“Puisqu’ici-bas tout ame.” XL, May 19, 1836. Since everything below, Doth, in this mortal state, Its tone, its fragrance, or its glow Communicate; Since all that lives and moves Upon the earth, bestows On what it seeks and what it loves Its thorn or rose; Since April to the trees Gives a bewitching sound, And […]

(“Devant la blanche ferme.”) [XV., May, 1837.] Before the farm where, o’er the porch, festoon Wild creepers red, and gaffer sits at noon, Whilst strutting fowl display their varied crests, And the old watchdog slumberously rests, They half-attentive to the clarion of their king, Resplendent in the sunshine op’ning wing– There stood a cow, with […]

(“Regardez: les enfants.”) [XX., June, 1884.] See all the children gathered there, Their mother near; so young, so fair, An eider sister she might be, And yet she hears, amid their games, The shaking of their unknown names In the dark urn of destiny. She wakes their smiles, she soothes their cares, On that pure […]

(“Enfants! Oh! revenez!”) [XXII, April, 1837] Children, come back–come back, I say– You whom my folly chased away A moment since, from this my room, With bristling wrath and words of doom! What had you done, you bandits small, With lips as red as roses all? What crime?–what wild and hapless deed? What porcelain vase […]

(“A quoi je songe?”) [XXIIL, July, 1836.] What do I dream of? Far from the low roof, Where now ye are, children, I dream of you; Of your young heads that are the hope and crown Of my full summer, ripening to its fall. Branches whose shadow grows along my wall, Sweet souls scarce open […]

(“Quels sont ces bruits sourds?”) [XXIV., July 17, 1836.] Hark to that solemn sound! It steals towards the strand.– Whose is that voice profound Which mourns the swallowed land, With moans, Or groans, New threats of ruin close at hand? It is Triton–the storm to scorn Who doth wind his sonorous horn. How thick the […]

(“Jeune fille, l’amour c’est un miroir.”) [XXVI., February, 1835.] Young maiden, true love is a pool all mirroring clear, Where coquettish girls come to linger in long delight, For it banishes afar from the face all the clouds that besmear The soul truly bright; But tempts you to ruffle its surface; drawing your foot To […]

(“O palais, sois benie.”) Palace and ruin, bless thee evermore! Grateful we bow thy gloomy tow’rs before; For the old King of France[1] hath found in thee That melancholy hospitality Which in their royal fortune’s evil day, Stuarts and Bourbons to each other pay. Translated by Fraser’s Magazine. [Footnote 1: King Charles X.]

(“La tombe dit a la rose.”) [XXXI., June 3, 1837] The Grave said to the rose “What of the dews of dawn, Love’s flower, what end is theirs?” “And what of spirits flown, The souls whereon doth close The tomb’s mouth unawares?” The Rose said to the Grave. The Rose said: “In the shade From […]

(“L’eglise est vaste et haute.”) The Church[1] is vast; its towering pride, its steeples loom on high; The bristling stones with leaf and flower are sculptured wondrously; The portal glows resplendent with its “rose,” And ‘neath the vault immense at evening swarm Figures of angel, saint, or demon’s form, As oft a fearful world our […]

(“O dix-huitieme siecle!”) O Eighteenth Century! by Heaven chastised! Godless thou livedst, by God thy doom was fixed. Thou in one ruin sword and sceptre mixed, Then outraged love, and pity’s claim despised. Thy life a banquet–but its board a scaffold at the close, Where far from Christ’s beatic reign, Satanic deeds arose! Thy writers, […]

(“O vous que votre age defende”) In youthful spirits wild, Smile, for all beams on thee; Sport, sing, be still the child, The flower, the honey-bee. Bring not the future near, For Joy too soon declines– What is man’s mission here? Toil, where no sunlight shines! Our lot is hard, we know; From eyes so […]

(“Matelots, vous deploirez les voiles.”) [XVI., May 5, 1839.] Ye mariners! ye mariners! each sail to the breeze unfurled, In joy or sorrow still pursue your course around the world; And when the stars next sunset shine, ye anxiously will gaze Upon the shore, a friend or foe, as the windy quarter lays. Ye envious […]

(“Comme dans les etangs.”) [X., May, 1839.] As in some stagnant pool by forest-side, In human souls two things are oft descried; The sky,–which tints the surface of the pool With all its rays, and all its shadows cool; The basin next,–where gloomy, dark and deep, Through slime and mud black reptiles vaguely creep. Translated […]

(“Homme chauve et noir.”) [XIX., May, 1839.] A gruesome man, bald, clad in black, Who kept us youthful drudges in the track, Thinking it good for them to leave home care, And for a while a harsher yoke to bear; Surrender all the careless ease of home, And be forbid from schoolyard bounds to roam; […]

(“J’aime le carillon dans tes cites antiques.”) [XVIII., August, 1837.] Within thy cities of the olden time Dearly I love to list the ringing chime, Thou faithful guardian of domestic worth, Noble old Flanders! where the rigid North A flush of rich meridian glow doth feel, Caught from reflected suns of bright Castile. The chime, […]

(“Comment, disaient-ils.”) [XXIII., July 18, 1838.] How shall we flee sorrow–flee sorrow? said he. How, how! How shall we flee sorrow–flee sorrow? said he. How–how–how? answered she. How shall we see pleasure–see pleasure? said he. How, how! How shall we see pleasure–see pleasure? said he. Dream–dream–dream! answered she. How shall we be happy–be happy? said […]

(“Gastibelza, l’homme a la carabine.”) [XXII., March, 1837.] Gastibelza, with gun the measure beating, Would often sing: “Has one o’ ye with sweet Sabine been meeting, As, gay, ye bring Your songs and steps which, by the music, Are reconciled– Oh! this chill wind across the mountain rushing Will drive me wild! “You stare as […]

(“O douleur! j’ai voulu savoir.”) [XXXIV. i., October, 183-.] I have wished in the grief of my heart to know If the vase yet treasured that nectar so clear, And to see what this beautiful valley could show Of all that was once to my soul most dear. In how short a span doth all […]

(“Oh, quand je dors.”) [XXVII.] Oh! when I sleep, come near my resting-place, As Laura came to bless her poet’s heart, And let thy breath in passing touch my face– At once a space My lips will part. And on my brow where too long weighed supreme A vision–haply spent now–black as night, Let thy […]