(“Jersey dort dans les flots.”) [Bk. III. xiv., Oct. 8, 1854.] Dear Jersey! jewel jubilant and green, ‘Midst surge that splits steel ships, but sings to thee! Thou fav’rest Frenchmen, though from England seen, Oft tearful to that mistress “North Countree”; Returned the third time safely here to be, I bless my bold Gibraltar of […]

(“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, […]

(“Il est un peu tard.”) [Bk. III. xxx., Oct. 30, 1854.] Late it is to look so proud, Daisy queen! come is the gloom Of the winter-burdened cloud!– “But, in winter, most I bloom!” Star of even! sunk the sun! Lost for e’er the ruddy line; And the earth is veiled in dun,– “Nay, in […]

(“Vous qui ne savez pas combien l’enfance est belle.”) Sweet sister, if you knew, like me, The charms of guileless infancy, No more you’d envy riper years, Or smiles, more bitter than your tears. But childhood passes in an hour, As perfume from a faded flower; The joyous voice of early glee Flies, like the […]

[Oct. 9, 1830.] When with gigantic hand he placed, For throne, on vassal Europe based, That column’s lofty height– Pillar, in whose dread majesty, In double immortality, Glory and bronze unite! Aye, when he built it that, some day, Discord or war their course might stay, Or here might break their car; And in our […]

(“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!

Oh, Why Not Be Happy?[1] (“A quoi bon entendre les oiseaux?”) [RUY BLAS, Act II.] Oh, why not be happy this bright summer day, ‘Mid perfume of roses and newly-mown hay? Great Nature is smiling–the birds in the air Sing love-lays together, and all is most fair. Then why not be happy This bright summer […]

(“Un Ange vit un jour.”) [LA PITIE SUPREME VIII., 1881.] When an angel of kindness Saw, doomed to the dark, Men framed in his likeness, He sought for a spark– Stray gem of God’s glory That shines so serene– And, falling like lark, To brighten our story, Pure Pity was seen.

(“Les feuilles qui gisaient.”) The leaves that in the lonely walks were spread, Starting from off the ground beneath the tread, Coursed o’er the garden-plain; Thus, sometimes, ‘mid the soul’s deep sorrowings, Our soul a moment mounts on wounded wings, Then, swiftly, falls again.

(“Le peuple est petit.”) Weak is the People–but will grow beyond all other– Within thy holy arms, thou fruitful victor-mother! O Liberty, whose conquering flag is never furled– Thou bearest Him in whom is centred all the World.

(“Mon ame a ton coeur s’est donnee.”) [ANGELO, Act II., May, 1835.] My soul unto thy heart is given, In mystic fold do they entwine, So bound in one that, were they riven, Apart my soul would life resign. Thou art my song and I the lyre; Thou art the breeze and I the brier; […]

(“Phoebus, n’est-il sur la terre?”) [OPERA OF “ESMERALDA,” ACT IV., 1836.] Phoebus, is there not this side the grave, Power to save Those who’re loving? Magic balm That will restore to me my former calm? Is there nothing tearful eye Can e’er dry, or hush the sigh? I pray Heaven day and night, As I […]

Where are the hapless shipmen?–disappeared, Gone down, where witness none, save Night, hath been, Ye deep, deep waves, of kneeling mothers feared, What dismal tales know ye of things unseen? Tales that ye tell your whispering selves between The while in clouds to the flood-tide ye pour; And this it is that gives you, as […]

(“Un soldat au dur visage.”) [CROMWELL, ACT I.] “Hold, little blue-eyed page!” So cried the watchers surly, Stern to his pretty rage And golden hair so curly– “Methinks your satin cloak Masks something bulky under; I take this as no joke– Oh, thief with stolen plunder!” “I am of high repute, And famed among the […]

(“Tout vit! et se pose avec grace.”) How graceful the picture! the life, the repose! The sunbeam that plays on the porchstone wide; And the shadow that fleets o’er the stream that flows, And the soft blue sky with the hill’s green side. Translated by Fraser’s Magazine

It was a humble church, with arches low, The church we entered there, Where many a weary soul since long ago Had past with plaint or prayer. Mournful and still it was at day’s decline, The day we entered there; As in a loveless heart, at the lone shrine, The fires extinguished were. Scarcely was […]

(“Aveugle comme Homere.”) Blind, as was Homer; as Belisarius, blind, But one weak child to guide his vision dim. The hand which dealt him bread, in pity kind– He’ll never see; God sees it, though, for him. Translated by H.L.C., “London Society.”

(“Oh, regardez le ciel!”) [June, 1828.] See, where on high the moving masses, piled By the wind, break in groups grotesque and wild, Present strange shapes to view; Oft flares a pallid flash from out their shrouds, As though some air-born giant ‘mid the clouds Sudden his falchion drew.

(“Moune, ecureuil.”) [xx.] Squirrel, mount yon oak so high, To its twig that next the sky Bends and trembles as a flower! Strain, O stork, thy pinion well,– From thy nest ‘neath old church-bell, Mount to yon tall citadel, And its tallest donjon tower! To your mountain, eagle old, Mount, whose brow so white and […]

(“Si j’etais la feuille.”) [XXII., September, 1828.] Oh! were I the leaf that the wind of the West, His course through the forest uncaring; To sleep on the gale or the wave’s placid breast In a pendulous cradle is bearing. All fresh with the morn’s balmy kiss would I haste, As the dewdrops upon me […]