On a Fly Drinking Out of His Cup

Listen to:

On a Fly Drinking Out of His Cup (:40)

by William Oldys

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Busy, curious, thirsty fly!  

Drink with me and drink as I:  

Freely welcome to my cup,  

Couldst thou sip and sip it up:  

Make the most of life you may,          

Life is short and wears away.  

Both alike are mine and thine  

Hastening quick to their decline:  

Thine 's a summer, mine 's no more,  

Though repeated to threescore.  

Threescore summers, when they're gone,  

Will appear as short as one!

To a Dog

Listen to:

To a Dog (1:00)

by John Jay Chapman

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Past happiness dissolves. It fades away, 

Ghost-like, in that dim attic of the mind 

To which the dreams of childhood are consigned. 

Here, withered garlands hang in slow decay, 

And trophies glimmer in the dying ray 

Of stars that once with heavenly glory shined. 

But you, old friend, are you still left behind 

To tell the nearness of life's yesterday? 

Ah, boon companion of my vanished boy, 

For you he lives; in every sylvan walk 

He waits; and you expect him everywhere. 

How would you stir, what cries, what bounds of joy, 

If but his voice were heard in casual talk, 

If but his footstep sounded on the stair! 

The First Kiss of Love

Listen to:

The First Kiss of Love (2:04)

by George Gordon, Lord Byron

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Away with your fictions of flimsy romance,

     Those tissues of falsehood which Folly has wove;

Give me the mild beam of the soul-breathing glance,

     Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy glow,

     Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove;

From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow,

     Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love.

If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse,

     Or the Nine be dispos'd from your service to rove,

Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the Muse,

     And try the effect, of the first kiss of love.

I hate you, ye cold compositions of art,

     Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove;

I court the effusions that spring from the heart,

     Which throbs, with delight, to the first kiss of love.

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,

     Perhaps may amuse, yet they never can move:

Arcadia displays but a region of dreams;

     What are visions like these, to the first kiss of love?

Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,

     From Adam, till now, has with wretchedness strove;

Some portion of Paradise still is on earth,

     And Eden revives, in the first kiss of love.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—

     For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—

The dearest remembrance will still be the last,

     Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.

The Vagabond

Listen to:

The Vagabond (1:22)

by Robert Louis Stevenson

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Give to me the life I love,

Let the lave go by me,

Give the jolly heaven above

And the byway nigh me.

Bed in the bush with stars to see,

Bread I dip in the river -

There's the life for a man like me,

There's the life for ever.

Let the blow fall soon or late,

Let what will be o'er me;

Give the face of earth around

And the road before me.

Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,

Nor a friend to know me;

All I seek, the heaven above

And the road below me.

Or let autumn fall on me

Where afield I linger,

Silencing the bird on tree,

Biting the blue finger.

White as meal the frosty field -

Warm the fireside haven -

Not to autumn will I yield,

Not to winter even!

Let the blow fall soon or late,

Let what will be o'er me;

Give the face of earth around,

And the road before me.

Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,

Nor a friend to know me;

All I ask, the heaven above

And the road below me.

The Song Against Songs

Listen to:

The Song Against Songs (1:34)

by G. K. Chesterton

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

THE song of the sorrow of Melisande is a weary song and a dreary song,

The glory of Mariana's grange had got into great decay,

The song of the Raven Never More has never been called a cheery song,

And the brightest things in Baudelaire are anything else but gay.

But who will write us a riding song,

Or a hunting song or a drinking song,

Fit for them that arose and rode

When day and the wine were red?

But bring me a quart of claret out,

And I will write you a clinking song,

A song of war and a song of wine

And a song to wake the dead.

The song of the fury of Fragolette is a florid song and a torrid song,

The song of the sorrow of Tara is sung to a harp unstrung,

The song of the cheerful Shropshire Lad I consider a perfectly horrid song,

And the song of the happy Futurist is a song that can't be sung.

But who will write us a riding song

Or a fighting song or a drinking song,

Fit for the fathers of you and me,

That knew how to think and thrive?

But the song of Beauty and Art and Love

Is simply an utterly stinking song,

To double you up and drag you down

And damn your soul alive.

Simplex Munditiis

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Simplex Munditiis (:47)

by Ben Jonson

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Still to be neat, still to be drest,  

As you were going to a feast;  

Still to be powder'd, still perfumed:  

Lady, it is to be presumed,  

Though art's hid causes are not found,          

All is not sweet, all is not sound.  

Give me a look, give me a face  

That makes simplicity a grace;  

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:  

Such sweet neglect more taketh me  

Than all th' adulteries of art;  

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.  

Petals

Listen to:

Petals (:50)

by Amy Lowell

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

          Life is a stream

          On which we strew

          Petal by petal the flower of our heart;

          The end lost in dream,

          They float past our view,

          We only watch their glad, early start.

          Freighted with hope,

          Crimsoned with joy,

          We scatter the leaves of our opening rose;

          Their widening scope,

          Their distant employ,

          We never shall know.  And the stream as it flows

          Sweeps them away,

          Each one is gone

          Ever beyond into infinite ways.

          We alone stay

          While years hurry on,

          The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

The Lovers

Listen to:

The Lovers (:50)

by Emily Dickinson

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The rose did caper on her cheek,

Her bodice rose and fell,

Her pretty speech, like drunken men,

Did stagger pitiful.

Her fingers fumbled at her work, —

Her needle would not go;

What ailed so smart a little maid

It puzzled me to know,

Till opposite I spied a cheek

That bore another rose;

Just opposite, another speech

That like the drunkard goes;

A vest that, like the bodice, danced

To the immortal tune, —

Till those two troubled little clocks

Ticked softly into one.

The Fiddler of Dooney

Listen to:

The Fiddler of Dooney (:56)

by William Butler Yeats

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,  

Folk dance like a wave of the sea;  

My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,  

My brother in Moharabuiee.  

  

I passed my brother and cousin:          

They read in their books of prayer;  

I read in my book of songs  

I bought at the Sligo fair.  

  

When we come at the end of time,  

To Peter sitting in state,  

He will smile on the three old spirits,  

But call me first through the gate;  

  

For the good are always the merry,  

Save by an evil chance,  

And the merry love the fiddle  

And the merry love to dance:  

  

And when the folk there spy me,  

They will all come up to me,  

With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’  

And dance like a wave of the sea.  

The 90th Psalm, Versified

Listen to:

The 90th Psalm, Versified (1:24)

by Robert Burns

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The First Six Verses Of The Ninetieth Psalm Versified

by Robert Burns

O Thou, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race! 

Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place! 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath Thy forming hand, 

Before this ponderous globe itself 

Arose at Thy command; 

That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds 

This universal frame, 

From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast, 

Appear no more before Thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word: Thy creature, man, 

Is to existence brought; 

Again Thou say'st, "Ye sons of men, 

Return ye into nought!" 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep; 

As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flow'r, 

In beauty's pride array'd; 

But long ere night cut down it lies 

All wither'd and decay'd.