Poems by Victor Hugo Part 56

Enjoy your morn of early Spring; Soon time maturer thoughts must bring; Those hours, like flowers that interclimb, Should not be withered ere their time.

Too soon you'll weep, as we do now, O'er faithless friend, or broken vow, And hopeless sorrows, which our pride In pleasure's whirl would vainly hide.

Laugh on! unconscious of thy doom, All innocence and opening bloom; Laugh on! while yet thine azure eye Mirrors the peace that reigns on high.

MRS. B. SOMERS.

THE PITY OF THE ANGELS.

_("Un Ange vit un jour.")_

[LA PITIe SUPREME VIII., 1881.]

When an angel of kindness Saw, doomed to the dark, Men framed in his likeness, He sought for a spark-- Stray gem of G.o.d's glory That shines so serene-- And, falling like lark, To brighten our story, Pure Pity was seen.

THE SOWER.

Sitting in a porchway cool, Fades the ruddy sunlight fast, Twilight hastens on to rule-- Working hours are wellnigh past

Shadows shoot across the lands; But one sower lingers still, Old, in rags, he patient stands,-- Looking on, I feel a thrill.

Black and high his silhouette Dominates the furrows deep!

Now to sow the task is set, Soon shall come a time to reap.

Marches he along the plain, To and fro, and scatters wide From his hands the precious grain; Moody, I, to see him stride.

Darkness deepens. Gone the light.

Now his gestures to mine eyes Are august; and strange--his height Seems to touch the starry skies.

TORU DUTT.

OH, WHY NOT BE HAPPY?[1]

_("A quoi bon entendre les oiseaux?")_

[RUY BLAS, Act II.]

Oh, why not be happy this bright summer day, 'Mid perfume of roses and newly-mown hay?

Great Nature is smiling--the birds in the air Sing love-lays together, and all is most fair.

Then why not be happy This bright summer day, 'Mid perfume of roses And newly-mown hay?

The streamlets they wander through meadows so fleet, Their music enticing fond lovers to meet; The violets are blooming and nestling their heads In richest profusion on moss-coated beds.

Then why not be happy This bright summer day, When Nature is fairest And all is so gay?

LEOPOLD WRAY.

[Footnote 1: Music composed by Elizabeth Philip.]

FREEDOM AND THE WORLD.

[Inscription under a Statue of the Virgin and Child, at Guernsey.--The poet sees in the emblem a modern Atlas, i.e., Freedom supporting the World.]

_("Le peuple est pet.i.t.")_

Weak is the People--but will grow beyond all other-- Within thy holy arms, thou fruitful victor-mother!

O Liberty, whose conquering flag is never furled-- Thou bearest Him in whom is centred all the World.

SERENADE.

_("Quand tu chantes.")_

When the voice of thy lute at the eve Charmeth the ear, In the hour of enchantment believe What I murmur near.

That the tune can the Age of Gold With its magic restore.

Play on, play on, my fair one, Play on for evermore.

When thy laugh like the song of the dawn Riseth so gay That the shadows of Night are withdrawn And melt away, I remember my years of care And misgiving no more.

Laugh on, laugh on, my fair one, Laugh on for evermore.

When thy sleep like the moonlight above Lulling the sea, Doth enwind thee in visions of love, Perchance, of me!

I can watch so in dream that enthralled me, Never before!

Sleep on, sleep on, my fair one!

Sleep on for evermore.