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Expectation
by [?]


(“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 cold,
Kisses the last ray of even!
And, O thou that lov’st to mark
Morn’s first sunbeam pierce the dark,
Mount, O mount, thou joyous lark–
Joyous lark, O mount to heaven!
And now say, from topmost bough,
Towering shaft, and peak of snow,
And heaven’s arch–O, can you see
One white plume that like a star,
Streams along the plain afar,
And a steed that from the war
Bears my lover back to me?

Translated by JOHN L. O’SULLIVAN.