CANTO XXVII
(To August Varnhagen von Ense)
"Heavens! where, dear Ludoviso,
Did you steal this crazy stuff?"
With these words did Cardinal
D'Este Ariosto greet
When that poet read his work
On Orlando's madness. This
He unto His Eminence
Humbly sought to dedicate.
Yes, Varnhagen, dear old friend,
Yes, I see these very words
Tremble on thy lips, that same
Faint and devastating smile.
Sometimes o'er a book thou laughest,
Then again in earnestness
Thy high forehead wrinkles o'er
As old memories come to thee.
Hark unto the dreams of youth!
Such Chamisso dreamed with me,
And Brentano, Fouqué, too,
In blue nights beneath the moon.
Comes no sound of saintly chimes
From that vanished forest fane,
And no tinkling of the gay
Unforgotten cap-and-bells?
Through the choir of nightingales
Rumbles now the growl of bears,
Low and fierce, and changes then
To the gibbering of ghosts!
Madness in the guise of sense,
Wisdom with a broken spine!
Dying sobs which suddenly
Into hollow laughter pass!
Aye, my friend, such strains arise
From the dream-time that is dead,
Though some modern trills may oft
Caper through the ancient theme.
Spite of waywardness thou'lt find
Here and there a note of pain;—
To thy well-proved mildness now
Do I recommend my song!
'Tis, perchance, the final strain
Of the pure and free Romance:—
In to-day's wild battle-clash,
Miserably it must end.
Other times and other birds!
Other birds and other songs!
What a chattering as of geese
That had saved a capitol!
What a chirping!—sparrows these
Penny tapers in their claws,
Yet have they assumed the ways
Of Jove's eagle with the bolt.
What a cooing! Turtle-doves,
Cloyed with love, now long to hate,
And thenceforth in place of Venus'
They would drag Bellona's car!
What a buzz that shakes the skies!—
These must be the great May-beetles
Of the nation's dawning Spring,
With a Viking fury seized!
Other times and other birds!
Other birds and other songs;—
These, perchance, might yield delight
Were I blest with other ears!
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