Wild flowers of the glen,
Caves swoll'n with shadow, where sunshine
Has pierced not, far from men;
Ye sacred hills and antique rocks,
Ye oaks that worsted time,
Ye limpid lakes which snow-slide shocks
Hurl up in storms sublime;
And sky above, unruflfed blue,
Chaste rills that alway ran
From
stainless
source a course still true,
What think ye of this man?
Victor Hugo - Poems
xiii., Jersey, February, 1853.]
Mother birdie stiff and cold,
Puss has hushed the other's singing;
Winds go whistling o'er the wold,--
Empty nest in sport a-flinging.
Poor little birdies!
Faithless shepherd strayed afar,
Playful dog the gadflies catching;
Wolves bound boldly o'er the bar,
Not a friend the fold is watching--
Poor little lambkins!
Father into prison fell,
Mother begging through the parish;
Baby's cot they, too, will sell,--
Who will now feed, clothe and cherish?
Poor little children!
APOSTROPHE TO NATURE.
_("O Soleil!")_
[Bk. II. iv., Anniversary of the Coup d'Etat, 1852.]
O Sun! thou countenance divine!
Wild flowers of the glen,
Caves swoll'n with shadow, where sunshine
Has pierced not, far from men;
Ye sacred hills and antique rocks,
Ye oaks that worsted time,
Ye limpid lakes which snow-slide shocks
Hurl up in storms sublime;
And sky above, unruflfed blue,
Chaste rills that alway ran
From
stainless
source a course still true,
What think ye of this man?
NAPOLEON "THE LITTLE."
_("Ah! tu finiras bien par hurler!")_
[Bk. III. ii., Jersey, August, 1852.]
How well I knew this stealthy wolf would howl,
When in the eagle talons ta'en in air!
Aglow, I snatched thee from thy prey--thou fowl--
I held thee, abject conqueror, just where
All see the stigma of a fitting name
As deeply red as deeply black thy shame!
And though thy matchless impudence may frame
Some mask of seeming courage--spite thy sneer,
And thou assurest sloth and skunk: "It does not smart!"
Thou feel'st it burning, in and in,--and fear
None will forget it till shall fall the deadly dart!
