Poems. Victor Hugo

           The River Deity upbraids his Daughters, the contributary Streams: —

           Ye daughters mine! will naught abate

           Your fierce interminable hate?

           Still am I doomed to rue the fate

             That such unfriendly neighbors made?

           The while ye might, in peaceful cheer,

           Mirror upon your waters clear,

           Semlin! thy Gothic steeples dear,

             And thy bright minarets, Belgrade!

           I stood by the waves, while the stars soared in sight,

           Not a cloud specked the sky, not a sail shimmered bright;

             Scenes beyond this dim world were revealed to mine eye;

           And the woods, and the hills, and all nature around,

           Seem'd to question with moody, mysterious sound,

             The waves, and the pure stars on high.

           And the clear constellations, that infinite throng,

           While thousand rich harmonies swelled in their song,

             Replying, bowed meekly their diamond-blaze —

           And the blue waves, which nothing may bind or arrest,

           Chorus'd forth, as they stooped the white foam of their crest

             "Creator! we bless thee and praise!"

           Above all others, everywhere I see

             His image cold or burning!

           My brain it thrills, and oftentime sets free

             The thoughts within me yearning.

           My quivering lips pour forth the words

             That cluster in his name of glory —

           The star gigantic with its rays of swords

             Whose gleams irradiate all modern story.

           I see his finger pointing where the shell

             Should fall to slay most rabble,

           And save foul regicides; or strike the knell

             Of weaklings 'mid the tribunes' babble.

           A Consul then, o'er young but proud,

             With midnight poring thinned, and sallow,

           But dreams of Empire pierce the transient cloud,

             And round pale face and lank locks form the halo.

           And soon the Caesar, with an eye a-flame

             Whole nations' contact urging

           To gain his soldiers gold and fame

             Oh, Sun on high emerging,

           Whose dazzling lustre fired the hells

             Embosomed in grim bronze, which, free, arose

           To change five hundred thousand base-born Tells,

             Into his host of half-a-million heroes!

           What! next a captive? Yea, and caged apart.

             No weight of arms enfolded

           Can crush the turmoil in that seething heart

             Which Nature – not her journeymen – self-moulded.

           Let sordid jailers vex their prize;

             But only bends that brow to lightning,

           As gazing from the seaward rock, his sighs