Would I had--oh, my dove of light,
After whose flight came ceaseless night,
One plume to clasp so purely white.
After whose flight came ceaseless night,
One plume to clasp so purely white.
Victor Hugo - Poems
"
Star of even! sunk the sun!
Lost for e'er the ruddy line;
And the earth is veiled in dun,--
"Nay, in darkness, best I shine! "
O, my soul! art 'bove alarm,
Quaffing thus the cup of gall--
Canst thou face the grave with calm? --
"Yes, the Christians smile at all. "
THE EXILE'S DESIRE.
_("Si je pouvais voir, O patrie! ")_
[Bk. III. xxxvii. ]
Would I could see you, native land,
Where lilacs and the almond stand
Behind fields flowering to the strand--
But no!
Can I--oh, father, mother, crave
Another final blessing save
To rest my head upon your grave? --
But no!
In the one pit where ye repose,
Would I could tell of France's woes,
My brethren, who fell facing foes--
But no!
Would I had--oh, my dove of light,
After whose flight came ceaseless night,
One plume to clasp so purely white. --
But no!
Far from ye all--oh, dead, bewailed!
The fog-bell deafens me empaled
Upon this rock--I feel enjailed--
Though free.
Like one who watches at the gate
Lest some shall 'scape the doomed strait.
I watch! the tyrant, howe'er late,
Must fall!
THE REFUGEE'S HAVEN.
_("Vous voila dans la froide Angleterre. ")_
[Bk. III. xlvii. , Jersey, Sept. 19, 1854. ]
You may doubt I find comfort in England
But, there, 'tis a refuge from dangers!
Where a Cromwell dictated to Milton,
Republicans ne'er can be strangers!
Star of even! sunk the sun!
Lost for e'er the ruddy line;
And the earth is veiled in dun,--
"Nay, in darkness, best I shine! "
O, my soul! art 'bove alarm,
Quaffing thus the cup of gall--
Canst thou face the grave with calm? --
"Yes, the Christians smile at all. "
THE EXILE'S DESIRE.
_("Si je pouvais voir, O patrie! ")_
[Bk. III. xxxvii. ]
Would I could see you, native land,
Where lilacs and the almond stand
Behind fields flowering to the strand--
But no!
Can I--oh, father, mother, crave
Another final blessing save
To rest my head upon your grave? --
But no!
In the one pit where ye repose,
Would I could tell of France's woes,
My brethren, who fell facing foes--
But no!
Would I had--oh, my dove of light,
After whose flight came ceaseless night,
One plume to clasp so purely white. --
But no!
Far from ye all--oh, dead, bewailed!
The fog-bell deafens me empaled
Upon this rock--I feel enjailed--
Though free.
Like one who watches at the gate
Lest some shall 'scape the doomed strait.
I watch! the tyrant, howe'er late,
Must fall!
THE REFUGEE'S HAVEN.
_("Vous voila dans la froide Angleterre. ")_
[Bk. III. xlvii. , Jersey, Sept. 19, 1854. ]
You may doubt I find comfort in England
But, there, 'tis a refuge from dangers!
Where a Cromwell dictated to Milton,
Republicans ne'er can be strangers!
