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Poems by Victor Hugo Part 7

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My wings, pure golden, of radiant sheen (Painted as amorous poet's strain), Glimmer at night, when meadows green Sparkle with the perfumed rain While the sun's gone to come again.

And clear my hand, as stream that flows; And sweet my breath as air of May; And o'er my ivory shoulders stray Locks of sunshine;--tunes still play From my odorous lips of rose.

Follow, follow! I have caves Of pearl beneath the azure waves, And tents all woven pleasantly In verdant glades of Faery.

Come, beloved child, with me, And I will bear thee to the bowers Where clouds are painted o'er like flowers, And pour into thy charmed ear Songs a mortal may not hear; Harmonies so sweet and ripe As no inspired shepherd's pipe E'er breathed into Arcadian glen, Far from the busy haunts of men.

THE PERI.



My home is afar in the bright Orient, Where the sun, like a king, in his orange tent, Reigneth for ever in gorgeous pride-- And wafting thee, princess of rich countree, To the soft flute's lush melody, My golden vessel will gently glide, Kindling the water 'long the side.

Vast cities are mine of power and delight, Lah.o.r.e laid in lilies, Golconda, Cashmere; And Ispahan, dear to the pilgrim's sight, And Bagdad, whose towers to heaven uprear; Alep, that pours on the startled ear, From its restless masts the gathering roar, As of ocean hamm'ring at night on the sh.o.r.e.

Mysore is a queen on her stately throne, Thy white domes, Medina, gleam on the eye,-- Thy radiant kiosques with their arrowy spires, Shooting afar their golden fires Into the flashing sky,-- Like a forest of spears that startle the gaze Of the enemy with the vivid blaze.

Come there, beautiful child, with me, Come to the arcades of Araby, To the land of the date and the purple vine, Where pleasure her rosy wreaths doth twine, And gladness shall be alway thine; Singing at sunset next thy bed, Strewing flowers under thy head.

Beneath a verdant roof of leaves, Arching a flow'ry carpet o'er, Thou mayst list to lutes on summer eves Their lays of rustic freshness pour, While upon the gra.s.sy floor Light footsteps, in the hour of calm, Ruffle the shadow of the palm.

THE FAY.

Come to the radiant homes of the blest, Where meadows like fountain in light are drest, And the grottoes of verdure never decay, And the glow of the August dies not away.

Come where the autumn winds never can sweep, And the streams of the woodland steep thee in sleep, Like a fond sister charming the eyes of a brother, Or a little la.s.s lulled on the breast of her mother.

Beautiful! beautiful! hasten to me!

Colored with crimson thy wings shall be; Flowers that fade not thy forehead shall twine, Over thee sunlight that sets not shall shine.

The infant listened to the strain, Now here, now there, its thoughts were driven-- But the Fay and the Peri waited in vain, The soul soared above such a sensual gain-- The child rose to Heaven.

_Asiatic Journal_

LES ORIENTALES.--1829.

THE SCOURGE OF HEAVEN.

_("La, voyez-vous pa.s.ser, la nuee.")_

[I., November, 1828.]

I.

Hast seen it pa.s.s, that cloud of darkest rim?

Now red and glorious, and now gray and dim, Now sad as summer, barren in its heat?

One seems to see at once rush through the night The smoke and turmoil from a burning site Of some great town in fiery grasp complete.

Whence comes it? From the sea, the hills, the sky?

Is it the flaming chariot from on high Which demons to some planet seem to bring?

Oh, horror! from its wondrous centre, lo!

A furious stream of lightning seems to flow Like a long snake uncoiling its fell ring.

II.

The sea! naught but the sea! waves on all sides!

Vainly the sea-bird would outstrip these tides!

Naught but an endless ebb and flow!

Wave upon wave advancing, then controlled Beneath the depths a stream the eyes behold Rolling in the involved abyss below!

Whilst here and there great fishes in the spray Their silvery fins beneath the sun display, Or their blue tails lash up from out the surge, Like to a flock the sea its fleece doth fling; The horizon's edge bound by a brazen ring; Waters and sky in mutual azure merge.

"Am I to dry these seas?" exclaimed the cloud.

"No!" It went onward 'neath the breath of G.o.d.

III.

Green hills, which round a limpid bay Reflected, bask in the clear wave!

The javelin and its buffalo prey, The laughter and the joyous stave!

The tent, the manger! these describe A hunting and a fishing tribe Free as the air--their arrows fly Swifter than lightning through the sky!

By them is breathed the purest air, Where'er their wanderings may chance!

Children and maidens young and fair, And warriors circling in the dance!

Upon the beach, around the fire, Now quenched by wind, now burning higher, Like spirits which our dreams inspire To hover o'er our trance.

Virgins, with skins of ebony, Beauteous as evening skies, Laughed as their forms they dimly see In metal mirrors rise; Others, as joyously as they, Were drawing for their food by day, With jet-black hands, white camels' whey, Camels with docile eyes.

Both men and women, bare, Plunged in the briny bay.

Who knows them? Whence they were?

Where pa.s.sed they yesterday?

Shrill sounds were hovering o'er, Mixed with the ocean's roar, Of cymbals from the sh.o.r.e, And whinnying courser's neigh.

"Is't there?" one moment asked the cloudy ma.s.s; "Is't there?" An unknown utterance answered: "Pa.s.s!"

IV.

Whitened with grain see Egypt's lengthened plains, Far as the eyesight farthest s.p.a.ce contains, Like a rich carpet spread their varied hues.

The cold sea north, southwards the burying sand Dispute o'er Egypt--while the smiling land Still mockingly their empire does refuse.

Three marble triangles seem to pierce the sky, And hide their bas.e.m.e.nts from the curious eye.

Mountains--with waves of ashes covered o'er!

In graduated blocks of six feet square From golden base to top, from earth to air Their ever heightening monstrous steps they bore.

No scorching blast could daunt the sleepless ken Of roseate Sphinx, and G.o.d of marble green, Which stood as guardians o'er the sacred ground.

For a great port steered vessels huge and fleet, A giant city bathed her marble feet In the bright waters round.

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Poems by Victor Hugo Part 7 summary

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