Rhymes a la Mode

by Andrew Lang

		PAGE
BalladeDedicatory		[vii]
The FortunateIslands		[3]
The NewMillenium		[13]
Almae Matres		[23]
Desiderium		[27]
Rhymes a laMode		[29]
	Ballade of Middle Age	[31]
	The Last Cast	[33]
	Twilight	[37]
	Ballade of Summer	[39]
	Ballade of Christmas Ghosts	[41]
	Love’s Easter	[42]
	Ballade of the Girton Girl	[43]
	Ronsard’s Grave	[45]
	San Terenzo	[48]
	Romance	[50]
	Ballade of his own Country	[52]
	Villanelle	[55]
	Triolets after Moschus	[57]
	Ballade of Cricket	[59]
	The Last Maying	[61]
	Homeric Unity	[65]
	In Tintagel	[66]
	Pisidicê	[68]
	From the East to the West	[71]
	Love the Vampire	[72]
	Ballade of the Book-man’s Paradise	[74]
	Ballade of a Friar	[76]
	Ballade of Neglected Merit	[78]
	Ballade of Railway Novels	[80]
	The Cloud Chorus	[82]
	Ballade of Literary Fame	[85]
	ΝήνεμοςΑἰών	[87]
Art		[89]
	A very woful Ballade of the Art Critic	[91]
	Art’s Martyr	[94]
	The Palace of Bric-à-brac	[97]
	Rondeaux of the Galleries	[100]
Science		[103]
	The Barbarous Bird-Gods	[105]
	Man and the Ascidian	[110]
	Ballade of the Primitive Jest	[113]
Cameos		[115]
	Cameos	[117]
	Helen on the walls	[118]
	The Isles of the Blessed	[119]
	Death	[121]
	Nysa	[122]
	Colonus (I.)	[123]
	,, (II.)	[124]
	The Passing of Œdipous	[125]
	The Taming of Tyro	[126]
	To Artemis	[127]
	Criticism of Life	[128]
	Amaryllis	[129]
	The Cannibal Zeus	[130]
	Invocation of Isis	[132]
	The Coming of Isis	[133]
The Spinet		[134]
Notes		[135]

BALLADE DEDICATORY.

TO
MRS. ELTON
OF WHITE STAUNTON.

The painted Briton built his mound,
And left his celts and clay,
On yon fair slope of sunlit ground
That fronts your garden gay;
The Roman came, he bore the sway,
He bullied, bought, and sold,
Your fountain sweeps his works away
Beside your manor old!

But still his crumbling urns are found
Within the window-bay,
Where once he listened to the sound
That lulls you day by day;—
The sound of summer winds at play,
The noise of waters cold
To Yarty wandering on their way,
Beside your manor old!

The Roman fell: his firm-set bound
Became the Saxon’s stay;
The bells made music all around
For monks in cloisters grey,
Till fled the monks in disarray
From their warm chantry’s fold,
Old Abbots slumber as they may,
Beside your manor old!

Envoy.

Creeds, empires, peoples, all decay,
Down into darkness, rolled;
May life that’s fleet be sweet, I pray,
Beside your manor old.

THE FORTUNATE ISLANDS.

A DREAM IN JUNE.