Victor Hugo

“ The sturdy warrior with a thoughtful face— The am'rous youth, the maid replete with grace, The prattling infant, and the hoary hair Of second childhood's proselytes—are there;— And the most gaudy in that spacious hall, Are e'er the young, or oldest of them all Helmet and banner, ornament and crest, The lion rampant, and the jewelled vest, The silver star that glitters fair and white, The arms that tell of many a nation's might— Heraldic blazonry, ancestral pride, And all mankind invents for pomp beside, The wingèd leopard, and the eagle wild— All these encircle woman, chief and child ”

“ And over you will bend me down, all filled With dawn's mysterious glow. I'll learn what means this exile, what this shroud Enveloping your prime; And why the truth and sweetness of one man Seem to all others crime. I'll hear—though midst these dismal boughs you sang— How came it, that for me, Who every pity feel for every woe, So vast a gloom could be. I'll know why night relentless holds me, why So great a pile of doom: Why endless frost enfolds me, and methinks My nightly bed's a tomb: Why all these battles, all these tears, regrets, And sorrows were my share ”

“ Fair angel in thy glass When vile things move or pass, Clouds in the skies amass; Terrible, alas! Thy stern commands are then: "Form your battalions, men, The flag display!" And all obey. Angel of might Sent kings to smite, The words in dark skies glance, "Mené, Mené," hiss Bolts that never miss! Thy name is France, Or Nemesis. As halcyons in May, O nations, in his ray Float and bask for aye, Nor know decay! One arm upraised to heaven Seals the past forgiven; One holds a sword To quell hell's horde, Angel of God! Thy wings stretch broad As heaven's expanse! To shield and free Humanity! ”

“ Sweet martyr! down In earth, where men decay, I search, and see from cracks which rend thy tomb, Burst out pale morning's ray. Close linked are bier and cradle: here the dead, To charm us, live again: Kneeling, I mourn, when on my threshold sounds Two little children's strain. George, Jeanne, sing on! George, Jeanne, unconscious play! Your father's form recall, Now darkened by his sombre shade, now gilt By beams that wandering fall. Oh, knowledge! what thy use? did we not know Death holds no more the dead; But Heaven, where, hand in hand, angel and star Smile at the grave we dread? ”

“ Poor girl! too many like her only born To love one day—to sin—and die the morrow. What know you of her struggles or her grief? Or what wild storms of want and woe and pain Tore down her soul from honor? As a leaf From autumn branches, or a drop of rain That hung in frailest splendor from a bough— Bright, glistening in the sunlight of God's day— So had she clung to virtue once. But now— See Heaven's clear pearl polluted with earth's clay! The sin is yours—with your accursed gold— Man's wealth is master—woman's soul the slave! ”

“ A king should listen when his subjects speak: 'Tis true your mandate led me to the block, Where pardon came upon me, like a dream; I blessed you then, unconscious as I was That a king's mercy, sharper far than death, To save a father doomed his child to shame; Yes, without pity for the noble race Of Poitiers, spotless for a thousand years, You, Francis of Valois, without one spark Of love or pity, honor or remorse, Did on that night (thy couch her virtue's tomb) , With cold embraces, foully bring to scorn My helpless daughter, Dian of Poitiers. ”

“ On the starry vault to gaze, And nearer, to gaze on those glories of night, On th' horizon high heaving, like arches of light, Till again the sun shall blaze. For then will the glacier with glory be graced, On its prisms will light streaked with darkness be placed, The morn its echoes greet; Like a torrent it falls on the ocean of life, Like Chaos unformed, with the sea-stormy strife, When waters on waters meet. As the spirit of poesy touches my thought, It is thus my ideas in a circle are brought, From earth, with the waters of pain. ”

“ Perchance even now the child, the husband, dies. For we can never tell where they may be Who, to make head against the tide and gale, Between them and the starless, soulless sea Have but one bit of plank, with one poor sail. Terrible fear! We seek the pebbly shore, Cry to the rising billows, "Bring them home." Alas! what answer gives their troubled roar, To the dark thought that haunts us as we roam. Janet is sad: her husband is alone, Wrapped in the black shroud of this bitter night: His children are so little, there is none To give him aid. "Were they but old, they might." ”

“ But could one look beyond that phantom eye, As by the wall he leans a little space, And see what shadows fill his soul's dark place, Not the fair child, the waters clear, the flowers Golden with sunset—not the birds, the bowers— No; 'neath that eye, those fatal brows that keep The fathomless brain, like ocean, dark and deep, There, as in moving mirage, should one find A fleet of ships that go before the wind: On the foamed wave, and 'neath the starlight pale, The strain and rattle of a fleet in sail, And through the fog an isle on her white rock Hearkening from far the thunder's coming shock. ”

“ If eye of man the gift uncommon could assume, And pierce the mass, thick, black as hearse's plume, To where lays on a horrifying bed What was King Ninus, now hedged round with dread, 'Twould see by what is shadow of the light, A line of feath'ry dust, bones marble-white. A shudder overtakes the pois'nous snakes When they glide near that powder, laid in flakes. Death comes at times to him—Life comes no more! And sets a jug and loaf upon the floor. He then with bony foot the corpse o'erturns, And says: "It is I, Ninus! 'Tis Death who spurns! I bring thee, hungry king, some bread and meat." ”

“ If I, one day, behold You pass from out our dull air to the light, You, infant—I, so old: If I the thread of our two lives must see Thus blent to human view, I who would fain know death was near to me, And far away for you; If your small hands remain such fragile things; If, in your cradle stirred, You have the mien of waiting there for wings, Like to some new-fledged bird; Not rooted to our earth you seem to be. If still, beneath the skies, You turn, O Jeanne, on our mystery Soft, discontented eyes! If I behold you, gay and strong no more ”

“ But naught can Love's all charming power efface, That light, our misty tracks suspended o'er, In joy thou'rt ours, more dear thy tearful grace, The young may curse thee, but the old adore. But when the weight of years bow down the head, And man feels all his energies decline, His projects gone, himself tomb'd with the dead, Where virtues lie, nor more illusions shine, When all our lofty thoughts dispersed and o'er, We count within our hearts so near congealed, Each grief that's past, each dream, exhausted ore! ”

“ As to the sword rust is, so lichens are To towering citadel with which they war. Alas! for Corbus—dreary, desolate, And yet its woes the winters mitigate. It rears itself among convulsive throes That shake its ruins when the tempest blows. Winter, the savage warrior, pleases well, With its storm clouds, the mighty citadel,— Restoring it to life. The lightning flash Strikes like a thief and flies; the winds that crash Sound like a clarion, for the Tempest bluff Is Battle's sister. And when wild and rough, The north wind blows, the tower exultant cries "Behold me!" ”

“ Oh, murderer Sigismond And Ladisläus pirate, both beyond Release—two demons that have broken ban! Therefore 'tis time their empire over man And converse with the living, should be o'er; Tyrants, behold your tomb your eyes before; Vampires and dogs, your sepulchre is here. Enter." He pointed to the gulf so near. All terrified upon their knees they fell. "Oh! take us not in your dread realm to dwell," Said Sigismond. "But, phantom! do us tell What thou wouldst have from us—we will obey. Oh, mercy!—'tis for mercy now we pray." "Behold us at your feet, oh, spectre dread!" ”

“ The Soudan cried: "O, Sphinxes, with the torch-like eye, I am the Conqueror—my name is high-arrayed In characters like flame upon the vaulted sky, Far from oblivion's reach or an effacing shade. Upon a sheaf of thunderbolts I rest my arm, And gods might wish my exploits with them were their own. I live—I am not open to the points of harm, And e'en my throne will be with age an altar-stone. When the time comes for me to cast off earthly robe, And enter—being Day—into the realms of light, The gods will say, we call Zizimi from his globe That we may have our brother nearer to our sight! ”

“ His hair is black—his eyes shine forth like thine. Him thou might'st look upon, and say, fair youth, Then turn to me, and think that I am old. And yet the light and giddy souls of cavaliers Harbor no love so fervent as their words bespeak. Let some poor maiden love them and believe them, Then die for them—they smile. Aye! these young birds, With gay and glittering wing and amorous song, Can shed their love as lightly as their plumage. The old, whose voice and colors age has dimmed, Flatter no more, and, though less fair, are faithful. When we love, we love true. Are our steps frail? ”

“ It regards from those radiant vaults on high, Earth's cities below, and again doth fly, And leaves but its shadow behind. In the glistening gold of the morning bright, It shines, detaching some lance of light, Or, as warrior's armor rings; It forages forests that ferment around, Or bathed in the sun-red gleams is found, Where the west its radiance flings. Or, on mountain peak, that rears its head Where snow-clad Alps around are spread, By furious gale 'tis thrown. From the yawning abyss see the cloud scud away, And the glacier appears, with its multiform ray, The giant mountain's crown! ”

“ As glitt'ring planets cheer the gloomy night:— But, O, ye wist not, while your souls are glad, How millions wander, homeless, sick and sad! Hazard has placed you in a happy sphere, And like your own to you all lots appear; For blinded by the sun of bliss your eyes Can see no dark horizon to the skies. Such is the chance of life! Each gallant thane, Prince, peer, and noble, follow in your train;— They praise your loveliness, and in your ear They whisper pleasing things, but insincere; Thus, as the moths enamoured of the light, Ye seek these realms of revelry each night. ”

“ Mamma with mingled joy and fright Watches its tottering feet. Perhaps at eve as round the fire we draw, We speak of heaven, or poetry, or law, Or politics, or prayer; The child comes in, 'tis now all smiles and play, Farewell to grave discourse and poet's lay, Philosophy and care. When fancy wakes, but sense in heaviest sleep Lies steeped, and like the sobs of them that weep The dark stream sinks and swells, The dawn, like Pharos gleaming o'er the sea, Bursts forth, and sudden wakes the minstrelsy Of birds and chiming bells ”

“ Which, in his parting hour, consoles the dying, And, without loving, wears the look of love. Ah! thou wilt be to me this sheltering angel, To cheer the old man's heart—to share with him The burden of his evil years;—a daughter In thy respect, a sister in thy pity. DONNA SOL. My fate may be more to precede than follow. My lord, it is no reason for long life That we are young! Alas! I have seen too oft The old clamped firm to life, the young torn thence; And the lids close as sudden o'er their eyes As gravestones sealing up the sepulchre. ”

“ If there be a loving heart Where Honor rules the breast, Loyal and true in every part, That changes ne'er molest, Eager to run its noble race, Intent to do some work of grace, I fain would make of it a place For thy brow to rest. And if there be of love a dream Rose-scented as the west, Which shows, each time it comes, a gleam,— A something sweet and blest,— A dream of which heaven is the pole, A dream that mingles soul and soul, I fain of it would make the goal Where thy mind should rest. ”

“ Mother of the unconquered thought And of the savage form, Who brings out of her sturdy heart The hero and the storm: Who giveth freedom unto man, And life unto the beast; Who hears her silver torrents ring Like joy-bells at a feast; Who hath her caves for palaces, And where her châlets stand— The proud, old archer of Altorf, With his good bow in his hand. Is she to suckle jailers? Shall shame and glory rest, Amid her lakes and glaciers, Like twins upon her breast? Shall the two-headed eagle, Marked with her double blow, Drink of her milk through all those hearts Whose blood he bids to flow? ”

“ Who, like the God before whom pales the star, Has temples, with a prophet for a priest, Who serves up daily sacrilegious feast. His anger there are none who dare provoke, His very mildness is looked on as a yoke; And under his, more feared than other rules, He holds his people bound, like tamèd bulls. Asia is banded with his paths of war; He is more of a scourge than Attila. He triumphs glorious—but, day by day, The earth falls at his feet, piecemeal away; And the bricks for his tomb's wall, one by one, Are being shaped—are baking in the sun. ”