Collected poems | ||
56
THE SONG OUT OF SEASON
“Point de culte sans mystère.”
Scene.—A Corridor in a Château, with Busts and Venice chandeliers.
Monsieur L'Étoile. Two Voices.
M. L'Étoile
(carrying a Rose).
This is the place. Mutine said here.
“Through the Mancini room, and near
The fifth Venetian chandelier. . . .”
The fifth?—She knew there were but four;—
Still, here's the busto of the Moor.
(Humming.)
“Through the Mancini room, and near
The fifth Venetian chandelier. . . .”
The fifth?—She knew there were but four;—
Still, here's the busto of the Moor.
Tra-la, tra-la! If Bijou wake,
He'll bark, no doubt, and spoil my shake!
I'll tap, I think. One can't mistake;
This surely is the door.
(Sings softly.)
He'll bark, no doubt, and spoil my shake!
I'll tap, I think. One can't mistake;
This surely is the door.
“When Jove, the Skies' Director,
First saw you sleep of yore,
He cried aloud for Nectar,
‘The Nectar quickly pour,—
The Nectar, Hebe, pour!’”
(No sound. I'll tap once more.)First saw you sleep of yore,
He cried aloud for Nectar,
57
The Nectar, Hebe, pour!’”
(Sings again.)
“Then came the Sire Apollo,
He passed you where you lay;
‘Come, Dian, rise and follow
The dappled Hart to slay,—
The rapid Hart to slay.’”
(A rustling within.)
He passed you where you lay;
‘Come, Dian, rise and follow
The dappled Hart to slay,—
The rapid Hart to slay.’”
(Coquette! She heard before.)
(Sings again.)
“And urchin Cupid after
Beside the Pillow curled,
He whispered you with Laughter,
‘Awake and witch the World,—
O Venus, witch the World!’”
(Now comes the last. 'Tis scarcely worse, I think, than Monsieur l' Abbé's verse.)Beside the Pillow curled,
He whispered you with Laughter,
‘Awake and witch the World,—
O Venus, witch the World!’”
“So waken, waken, waken,
O You, whom we adore;
Where Gods can be mistaken,
Mere Mortals must be more,—
Poor Mortals must be more!”
(That merits an encore.)O You, whom we adore;
Where Gods can be mistaken,
Mere Mortals must be more,—
Poor Mortals must be more!”
“So waken, waken, waken!
O you, whom we adore!”
O you, whom we adore!”
58
'Tis thou, Antoine? Ah, Addle-pate!
Ah, Thief of Valet, always late!
Have I not told thee half-past eight
A thousand times!
(Great agitation.)
Ah, Thief of Valet, always late!
Have I not told thee half-past eight
A thousand times!
But wait,—but wait,—
M. L'Étoile
(stupefied).
Just Skies! What hideous roar!—
What lungs! The infamous Soubrette!
This is a turn I sha'n't forget:—
To make me sing my chansonnette
Before old Jourdain's door!
(Retiring slowly.)
What lungs! The infamous Soubrette!
This is a turn I sha'n't forget:—
To make me sing my chansonnette
Before old Jourdain's door!
And yet, and yet,—it can't be she.
They prompted her. Who can it be?
They prompted her. Who can it be?
(A second Voice.)
It was the Abbé Ti---ri---li!
(In a mocking falsetto.)
“Where Gods can be mistaken,
Mere Poets must be more,—
Bad Poets must be more.”
Mere Poets must be more,—
Bad Poets must be more.”
Collected poems | ||