_Deere Chryste, let not the cheere of earth
To-fill our hearts with heedless mirth
This holy Christmasse time,
But give us of thy heavenly cheere,
That we may hold thy love most deere,
And know thy peace sublime._
· · · · ·
Full merry waxed King Pelles court
With yule-tide cheer and yule-tide sport;
And, when the board was spread,
Now wit ye well, twas good to see
So fair and brave a company,
With Pelles at the head.
“Come hence, Elaine,” King Pelles cried,
“Come hence, and sit ye by my side;
For never yet, I trow,
Have gentle virtues like to thine,
Been proved by sword nor pledged in wine,
Nor shall be nevermo.”
“Swote sir, my father,” quoth Elaine,
“Me it repents to give thee pain,
Yet tarry I may not;
For I shall soond and I shall die,
If I behold this company,
And see not Launcelot!
“My heart shall have no love but this—
My lips shall know none others kiss,
Save only, father, thine;
So graunt me leave to seek my bower—
The lonely chamber in the toure,
Where sleeps his child and mine.”
Then frowned the king in sore despite—
Sais: “May the divell take that knight,
For that the churl hath lied!
A base, unchristian paynim he,
Else, by my beard, he would not be
A recreant to his bride!
“Oh, I had liefer yield my life
Than see thee the deserted wife
Of traitrous Launcelot!
Yet, an thou hast no mind to stay,
Go with thy damosels away—
Lo, I’ll detain ye not.”
Her damosels in goodly train,
Back to her chamber led Elaine;
And, when her eyes were cast
Upon her babe, her tears did flow,
And she did wail and wepe as though
Her heart had like to brast.
The while she grieved, the yule-tide sport
Waxed lustier in King Pelles court,
And louder houre by houre
The echoes of the rout were borne
To where the lady all forlorn
Made moning in the toure.
“Swete Chryste,” she cried, “ne let me hear
These ribald sounds of yule-tide cheer,
That mock at mine and me;
Graunt that my sore affliction cease,
And give me of the heavenly peace
That comes with thoughts of thee.”
Lo, as she spake, a wondrous light
Made all that lonely chamber bright;
And o’er the infant’s bed
A spirit hand, as samite pale,
Held sodaine forth the Holy Grail
Above the infants head.
And from the sacred golden cup
A subtle incense floated up,
And filled the conscious air;
Which, when she breathed, the fair Elaine
Forgot her grief, forgot her pain,
Forgot her sore despair.
And as the Grails mysterious balm
Wrought in her heart a wondrous calm,
Great mervail twas to see
The sleeping child stretch one hand up,
As if in dreams he held the cup,
Which none mought win but he.
Through all the night King Pelles court
Made mighty cheer and goodly sport,
Nor never recked the joy
That was vouchsafed that Christmasse-tide
To Launcelots deserted bride,
And to her sleeping boy.
· · · · ·
_Swete Chryste, let not the cheere of earth
To-fill our hearts with heedless mirth
This present Christmasse night,
But send among us, to and fro,
Thy Holy Grail, that men may know
The joy with wisdom dight!_
It appears that Judge Cooley had, and exhibited ever and anon, a
humorous tendency. His “Lines to a Blue Jay” is as delicate a bit of fun
as we have ever read. It represents the poet addressing a blue jay that
seeks by its querulous carping to keep the poet from plucking plums:
having got possession of the disputed branch, the poet facetiously
concludes,—
“When I had shooed the bird away,
And plucked the plums, a quart or more,
I noted that the saucy Jay,
Albeit he had naught to say,
Appeared much _bluer_ than before.”
In one of the poems, entitled “The Unknown Bards,” occurs this quatrain,
which is another fair illustration of Judge Cooley’s skill in dealing
with the anthology of the dead languages:—