Poems by Victor Hugo Part 10

THE VEIL.

_("Qu'avez-vous, mes freres?")_

[XI., September, 18288.]

"Have you prayed tonight, Desdemona?"

THE SISTER

What has happened, my brothers? Your spirit to-day Some secret sorrow damps There's a cloud on your brow. What has happened? Oh, say, For your eyeb.a.l.l.s glare out with a sinister ray Like the light of funeral lamps.

And the blades of your poniards are half unsheathed In your belt--and ye frown on me!

There's a woe untold, there's a pang unbreathed In your bosom, my brothers three!

ELDEST BROTHER.

Gulnara, make answer! Hast thou, since the dawn, To the eye of a stranger thy veil withdrawn?

THE SISTER.

As I came, oh, my brother! at noon--from the bath-- As I came--it was noon, my lords-- And your sister had then, as she constantly hath, Drawn her veil close around her, aware that the path Is beset by these foreign hordes.

But the weight of the noonday's sultry hour Near the mosque was so oppressive That--forgetting a moment the eye of the Giaour-- I yielded to th' heat excessive.

SECOND BROTHER.

Gulnara, make answer! Whom, then, hast thou seen, In a turban of white and a caftan of green?

THE SISTER.

Nay, _he_ might have been there; but I muflled me so, He could scarcely have seen my figure.-- But why to your sister thus dark do you grow?

What words to yourselves do you mutter thus low, Of "blood" and "an intriguer"?

Oh! ye cannot of murder bring down the red guilt On your souls, my brothers, surely!

Though I fear--from the hands that are chafing the hilt, And the hints you give obscurely.

THIRD BROTHER.

Gulnara, this evening when sank the red sun, Didst thou mark how like blood in descending it shone?

THE SISTER.

Mercy! Allah! have pity! oh, spare!

See! I cling to your knees repenting!

Kind brothers, forgive me! for mercy, forbear!

Be appeased at the cry of a sister's despair, For our mother's sake relenting.

O G.o.d! must I die? They are deaf to my cries!

Their sister's life-blood shedding; They have stabbed me each one--I faint--o'er my eyes A _veil of Death_ is spreading!

THE BROTHERS.

Gulnara, farewell! take _that_ veil; 'tis the gift Of thy brothers--a veil thou wilt never lift!

"FATHER PROUT" (FRANK S. MAHONY).

THE FAVORITE SULTANA.

_("N'ai-je pas pour toi, belle juive.")_

[XII., Oct. 27, 1828.]

To please you, Jewess, jewel!

I have thinned my harem out!

Must every flirting of your fan Presage a dying shout?

Grace for the damsels tender Who have fear to hear your laugh, For seldom gladness gilds your lips But blood you mean to quaff.

In jealousy so zealous, Never was there woman worse; You'd have no roses but those grown Above some buried corse.

Am I not pinioned firmly?

Why be angered if the door Repulses fifty suing maids Who vainly there implore?

Let them live on--to envy My own empress of the world, To whom all Stamboul like a dog Lies at the slippers curled.

To you my heroes lower Those scarred ensigns none have cowed; To you their turbans are depressed That elsewhere march so proud.

To you Ba.s.sora offers Her respect, and Trebizonde Her carpets richly wrought, and spice And gems, of which you're fond.

To you the Cyprus temples Dare not bar or close the doors; For you the mighty Danube sends The choicest of its stores.

Fear you the Grecian maidens, Pallid lilies of the isles?

Or the scorching-eyed sand-rover From Baalbec's ma.s.sy piles?

Compared with yours, oh, daughter Of King Solomon the grand, What are round ebon bosoms, High brows from h.e.l.las' strand?

You're neither blanched nor blackened, For your tint of olive's clear; Yours are lips of ripest cherry, You are straight as Arab spear.

Hence, launch no longer lightning On these paltry slaves of ours.

Why should your flow of tears be matched By their mean life-blood showers?

Think only of our banquets Brought and served by charming girls, For beauties sultans must adorn As dagger-hilts the pearls.