_("A toi,
toujours
a toi.
Hugo - Poems
, Dec.
7, 1834.
]
The grave receives us all:
Ye butterflies and roses gay and sweet
Why do ye linger, say?
Will ye not dwell together as is meet?
Somewhere high in the air
Would thy wing seek a home 'mid sunny skies,
In mead or mossy dell--
If there thy odors longest, sweetest rise.
Have where ye will your dwelling,
Or breath or tint whose praise we sing;
Butterfly shining bright,
Full-blown or bursting rosebud, flow'r or wing.
Dwell together ye fair,
'Tis a boon to the loveliest given;
Perchance ye then may choose your home
On the earth or in heaven.
W. C. WESTBROOK
A SIMILE.
_("Soyez comme l'oiseau. ")_
[XXXIII. vi. ]
Thou art like the bird
That alights and sings
Though the frail spray bends--
For he knows he has wings.
FANNY KEMBLE (BUTLER)
THE POET TO HIS WIFE.
_("A toi, toujours a toi. ")_
[XXXIX. , 1823]
To thee, all time to thee,
My lyre a voice shall be!
Above all earthly fashion,
Above mere mundane rage,
Your mind made it my passion
To write for noblest stage.
Whoe'er you be, send blessings to her--she
Was sister of my soul immortal, free!
My pride, my hope, my shelter, my resource,
When green hoped not to gray to run its course;
She was enthroned Virtue under heaven's dome,
My idol in the shrine of curtained home.
LES VOIX INTERIEURES. --1840.
THE BLINDED BOURBONS.
_("Qui leur eut dit l'austere destinee? ")_
[II. v. , November, 1836. ]
Who _then_, to them[1] had told the Future's story?
Or said that France, low bowed before their glory,
One day would mindful be
Of them and of their mournful fate no more,
Than of the wrecks its waters have swept o'er
The unremembering sea?
That their old Tuileries should see the fall
Of blazons from its high heraldic hall,
Dismantled, crumbling, prone;[2]
Or that, o'er yon dark Louvre's architrave[3]
A Corsican, as yet unborn, should grave
An eagle, then unknown?
The grave receives us all:
Ye butterflies and roses gay and sweet
Why do ye linger, say?
Will ye not dwell together as is meet?
Somewhere high in the air
Would thy wing seek a home 'mid sunny skies,
In mead or mossy dell--
If there thy odors longest, sweetest rise.
Have where ye will your dwelling,
Or breath or tint whose praise we sing;
Butterfly shining bright,
Full-blown or bursting rosebud, flow'r or wing.
Dwell together ye fair,
'Tis a boon to the loveliest given;
Perchance ye then may choose your home
On the earth or in heaven.
W. C. WESTBROOK
A SIMILE.
_("Soyez comme l'oiseau. ")_
[XXXIII. vi. ]
Thou art like the bird
That alights and sings
Though the frail spray bends--
For he knows he has wings.
FANNY KEMBLE (BUTLER)
THE POET TO HIS WIFE.
_("A toi, toujours a toi. ")_
[XXXIX. , 1823]
To thee, all time to thee,
My lyre a voice shall be!
Above all earthly fashion,
Above mere mundane rage,
Your mind made it my passion
To write for noblest stage.
Whoe'er you be, send blessings to her--she
Was sister of my soul immortal, free!
My pride, my hope, my shelter, my resource,
When green hoped not to gray to run its course;
She was enthroned Virtue under heaven's dome,
My idol in the shrine of curtained home.
LES VOIX INTERIEURES. --1840.
THE BLINDED BOURBONS.
_("Qui leur eut dit l'austere destinee? ")_
[II. v. , November, 1836. ]
Who _then_, to them[1] had told the Future's story?
Or said that France, low bowed before their glory,
One day would mindful be
Of them and of their mournful fate no more,
Than of the wrecks its waters have swept o'er
The unremembering sea?
That their old Tuileries should see the fall
Of blazons from its high heraldic hall,
Dismantled, crumbling, prone;[2]
Or that, o'er yon dark Louvre's architrave[3]
A Corsican, as yet unborn, should grave
An eagle, then unknown?
