Christmas and the Poets
reate, whose spirit, if tested, might prove no less noble than that of the stern Puritan:
Eternal Father who didst all create,
In whom we live and to whose bosom move,
To all men be Thy name known which is Love,
Till its loud praises sound at heaven's high gate.
Perfect Thy kingdom in our passing state,
That here on earth Thou mayst as well approve
Our service as Thou ownest theirs above,
Whose joy we echo and in pain await.
Grant body and soul each day their daily bread
And should in spite of grace fresh woe begin,
Even as our anger soon is past and dead
Be Thy remembrance mortal of our sin:
By Thee in paths of peace Thy Sheep be led,
And in the vale of terror comforted.
H. M.
ON "NEAR PERIGORD"
The historical data for this poem are, first, Uc de St. Circ's statement that Bertrans de Born was in love with the Lady Maent, wife of Sir Tairiran of Montaignac, and that when she turned him out he wrote a canzon, Domna pois de me no'us cal. My translation of this poem appeared first in Poetry and Drama over a year ago. I reprint it here for clarity:
THE CANZON
From the Provencal of En Bertrens de Born—Original composed about 1185 A.D.
Lady, since you care nothing for me,
And since you have shut me away from you
[143]
