O population beautiful and strange
Haunting the curtained boundaries of youth,
Children among immortals, swift of range,
Light-footed, gay of glance, evasive, shy,
Truth robed in fantasy, truth in untruth
That all men apprehend and most pass by,
—You that come crowding and inquisitive
With covert laugh, quick hands, and eyes that live,
Wingèd and whispering and fugitive,
Wide generosities and proud beliefs,
Flamboyant hopes and lovely rainbow griefs,
Rare reverence, lusty audacity,
Faith with bound eyes, arrogant certainty,
Slim fancy with her finger to her lips,
Bright-haired adventure, mother of all ships,
Pale wanton nymphs, quarry of men and gods,
She addresses
the assembly.
AND dappled centaurs from the dappled woods,—
Draw near.—Here lies, that all may see him well,
A naked Youth within a conchèd shell,
Asleep, in nudity most beautiful.
His arm is flung beneath his lovely head,
He sleeps as sound as in his mortal bed;
Yet him the dolphins hither bore
And all the waters founted with their spouting,
The river-horses galloped by the shore,
And little wine-drunk sons of love ran shouting,
But he lies victim to the poppy-bell.
She tells the
occasion of the
masque.
NOW set I forth in briefest argument
The causes of our present tournament,
Saying how tender Grief and laughing Joy
Strove for possession of the mortal boy,
—As once upon the traveller of old
The sun shone warmly and the wind blew cold,—
And ages long endured their pleasant strife
Renewed with each young adolescent life,
And neither triumphed, for in early years
Youth freely gave to Grief his secret tears
(Grief for grief’s sake, which youth to Youth endears),
And sorrows of his melancholy heart,
And Joy, her garlands drooping, stood apart;
Till Love drew near to play his part.
She tells of
Youth in
Love.
AH! then forgotten were the mournful days.
Youth crowned his head with flowers and with bays;
He flung the leopard-skin about his loins,
And bracelets jangled at his wrists like coins,
Nor was the triumph of his singing mute
When at his lips the windy flute
Mingled its treble with the chords of praise
And melody hung scented round his ways.
Proud in his beauty and his sinews’ girth
He strode in strength and conquest on the earth,
Or measured down the terraced olive-groves
Intrepid footsteps with the centaur’s hooves.
The pleasant valleys echoed with his mirth,
And in the morning resonant and still
His voice was heard like music on the hill.
So ever ran the course of youth the same,
And Joy and Grief strove on; Grief could not claim
That Love had played unfairly in the game
Since often some poor weeping love-lorn child
Returned to her with sorrow wild,
And cast his broken flute upon the ground
And all his ornaments with tears defiled.
Now Joy this pretty mortal boy has found
And brought him hither, that by our consent
The rivals try their strength, and one be crowned.
Conditional thereon, that Love be bound
To take no action in the tournament.