A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/On the First Page of an Album belonging to his Friend, Auguste Bressier (Émile Deschamps)
ON
THE FIRST PAGE OF AN ALBUM BELONGING
TO HIS FRIEND, AUGUSTE BRESSIER.
In this album, bright and blank,
You give the first page up to me;
I accept the solemn rank.
Why not? The drum and fife, I see,
March 'fore the colonel everywhere;
Choir-boys and beadles on the ways,
Precede the priests with hoary hair;
Cheap wines are served on gala-days
Before the costly wines of Spain;
Guests drink, nor of the rule complain;
And all museums take good care
In entrance vestibules to place
The daubs that give us stare for stare,
While halls far in the Raphaels grace.
Isn't this the law of Holy Writ,
The first as last must choose to sit?
When worlds were made from unshaped clay,
Was not this order followed too?
Who runs may read, is all I say:
First minerals of every hue,
Then flowers, the mirrors of the sun,
Then animals that have no soul,
Then man in God's own image bright,
And then when all this work was done,
The crown and glory of the whole—
Fair woman in her robe of light.
And now, behold, I make an end,
With just this prelude on my lyre:
You know the reason why, my friend,
I am the tuner—to retire
When throng Rossinis in to play;
But if my spirit thus draw back
For fear of a degrading fall
From this high tourney of the Muse,
Beside the gate I stand for aye;
Nor deem me in affection slack;
In friendship's race 'come one, come all,'
No gauntlet thrown will I refuse.
My challenge here is proud and high,
Who loves you more? Dares none reply?