Poems by Victor Hugo Part 28

By four unpitying walls environed there The homesick students pace the pavements bare.

E.E. FREWER

GASTIBELZA.

_("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 rus.h.i.+ng Will drive me wild!

"You stare as though you hardly knew my lady-- Sabine's her name!

Her dam inhabits yonder cavern shady, A witch of shame, Who shrieks o' nights upon the Haunted Tower, With horrors piled-- Oh! this chill wind, etc.

"Sing on and leap--enjoying all the favors Good heaven sends; She, too, was young--her lips had peachy savors With honey blends; Give to that hag--not always old--a penny, Though crime-defiled-- Oh! this chill wind, etc.

"The queen beside her looked a wench uncomely, When, near to-night, She proudly stalked a-past the maids so homely, In bodice tight And collar old as reign of wicked Julian, By fiend beguiled-- Oh! this chill wind, etc.

"The king himself proclaimed her peerless beauty Before the court, And held it were to win a kiss his duty To give a fort, Or, more, to sign away all bright Dorado, Tho' gold-plate tiled-- Oh! this chill wind, etc.

"Love her? at least, I know I am most lonely Without her nigh; I'm but a hound to follow her, and only At her feet die.

I'd gayly spend of toilsome years a dozen-- A felon styled-- Oh! this chill wind, etc.

"One summer day when long--so long? I'd missed her, She came anew, To play i' the fount alone but for her sister, And bared to view The finest, rosiest, most tempting ankle, Like that of child-- Oh! this chill wind, etc.

"When I beheld her, I--a lowly shepherd-- Grew in my mind Till I was Caesar--she that crowned leopard He crouched behind, No Roman stern, but in her silken leashes A captive mild-- Oh! this chill wind, etc.

"Yet dance and sing, tho' night be thickly falling;-- In selfsame time Poor Sabine heard in ecstasy the calling, In winning rhyme, Of Saldane's earl so n.o.ble, ay, and wealthy, Name e'er reviled-- Oh! this chill wind, etc.

"(Let me upon this bench be shortly resting, So weary, I!) That n.o.ble bore her smiling, unresisting, By yonder high And ragged road that snakes towards the summit Where crags are piled-- Oh! this chill wind, etc.

"I saw her pa.s.s beside my lofty station-- A glance--'twas all!

And yet I loathe my daily honest ration, The air's turned gall!

My soul's in chase, my body chafes to wander-- My dagger's filed-- Oh! this chill wind may change, and o'er the mountain May drive me wild!"

HENRY L. WILLIAMS.

GUITAR SONG.

_("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 he.

How, how! How shall we be happy--be happy? said he.

Love--love--love! whispered she.

EVELYN JERROLD

COME WHEN I SLEEP.

_("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 pa.s.sing touch my face-- At once a s.p.a.ce My lips will part.

And on my brow where too long weighed supreme A vision--haply spent now--black as night, Let thy look as a star arise and beam-- At once my dream Will seem of light.

Then press my lips, where plays a flame of bliss-- A pure and holy love-light--and forsake The angel for the woman in a kiss-- At once, I wis, My soul will wake!

WM. W. TOMLINSON.

EARLY LOVE REVISITED.

_("O douleur! j'ai voulu savoir.")_

[x.x.xIV. 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 Nature change, How quickly she smoothes with her hand serene-- And how rarely she snaps, in her ceaseless range, The links that bound our hearts to the scene.