Towards the Noel that morte saison (_Christ make the shepherds’ homage dear!_) Then when the grey wolves everychone Drink of the winds their chill small-beer And lap o’ the snows food’s gueredon, Then maketh my heart his yule-tide cheer (Skoal! with the dregs if the clear be gone!) Wineing the ghosts of yester-year. Ask ye what ghosts I dream upon? (_What of the magians’ scented gear?_) The ghosts of dead loves everyone That make the stark winds reek with fear Lest love return with the foison sun And slay the memories that me cheer (Such as I drink to mine fashion) Wineing the ghosts of yester-year. Where are the joys my heart had won? (_Saturn and Mars to Zeus drawn near!_)[4] Where are the lips mine lay upon, Aye! where are the glances feat and clear That bade my heart his valour don? I skoal to the eyes as grey-blown mere (Who knows whose was that paragon?) Wineing the ghosts of yester-year. Prince: ask me not what I have done, Nor what God hath that can me cheer, But ye ask first where the winds are gone Wineing the ghosts of yester-year. [4] _Signum Nativitatis._ A VILLONAUD, BALLAD OF THE GIBBET OR, THE SONG OF THE SIXTH COMPANION SCENE: “_En cest bourdel ou tenoms nostr estat._” It being remembered that there were six of us with Master Villon, when that expecting presently to be hanged he writ a ballad whereof ye know: “_Frères humains qui après nous vivez._” Drink ye a skoal for the gallows tree! François and Margot and thee and me, Drink we the comrades merrily Who said us, “Till then” for the gallows tree! Fat Pierre with the hook gauche-main, Thomas Larron “Ear-the-less,” Tybalde and that armouress Who gave this poignard its premier stain Pinning the Guise that had been fain To make him a mate of the “Haulte Noblesse” And bade her be out with ill address As a fool that mocketh his drue’s disdeign. Drink we a skoal for the gallows tree! François and Margot and thee and me, Drink we to Marienne Ydole, That hell brenn not her o’er cruelly. Drink we the lusty robbers twain, Black is the pitch o’ their wedding dress,[5] Lips shrunk back for the wind’s caress As lips shrink back when we feel the strain Of love that loveth in hell’s disdeign And sense the teeth through the lips that press ’Gainst our lips for the soul’s distress That striveth to ours across the pain. Drink we skoal to the gallows tree! François and Margot and thee and me, For Jehan and Raoul de Vallerie Whose frames have the night and its winds in fee.