Poems by Victor Hugo Part 14

THE OBDURATE BEAUTY.

_("A Juana la Grenadine!")_

[XXIX., October, 1843.]

To Juana ever gay, Sultan Achmet spoke one day "Lo, the realms that kneel to own Homage to my sword and crown All I'd freely cast away, Maiden dear, for thee alone."

"Be a Christian, n.o.ble king!

For it were a grievous thing: Love to seek and find too well In the arms of infidel.

Spain with cry of shame would ring, If from honor faithful fell."

"By these pearls whose spotless chain, Oh, my gentle sovereign, Clasps thy neck of ivory, Aught thou askest I will be, If that necklace pure of stain Thou wilt give for rosary."

JOHN L. O'SULLIVAN.

DON RODRIGO.

A MOORISH BALLAD.

_("Don Roderique est a la cha.s.se.")_

[x.x.x., May, 1828.]

Unto the chase Rodrigo's gone, With neither lance nor buckler; A baleful light his eyes outshone-- To pity he's no truckler.

He follows not the royal stag, But, full of fiery hating, Beside the way one sees him lag, Impatient at the waiting.

He longs his nephew's blood to spill, Who 'scaped (the young Mudarra) That trap he made and laid to kill The seven sons of Lara.

Along the road--at last, no balk-- A youth looms on a jennet; He rises like a sparrow-hawk About to seize a linnet.

"What ho!" "Who calls?" "Art Christian knight, Or basely born and boorish, Or yet that thing I still more slight-- The sp.a.w.n of some dog Moorish?

"I seek the by-born sp.a.w.n of one I e'er renounce as brother-- Who chose to make his latest son Caress a Moor as mother.

"I've sought that cub in every hole, 'Midland, and coast, and islet, For he's the thief who came and stole Our sheathless jewelled stilet."

"If you well know the poniard worn Without edge-dulling cover-- Look on it now--here, plain, upborne!

And further be no rover.

"Tis I--as sure as you're abhorred Rodrigo--cruel slayer, 'Tis I am Vengeance, and your lord, Who bids you crouch in prayer!

"I shall not grant the least delay-- Use what you have, defending, I'll send you on that darksome way Your victims late were wending.

"And if I wore this, with its crest-- Our seal with gems enwreathing-- In open air--'twas in your breast To seek its fated sheathing!"

CORNFLOWERS.

_("Tandis que l'etoile inodore.")_

[x.x.xII.]

While bright but scentless azure stars Be-gem the golden corn, And spangle with their skyey tint The furrows not yet shorn; While still the pure white tufts of May Ape each a snowy ball,-- Away, ye merry maids, and haste To gather ere they fall!

Nowhere the sun of Spain outshines Upon a fairer town Than Penafiel, or endows More richly farming clown; Nowhere a broader square reflects Such brilliant mansions, tall,-- Away, ye merry maids, etc.

Nowhere a statelier abbey rears Dome huger o'er a shrine, Though seek ye from old Rome itself To even Seville fine.

Here countless pilgrims come to pray And promenade the Mall,-- Away, ye merry maids, etc.

Where glide the girls more joyfully Than ours who dance at dusk, With roses white upon their brows, With waists that scorn the busk?

Mantillas elsewhere hide dull eyes-- Compared with these, how small!

Away, ye merry maids, etc.

A blossom in a city lane, Alizia was our pride, And oft the blundering bee, deceived, Came buzzing to her side-- But, oh! for one that felt the sting, And found, 'neath honey, gall-- Away, ye merry maids, etc.

Young, haughty, from still hotter lands, A stranger hither came-- Was he a Moor or African, Or Murcian known to fame?

None knew--least, she--or false or true, The name by which to call.

Away, ye merry maids, etc.

Alizia asked not his degree, She saw him but as Love, And through Xarama's vale they strayed, And tarried in the grove,-- Oh! curses on that fatal eve, And on that leafy hall!

Away, ye merry maids, etc.

The darkened city breathed no more; The moon was mantled long, Till towers thrust the cloudy cloak Upon the steeples' throng; The crossway Christ, in ivy draped, Shrank, grieving, 'neath the pall,-- Away, ye merry maids, etc.

But while, alone, they kept the shade, The other dark-eyed dears Were murmuring on the stifling air Their jealous threats and fears; Alizia was so blamed, that time, Unheeded rang the call: Away, ye merry maids, etc.

Although, above, the hawk describes The circle round the lark, It sleeps, unconscious, and our la.s.s Had eyes but for her spark-- A spark?--a sun! 'Twas Juan, King!

Who wears our coronal,-- Away, ye merry maids, etc.

A love so far above one's state Ends sadly. Came a black And guarded palanquin to bear The girl that ne'er comes back; By royal writ, some nunnery Still shields her from us all Away, ye merry maids, and haste To gather ere they fall!

H. L. WILLIAMS