hand touched me. I felt a foul glance fall Upon me, and words that did my heart appal.

Appal! but more appalling The hunger, O ye proud ones, that did drive me, And the old mother's mute and maddening stare! And so it came that I took bread to her! But all desire for me her fast had stilled. Hardly on me she raised her heavy eyes, While I on my poor mother's breast would claim A place where I might hide my face and shame.

Adieu, O tearful visions Of a once holy love and you, the fond Companions of a maiden most unhappy! For you may shine the whiteness Of that pure veil the mother, weeping, binds! For you the thought that to the cradle turns;— I, to my sin abandoned, keep me near The track of darkness and, so, disappear.

VOICE FROM BENEATH.

Be still, thou maiden sad, Be still, O grieving mother, and thou, child, Found starving, when shut down the night's great gloom! Behold! what festive lights Gleam in the palace windows, where unite The ruling orders of our favoured land, And magistrates and soldiers of renown, And doctors, mix with merchants of the town.

The bloom of thy best years Thou spoilest, girl, while thou dost pine in vain For that sweet love and life that all desire. Laugh rather, and be gay, In dazzling robes of silk and gold held up By hand fair as a countess's, while you haste To join the dance! Then weep and wait—what for? The garb of shame that's waiting at thy door!

As if the tears had frozen Between the eyelids of the dying boy Whom thou couldst not revive, O wretched mother, And turned to precious gems, So shines the fillet in the dame's black hair, With whom the economist, gallant and suave, Holds speech! His lips a smile do wear, As if a kiss each honied word did bear.

Seize and enjoy your triumph, O Masks! so happy and so powerful. And when the coming dawn drives folk to work, Go out and show yourselves, Belching your ill-digested orgies forth; Flaunting your pomp before their humble fast; Nor dream the day when, at your gilded gate, Grim Hunger and his brother Death shall wait.

LEVIA GRAVIA.