Poems by Victor Hugo - LightNovelsOnl.com
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LOVE'S TREACHEROUS POOL
_("Jeune fille, l'amour c'est un miroir.")_
[XXVI., February, 1835.]
Young maiden, true love is a pool all mirroring clear, Where coquettish girls come to linger in long delight, For it banishes afar from the face all the clouds that besmear The soul truly bright; But tempts you to ruffle its surface; drawing your foot To subtilest sinking! and farther and farther the brink That vainly you s.n.a.t.c.h--for repentance, 'tis weed without root,-- And struggling, you sink!
THE ROSE AND THE GRAVE.
_("La tombe dit a la rose.")_
[x.x.xI., June 3, 1837]
The Grave said to the rose "What of the dews of dawn, Love's flower, what end is theirs?"
"And what of spirits flown, The souls whereon doth close The tomb's mouth unawares?"
The Rose said to the Grave.
The Rose said: "In the shade From the dawn's tears is made A perfume faint and strange, Amber and honey sweet."
"And all the spirits fleet Do suffer a sky-change, More strangely than the dew, To G.o.d's own angels new,"
The Grave said to the Rose.
A. LANG.
LES RAYONS ET LEs...o...b..ES.--1840.
HOLYROOD PALACE.
_("O palais, sois benie.")_
[II., June, 1839.]
Palace and ruin, bless thee evermore!
Grateful we bow thy gloomy tow'rs before; For the old King of France[1] hath found in thee That melancholy hospitality Which in their royal fortune's evil day, Stuarts and Bourbons to each other pay.
_Fraser's Magazine._
[Footnote 1: King Charles X.]
THE HUMBLE HOME.
_("L'eglise est vaste et haute.")_
[IV., June 29, 1839.]
The Church[1] is vast; its towering pride, its steeples loom on high; The bristling stones with leaf and flower are sculptured wondrously; The portal glows resplendent with its "rose,"
And 'neath the vault immense at evening swarm Figures of angel, saint, or demon's form, As oft a fearful world our dreams disclose.
But not the huge Cathedral's height, nor yet its vault sublime, Nor porch, nor gla.s.s, nor streaks of light, nor shadows deep with time; Nor ma.s.sy towers, that fascinate mine eyes; No, 'tis that spot--the mind's tranquillity-- Chamber wherefrom the song mounts cheerily, Placed like a joyful nest well nigh the skies.
Yea! glorious is the Church, I ween, but Meekness dwelleth here; Less do I love the lofty oak than mossy nest it bear; More dear is meadow breath than stormy wind: And when my mind for meditation's meant, The seaweed is preferred to the sh.o.r.e's extent,-- The swallow to the main it leaves behind.
_Author of "Critical Essays."_
[Footnote 1: The Cathedral Notre Dame of Paris, which is the scene of the author's romance, "Notre Dame."]
THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
_("O dix-huitieme siecle!")_
[IV. vi]
O Eighteenth Century! by Heaven chastised!
G.o.dless thou livedst, by G.o.d thy doom was fixed.
Thou in one ruin sword and sceptre mixed, Then outraged love, and pity's claim despised.
Thy life a banquet--but its board a scaffold at the close, Where far from Christ's beatic reign, Satanic deeds arose!
Thy writers, like thyself, by good men scorned-- Yet, from thy crimes, renown has decked thy name, As the smoke emplumes the furnace flame, A revolution's deeds have thine adorned!
_Author of "Critical Essays."_
