Poems by Victor Hugo Part 38

II.

But he saw nothing; s.p.a.ce was black--no sound.

"Forward," said Canute, raising his proud head.

There fell a second stain beside the first, Then it grew larger, and the Cimbrian chief Stared at the thick vague darkness, and saw naught.

Still as a bloodhound follows on his track, Sad he went on. 'There fell a third red stain On the white winding-sheet. He had never fled; Howbeit Canute forward went no more, But turned on that side where the sword arm hangs.

A drop of blood, as if athwart a dream, Fell on the shroud, and reddened his right hand.

Then, as in reading one turns back a page, A second time he changed his course, and turned To the dim left. There fell a drop of blood.

Canute drew back, trembling to be alone, And wished he had not left his burial couch.

But, when a blood-drop fell again, he stopped, Stooped his pale head, and tried to make a prayer.

Then fell a drop, and the prayer died away In savage terror. Darkly he moved on, A hideous spectre hesitating, white, And ever as he went, a drop of blood Implacably from the darkness broke away And stained that awful whiteness. He beheld Shaking, as doth a poplar in the wind, Those stains grow darker and more numerous: Another, and another, and another.

They seem to light up that funereal gloom, And mingling in the folds of that white sheet, Made it a cloud of blood. He went, and went, And still from that unfathomable vault The red blood dropped upon him drop by drop, Always, for ever--without noise, as though From the black feet of some night-gibbeted corpse.

Alas! Who wept those formidable tears?

The Infinite!--Toward Heaven, of the good Attainable, through the wild sea of night, That hath not ebb nor flow, Canute went on, And ever walking, came to a closed door, That from beneath showed a mysterious light.

Then he looked down upon his winding-sheet, For that was the great place, the sacred place, That was a portion of the light of G.o.d, And from behind that door Hosannas rang.

The winding-sheet was red, and Canute stopped.

This is why Canute from the light of day Draws ever back, and hath not dared appear Before the Judge whose face is as the sun.

This is why still remaineth the dark king Out in the night, and never having power To bring his robe back to its first pure state, But feeling at each step a blood-drop fall, Wanders eternally 'neath the vast black heaven.

_Dublin University Magazine_

[Footnote 1: King Canute slew his old father, Sweno, to obtain the crown.]

THE BOY-KING'S PRAYER.

_("Le cheval galopait toujours.")_

[Bk. XV. ii. 10.]

The good steed flew o'er river and o'er plain, Till far away,--no need of spur or rein.

The child, half rapture, half solicitude, Looks back anon, in fear to be pursued; Shakes lest some raging brother of his sire Leap from those rocks that o'er the path aspire.

On the rough granite bridge, at evening's fall, The white horse paused by Compostella's wall, ('Twas good St. James that reared those arches tall,) Through the dim mist stood out each belfry dome, And the boy hailed the paradise of home.

Close to the bridge, set on high stage, they meet A Christ of stone, the Virgin at his feet.

A taper lighted that dear pardoning face, More tender in the shade that wrapped the place, And the child stayed his horse, and in the shine Of the wax taper knelt down at the shrine.

"O, my good G.o.d! O, Mother Maiden sweet!"

He said, "I was the worm beneath men's feet; My father's brethren held me in their thrall, But Thou didst send the Paladin of Gaul, O Lord! and show'dst what different spirits move The good men and the evil; those who love And those who love not. I had been as they, But Thou, O G.o.d! hast saved both life and soul to-day.

I saw Thee in that n.o.ble knight; I saw Pure light, true faith, and honor's sacred law, My Father,--and I learnt that monarchs must Compa.s.sionate the weak, and unto all be just.

O Lady Mother! O dear Jesus! thus Bowed at the cross where Thou didst bleed for us, I swear to hold the truth that now I learn, Leal to the loyal, to the traitor stern, And ever just and n.o.bly mild to be, Meet scholar of that Prince of Chivalry; And here Thy shrine bear witness, Lord, for me."

The horse of Roland, hearing the boy tell His vow, looked round and spoke: "O King, 'tis well!"

Then on the charger mounted the child-king, And rode into the town, while all the bells 'gan ring.

_Dublin University Magazine_

EVIRADNUS.

THE KNIGHT ERRANT.

_("Qu'est-ce que Sigismond et Ladislas ont dit.")_

[Bk. XV. iii. 1.]

I.

THE ADVENTURER SETS OUT.

What was it Sigismond and Ladislaus said?

I know not if the rock, or tree o'erhead, Had heard their speech;--but when the two spoke low, Among the trees, a shudder seemed to go Through all their branches, just as if that way A beast had pa.s.sed to trouble and dismay.

More dark the shadow of the rock was seen, And then a morsel of the shade, between The sombre trees, took shape as it would seem Like spectre walking in the sunset's gleam.

It is not monster rising from its lair, Nor phantom of the foliage and the air, It is not morsel of the granite's shade That walks in deepest hollows of the glade.

'Tis not a vampire nor a spectre pale But living man in rugged coat of mail.

It is Alsatia's n.o.ble Chevalier, Eviradnus the brave, that now is here.

The men who spoke he recognized the while He rested in the thicket; words of guile Most horrible were theirs as they pa.s.sed on, And to the ears of Eviradnus one-- One word had come which roused him. Well he knew The land which lately he had journeyed through.

He down the valley went into the inn Where he had left his horse and page, Gasclin.

The horse had wanted drink, and lost a shoe; And now, "Be quick!" he said, "with what you do, For business calls me, I must not delay."

He strides the saddle and he rides away.

II.

EVIRADNUS.

Eviradnus was growing old apace, The weight of years had left its h.o.a.ry trace, But still of knights the most renowned was he, Model of bravery and purity.

His blood he spared not; ready day or night To punish crime, his dauntless sword shone bright In his unblemished hand; holy and white And loyal all his n.o.ble life had been, A Christian Samson coming on the scene.

With fist alone the gate he battered down Of Sickingen in flames, and saved the town.

'Twas he, indignant at the honor paid To crime, who with his heel an onslaught made Upon Duke Lupus' shameful monument, Tore down, the statue he to fragments rent; Then column of the Strasburg monster bore To bridge of Wa.s.selonne, and threw it o'er Into the waters deep. The people round Blazon the n.o.ble deeds that so abound From Altorf unto Chaux-de-Fonds, and say, When he rests musing in a dreamy way, "Behold, 'tis Charlemagne!" Tawny to see And hairy, and seven feet high was he, Like John of Bourbon. Roaming hill or wood He looked a wolf was striving to do good.

Bound up in duty, he of naught complained, The cry for help his aid at once obtained.

Only he mourned the baseness of mankind, And--that the beds too short he still doth find.

When people suffer under cruel kings, With pity moved, he to them succor brings.

'Twas he defended Alix from her foes As sword of Urraca--he ever shows His strength is for the feeble and oppressed; Father of orphans he, and all distressed!