(“La flamme par ton ordre, O roi!”) [XXIII., November, 1825.] Thy will, O King, is done! Lighting but to consume, The roar of the fierce flames drowned even the shouts and shrieks; Reddening each roof, like some day-dawn of bloody doom, Seemed they in joyous flight to dance about their wrecks. Slaughter his thousand giant […]

[1] (“Entre deux rocs d’un noir d’ebene.”) [XXVII., November, 1828.] Between two ebon rocks Behold yon sombre den, Where brambles bristle like the locks Of wool between the horns of scapegoat banned by men! Remote in ruddy fog Still hear the tiger growl At the lion and striped dog That prowl with rusty throats to […]

(“Murs, ville et port.”) [XXVIII., Aug. 28, 1828.] Town, tower, Shore, deep, Where lower Cliff’s steep; Waves gray, Where play Winds gay, All sleep. Hark! a sound, Far and slight, Breathes around On the night High and higher, Nigh and nigher, Like a fire, Roaring, bright. Now, on ’tis sweeping With rattling beat, Like dwarf […]

(“A Juana la Grenadine!”) [XXIX., October, 1843.] To Juana ever gay, Sultan Achmet spoke one day “Lo, the realms that kneel to own Homage to my sword and crown All I’d freely cast away, Maiden dear, for thee alone.” “Be a Christian, noble king! For it were a grievous thing: Love to seek and find […]

A MOORISH BALLAD. (“Don Roderique est a la chasse.”) [XXX., May, 1828.] Unto the chase Rodrigo’s gone, With neither lance nor buckler; A baleful light his eyes outshone– To pity he’s no truckler. He follows not the royal stag, But, full of fiery hating, Beside the way one sees him lag, Impatient at the waiting. […]

(“Tandis que l’etoile inodore.”) [XXXII.] While bright but scentless azure stars Be-gem the golden corn, And spangle with their skyey tint The furrows not yet shorn; While still the pure white tufts of May Ape each a snowy ball,– Away, ye merry maids, and haste To gather ere they fall! Nowhere the sun of Spain […]

(“Ainsi, lorsqu’un mortel!”) [XXXIV., May, 1828.] As when a mortal–Genius’ prize, alack! Is, living, bound upon thy fatal back, Thou reinless racing steed! In vain he writhes, mere cloud upon a star, Thou bearest him as went Mazeppa, far Out of the flow’ry mead,– So–though thou speed’st implacable, (like him, Spent, pallid, torn, bruised, weary, […]

(“Quoi! ne pouvez-vous vivre ensemble?”) [XXXV., June, 1828.] The River Deity upbraids his Daughters, the contributary Streams: Ye daughters mine! will naught abate Your fierce interminable hate? Still am I doomed to rue the fate That such unfriendly neighbors made? The while ye might, in peaceful cheer, Mirror upon your waters clear, Semlin! thy Gothic […]

(“J’etais seul pres des flots.”) [XXXVII., September 5, 1828.] I stood by the waves, while the stars soared in sight, Not a cloud specked the sky, not a sail shimmered bright; Scenes beyond this dim world were revealed to mine eye; And the woods, and the hills, and all nature around, Seem’d to question with […]

(“Toujours lui! lui partout!”) [XL., December, 1828.] Above all others, everywhere I see His image cold or burning! My brain it thrills, and oftentime sets free The thoughts within me yearning. My quivering lips pour forth the words That cluster in his name of glory– The star gigantic with its rays of swords Whose gleams […]

(“Il s’est dit tant de fois.”) How often have the people said: “What’s power?” Who reigns soon is dethroned? each fleeting hour Has onward borne, as in a fevered dream, Such quick reverses, like a judge supreme– Austere but just, they contemplate the end To which the current of events must tend. Self-confidence has taught […]

(“Souvent quand mon esprit riche.”) [VII., May 18, 1828.] When my mind, on the ocean of poesy hurled, Floats on in repose round this wonderful world, Oft the sacred fire from heaven– Mysterious sun, that gives light to the soul– Strikes mine with its ray, and above the pole Its upward course is driven, Like […]

(“Moi, quelque soit le monde.”) [XV., May 11, 1830.] For me, whate’er my life and lot may show, Years blank with gloom or cheered by mem’ry’s glow, Turmoil or peace; never be it mine, I pray, To be a dweller of the peopled earth, Save ‘neath a roof alive with children’s mirth Loud through the […]

(“Lorsque l’enfant parait.”) [XIX., May 11, 1830.] The child comes toddling in, and young and old With smiling eyes its smiling eyes behold, And artless, babyish joy; A playful welcome greets it through the room, The saddest brow unfolds its wrinkled gloom, To greet the happy boy. If June with flowers has spangled all the […]

(“Dans l’alcove sombre.”) [XX., November, 1831.] In the dusky nook, Near the altar laid, Sleeps the child in shadow Of his mother’s bed: Softly he reposes, And his lid of roses, Closed to earth, uncloses On the heaven o’erhead. Many a dream is with him, Fresh from fairyland, Spangled o’er with diamonds Seems the ocean […]

(“Le soleil s’est couche”) [XXXV. vi., April, 1829.] The sun set this evening in masses of cloud, The storm comes to-morrow, then calm be the night, Then the Dawn in her chariot refulgent and proud, Then more nights, and still days, steps of Time in his flight. The days shall pass rapid as swifts on […]

(“Ma fille, va prier!”) [XXXVII., June, 1830.] I. Come, child, to prayer; the busy day is done, A golden star gleams through the dusk of night; The hills are trembling in the rising mist, The rumbling wain looms dim upon the sight; All things wend home to rest; the roadside trees Shake off their dust, […]

(“De quel non te nommer?”) [PRELUDE, a, Oct. 20, 1835.] How shall I note thee, line of troubled years, Which mark existence in our little span? One constant twilight in the heaven appears– One constant twilight in the mind of man! Creed, hope, anticipation and despair, Are but a mingling, as of day and night; […]

(“L’Orient! qu’y voyez-vous, poetes?”) [PRELUDE, b.] Now, vot’ries of the Muses, turn your eyes, Unto the East, and say what there appears! “Alas!” the voice of Poesy replies, “Mystic’s that light between the hemispheres!” “Yes, dread’s the mystic light in yonder heaven– Dull is the gleam behind the distant hill; Like feeble flashes in the […]

(“Freres, vous avez vos journees.”) Youth of France, sons of the bold, Your oak-leaf victor-wreaths behold! Our civic-laurels–honored dead! So bright your triumphs in life’s morn, Your maiden-standards hacked and torn, On Austerlitz might lustre shed. All that your fathers did re-done– A people’s rights all nobly won– Ye tore them living from the shroud! […]