- Lang, Andrew
XXXII  Ballades in Blue China.
Kegan Paul & Trench & Co, London, 1885, Cloth, , , Very Good
A reprint in smaller format than the first edition. Printed by the Chiswick Press. 12mo. Beveled green cloth with gilt stamping is worn at extremities. Overall a very charming impression. Title page in blue with a china mark reproduced below the title. The previous owner's signature, William J. De Forest, Oxford, 1896 on ffep. Dedicated to Austin Dobson. Contents, the 32 Ballades and one Dizain, plus 14 verses and translations. "Theocritus! thou canst restore / The pleasant years, and over-fleet; / With thee we live as men of yore, / We rest where running waters meet; / And then we turn unwilling feet / And seek the world—so must it be— / We may not linger in the heat / Where breaks the blue Sicilian sea!"
OEUVRES ET TRADUCTIONS
La Critique de Villon et de ses oeuvres
La Réception de Villon et de ses oeuvres
Le Monde de Villon (géographie, histoire, gens, objets & langue)
Vie littéraire en France à l'époque de Villon
Société François Villon, Bulletin
A number of interesting links to the BNF.
The American Language Reprint (ALR) series aims to compile the various word-lists, vocabularies and phrase books which were collected in the early years of North American settlement. The series begins with the languages and dialects of the Eastern Woodlands, with a primary emphasis on the Eastern Algonquian and Iroquoian families. We hope to progressively extend the geographical scope of the project to form a comprehensive linguistic record of native North America prior to the advent of modern linguistics.
TennesseeBob's Famous French Links rassemble depuis 1995 une vaste webliothèque des ressources francophones liées. Pour la plupart, les soixante-dix-neuf pages du site qui sont sur nos serveurs forment des carrefours de voies documentaires. Nos sites carrefour mènent à des millions de pages de textes littéraires, des centaines de cours et leçons complètes en langue française, des dictionnaires, et des milliards d'activités de grammaire. Je laisse aux autres le soin d'en faire de belles petites bibliothèques savantes et des sites à but unique.
ODE TO AUTUMN
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like Silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn; - Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn. Where are the songs of Summer? - With the sun, Oping the dusky eyelids of the South, Till shade and silence waken up as one, And Morning sings with a warm odorous mouth. Where are the merry birds? - Away, away, On panting wings through the inclement skies, Lest owls should prey Undazzled at noonday, And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes. Where are the blooms of Summer? - In the West, Blushing their last to the last sunny hours, When the mild Eve by sudden Night is pressed Like tearful Prosperine, snatched from her flowers, To a most gloomy breast. Where is the pride of Summer, - the green prime, - The many, many leaves all twinkling? - Three On the mossed elm; three on the naked lime Trembling, - and one upon the old oak-tree! Where is the Dryad's immortality? - Gone into mournful cypress and dark yew, Or wearing the long gloomy Winter through In the smooth holly's green eternity. The squirrel gloats on his accomplished hoard, The ants have brimmed their garners with ripe grain, And honey bees have stored The sweets of Summer in their luscious cells; The swallows all have winged across the main; But here the Autumn melancholy dwells, And sighs her tearful spells Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. Alone, alone, Upon a mossy stone, She sits and reckons up the dead and gone, With the last leaves for a love-rosary, Whilst all the withered world looks drearily, Like a dim picture of the drowned past In the hushed mind's mysterious far away, Doubtful what ghostly thing will steal the last Into that distance, gray upon the gray. O go and sit with her, and be o'ershaded Under the languid downfall of her hair: She wears a coronal of flowers faded Upon her forehead, and a face of care; - There is enough of withered everywhere To make her bower, - and enough of gloom; There is enough of sadness to invite, If only for the rose that died, whose doom Is Beauty's, - she that with the living bloom Of conscious cheeks most beautifies the light: There is enough of sorrowing, and quite Enough of bitter fruits the earth doth bear, - Enough of chilly droppings for her bowl; Enough of fear and shadowy despair, To frame her cloudy prison for the soul!Thomas Hood [1799-1845]