Poems by Victor Hugo Part 16

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 them to forbear, And in the vastness of their strength, they spare.

Armed with impunity, for _one in vain_ Resists a _nation_, they let others reign.

G.W.M. REYNOLDS.

DICTATED BEFORE THE RHONE GLACIER.

_("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 a wandering cloud, then, my eager thought Capriciously flies, to no guidance brought, With every quarter's wind; 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 s.h.i.+nes, 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!

Like Parna.s.sian pinnacle yet to be scaled, In its form from afar, by the aspirant hailed; On its side the rainbow plays, And at eve, when the shadow sinks sleeping below, The last slanting ray on its crest of snow Makes its cap like a crater to blaze.

In the darkness, its front seems some pale orb of light, The chamois with fear flashes on in its flight, The eagle afar is driven; The deluge but roars in despair to its feet, And scarce dare the eye its aspect to meet, So near doth it rise to heaven.

Alone on these alt.i.tudes, feeling no fear, Forgetful of earth, my spirit draws near; 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.

As under a sunbeam a cloud ascends, These fly to the heavens--their course never ends, But descend to the ocean again.

_Author of "Critical Essays."_

THE POET'S LOVE FOR LIVELINESS.

_("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 livelong day.

So, if my hap it be to see once more Those scenes my footsteps tottered in before, An infant follower in Napoleon's train: Rodrigo's holds, Valencia and Leon, And both Castiles, and mated Aragon; Ne'er be it mine, O Spain!

To pa.s.s thy plains with cities scant between, Thy stately arches flung o'er deep ravine, Thy palaces, of Moor's or Roman's time; Or the swift makings of thy Guadalquiver, Save in those gilded cars, where bells forever Ring their melodious chime.

_Fraser's Magazine_

INFANTILE INFLUENCE.

_("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 ground, Or winter bleak the flickering hearth around Draws close the circling seat; The child still sheds a never-failing light; We call; 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;

Thou art my dawn; my soul is as the field, Where sweetest flowers their balmy perfumes yield When breathed upon by thee, Of forest, where thy voice like zephyr plays, And morn pours out its flood of golden rays, When thy sweet smile I see.

Oh, sweetest eyes, like founts of liquid blue; And little hands that evil never knew, Pure as the new-formed snow; Thy feet are still unstained by this world's mire, Thy golden locks like aureole of fire Circle thy cherub brow!

Dove of our ark, thine angel spirit flies On azure wings forth from thy beaming eyes.

Though weak thine infant feet, What strange amaze this new and strange world gives To thy sweet virgin soul, that spotless lives In virgin body sweet.

Oh, gentle face, radiant with happy smile, And eager prattling tongue that knows no guile, Quick changing tears and bliss; Thy soul expands to catch this new world's light, Thy mazed eyes to drink each wondrous sight, Thy lips to taste the kiss.

Oh, G.o.d! bless me and mine, and these I love, And e'en my foes that still triumphant prove Victors by force or guile; A flowerless summer may we never see, Or nest of bird bereft, or hive of bee, Or home of infant's smile.

HENRY HIGHTON, M.A.

THE WATCHING ANGEL.

_("Dans l'alcove sombre.")_