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TO LITTLE JEANNE by Victor Hugo
     ("Vous eûtes donc hier un an.")

     {September, 1870.}
     You've lived a year, then, yesterday, sweet child,
     Prattling thus happily! So fledglings wild,
     New-hatched in warmer nest 'neath sheltering bough,
     Chirp merrily to feel their feathers grow.
     Your mouth's a rose, Jeanne! In these volumes grand
     Whose pictures please youâ€"while I trembling stand
     To see their big leaves tattered by your handâ€"
     Are noble lines; but nothing half your worth,
     When all your tiny frame rustles with mirth
     To welcome me. No work of author wise
     Can match the thought half springing to your eyes,
     And your dim reveries, unfettered, strange,
     Regarding man with all the boundless range
     Of angel innocence. Methinks, 'tis clear
     That God's not far, Jeanne, when I see you here.

     Ah! twelve months old: 'tis quite an age, and brings
     Grave moments, though your soul to rapture clings,
     You're at that hour of life most like to heaven,
     When present joy no cares, no sorrows leaven
     When man no shadow feels: if fond caress
     Round parent twines, children the world possess.
     Your waking hopes, your dreams of mirth and love
     From Charles to Alice, father to mother, rove;
     No wider range of view your heart can take
     Than what her nursing and his bright smiles make;
     They two alone on this your opening hour
     Can gleams of tenderness and gladness pour:
     They twoâ€"none else, Jeanne! Yet 'tis just, and I,
     Poor grandsire, dare but to stand humbly by.
     You comeâ€"I go: though gloom alone my right,
     Blest be the destiny which gives you light.

     Your fair-haired brother George and you beside
     Me playâ€"in watching you is all my pride;
     And all I askâ€"by countless sorrows triedâ€"
     The grave; o'er which in shadowy form may show
     Your cradles gilded by the morning's glow.

     Pure new-born wonderer! your infant life
     Strange welcome found, Jeanne, in this time of strife.
     Like wild-bee humming through the woods your play,
     And baby smiles have dared a world at bay:
     Your tiny accents lisp their gentle charms
     To mighty Paris clashing mighty arms.
     Ah! when I see you, child, and when I hear
     You sing, or try, with low voice whispering near,
     And touch of fingers soft, my grief to cheer,
     I dream this darkness, where the tempests groan,
     Trembles, and passes with half-uttered moan.
     For though these hundred towers of Paris bend,
     Though close as foundering ship her glory's end,
     Though rocks the universe, which we defend;
     Still to great cannon on our ramparts piled,
     God sends His blessing by a little child.

     MARWOOD TUCKER.

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SHOOTING STARS by Victor Hugo
     {FOR MY LITTLE CHILD ONLY.}

     ("Tas de feux tombants.")

     {Bk. III. vii.}
     See the scintillating shower!
       Like a burst from golden mineâ€"
     Incandescent coals that pour
       From the incense-bowl divine,
     And around us dewdrops, shaken,
       Mirror each a twinkling ray
     'Twixt the flowers that awaken
       In this glory great as day.
     Mists and fogs all vanish fleetly;
       And the birds begin to sing,
     Whilst the rain is murm'ring sweetly
       As if angels echoing.
     And, methinks, to show she's grateful
       For this seed from heaven come,
     Earth is holding up a plateful
       Of the birds and buds a-bloom!


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LOVE OF THE WOODLAND by Victor Hugo
     ("Orphée au bois du Caystre.")

     {Bk. I. ii.}
     Orpheus, through the hellward wood
     Hurried, ere the eve-star glowed,
     For the fauns' lugubrious hoots
     Followed, hollow, from crookèd roots;
     Aeschylus, where Aetna smoked,
     Gods of Sicily evoked
     With the flute, till sulphur taint
     Dulled and lulled the echoes faint;
     Pliny, soon his style mislaid,
     Dogged Miletus' merry maid,
     As she showed eburnean limbs
     All-multiplied by brooklet brims;
     Plautus, see! like Plutus, hold
     Bosomfuls of orchard-gold,
     Learns he why that mystic core
     Was sweet Venus' meed of yore?
     Dante dreamt (while spirits pass
     As in wizard's jetty glass)
     Each black-bossed Briarian trunk
     Waved live arms like furies drunk;
     Winsome Will, 'neath Windsor Oak,
     Eyed each elf that cracked a joke
     At poor panting grease-hart fastâ€"
     Obese, roguish Jack harassed;
     At Versailles, Molière did court
     Cues from Pan (in heron port,
     Half in ooze, half treeward raised),
     "Words so witty, that Boileau's 'mazed!"

     Foliage! fondly you attract!
     Dian's faith I keep intact,
     And declare that thy dryads dance
     Still, and will, in thy green expanse!


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MENTANA by Victor Hugo
     (VICTOR HUGO TO GARIBALDI.)

     ("Ces jeunes gens, combien étaient-ils.")

     {LA VOIX DE GUERNESEY, December, 1868.}
     I.

     Young soldiers of the noble Latin blood,
     How many are yeâ€"Boys? Four thousand odd.
     How many are there dead? Six hundred: count!
     Their limbs lie strewn about the fatal mount,
     Blackened and torn, eyes gummed with blood, hearts rolled
     Out from their ribs, to give the wolves of the wold
     A red feast; nothing of them left but these
     Pierced relics, underneath the olive trees,
     Show where the gin was sprungâ€"the scoundrel-trap
     Which brought those hero-lads their foul mishap.
     See how they fell in swathesâ€"like barley-ears!
     Their crime? to claim Rome and her glories theirs;
     To fight for Right and Honor;â€"foolish names!
     Comeâ€"Mothers of the soil! Italian dames!
     Turn the dead over!â€"try your battle luck!
     (Bearded or smooth, to her that gave him suck
     The man is always child)â€"Stay, here's a brow
     Split by the Zouaves' bullets! This one, now,
     With the bright curly hair soaked so in blood,
     Was yours, ma donna!â€"sweet and fair and good.

     The spirit sat upon his fearless face
     Before they murdered it, in all the grace
     Of manhood's dawn. Sisters, here's yours! his lips,
     Over whose bloom the bloody death-foam slips,
     Lisped house-songs after you, and said your name
     In loving prattle once. That hand, the same
     Which lies so cold over the eyelids shut,
     Was once a small pink baby-fist, and wet
     With milk beads from thy yearning breasts.

                                                Take thou
     Thine eldest,â€"thou, thy youngest born. Oh, flow
     Of tears never to cease! Oh, Hope quite gone,
     Dead like the dead!â€"Yet could they live aloneâ€"
     Without their Tiber and their Rome? and be
     Young and Italianâ€"and not also free?
     They longed to see the ancient eagle try
     His lordly pinions in a modern sky.
     They boreâ€"each on himselfâ€"the insults laid
     On the dear foster-land: of naught afraid,
     Save of not finding foes enough to dare
     For Italy. Ah; gallant, free, and rare
     Young martyrs of a sacred cause,â€"Adieu!
     No more of lifeâ€"no more of loveâ€"for you!
     No sweet long-straying in the star-lit glades
     At Ave-Mary, with the Italian maids;
     No welcome home!

     II.

     This Garibaldi now, the Italian boys
     Go mad to hear himâ€"take to dyingâ€"take
     To passion for "the pure and high";â€"God's sake!
     It's monstrous, horrible! One sees quite clear
     Societyâ€"our chargeâ€"must shake with fear,
     And shriek for help, and call on us to act
     When there's a hero, taken in the fact.
     If Light shines in the dark, there's guilt in that!
     What's viler than a lantern to a bat?

     III.

     Your Garibaldi missed the mark! You see
     The end of life's to cheat, and not to be
     Cheated: The knave is nobler than the fool!
     Get all you can and keep it! Life's a pool,
     The best luck wins; if Virtue starves in rags,
     I laugh at Virtue; here's my money-bags!
     Here's righteous metal! We have kings, I say,
     To keep cash going, and the game at play;
     There's why a king wants moneyâ€"he'd be missed
     Without a fertilizing civil list.
                                       Do but try
     The question with a steady moral eye!
     The colonel strives to be a brigadier,
     The marshal, constable. Call the game fair,
     And pay your winners! Show the trump, I say!
     A renegade's a rascalâ€"till the day
     They make him Pasha: is he rascal then?
     What with these sequins? Bah! you speak to Men,
     And Men want moneyâ€"powerâ€"luckâ€"life's joyâ€"
     Those take who can: we could, and fobbed Savoy;
     For those who live content with honest state,
     They're public pests; knock we 'em on the pate!
     They set a vile example! Quickâ€"arrest
     That Fool, who ruled and failed to line his nest.
     Just hit a bell, you'll see the clapper shakeâ€"
     Meddle with Priests, you'll find the barrack wakeâ€"
     Ah! Princes know the People's a tight boot,
     March 'em sometimes to be shot and to shoot,
     Then they'll wear easier. So let them preach
     The righteousness of howitzers; and teach
     At the f** end of prayer: "Now, slit their throats!
     My holy Zouaves! my good yellow-coats!"
     We like to see the Holy Father send
     Powder and steel and lead without an end,
     To feed Death fat; and broken battles mend.
     So they!

     IV.

               But thou, our Hero, baffled, foiled,
     The Glorious Chief who vainly bled and toiled.
     The trust of all the Peoplesâ€"Freedom's Knight!
     The Paladin unstainedâ€"the Sword of Right!
     What wilt thou do, whose land finds thee but jails!
     The banished claim the banished! deign to cheer
     The refuge of the homelessâ€"enter here,
     And light upon our households dark will fall
     Even as thou enterest. Oh, Brother, all,
     Each one of usâ€"hurt with thy sorrows' proof,
     Will make a country for thee of his roof.
     Come, sit with those who live as exiles learn:
     Come! Thou whom kings could conquer but not yet turn.
     We'll talk of "Palermo"{2}â€""the Thousand" true,
     Will tell the tears of blood of France to you;
     Then by his own great Sea we'll read, together,
     Old Homer in the quiet summer weather,
     And after, thou shalt go to thy desire
     While that faint star of Justice grows to fire.{3}

     V.

     Oh, Italy! hail your Deliverer,
     Oh, Nations! almost he gave Rome to her!
     Strong-arm and prophet-heart had all but come
     To win the city, and to make it "Rome."
     Calm, of the antique grandeur, ripe to be
     Named with the noblest of her history.
     He would have Romanized your Romeâ€"controlled
     Her glory, lordships, Gods, in a new mould.
     Her spirits' fervor would have melted in
     The hundred cities with her; made a twin
     Vesuvius and the Capitol; and blended
     Strong Juvenal's with the soul, tender and splendid,
     Of Danteâ€"smelted old with new alloyâ€"
     Stormed at the Titans' road full of bold joy
     Whereby men storm Olympus. Italy,
     Weep!â€"This man could have made one Rome of thee!

     VI.

     But the crime's wrought! Who wrought it?
                               Honest Manâ€"
     Priest Pius? No! Each does but what he can.
     Yonder's the criminal! The warlike wight
     Who hides behind the ranks of France to fight,
     Greek Sinon's blood crossed thick with Judas-Jew's,
     The Traitor who with smile which true men woos,
     Lip mouthing pledgesâ€"hand grasping the knifeâ€"
     Waylaid French Liberty, and took her life.
     Kings, he is of you! fit companion! one
     Whom day by day the lightning looks upon
     Keen; while the sentenced man triples his guard
     And trembles; for his hour approaches hard.
     Ye ask me "when?" I say soon! Hear ye not
     Yon muttering in the skies above the spot?
     Mark ye no coming shadow, Kings? the shroud
     Of a great storm driving the thunder-cloud?
     Hark! like the thief-catcher who pulls the pin,
     God's thunder asks to speak to one within!

     VII.

     And meanwhile this death-odorâ€"this corpse-scent
     Which makes the priestly incense redolent
     Of rotting men, and the Te Deums stinkâ€"
     Reeks through the forestsâ€"past the river's brink,
     O'er wood and plain and mountain, till it fouls
     Fair Paris in her pleasures; then it prowls,
     A deadly stench, to Crete, to Mexico,
     To Polandâ€"wheresoe'er kings' armies go:
     And Earth one Upas-tree of bitter sadness,
     Opening vast blossoms of a bloody madness.
     Throats cut by thousandsâ€"slain men by the ton!
     Earth quite corpse-cumbered, though the half not done!
     They lie, stretched out, where the blood-puddles soak,
     Their black lips gaping with the last cry spoke.
     "Stretched;" nay! sown broadcast; yes, the word is "sown."
     The fallows Libertyâ€"the harsh wind blown
     Over the furrows, Fate: and these stark dead
     Are grain sublime, from Death's cold fingers shed
     To make the Abyss conceive: the Future bear
     More noble Heroes! Swell, oh, Corpses dear!
     Rot quick to the green blade of Freedom! Death!
     Do thy kind will with them! They without breath,
     Stripped, scattered, ragged, festering, slashed and blue,
     Dangle towards God the arms French shot tore through
     And wait in meekness, Death! for Him and You!

     VIII.

     Oh, France! oh, People! sleeping unabashed!
     Liest thou like a hound when it was lashed?
     Thou liest! thine own blood fouling both thy hands,
     And on thy limbs the rust of iron bands,
     And round thy wrists the cut where cords went deep.
     Say did they numb thy soul, that thou didst sleep?
     Alas! sad France is grown a cave for sleeping,
     Which a worse night than Midnight holds in keeping,
     Thou sleepest sottishâ€"lost to life and fameâ€"
     While the stars stare on thee, and pale for shame.
     Stir! rouse thee! Sit! if thou know'st not to rise;
     Sit up, thou tortured sluggard! ope thine eyes!
     Stretch thy brawn, Giant! Sleep is foul and vile!
     Art fagged, art deaf, art dumb? art blind this while?
     They lie who say so! Thou dost know and feel
     The things they do to thee and thine. The heel
     That scratched thy neck in passingâ€"whose? Canst say?
     Yes, yes, 'twas his, and this is his fête-day.
     Oh, thou that wert of humankindâ€"couched soâ€"
     A beast of burden on this dunghill! oh!
     Bray to them, Mule! Oh, Bullock! bellow then!
     Since they have made thee blind, grope in thy den!
     Do something, Outcast One, that wast so grand!
     Who knows if thou putt'st forth thy poor maimed hand,
     There may be venging weapon within reach!
     Feel with both handsâ€"with both huge arms go stretch
     Along the black wall of thy cellar. Nay,
     There may be some odd thing hidden away?
     Who knowsâ€"there may! Those great hands might so come
     In course of ghastly fumble through the gloom,
     Upon a swordâ€"a sword! The hands once clasp
     Its hilt, must wield it with a Victor's grasp.

     EDWIN ARNOLD, C.S.I.

     {Footnote 1: The Battle of Mentana, so named from a village by Rome, was
     fought between the allied French and Papal Armies and the Volunteer Forces
     of Garibaldi, Nov. 3, 1867.}

     {Footnote 2: Palermo was taken immediately after the Garibaldian
     volunteers, 1000 strong, landed at Marsala to inaugurate the rising which
     made Italy free.}

     {Footnote 3: Both poet and his idol lived to see the French Republic for
     the fourth time proclaimed. When Hugo rose in the Senate, on the first
     occasion after his return to Paris after the expulsion of the Napoleons,
     and his white head was seen above that of Rouher, ex-Prime Minister of the
     Empire, all the house shuddered, and in a nearly unanimous voice shouted:
     "The judgment of God!  expiation!"}


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HOW GOOD ARE THE POOR by Victor Hugo
     ("Il est nuit. La cabane est pauvre.")

     {Bk. LII. iii.}

     'Tis nightâ€"within the close stout cabin door,
       The room is wrapped in shade save where there fall
     Some twilight rays that creep along the floor,
       And show the fisher's nets upon the wall.

     In the dim corner, from the oaken chest,
       A few white dishes glimmer; through the shade
     Stands a tall bed with dusky curtains dressed,
       And a rough mattress at its side is laid.

     Five children on the long low mattress lieâ€"
       A nest of little souls, it heaves with dreams;
     In the high chimney the last embers die,
       And redden the dark room with crimson gleams.

     The mother kneels and thinks, and pale with fear,
       She prays alone, hearing the billows shout:
     While to wild winds, to rocks, to midnight drear,
       The ominous old ocean sobs without.

     Poor wives of fishers! Ah! 'tis sad to say,
       Our sons, our husbands, all that we love best,
     Our hearts, our souls, are on those waves away,
       Those ravening wolves that know not ruth, nor rest.

     Think how they sport with these beloved forms;
       And how the clarion-blowing wind unties
     Above their heads the tresses of the storms:
       Perchance even now the child, the husband, dies.

     For we can never tell where they may be
       Who, to make head against the tide and gale,
     Between them and the starless, soulless sea
       Have but one bit of plank, with one poor sail.

     Terrible fear! We seek the pebbly shore,
       Cry to the rising billows, "Bring them home."
     Alas! what answer gives their troubled roar,
       To the dark thought that haunts us as we roam.

     Janet is sad: her husband is alone,
       Wrapped in the black shroud of this bitter night:

     His children are so little, there is none
       To give him aid. "Were they but old, they might."
     Ah, mother! when they too are on the main,
     How wilt thou weep: "Would they were young again!"

     She takes his lanternâ€"'tis his hour at last
       She will go forth, and see if the day breaks,
     And if his signal-fire be at the mast;
       Ah, noâ€"not yetâ€"no breath of morning wakes.

     No line of light o'er the dark water lies;
       It rains, it rains, how black is rain at morn:
     The day comes trembling, and the young dawn criesâ€"
       Cries like a baby fearing to be born.

     Sudden her humane eyes that peer and watch
       Through the deep shade, a mouldering dwelling find,
     No light withinâ€"the thin door shakesâ€"the thatch
       O'er the green walls is twisted of the wind,

     Yellow, and dirty, as a swollen rill,
       "Ah, me," she saith, "here does that widow dwell;
     Few days ago my good man left her ill:
       I will go in and see if all be well."

     She strikes the door, she listens, none replies,
       And Janet shudders. "Husbandless, alone,
     And with two childrenâ€"they have scant supplies.
       Good neighbor! She sleeps heavy as a stone."

     She calls again, she knocks, 'tis silence still;
       No soundâ€"no answerâ€"suddenly the door,
     As if the senseless creature felt some thrill
       Of pity, turnedâ€"and open lay before.

     She entered, and her lantern lighted all
       The house so still, but for the rude waves' din.
     Through the thin roof the plashing rain-drops fall,
       But something terrible is couched within.





     "So, for the kisses that delight the flesh,
       For mother's worship, and for children's bloom,
     For song, for smile, for love so fair and fresh,
       For laugh, for dance, there is one goalâ€"the tomb."

     And why does Janet pass so fast away?
       What hath she done within that house of dread?
     What foldeth she beneath her mantle gray?
       And hurries home, and hides it in her bed:
       With half-averted face, and nervous tread,
       What hath she stolen from the awful dead?

     The dawn was whitening over the sea's verge
       As she sat pensive, touching broken chords
     Of half-remorseful thought, while the hoarse surge
       Howled a sad concert to her broken words.

     "Ah, my poor husband! we had five before,
       Already so much care, so much to find,
     For he must work for all. I give him more.
       What was that noise? His step! Ah, no! the wind.

     "That I should be afraid of him I love!
       I have done ill. If he should beat me now,
     I would not blame him. Did not the door move?
       Not yet, poor man." She sits with careful brow
     Wrapped in her inward grief; nor hears the roar
       Of winds and waves that dash against his prow,
     Nor the black cormorant shrieking on the shore.

     Sudden the door flies open wide, and lets
       Noisily in the dawn-light scarcely clear,
     And the good fisher, dragging his damp nets,
       Stands on the threshold, with a joyous cheer.

     "'Tis thou!" she cries, and, eager as a lover,
       Leaps up and holds her husband to her breast;
     Her greeting kisses all his vesture cover;
       "'Tis I, good wife!" and his broad face expressed

     How gay his heart that Janet's love made light.
       "What weather was it?" "Hard." "Your fishing?" "Bad.
     The sea was like a nest of thieves to-night;
       But I embrace thee, and my heart is glad.

     "There was a devil in the wind that blew;
       I tore my net, caught nothing, broke my line,
     And once I thought the bark was broken too;
       What did you all the night long, Janet mine?"

     She, trembling in the darkness, answered, "I!
       Oh, naughtâ€"I sew'd, I watch'd, I was afraid,
     The waves were loud as thunders from the sky;
       But it is over." Shyly then she saidâ€"

     "Our neighbor died last night; it must have been
       When you were gone. She left two little ones,
     So small, so frailâ€"William and Madeline;
       The one just lisps, the other scarcely runs."

     The man looked grave, and in the corner cast
       His old fur bonnet, wet with rain and sea,
     Muttered awhile, and scratched his head,â€"at last
       "We have five children, this makes seven," said he.

     "Already in bad weather we must sleep
       Sometimes without our supper. Now! Ah, wellâ€"
     'Tis not my fault. These accidents are deep;
       It was the good God's will. I cannot tell.

     "Why did He take the mother from those scraps,
       No bigger than my fist. 'Tis hard to read;
     A learned man might understand, perhapsâ€"
       So little, they can neither work nor need.

     "Go fetch them, wife; they will be frightened sore,
       If with the dead alone they waken thus.
     That was the mother knocking at our door,
       And we must take the children home to us.

     "Brother and sister shall they be to ours,
       And they will learn to climb my knee at even;
     When He shall see these strangers in our bowers,
       More fish, more food, will give the God of Heaven.

     "I will work harder; I will drink no wineâ€"
       Go fetch them. Wherefore dost thou linger, dear?
     Not thus were wont to move those feet of thine."
       She drew the curtain, saying, "They are here!"

     BP. ALEXANDER


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THE CUP ON THE BATTLE-FIELD by Victor Hugo
     ("Mon pére, ce héros au sourire.")

     {Bk. XLIX. iv.}
     My sire, the hero with the smile so soft,
     And a tall trooper, his companion oft,
     Whom he loved greatly for his courage high
     And strength and stature, as the night drew nigh
     Rode out together. The battle was done;
     The dead strewed the field; long sunk was the sun.
     It seemed in the darkness a sound they heard,â€"
     Was it feeble moaning or uttered word?
     'Twas a Spaniard left from the force in flight,
     Who had crawled to the roadside after fight;
     Shattered and livid, less live than dead,
     Rattled his throat as hoarsely he said:
     "Water, water to drink, for pity's sake!
     Oh, a drop of water this thirst to slake!"
     My father, moved at his speech heart-wrung,
     Handed the orderly, downward leapt,
     The flask of rum at the holster kept.
     "Let him have some!" cried my father, as ran
     The trooper o'er to the wounded man,â€"
     A sort of Moor, swart, bloody and grim;
     But just as the trooper was nearing him,
     He lifted a pistol, with eye of flame,
     And covered my father with murd'rous aim.
     The hurtling slug grazed the very head,
     And the helmet fell, pierced, streaked with red,
     And the steed reared up; but in steady tone:
     "Give him the whole!" said my father, "and on!"

     TORU DUTT

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THE SWISS MERCENARIES by Victor Hugo
     ("Lorsque le regiment des hallebardiers.")

     {Bk. XXXI.}
     When the regiment of Halberdiers
         Is proudly marching by,
     The eagle of the mountain screams
         From out his stormy sky;
     Who speaketh to the precipice,
         And to the chasm sheer;
     Who hovers o'er the thrones of kings,
         And bids the caitiffs fear.
     King of the peak and glacier,
         King of the cold, white scalpsâ€"
     He lifts his head, at that close tread,
         The eagle of the Alps.

     O shame! those men that march belowâ€"
         O ignominy dire!
     Are the sons of my free mountains
         Sold for imperial hire.
     Ah! the vilest in the dungeon!
         Ah! the slave upon the seasâ€"
     Is great, is pure, is glorious,
         Is grand compared with these,
     Who, born amid my holy rocks,
         In solemn places high,
     Where the tall pines bend like rushes
         When the storm goes sweeping by;

     Yet give the strength of foot they learned
         By perilous path and flood,
     And from their blue-eyed mothers won,
         The old, mysterious blood;
     The daring that the good south wind
         Into their nostrils blew,
     And the proud swelling of the heart
         With each pure breath they drew;
     The graces of the mountain glens,
         With flowers in summer gay;
     And all the glories of the hills
         To earn a lackey's pay.

     Their country free and joyousâ€"
         She of the rugged sidesâ€"
     She of the rough peaks arrogant
         Whereon the tempest rides:
     Mother of the unconquered thought
         And of the savage form,
     Who brings out of her sturdy heart
         The hero and the storm:
     Who giveth freedom unto man,
         And life unto the beast;
     Who hears her silver torrents ring
         Like joy-bells at a feast;

     Who hath her caves for palaces,
         And where her châlets standâ€"
     The proud, old archer of Altorf,
         With his good bow in his hand.
     Is she to suckle jailers?
         Shall shame and glory rest,
     Amid her lakes and glaciers,
         Like twins upon her breast?
     Shall the two-headed eagle,
         Marked with her double blow,
     Drink of her milk through all those hearts
         Whose blood he bids to flow?

     Say, was it pomp ye needed,
         And all the proud array
     Of courtly joust and high parade
         Upon a gala day?
     Look up; have not my valleys
         Their torrents white with foamâ€"
     Their lines of silver bullion
         On the blue hillocks of home?
     Doth not sweet May embroider
         My rocks with pearls and flowers?
     Her fingers trace a richer lace
         Than yours in all my bowers.

     Are not my old peaks gilded
         When the sun arises proud,
     And each one shakes a white mist plume
         Out of the thunder-cloud?
     O, neighbor of the golden skyâ€"
         Sons of the mountain sodâ€"
     Why wear a base king's colors
         For the livery of God?
     O shame! despair! to see my Alps
         Their giant shadows fling
     Into the very waiting-room
         Of tyrant and of king!

     O thou deep heaven, unsullied yet,
         Into thy gulfs sublimeâ€"
     Up azure tracts of flaming lightâ€"
         Let my free pinion climb;
     Till from my sight, in that clear light,
         Earth and her crimes be goneâ€"
     The men who act the evil deedsâ€"
         The caitiffs who look on.
     Far, far into that space immense,
         Beyond the vast white veil,
     Where distant stars come out and shine,
         And the great sun grows pale.

     BP. ALEXANDER


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SEA-ADVENTURERS' SONG by Victor Hugo
     ("En partant du Golfe d'Otrante.")

     {Bk. XXVIII.}
     We told thirty when we started
       From port so taut and fine,
     But soon our crew were parted,
       Till now we number nine.

     Tom Robbins, English, tall and straight,
       Left us at Aetna light;
     He left us to investigate
       What made the mountain bright;
     "I mean to ask Old Nick himself,
       (And here his eye he rolls)
     If I can't bring Newcastle pelf
       By selling him some coals!"

     In Calabree, a lass and cup
       Drove scowling Spada wild:
     She only held her finger up,
       And there he drank and smiled;
     And over in Gaëta Bay,
       Ascanioâ€"ashore
     A fool!â€"must wed a widow gay
       Who'd buried three or four.

     At Naples, woe! poor Ned they hangedâ€"
       Hemp neckcloth he disdainedâ€"
     And prettily we all were bangedâ€"
       And two more blades remained

     To serve the Duke, and row in chainsâ€"
       Thank saints! 'twas not my cast!
     We drank deliverance from painsâ€"
       We who'd the ducats fast.

     At Malta Dick became a monkâ€"
       (What vineyards have those priests!)
     And Gobbo to quack-salver sunk,
       To leech vile murrained beasts;
     And lazy André, blown off shore,
       Was picked up by the Turk,
     And in some harem, you be sure,
       Is forced at last to work.

     Next, three of us whom nothing daunts,
       Marched off with Prince Eugene,
     To take Genoa! oh, it vaunts
       Girls fitâ€"each oneâ€"for queen!
     Had they but promised us the pick,
       Perchance we had joined, all;
     But battering bastions built of brickâ€"
       Bah, give me wooden wall!

     By Leghorn, twenty caravels
       Came 'cross our lonely sailâ€"
     Spinoza's Sea-Invincibles!
       But, whew! our shots like hail
     Made shortish work of galley long
       And chubby sailing craftâ€"
     Our making ready first to close
       Sent them a-spinning aft.

     Off Marseilles, ne'er by sun forsook
       We friends fell-to as foes!
     For Lucca Diavolo mistook
       Angelo's wife for Rose,

     And hang me! soon the angel slid
       The devil in the sea,
     And would of lass likewise be ridâ€"
       And so we fought it free!

     At Palmas eight or so gave slip,
       Pescara to pursue,
     And more, perchance, had left the ship,
       But Algiers loomed in view;
     And here we cruised to intercept
       Some lucky-laden rogues,
     Whose gold-galleons but slowly crept,
       So that we trounced the dogs!

     And after making war out there,
       We made love at "the Gib."
     We tenâ€"no more! we took it fair,
       And kissed the gov'nor's "rib,"
     And made the King of Spain our take,
       Believe or not, who cares?
     I tell ye that he begged till black
       I' the face to have his shares.

     We're rovers of the restless main,
       But we've some conscience, mark!
     And we know what it is to reign,
       And finally did hearkâ€"
     Aye, masters of the narrow Neck,
       We hearkened to our heart,
     And gave him freedom on our deck,
       His town, and goldâ€"in part.

     My lucky mates for that were made
       Grandees of Old Castile,
     And maids of honor went to wed,
       Somewhere in sweet Seville;

     Not they for me were fair enough,
       And so his Majesty
     Declared his daughterâ€"'tis no scoff!
       My beauteous bride should be.

     "A royal daughter!" think of that!
       But I would never one.
     I have a lass (I said it pat)
       Who's not been bred like nunâ€"
     But, merry maid with eagle eye,
       It's proud she smiles and bright,
     And sings upon the cliff, to spy
       My ship a-heave in sight!

     My Faenzetta has my heart!
       In Fiesoné she
     The fairest! Nothing shall us part,
       Saving, in sooth, the Sea!
     And that not long! its rolling wave
       And such breeze holding now
     Will send me along to her I loveâ€"
       And so I made my bow.

     We told thirty when we started
       From port so taut and fine,
     But thus our crew were parted,
       And now we number nine.


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THE SOUDAN, THE SPHINXES, THE CUP, THE LAMP by Victor Hugo
     ("Zim-Zizimi, Soudan d'Égypte.")

     {Bk. XVI. i.}
     Zim Zizimiâ€"(of the Soudan of burnt Egypt,
       The Commander of Believers, a Bashaw
     Whose very robes were from Asia's greatest stript,
       More powerful than any lion with resistless paw)
     A master weighed on by his immense splendorâ€"
       Once had a dream when he was at his evening feast,
     When the broad table smoked like a perfumed censer,
       And its grateful odors the appetite increased.
     The banquet was outspread in a hall, high as vast,
       With pillars painted, and with ceiling bright with gold,
     Upreared by Zim's ancestors in the days long past,
       And added to till now worth a sum untold.
     Howe'er rich no rarity was absent, it seemed,
       Fruit blushed upon the side-boards, groaning 'neath rich meats,
     With all the dainties palate ever dreamed
       In lavishness to wasteâ€"for dwellers in the streets
     Of cities, whether Troy, or Tyre, or Ispahan,
       Consume, in point of cost, food at a single meal
     Much less than what is spread before this crowned manâ€"-
       Who rules his couchant nation with a rod of steel,
     And whose servitors' chiefest arts it was to squeeze
       The world's full teats into his royal helpless mouth.
     Each hard-sought dainty that never failed to please,
       All delicacies, wines, from east, west, north or south,
     Are plenty hereâ€"for Sultan Zizimi drinks wine
       In its variety, trying to find what never sates.
     Laughs at the holy writings and the text divine,
       O'er which the humble dervish prays and venerates.
     There is a common saying which holds often good:
       That cruel is he who is sparing in his cups.
     That they are such as are most thirsty of man's bloodâ€"
       Yet he will see a slave beheaded whilst he sups.
     But be this as it all may, glory gilds his reign,
       He has overrun Africa, the old and black;
     Asia as wellâ€"holding them both beneath a rain
       Of bloody drops from scaffold, pyre, the stake, or rack,
     To leave his empire's confines, one must run a race
       Far past the river Baxtile southward; in the north,
     To the rude, rocky, barren land of Thrace,
       Yet near enough to shudder when great Zim is wroth.
     Conquering in every field, he finds delight
       In battle-storms; his music is the shout of camps.
     On seeing him the eagle speeds away in fright,
       Whilst hid 'mong rocks, the grisly wolf its victim champs.
     Mysore's as well as Agra's rajah is his kin;
       The great sheiks of the arid sands confess him lord;
     Omar, who vaunting cried: "Through me doth Allah win!"
       Was of his bloodâ€"a dreaded line of fire and sword.
     The waters of Nagain, sands of Sahara warm,
       The Atlas and the Caucasus, snow-capped and lone,
     Mecca, Marcatta, these were massed in part to form
       A portion of the giant shadow of Zim's throne.
     Before his might, to theirs, as hardest rock to dust,
       There have recoiled a horde of savage, warlike chiefs,
     Who have been into Afric's fiery furnace thrustâ€"
       Its scorching heat to his rage greatest of reliefs.
     There is no being but fears Zim; to him bows down
       Even the sainted Llama in the holy place;
     And the wild Kasburder chieftain at his dark power
       Turns pale, and seeks a foeman of some lesser race.
     Cities and states are bought and sold by Soudan Zim,
       Whose simple word their thousand people hold as law.
     He ruins them at will, for what are men to him,
       More than to stabled cattle is the sheaf of straw?

     The Soudan is not pleased, for he is e'er alone,
       For who may in his royal sports or joys be leagued.
     He must never speak to any one in equal tones,
       But be by his own dazzling weightiness fatigued.
     He has exhausted all the pastimes of the earth;
       In vain skilled men have fought with sword, the spear, or lance,
     The quips and cranks most laughed at have to him no mirth;
       He gives a regal yawn as fairest women dance;
     Music has outpoured all its notes, the soft and loud,
       But dully on his wearied ear its accents roll,
     As dully as the praises of the servile crowd
       Who falsely sing the purity of his black soul.
     He has had before his daïs from the prison brought
       Two thieves, whose terror makes their chains to loudly ring,
     Then gaping most unkingly, he dismissed his slaves,
       And tranquilly, half rising, looked around to seek
     In the weighty stillnessâ€"such as broods round gravesâ€"
       Something within his royal scope to which to speak.

     The throne, on which at length his eyes came back to rest,
       Is upheld by rose-crowned Sphinxes, which lyres hold,
     All cut in whitest marble, with uncovered breast,
       While their eyes contain that enigma never told.
     Each figure has its title carved upon its head:
       Health, and Voluptuousness, Greatness, Joy, and Play,
     With Victory, Beauty, Happiness, may be read,
       Adorning brands they wear unblushing in the day.

     The Soudan cried: "O, Sphinxes, with the torch-like eye,
       I am the Conquerorâ€"my name is high-arrayed
     In characters like flame upon the vaulted sky,
       Far from oblivion's reach or an effacing shade.
     Upon a sheaf of thunderbolts I rest my arm,
       And gods might wish my exploits with them were their own.
     I liveâ€"I am not open to the points of harm,
       And e'en my throne will be with age an altar-stone.
     When the time comes for me to cast off earthly robe,
       And enterâ€"being Dayâ€"into the realms of light,
     The gods will say, we call Zizimi from his globe
       That we may have our brother nearer to our sight!
     Glory is but my menial, Pride my own chained slave,
       Humbly standing when Zizimi is in his seat.
     I scorn base man, and have sent thousands to the grave.
       They are but as a rushen carpet to my feet.
     Instead of human beings, eunuchs, blacks, or mutes,
       Be yours, oh, Sphinxes, with the glad names on your fronts!
     The task, with voice attuned to emulate the flute's,
       To charm the king, whose chase is man, and wars his hunts.

     "Some portion of your splendor back on me reflect,
       Sing out in praiseful chains of melodious links!
     Oh, throne, which I with bloody spoils have so bedecked,
       Speak to your lord! Speak you, the first rose-crested Sphinx!"

     Soon on the summons, once again was stillness broke,
       For the ten figures, in a voice which all else drowned,
     Parting their stony lips, alternatively spokeâ€"
       Spoke clearly, with a deeply penetrative sound.

     THE FIRST SPHINX.

     So lofty as to brush the heavens' dome,
     Upon the highest terrace of her tomb
     Is Queen Nitrocis, thinking all alone,
     Upon her line, long tenants of the throne,
     Terrors, scourges of the Greeks and Hebrews,
     Harsh and bloodthirsty, narrow in their views.
     Against the pure scroll of the sky, a blot,
     Stands out her sepulchre, a fatal spot
     That seems a baneful breath around to spread.
     The birds which chance to near it, drop down dead.
     The queen is now attended on by shades,
     Which have replaced, in horrid guise, her maids.
     No life is hereâ€"the law says such as bore
     A corpse alone may enter through yon door.
     Before, behind, around the queen, her sight
     Encounters but the same blank void of night.
     Above, the pilasters are like to bars,
     And, through their gaps, the dead look at the stars,
     While, till the dawn, around Nitrocis' bones,
     Spectres hold council, crouching on the stones.

     THE SECOND SPHINX.

     Howe'er great is pharaoh, the magi, king,
     Encompassed by an idolizing ring,
     None is so high as Tiglath Pileser.
     Who, like the God before whom pales the star,
     Has temples, with a prophet for a priest,
     Who serves up daily sacrilegious feast.
     His anger there are none who dare provoke,
     His very mildness is looked on as a yoke;
     And under his, more feared than other rules,
     He holds his people bound, like tamèd bulls.
     Asia is banded with his paths of war;
     He is more of a scourge than Attila.
     He triumphs gloriousâ€"but, day by day,
     The earth falls at his feet, piecemeal away;
     And the bricks for his tomb's wall, one by one,
     Are being shapedâ€"are baking in the sun.

     THE THIRD SPHINX.

     Equal to archangel, for one short while,
     Was Nimroud, builder of tall Babel's pile.
     His sceptre reached across the space between
     The sites where Sol to rise and set is seen.
     Baal made him terrible to all alike,
     The greatest cow'ring when he rose to strike.
     Unbelief had shown in ev'ry eye,
     Had any dared to say: "Nimroud will die!"
     He lived and ruled, but isâ€"at this time, where?
     Winds blow free o'er his realmâ€"a desert bare!

     THE FOURTH SPHINX.

     There is a statue of King Chrem of old,
     Of unknown date and maker, but of gold.
     How many grandest rulers in his day
     Chrem pluckèd down, there are now none can say.
     Whether he ruled with gentle hand or rough,
     None know. He once wasâ€"no longer isâ€"enough,
     Crowned Time, whose seat is on a ruined mass,
     Holds, and aye turns, a strange sand in his glass,
     A sand scraped from the mould, brushed from the shroud
     Of all passed things, mean, great, lowly, or proud.
     Thus meting with the ashes of the dead
     How hours of the living have quickly fled.
     The sand runs, monarchs! the clepsydra weeps.
     Wherefore? They see through future's gloomy deeps,
     Through the church wall, into the catacomb,
     And mark the change when thrones do graves become.

     THE FIFTH SPHINX.

     To swerve the earth seemed from its wonted path
     When marched the Four of Asia in their wrath,
     And when they were bound slaves to Cyrus' car,
     The rivers shrank back from their banks afar.
     "Who can this be," was Nineveh's appeal;
     "Who dares to drag the gods at his car-wheel?"
     The ground is still there that these wheel-rims toreâ€"
     The people and the armies are no more.

     THE SIXTH SPHINX.

     Never again Cambyses earth will tread.
     He slept, and rotted, for his ghost had fled.
     So long as sovereigns live, the subjects kneel,
     Crouching like spaniels at their royal heel;
     But when their might flies, they are shunned by all,
     Save worms, whichâ€"human-likeâ€"still to them crawl
     On Troy or Memphis, on Pyrrhus the Great,
     Or on Psammeticus, alike falls fate.
     Those who in rightful purple are arrayed,
     The prideful vanquisher, like vanquished, fade.
     Death grins as he the fallen man bestridesâ€"
     And less of faults than of his glories hides.

     THE SEVENTH SPHINX.

     The time is come for Belus' tomb to fall,
     Long has been ruined its high granite wall;
     And its cupola, sister of the cloud,
     Has now to lowest mire its tall head bowed.
     The herdsman comes to it to choose the stones
     To build a hut, and overturns the bones,
     From which he has just scared a jackal pack,
     Waiting to gnaw them when he turns his back.
     Upon this scene the night is doubly night,
     And the lone passer vainly strains his sight,
     Musing: Was Belus not buried near this spot?
     The royal resting-place is now forgot.

     THE EIGHTH SPHINX.

     The inmates of the Pyramids assume
     The hue of Rhamesis, black with the gloom.
     A Jailer who ne'er needs bolts, bars, or hasps,
     Is Death. With unawed hand a god he grasps,
     He thrusts, to stiffen, in a narrow case,
     Or cell, where struggling air-blasts constant moan;
     Walling them round with huge, damp, slimy stone;
     And (leaving mem'ry of bloodshed as drink,
     And thoughts of crime as food) he stops each chink.

     THE NINTH SPHINX.

     Who would see Cleopatra on her bed?
     Come in. The place is filled with fog like lead,
     Which clammily has settled on the frame
     Of her who was a burning, dazzling flame
     To all mankindâ€"who durst not lift their gaze,
     And meet the brightness of her beauty's rays.
     Her teeth were pearls, her breath a rare perfume.
     Men died with love on entering her room.
     Poised 'twixt the world and herâ€"acme of joys!
     Antony took her of the double choice.
     The ice-cold heart that passion seldom warms,
     Would find heat torrid in that queen's soft arms.
     She won without a single woman's wile,
     Illumining the earth with peerless smile.
     Come in!â€"but muffle closely up your face,
     No grateful scents have ta'en sweet odors' place.

     THE TENTH SPHINX.

     What did the greatest king that e'er earth bore,
     Sennacherib? No matterâ€"he's no more!
     What were the words Sardanapalus said?
     Who cares to hearâ€"that ruler long is dead.

     The Soudan, turning pale, stared at the TEN aghast.
       "Before to-morrow's night," he said, "in dust to rest,
     These walls with croaking images shall be downcast;
       I will not have fiends speak when angels are addressed."
     But while Zim at the Sphinxes clenched his hand and shook,
       The cup in which it seems the rich wine sweetly breathes,
     The cup with jewels sparkling, met his lowered look,
       Dwelling on the rim which the rippling wine enwreathes.
     "Ha! You!" Zim cried, "have often cleared my heated head
       Of heavy thoughts which your great lord have come to seek
     And torture with their pain and weight like molten lead.
       Let us twoâ€"power, Iâ€"you, wineâ€"together speak."

     THE CUP.

     "Phur," spoke the Cup, "O king, dwelt as Day's god,
     Ruled Alexandria with sword and rod.
     He from his people drew force after force,
     Leaving in ev'ry clime an army's corse.
     But what gained he by having, like the sea,
     Flooded with human waves to enslave the free?
     Where lies the good in having been the chief
     In conquering, to cause a nation's grief?
     Darius, Assar-addon, Hamilcar;
     Who have led men in legions out to war,
     Or have o'er Time's shade cast rays from their seat,
     Or throngs in worship made their name repeat,
     These were, but all the cup of life have drank;
     Rising 'midst clamor, they in stillness sank.
     Death's dart beat down the swordâ€"the kings high reared,
     Were brought full lowâ€"judges, like culprits, feared.
     The bodyâ€"when the soul had ceased its swayâ€"
     Was placed where earth upon it heavy lay,
     While seek the mouldering bones rare oils anoint
     Claw of tree's root and tooth of rocky point.
     Weeds thrive on them who made the world a mart
     Of human flesh, plants force their joints apart.
     No deed of eminence the greatest saves,
     And of mausoleums make panthers caves."

     The Cup, Zim, in his fury, dashed upon the floor,
       Crying aloud for lights. Slaves, at his angry call,
     In to him hastily, a candelabra bore,
       And set it, branching o'er the table, in the hall,
     From whose wide bounds it hunted instantly the gloom.
       "Ah, light!" exclaimed the Soudan, "welcome light, all hail!
     Dull witnesses were yonder Sphinxes of this room;
       The Cup was always drunk, in wit did ever fail;
     But you fling gleams forth brightly, dazzling as a torch;
       Vainly to quell your power all Night's attempts are spent;
     The murky, black-eyed clouds you eat away and scorch,
       Making where'er you spring to life an Orient.
     To charm your lord give voice, thou spark of paradise!
       Speak forth against the Sphinxes' enigmatic word,
     And 'gainst the Wine-Cup, with its sharp and biting spice!"

     THE LAMP.

     Oh, Crusher of Countless Cities, such as earth knew
     Scarce once before him, Ninus (who his brother slew),
     Was borne within the walls which, in Assyrian rite,
     Were built to hide dead majesty from outer sight.
     If eye of man the gift uncommon could assume,
     And pierce the mass, thick, black as hearse's plume,
     To where lays on a horrifying bed
     What was King Ninus, now hedged round with dread,
     'Twould see by what is shadow of the light,
     A line of feath'ry dust, bones marble-white.
     A shudder overtakes the pois'nous snakes
     When they glide near that powder, laid in flakes.
     Death comes at times to himâ€"Life comes no more!
     And sets a jug and loaf upon the floor.
     He then with bony foot the corpse o'erturns,
     And says: "It is I, Ninus! 'Tis Death who spurns!
     I bring thee, hungry king, some bread and meat."
     "I have no hands," Ninus replies. "Yet, eat!"
     Zim pierced to the very quick by these repeated stabs,
       Sprang to his feet, while from him pealed a fearful shout,
     And, furious, flung down upon the marble slabs
       The richly carved and golden Lamp, whose light went outâ€"
     Then glided in a form strange-shaped,
       In likeness of a woman, moulded in dense smoke,
     Veiled in thick, ebon fog, in utter darkness draped,
       A glimpse of which, in short, one's inmost fears awoke.
     Zim was alone with her, this Goddess of the Night.
       The massy walls of stone like vapor part and fade,
     Zim, shuddering, tried to call guard or satellite,
       But as the figure grasped him firmly, "Come!" she said.

     BP. ALEXANDER
     A QUEEN FIVE SUMMERS OLD.

     ("Elle est toute petite.")

     {Bk. XXVI.}
     She is so littleâ€"in her hands a rose:
     A stern duenna watches where she goes,
     What sees Old Spain's Infantaâ€"the clear shine
     Of waters shadowed by the birch and pine.
     What lies before? A swan with silver wing,
     The wave that murmurs to the branch's swing,
     Or the deep garden flowering below?
     Fair as an angel frozen into snow,
     The royal child looks on, and hardly seems to know.

     As in a depth of glory far away,
     Down in the green park, a lofty palace lay,
     There, drank the deer from many a crystal pond,
     And the starred peacock gemmed the shade beyond.
     Around that child all nature shone more bright;
     Her innocence was as an added light.
     Rubies and diamonds strewed the grass she trode,
     And jets of sapphire from the dolphins flowed.

     Still at the water's side she holds her place,
     Her bodice bright is set with Genoa lace;
     O'er her rich robe, through every satin fold,
     Wanders an arabesque in threads of gold.
     From its green urn the rose unfolding grand,
     Weighs down the exquisite smallness of her hand.
     And when the child bends to the red leafs tip,
     Her laughing nostril, and her carmine lip,
     The royal flower purpureal, kissing there,
     Hides more than half that young face bright and fair,
     So that the eye deceived can scarcely speak
     Where shows the rose, or where the rose-red cheek.
     Her eyes look bluer from their dark brown frame:
     Sweet eyes, sweet form, and Mary's sweeter name.
     All joy, enchantment, perfume, waits she there,
     Heaven in her glance, her very name a prayer.

     Yet 'neath the sky, and before life and fate,
     Poor child, she feels herself so vaguely great.
     With stately grace she gives her presence high
     To dawn, to spring, to shadows flitting by,
     To the dark sunset glories of the heaven,
     And all the wild magnificence of even;
     On nature waits, eternal and serene,
     With all the graveness of a little queen.
     She never sees a man but on his knee,
     She Duchess of Brabant one day will be,
     Or rule Sardinia, or the Flemish crowd
     She is the Infanta, five years old, and proud.

     Thus is it with kings' children, for they wear
     A shadowy circlet on their forehead fair;
     Their tottering steps are towards a kingly chair.
     Calmly she waits, and breathes her gathered flower
     Till one shall cull for her imperial power.
     Already her eye saith, "It is my right;"
     Even love flows from her, mingled with affright.
     If some one seeing her so fragile stand,
     Were it to save her, should put forth his hand,
     Ere he had made a step, or breathed a vow,
     The scaffold's shadow were upon his brow.
     While the child laughs, beyond the bastion thick
     Of that vast palace, Roman Catholic,
     Whose every turret like a mitre shows,
     Behind the lattice something dreadful goes.
     Men shake to see a shadow from beneath
     Passing from pane to pane, like vapory wreath,
     Pale, black, and still it glides from room to room;
     In the same spot, like ghost upon a tomb;
     Or glues its dark brown to the casement wan,
     Dim shade that lengthens as the night draws on.
     Its step funereal lingers like the swing
     Of passing bellâ€"'tis death, or else the king.
     'Tis he, the man by whom men live and die;
     But could one look beyond that phantom eye,
     As by the wall he leans a little space,
     And see what shadows fill his soul's dark place,
     Not the fair child, the waters clear, the flowers
     Golden with sunsetâ€"not the birds, the bowersâ€"
     No; 'neath that eye, those fatal brows that keep
     The fathomless brain, like ocean, dark and deep,
     There, as in moving mirage, should one find
     A fleet of ships that go before the wind:
     On the foamed wave, and 'neath the starlight pale,
     The strain and rattle of a fleet in sail,
     And through the fog an isle on her white rock
     Hearkening from far the thunder's coming shock.

     Still by the water's edge doth silent stand
     The Infanta with the rose-flower in her hand,
     Caresses it with eyes as blue as heaven;
     Sudden a breeze, such breeze as panting even
     From her full heart flings out to field and brake,
     Ruffles the waters, bids the rushes shake,
     And makes through all their green recesses swell
     The massive myrtle and the asphodel.
     To the fair child it comes, and tears away
     On its strong wing the rose-flower from the spray.
     On the wild waters casts it bruised and torn,
     And the Infanta only holds a thorn.
     Frightened, perplexed, she follows with her eyes
     Into the basin where her ruin lies,
     Looks up to heaven, and questions of the breeze
     That had not feared her highness to displease;
     But all the pond is changed; anon so clear,
     Now back it swells, as though with rage and fear;
     A mimic sea its small waves rise and fall,
     And the poor rose is broken by them all.
     Its hundred leaves tossed wildly round and round
     Beneath a thousand waves are whelmed and drowned;
     It was a foundering fleet you might have said;
     And the duenna with her face of shade,â€"
     "Madam," for she had marked her ruffled mind,
     "All things belong to princesâ€"but God's wind."

     BP. ALEXANDER

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Ebolsa Virus in the Philippines

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Foods That Fight Cancer

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Saulog and Sandugo of Bohol - 2014 news of Bohol Sunday Post newspaper

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Hotel room yields drugs - a 2014 news of Bohol Sunday Post newspaper (front page)

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Boxing Style of Floyd Mayweather Jr
photo courtesy of Facebook

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The Old Lebanon

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Hosea 2 A Faithful Version
 1  "Say to your brethren, Ammi, and to your sisters, Ruhamah.

 2  Contend! Contend with your mother, for she is not My wife, nor am I her husband. Let her therefore put away her whoredoms out of her sight, and her adulteries from between her breasts,

 3  Lest I strip her naked and set her out as in the day that she was born; and lest I make her as the wilderness, and set her like a dry land, and slay her with thirst.

 4  And I will not have mercy on her children, for they are the children of whoredoms,

 5  For their mother has prostituted herself. She who conceived them has done shamefully, for she said, 'I will go after my lovers who give me my bread and my water, my wool and my flax, my oil and my drink.'

 6  Therefore behold, I will hedge your way with thorns, and make a wall, that she shall not find her paths.

 7  And she shall follow after her lovers, but she shall not overtake them. She shall seek them, but shall not find them. Then she shall say, 'I will go and return to my first husband, for then it was better with me than now,'

 8  For she did not know that I gave her grain, and wine, and oil, and multiplied her silver and gold, which they prepared for Baal.

 9  So I will return and take away My grain in its time, and My wine in its season, and will recover My wool and My flax given to cover her nakedness.

 10  And now I will uncover her lewdness in the sight of her lovers, and none shall deliver her out of My hand.

 11  I will also cause all her joy to cease, her feast days, her new moons, and her sabbaths, and all her appointed feasts.

 12  And I will destroy her vines and her fig trees, of which she has said, 'They are my rewards that my lovers have given me.' And I will make them a forest, and the beasts of the field shall eat them.

 13  And I will visit on her the days of the Baalim, in which she burned incense to them, and she adorned herself with her nose rings and her jewels, and she went after her lovers and forgot Me," says the LORD.

 14  "Therefore, behold, I will lure her and bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably to her.

 15  And I will give her vineyards to her from there, and the valley of Achor for a door of hope. And she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth, and as in the day when she came up out of the land of Egypt.

 16  And it shall be in that day," says the LORD, "you shall call Me Ishi, and shall no more call Me Baali,

 17  For I will take away the names of the Baalim out of her mouth, and they will no more be remembered by their name.

 18  And in that day I will make a covenant for them, with the beasts of the field, and with the birds of the heavens, and with the creeping things of the ground. And I will break the bow and the sword and the battle out of the earth, and will make them to lie down safely.

 19  And I will betroth you to Me forever. Yea, I will betroth you to Me in righteousness, and in judgment, and in lovingkindness, and in mercies.

 20  I will even betroth you to Me in faithfulness. And you shall know the LORD.

 21  And it will be in that day that I will answer," says the LORD. "I will answer the heavens, and they shall answer the earth,

 22  And the earth shall answer with grain and wine and oil. And they shall answer Jezreel.

 23  And I will sow her to Me in the earth. And I will have mercy on her that was shown no mercy. And I will say to her that was not My people, 'You are My people.' And they shall say, 'You are my God.' ”



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Algorithm for Triage of Patients with Possible Covid-19

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Juan, spell ambulance

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Philippine Radio Journalist Killed in Mindanao

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Gokongweis Buy Shares from Meralco

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Hosea 1
 1  The Word of the LORD that came to Hosea, the son of Beeri, in the days of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz and Hezekiah, kings of Judah, and in the days of Jeroboam the son of Joash, king of Israel.

 2  The beginning of the Word of the LORD by Hosea. And the LORD said to Hosea, "Go, take to yourself a wife of whoredoms and children of whoredoms, for the land has utterly committed great whoredoms, departing from the LORD."

 3  So he went and took Gomer the daughter of Diblaim, who conceived and bore him a son.

 4  And the LORD said to him, "Call his name Jezreel, for yet a little while, and I will avenge the blood of Jezreel on the house of Jehu, and will cause the kingdom of the house of Israel to cease.

 5  And it shall be, in that day I will break the bow of Israel in the valley of Jezreel."

 6  And she conceived again and bore a daughter. And God said to him, "Call her name Lo-Ruhamah, for I will no more have mercy on the house of Israel. But I will utterly take them away.

 7  But I will have mercy on the house of Judah, and will save them by the LORD their God, and will not save them by bow, nor by sword, nor by battle, nor by horses, nor by horsemen."

 8  And when she had weaned Lo- Ruhamah she conceived and bore a son.

 9  And He said, "Call his name Lo- Ammi, for you are not My people, and I will not be your God.

 10  Yet the number of the children of Israel shall be as the sand of the sea, which cannot be measured nor numbered. And it shall be in the place where it was said to them, 'You are not My people,' there it shall be said to them, 'You are the sons of the living God.'

 11  Then the children of Judah and the children of Israel shall be gathered together, and shall set over themselves one head, and they shall come up out of the land, for great shall be the day of Jezreel."



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Kanlaon Volcano by Michael Ocampo

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Philippines as Covid Hotspot in Southeast Asia

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Stroke Triggered by Cigarette Smoking

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Biko is Sticky Rice

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Social Distancing in Panglao Island

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Firewood for Sale

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Lechon Baboy For Sale

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Philippine Gumamela

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Covid Case in Bohol as of August 5 2020

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Press Release
NCCC's 'The Dome' to be used as reserved quarantine facility

The New City Commercial Corporation has recently turned over "The Dome" to Davao City government as an additional reserved quarantine facility for COVID-19.

The facility has a total net area of 1,250 square meter that can accommodate up to 78 persons. It is also equipped with nurses' stations, doctors' work area and an administration office.

“The Dome will be used as an additional holding area for COVID-19 patients in the event the city needs it,” says Sharlene Faye A. Lim, NCCC Malls president.

NCCC Mall VP reiterates that all safety protocols are strictly followed and implemented to ensure the well being of the customers. The mall and its perimeter are sanitized before and after operating hours. Also, the facility area including designated parking spaces is fenced, Lim added

DOH will provide doctors, nurses, and the overall system in handling the operation while the local government will provide all non-medical personnel, food and supplies, utilities, security, and police. In addition, a designated director will handle all concerns and queries regarding the facility.

The utilization of The Dome is NCCC Mall VP’s contribution to the city in its efforts to manage the COVID-19 situation. The 78-bed capacity will add to the target of 1,000 beds to prepare for a possible influx of cases.

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ABLIHAN gamay ang bintana sa sakyanan, tambag ni Mayor Sara Duterte gikan sa mga eksperto isip protective measure batok sa COVID-19.

"Kini bag-o ni siya, sa doktor ni gikan. Ingon ang doktor, you open your windows halfway to allow air to circulate inside your vehicles. So ayaw ninyo i-full aircon inyong sakyanan.

Of course kung mag-ulan, sarad-an nato atong sakyanan uy. Dili man ta mangamatay sa COVID-19, mamatay ta sa pneumonia."

- Mayor Sara Duterte via Davao City Disaster Radio (Aug. 5, 2020)

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Anti Illegal Gambling Law in PH: Bawal Magsugal

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Corona Virus Model

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Superman Fights Covid-19 Virus

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Stop Rape in Bohol

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Surgical Mask is Made Out of Abaca Fiber

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Info: No one is ever too lost to be saved

3rd Covid Case in the Philippines

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Back in February 2020 in Bohol

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Social Media Can Be Evil: Remain Private

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Road Accident Deaths in Bohol in 2019

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Cebu to Tubigon Cargo Only

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Nutritional Facts: Milk Tea Has High Sugar and Calorie Content

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A Call To Uphold Judicial Process (official statement)

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IBP MESSAGE TO THE NEW FILIPINO LAWYERS #Bar2019

CONGRATULATIONS to the newest batch of Filipino Lawyers!  WELCOME to the legal profession!

You trained and invested a lot to be a lawyer.  Be confident and be grateful to all who made your achievement possible.   

More than a goal or a status, being a lawyer is a great opportunity and a huge responsibility for you to make law and legal processes bring about a better family, community, country, and humanity.   Beyond arguing, winning or “doing justice”, a true lawyer actively promotes truth, social justice, and peace.

Lawyering  is a noble profession, at times challenging, difficult, or dangerous.  When in a dilemma or at crossroads, remember the oath that you took, act within our professional ethics, and courageously do what is right and just.

You are new in the legal profession yet you can excel without sacrificing honor; be brave without being boastful;   be dynamic, never indifferent.  Lead and lend a helping hand.

You made history for taking your oath online.  Harness technology to improve access to justice and to deliver justice faster and more efficiently.  JUSTICE BILIS not justice tiis.

Your  Integrated Bar of the Philippines stands for, by, and with you in your journey as a good Filipino lawyer.

DOMINGO EGON Q. CAYOSA
National President
and Chairman of the 24th Board of Governors

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Vectors may be a threat to you...

What's More Important in America?

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Sickness vs Health

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All who have accomplished great things have had a great aim, have fixed their gaze on a goal which was high, one which sometimes seemed impossible.
- Orison Swett Marden

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The ability to discipline yourself to delay gratification in the short term in order to enjoy greater rewards in the long term is the indispensable prerequisite for success.

Maxwell Maltz

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Emptiness is a symptom that you are not living creatively. You either have no goal that is important enough to you, or you are not using your talents and efforts in a striving toward an important goal.

Maxwell Maltz

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Media Advisory
Teleconference with Keith Krach, Under Secretary of State for Economic Growth, Energy, and the Environment

EVENT: The Asia-Pacific Media Hub will host a telephonic briefing on Thursday, August 6 at 7pm Manila (7am Wash DC) with Department of State’s Keith Krach, Under Secretary for Economic Growth, Energy, and the Environment.
During the call, Under Secretary Krach will discuss new 5G policy developments and upcoming ”Clean Network” initiatives.  “Clean Networks” is a comprehensive effort by a coalition of like-minded countries and companies to secure their critical telecommunications, cloud, data analytics, mobile apps, Internet of Things, and 5G technologies from malign actors by relying on only trusted vendors who are not subject to unjust or extra-judicial control by authoritarian governments, such as the Chinese Communist Party.  Clean Networks consists of multiple lines of effort all rooted in Digital Trust Standards.  More information can be found here.
SPEAKER:            Keith Krach, Under Secretary of State for Economic Growth, Energy, and the Environment

DATE:         Thursday, August 6, 2020   

TIME:               7PM Manila | 7AM Washington DC         
      Please use Time Zone Converter to determine the start time of the event for you

LANGUAGE:        ENGLISH

GROUND RULES:  ON-THE-RECORD, attributable to Under Secretary Krach

RSVP:                  Please RSVP for the telephonic briefing through Eventbrite via this link:
https://teleconferencewithunderseckrach.eventbrite.com
Please indicate if you will dial in or request that we dial out to you.  IF DIAL OUT, please provide the phone number, including country code, we should reach you at. 

QUESTIONS?  Please send an email to AsiaPacMedia@state.gov

LOGISTICS:

•   Callers should dial in to the conference call 15 minutes before the scheduled call time.  The operator will ask for your name, press affiliation, and location. 

•   Under Secretary Krach will give brief opening remarks, and then the moderator will open the floor to questions.

•   Participants will be instructed to press “1”, then “0”, on their phones to enter the question and answer queue.  You may also submit questions in advance via email to AsiaPacMedia@state.gov

•   If you experience technical difficulties during the call, you may email AsiaPacMedia@state.gov to alert the moderator.

SPEAKER BIOGRAPHY

Keith Krach
Under Secretary of State for Economic Growth, Energy, and the Environment

Keith Krach took the oath of office as Under Secretary of State for Economic Growth, Energy, and the Environment on June 21, 2019.

Previously, he was a businessman and entrepreneur, noted for bringing transformational leadership to many sectors, including factory automation, engineering, commerce, education, philanthropy, and even the way people sign official documents.  He is the former CEO and Chairman of DocuSign (2009â€"2019), which provides electronic signature and digital transaction management solutions to accelerate commerce between companies, while reducing the ecological impact of paper transactions.  Mr. Krach led the company through its transformation from a startup to a publicly traded global enterprise with 400 million users in 188 countries.

For Under Secretary Krach’s full bio.

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Tips: Best Ways To Prevent Infection

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Tips: How to Avoid Complications in Childbirth and Pregnancy

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Advice: How Can You Prevent Hearing Loss

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Best Magnesium Trace Minerals 2oz Fluid. Please click image to learn more.


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Best Eye Formula by Nutritional Frontiers. Click product image below to learn more.


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Vitamin C Ester Serum High Potency Review. Click image below to learn more.


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Best Zinc Trace Minerals 2oz Fluid Review. By E Lyte BodyBio. Click image below to learn more.


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What is Convalescent Plasma?

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Loboc River and its Forest, Bohol, Philippines

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Covid Cases in Central Visayas, Philippines

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Covid Virus Cases in the Philippines 112,000

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Seafood: Tujom or Tuyom Sea Urchin

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Gigantic House in Bohol, Philippines

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#SHARING TWO COVID-19 GUIDELINES

#RECOGNISING THE SYMPTOMS OF COVID-19 FROM DAY TO DAY

DAY 1-3
1. Symptoms similar to colds.
2. Mild throat pain.
3. No fever, not tired.  Still consume food and drink as normal.

DAY 4
1. Throat little bit painful, body feels like drunk.
2. Voice becoming sore.
3. Body temperature around 36.5°.
4. Beginning of disturbance on eating habit.
5.Mild headaches
6. Mild diarrhea

DAY 5
1. Throat pain and sore voice
2. Mild body heatiness. Body temperature btw 36.5°-36.7°.
3. Weak body and feeling joints pain.

DAY 6
1. Beginning of mild fever with temperature around 37°
2. Dry cough
3. Throat pain while eating,  swallowing food or talking.
4. Exhausted and nausea
5. Difficulty in breathing occasionally
6. Fingers feeling pain
7. Diarrhea and vommitting

DAY 7
1. Higher fever from 37.4°-37.8°
2. Coughing incessantly  with phlegm.
3. Body pain and headache.
4. Worsening diarrhea.
5. Vommitting

DAY 8
1.Fever around 38° or above 38°
2. Breathing difficulties, everytime breathing, chest feels heavy.
3. Coughing incessantly.
4. Headaches, joints becoming lame and buttock pain.

DAY 9.
1. Symptoms remain unchanged but becoming worst
2. Worsening fever
3.Worsening cough
4. Difficulties in breathing and have to struggle hard to breath.

At this stage, blood test and chest x-ray need to be conducted immediately.

- SINGAPORE Ministry of Health

#COVID-19 #Practical Guide
Covid medical kit list and do-it-yourself at Home:
1. Paracetamol
2. Betadine for mouthwash and gargle
3. Vitamin C and D3
5. B complex
6. Vapour/Steam/Tuob
7. Pulse Oximeter
8. Oxygen cylinder (for Emergency only)
9. Breathing Exercises

Covid Three stages:
1. Covid only in nose - recovery time is half a day. (Steam inhaling), vitamin C. Usually No Fever. Asymptomatic.

2. Covid in throat - sore throat, recovery time 1 day (hot water gargle, warm water to drink, if temp then paracetamol. Vitamin C, Bcomplex. If severe then Antibiotic.

3. Covid in lungs- coughing and breathlessness 4 to 5 days. (Vitamin C, B complex, hot water gargle, oximeter, paracetamol, cylinder if severe, lot of liquid required, deep breathing exercise.

Stage when to approach hospital:
Monitor the oxygen level. If it goes near 43 (normal 98-100) then you need oxygen cylinder. If available at home, then no hospital else admit.

#Advice from inside isolation Hospitals, We can do at home.
Medicines that are taken in isolation Hospitals
1. Vitamin C-1000
2. Vitamin E
3. From (8-10am), sitting in the sunshine for 15-20 minutes.
4. Egg meal once
5. We take a rest / sleep a minimum of 7-8 hours
6. We drink 1.5 liters of water daily
7. All meals should be warm (not cold).

*Note that the pH of Coronavirus varies from 5.5 to 8.5.
Therefore, all We have to do to eliminate the Virus is to consume more alkaline foods above the acidity level of the Virus.
Such as :
> Bananas
> Green lemon - 9.9 pH
> Yellow Lemon - 8.2 pH
> Avocado - 15.6 pH
> Garlic - 13.2 pH
> Mango - 8.7 pH
> Tangerine - 8.5 pH
> Pineapple - 12.7 pH
> Watercress - 22.7 pH
> Oranges - 9.2 pH

#How to know that You are infected with nCoronavirus?
1. Itchy throat
2. Dry throat
3. Dry cough
4. High temperature
5. Shortness of breath
6. Loss of smell

and Lemon with warm water eliminates the nCoVirus at the beginning before reaching the Lungs.

Do not keep this Information to Yourself. Provide it to all Your Family and Friends.

Repost | Reshare

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Hosea 12 A Faithful Version
 1  "Ephraim feeds on wind and follows after the east wind. He daily multiplies lies and desolation. And they make a covenant with the Assyrians, and oil is carried into Egypt.

 2  The LORD also has a quarrel with Judah and will punish Jacob according to his ways; according to his doings He will repay him.

 3  He took his brother by the heel in the womb, and by his strength he had power with God.

 4  Yes, he wept and cried to Him, and he had struggled with the Angel and he prevailed. He found him in Bethel, and there He spoke with us,

 5  Even the LORD God of hosts; the LORD is His name.

 6  Therefore return to your God; keep mercy and judgment, and wait for your God continually.

 7  "He is a merchant; the balances of deceit are in his hand; he loves to oppress.

 8  And Ephraim said, 'Yet I have become rich, I have found much wealth for myself. In all my labors they shall find in me no iniquity that is sin.'

 9  And I the LORD, who have been your God from the land of Egypt, will yet make you to dwell in tents as in the days of the appointed feast.

 10  I have also spoken by the prophets, and I have multiplied visions and have used parables by the hand of the prophets."

 11  Is there iniquity in Gilead? Surely they are altogether vanity; they sacrifice bulls in Gilgal. Yea, their altars are as heaps in the furrows of the fields.

 12  And Jacob fled into the country of Syria, and Israel served for a wife, and for a wife he kept sheep.

 13  And by a prophet the LORD brought Israel out of Egypt, and by a prophet he was kept.

 14  Ephraim provoked Me to anger most bitterly; therefore his blood shall be cast upon him, and his Lord shall return his reproach unto him.



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Hosea 13 A Faithful Version
 1  When Ephraim spoke there was trembling. He exalted himself in Israel; but when he offended in Baal worship, he died.

 2  And now they sin more and more, and have made themselves a molten image of their silver, and idols according to their own understanding, all of it the work of the craftsmen. They say of them, "Let the men who sacrifice kiss the calves."

 3  Therefore they shall be as the morning cloud and as the early dew that passes away, as the chaff storm driven from a threshing floor, and as the smoke out of the chimney.

 4  "Yet I am the LORD your God from the land of Egypt, and you shall know no God but Me, for there is no Savior besides Me.

 5  I have known you in the wilderness, in the land of great dryness.

 6  When they were fed, they became full. They were filled and their heart was exalted. Therefore they have forgotten Me.

 7  Therefore I will be as a lion to them; as a leopard by the way I will watch.

 8  I will meet them like a bear that is bereaved of her cubs, and will tear open their chests. And there I will devour them like a lionâ€"as the wild beast would tear them.

 9  O Israel, you have destroyed yourself; but in Me is your help.

 10  Where is your king now, that he may save you in all your cities; and your judges of whom you said, 'Give me a king and princes'?

 11  I gave you a king in My anger, and took him away in My wrath.

 12  The iniquity of Ephraim is bound up; his sin is hidden.

 13  The pains of a woman in travail shall come upon him. He is an unwise son; for he should not delay long at the time of the breaking forth of children.

 14  I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death. O Death, where are your plagues? O Grave, I will be your destruction! And compassion shall be hidden from My eyes."

 15  Though he is fruitful among his brothers, an east wind shall come. The wind of the LORD shall come up from the wilderness, and his spring shall become dry, and his fountain shall be dried up. He shall plunder the treasure of all desirable vessels.

 16  Samaria shall become desolate, for she has rebelled against her God. They shall fall by the sword. Their infants shall be dashed in pieces, and their pregnant women shall be ripped up.

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Hosea 13 A Faithful Version

 1  When Ephraim spoke there was trembling. He exalted himself in Israel; but when he offended in Baal worship, he died.

 2  And now they sin more and more, and have made themselves a molten image of their silver, and idols according to their own understanding, all of it the work of the craftsmen. They say of them, "Let the men who sacrifice kiss the calves."

 3  Therefore they shall be as the morning cloud and as the early dew that passes away, as the chaff storm driven from a threshing floor, and as the smoke out of the chimney.

 4  "Yet I am the LORD your God from the land of Egypt, and you shall know no God but Me, for there is no Savior besides Me.

 5  I have known you in the wilderness, in the land of great dryness.

 6  When they were fed, they became full. They were filled and their heart was exalted. Therefore they have forgotten Me.

 7  Therefore I will be as a lion to them; as a leopard by the way I will watch.

 8  I will meet them like a bear that is bereaved of her cubs, and will tear open their chests. And there I will devour them like a lionâ€"as the wild beast would tear them.

 9  O Israel, you have destroyed yourself; but in Me is your help.

 10  Where is your king now, that he may save you in all your cities; and your judges of whom you said, 'Give me a king and princes'?

 11  I gave you a king in My anger, and took him away in My wrath.

 12  The iniquity of Ephraim is bound up; his sin is hidden.

 13  The pains of a woman in travail shall come upon him. He is an unwise son; for he should not delay long at the time of the breaking forth of children.

 14  I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death. O Death, where are your plagues? O Grave, I will be your destruction! And compassion shall be hidden from My eyes."

 15  Though he is fruitful among his brothers, an east wind shall come. The wind of the LORD shall come up from the wilderness, and his spring shall become dry, and his fountain shall be dried up. He shall plunder the treasure of all desirable vessels.

 16  Samaria shall become desolate, for she has rebelled against her God. They shall fall by the sword. Their infants shall be dashed in pieces, and their pregnant women shall be ripped up.



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Hosea 14 A Faithful Version

 1  O Israel, return to the LORD your God, for you have fallen because of your iniquity.

 2  Take with you words, and return to the LORD. Say to Him, "Take away all our iniquity, and receive us graciously, that we may repay with the sacrifices of our lips.

 3  Assyria shall not save us; we will not ride on horses. Nor shall we say any more to the work of our hands, 'Our gods'â€"for in You the fatherless finds mercy."

 4  "I will heal their backslidings; I will love them freely; for My anger has turned away from him.

 5  I will be as the dew to Israel; he shall blossom as the lily and cast out his roots like Lebanon.

 6  His branches shall spread, and his beauty shall be as the olive tree, and his smell as Lebanon.

 7  Those who dwell under his shadow shall return; they shall revive like the grain, and grow like the vine. Their scent shall be as the wine of Lebanon.

 8  Ephraim shall say, 'What have I to do any more with idols?' I have heard him and watched him; I am like a leafy cypress tree. Your fruit is found from Me."

 9  Who is wise? He shall understand these things. Who has understanding? He shall know them, for the ways of the LORD are right, and the just shall walk in them; but transgressors shall fall in them.



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FROM GOV. ART YAP:
Provincial Capitol, Tagbilaran City

Maayong gabii, Bohol.

Gipahibaw ta sa DOH nga adunay 9 ka bag-ong kaso sa atong lalawigan. 2 ka LSI nga taga Bilar, 2 ka LSI nga taga Trinidad, 3 ka LSI, 1 OFW nga taga Tagbilaran ug 1 ka APOR nga naa sa Tagbilaran. Ato ng gipahibaw ang mga Mayor sa hingtungdan nga lungsod ug dakbayan bahin sa resulta. Nagpabilin nga gi-isolate ang mga pasyente sa ilang tagsa-tagsa ka mga isolation centers sukad sa ilang pag-abot dinhi sa atong lalawigan hangtod karong panahona.

Kauban sa report sa DOH ang usa ka repeat PCR test result sa usa ka taga Tagbilaran nga nagpositibo gihapon sa COVID-19.

Nakig-alayon na ang PHO sa mga RHU's ug City Health Office aron sa pagpahigayon sa contact tracing.

Balikon ko sa paghangyo ang tanan nga dili ta mokumpyansa. Sundon nato ang minimum health standards. Likayi ang pagsuroy-suroy, pagpuyo sa balay kung walay importanteng lakwon. Responsibilidad nato nga panalipdan ang atong kaugalingon batok sa COVID-19.

Daghang salamat. God save Bohol.

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Lechon de Negro. Where to buy it?

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EVIRADNUS by Victor Hugo
     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 Ladisläus said?

     I know not if the rock, or tree o'erhead,
     Had heard their speech;â€"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 passed 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 noble 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 passed on,
     And to the ears of Eviradnus oneâ€"
     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 hoary 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 noble 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 Wasselonne, and threw it o'er
     Into the waters deep. The people round
     Blazon the noble 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,
     Andâ€"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 Urracaâ€"he ever shows
     His strength is for the feeble and oppressed;
     Father of orphans he, and all distressed!
     Kings of the Rhine in strongholds were by him
     Boldly attacked, and tyrant barons grim.
     He freed the townsâ€"confronting in his lair
     Hugo the Eagle; boldly did he dare
     To break the collar of Saverne, the ring
     Of Colmar, and the iron torture thing
     Of Schlestadt, and the chain that Haguenau bore.
     Such Eviradnus was a wrong before,
     Good but most terrible.  In the dread scale
     Which princes weighted with their horrid tale
     Of craft and violence, and blood and ill,
     And fire and shocking deeds, his sword was still
     God's counterpoise displayed. Ever alert
     More evil from the wretched to avert,
     Those hapless ones who 'neath Heaven's vault at night
     Raise suppliant hands. His lance loved not the plight
     Of mouldering in the rack, of no avail,
     His battle-axe slipped from supporting nail
     Quite easily; 'twas ill for action base
     To come so near that he the thing could trace.
     The steel-clad champion death drops all around
     As glaciers water. Hero ever found
     Eviradnus is kinsman of the race
     Of Amadys of Gaul, and knights of Thrace,
     He smiles at age. For he who never asked
     For quarter from mankindâ€"shall he be tasked
     To beg of Time for mercy? Rather he
     Would girdle up his loins, like Baldwin be.
     Aged he is, but of a lineage rare;
     The least intrepid of the birds that dare
     Is not the eagle barbed. What matters age,
     The years but fire him with a holy rage.
     Though late from Palestine, he is not spent,â€"
     With age he wrestles, firm in his intent.

     III.

     IN THE FOREST.

     If in the woodland traveller there had been
     That eve, who lost himself, strange sight he'd seen.
     Quite in the forest's heart a lighted space
     Arose to view; in that deserted place
     A lone, abandoned hall with light aglow
     The long neglect of centuries did show.
     The castle-towers of Corbus in decay
     Were girt by weeds and growths that had their way.
     Couch-grass and ivy, and wild eglantine
     In subtle scaling warfare all combine.
     Subject to such attacks three hundred years,
     The donjon yields, and ruin now appears,
     E'en as by leprosy the wild boars die,
     In moat the crumbled battlements now lie;
     Around the snake-like bramble twists its rings;
     Freebooter sparrows come on daring wings
     To perch upon the swivel-gun, nor heed
     Its murmuring growl when pecking in their greed
     The mulberries ripe. With insolence the thorn
     Thrives on the desolation so forlorn.
     But winter brings revenges; then the Keep
     Wakes all vindictive from its seeming sleep,
     Hurls down the heavy rain, night after night,
     Thanking the season's all-resistless might;
     And, when the gutters choke, its gargoyles four
     From granite mouths in anger spit and pour
     Upon the hated ivy hour by hour.

     As to the sword rust is, so lichens are
     To towering citadel with which they war.
     Alas! for Corbusâ€"dreary, desolate,
     And yet its woes the winters mitigate.
     It rears itself among convulsive throes
     That shake its ruins when the tempest blows.
     Winter, the savage warrior, pleases well,
     With its storm clouds, the mighty citadel,â€"
     Restoring it to life. The lightning flash
     Strikes like a thief and flies; the winds that crash
     Sound like a clarion, for the Tempest bluff
     Is Battle's sister. And when wild and rough,
     The north wind blows, the tower exultant cries
     "Behold me!" When hail-hurling gales arise
     Of blustering Equinox, to fan the strife,
     It stands erect, with martial ardor rife,
     A joyous soldier! When like yelping hound
     Pursued by wolves, November comes to bound
     In joy from rock to rock, like answering cheer
     To howling January now so nearâ€"
     "Come on!" the Donjon cries to blasts o'erheadâ€"
     It has seen Attila, and knows not dread.
     Oh, dismal nights of contest in the rain
     And mist, that furious would the battle gain,
     'The tower braves all, though angry skies pour fast
     The flowing torrents, river-like and vast.
     From their eight pinnacles the gorgons bay,
     And scattered monsters, in their stony way,
     Are growling heard; the rampart lions gnaw
     The misty air and slush with granite maw,
     The sleet upon the griffins spits, and all
     The Saurian monsters, answering to the squall,
     Flap wings; while through the broken ceiling fall
     Torrents of rain upon the forms beneath,
     Dragons and snak'd Medusas gnashing teeth
     In the dismantled rooms. Like armored knight
     The granite Castle fights with all its might,
     Resisting through the winter. All in vain,
     The heaven's bluster, January's rain,
     And those dread elemental powers we call
     The Infiniteâ€"the whirlwinds that appallâ€"
     Thunder and waterspouts; and winds that shake
     As 'twere a tree its ripened fruit to take.
     The winds grow wearied, warring with the tower,
     The noisy North is out of breath, nor power
     Has any blast old Corbus to defeat,
     It still has strength their onslaughts worst to meet.
     Thus, spite of briers and thistles, the old tower
     Remains triumphant through the darkest hour;
     Superb as pontiff, in the forest shown,
     Its rows of battlements make triple crown;
     At eve, its silhouette is finely traced
     Immense and blackâ€"showing the Keep is placed
     On rocky throne, sublime and high; east, west,
     And north and south, at corners four, there rest
     Four mounts; Aptar, where flourishes the pine,
     And Toxis, where the elms grow green and fine;
     Crobius and Bleyda, giants in their might,
     Against the stormy winds to stand and fight,
     And these above its diadem uphold
     Night's living canopy of clouds unrolled.

     The herdsman fears, and thinks its shadow creeps
     To follow him; and superstition keeps
     Such hold that Corbus as a terror reigns;
     Folks say the Fort a target still remains
     For the Black Archerâ€"and that it contains
     The cave where the Great Sleeper still sleeps sound.
     The country people all the castle round
     Are frightened easily, for legends grow
     And mix with phantoms of the mind; we know
     The hearth is cradle of such fantasies,
     And in the smoke the cotter sees arise
     From low-thatched but he traces cause of dread.
     Thus rendering thanks that he is lowly bred,
     Because from such none look for valorous deeds.
     The peasant flies the Tower, although it leads
     A noble knight to seek adventure there,
     And, from his point of honor, dangers dare.

     Thus very rarely passer-by is seen;
     Butâ€"it might be with twenty years between,
     Or haply lessâ€"at unfixed interval
     There would a semblance be of festival.
     A Seneschal and usher would appear,
     And troops of servants many baskets bear.
     Then were, in mystery, preparations made,
     And they departedâ€"for till night none stayed.
     But 'twixt the branches gazers could descry
     The blackened hall lit up most brilliantly.
     None dared approachâ€"and this the reason why.

     IV.

     THE CUSTOM OF LUSACE.

     When died a noble Marquis of Lusace
     'Twas custom for the heir who filled his place
     Before assuming princely pomp and power
     To sup one night in Corbus' olden tower.
     From this weird meal he passed to the degree
     Of Prince and Margrave; nor could ever he
     Be thought brave knight, or sheâ€"if woman claim
     The rankâ€"be reckoned of unblemished fame
     Till they had breathed the air of ages gone,
     The funeral odors, in the nest alone
     Of its dead masters. Ancient was the race;
     To trace the upward stem of proud Lusace
     Gives one a vertigo; descended they
     From ancestor of Attila, men say;
     Their race to himâ€"through Pagansâ€"they hark back;
     Becoming Christians, race they thought to track
     Through Lechus, Plato, Otho to combine
     With Ursus, Stephen, in a lordly line.
     Of all those masters of the country round
     That were on Northern Europe's boundary foundâ€"
     At first were waves and then the dykes were rearedâ€"
     Corbus in double majesty appeared,
     Castle on hill and town upon the plain;
     And one who mounted on the tower could gain
     A view beyond the pines and rocks, of spires
     That pierce the shade the distant scene acquires;
     A walled town is it, but 'tis not ally
     Of the old citadel's proud majesty;
     Unto itself belonging this remained.
     Often a castle was thus self-sustained
     And equalled towns; witness in Lombardy
     Crama, and Plato too in Tuscany,
     And in Apulia Barletta;â€"each one
     Was powerful as a town, and dreaded none.
     Corbus ranked thus; its precincts seemed to hold
     The reflex of its mighty kings of old;
     Their great events had witness in these walls,
     Their marriages were here and funerals,
     And mostly here it was that they were born;
     And here crowned Barons ruled with pride and scorn;
     Cradle of Scythian majesty this place.
     Now each new master of this ancient race
     A duty owed to ancestors which he
     Was bound to carry on. The law's decree
     It was that he should pass alone the night
     Which made him king, as in their solemn sight.
     Just at the forest's edge a clerk was met
     With wine in sacred cup and purpose set,
     A wine mysterious, which the heir must drink
     To cause deep slumber till next day's soft brink.
     Then to the castle tower he wends his way,
     And finds a supper laid with rich display.
     He sups and sleeps: then to his slumbering eyes
     The shades of kings from Bela all arise.
     None dare the tower to enter on this night,
     But when the morning dawns, crowds are in sight
     The dreamer to deliver,â€"whom half dazed,
     And with the visions of the night amazed,
     They to the old church take, where rests the dust
     Of Borivorus; then the bishop must,
     With fervent blessings on his eyes and mouth,
     Put in his hands the stony hatchets both,
     With whichâ€"even like death impartiallyâ€"
     Struck Attila, with one arm dexterously
     The south, and with the other arm the north.

     This day the town the threatening flag set forth
     Of Marquis Swantibore, the monster he
     Who in the wood tied up his wife, to be
     Devoured by wolves, together with the bull
     Of which with jealousy his heart was full.

     Even when woman took the place of heir
     The tower of Corbus claimed the supper there;
     'Twas lawâ€"the woman trembled, but must dare.

     V.

     THE MARCHIONESS MAHAUD.

     Niece of the Marquisâ€"John the Striker namedâ€"
     Mahaud to-day the marquisate has claimed.
     A noble dameâ€"the crown is hers by right:
     As woman she has graces that delight.
     A queen devoid of beauty is not queen,
     She needs the royalty of beauty's mien;
     God in His harmony has equal ends
     For cedar that resists, and reed that bends,
     And good it is a woman sometimes rules,
     Holds in her hand the power, and manners schools,
     And laws and mind;â€"succeeding master proud,
     With gentle voice and smile she leads the crowd,
     The sombre human troop. But sweet Mahaud
     On evil days had fallen; gentle, good,
     Alas! she held the sceptre like a flower;
     Timid yet gay, imprudent for the hour,
     And careless too. With Europe all in throes,
     Though twenty years she now already knows,
     She has refused to marry, although oft
     Entreated. It is time an arm less soft
     Than hersâ€"a manly armâ€"supported her;
     Like to the rainbow she, one might aver,
     Shining on high between the cloud and rain,
     Or like the ewe that gambols on the plain
     Between the bear and tiger; innocent,
     She has two neighbors of most foul intent:
     For foes the Beauty has, in life's pure spring,
     The German Emp'ror and the Polish King.

     VI.

     THE TWO NEIGHBORS.

     The difference this betwixt the evil pair,
     Faithless to Godâ€"for laws without a careâ€"
     One was the claw, the other one the will
     Controlling. Yet to mass they both went still,
     And on the rosary told their beads each day.
     But none the less the world believed that they
     Unto the powers of hell their souls had sold.
     Even in whispers men each other told
     The details of the pact which they had signed
     With that dark power, the foe of human kind;
     In whispers, for the crowd had mortal dread
     Of them so high, and woes that they had spread.
     One might be vengeance and the other hate,
     Yet lived they side by side, in powerful state
     And close alliance. All the people near
     From red horizon dwelt in abject fear,
     Mastered by them; their figures darkly grand
     Had ruddy reflex from the wasted land,
     And fires, and towns they sacked. Besides the one,
     Like David, poet was, the other shone
     As fine musicianâ€"rumor spread their fame,
     Declaring them divine, until each name
     In Italy's fine sonnets met with praise.
     The ancient hierarch in those old days
     Had custom strange, a now forgotten thing,
     It was a European plan that King
     Of France was marquis, and th' imperial head
     Of Germany was duke; there was no need
     To class the other kings, but barons they,
     Obedient vassals unto Rome, their stay.
     The King of Poland was but simple knight,
     Yet now, for once, had strange unwonted right,
     And, as exception to the common state,
     This one Sarmatian King was held as great
     As German Emperor; and each knew how
     His evil part to play, nor mercy show.
     The German had one aim, it was to take
     All land he could, and it his own to make.
     The Pole already having Baltic shore,
     Seized Celtic ports, still needing more and more.
     On all the Northern Sea his crafts roused fear:
     Iceland beheld his demon navy near.
     Antwerp the German burnt; and Prussias twain
     Bowed to the yoke. The Polish King was fain
     To help the Russian Spotocusâ€"his aid
     Was like the help that in their common trade
     A sturdy butcher gives a weaker one.
     The King it is who seizes, and this done,
     The Emp'ror pillages, usurping right
     In war Teutonic, settled but by might.
     The King in Jutland cynic footing gains,
     The weak coerced, the while with cunning pains
     The strong are duped. But 'tis a law they make
     That their accord themselves should never break.
     From Arctic seas to cities Transalpine,
     Their hideous talons, curved for sure rapine,
     Scrape o'er and o'er the mournful continent,
     Their plans succeed, and each is well content.
     Thus under Satan's all paternal care
     They brothers are, this royal bandit pair.
     Oh, noxious conquerors! with transient rule
     Chimera headsâ€"ambition can but fool.
     Their misty minds but harbor rottenness
     Loathsome and fetid, and all barrennessâ€"
     Their deeds to ashes turn, and, hydra-bred,
     The mystic skeleton is theirs to dread.
     The daring German and the cunning Pole
     Noted to-day a woman had control
     Of lands, and watched Mahaud like evil spies;
     And from the Emp'ror's cruel mouthâ€"with dyes
     Of wrath empurpledâ€"came these words of late:
     "The empire wearies of the wallet weight
     Hung at its backâ€"this High and Low Lusace,
     Whose hateful load grows heavier apace,
     That now a woman holds its ruler's place."
     Threatening, and blood suggesting, every word;
     The watchful Pole was silentâ€"but he heard.

     Two monstrous dangers; but the heedless one
     Babbles and smiles, and bids all care begoneâ€"
     Likes lively speechâ€"while all the poor she makes
     To love her, and the taxes off she takes.
     A life of dance and pleasure she has knownâ€"
     A woman always; in her jewelled crown
     It is the pearl she lovesâ€"not cutting gems,
     For these can wound, and mark men's diadems.
     She pays the hire of Homer's copyists,
     And in the Courts of Love presiding, lists.

     Quite recently unto her Court have come
     Two menâ€"unknown their names or native home,
     Their rank or race; but one plays well the lute,
     The other is a troubadour; both suit
     The taste of Mahaud, when on summer eve,
     'Neath opened windows, they obtain her leave
     To sing upon the terrace, and relate
     The charming tales that do with music mate.
     In August the Moravians have their fête,
     But it is radiant June in which Lusace
     Must consecrate her noble Margrave race.
     Thus in the weird and old ancestral tower
     For Mahaud now has come the fateful hour,
     The lonely supper which her state decrees.
     What matters this to flowers, and birds, and trees,
     And clouds and fountains? That the people may
     Still bear their yokeâ€"have kings to rule alway?
     The water flows, the wind in passing by
     In murmuring tones takes up the questioning cry.

     VII.

     THE BANQUET HALL.

     The old stupendous hall has but one door,
     And in the dusk it seems that more and more
     The walls recede in space unlimited.
     At the far end there is a table spread
     That in the dreary void with splendor shines;
     For ceiling we behold but rafter lines.
     The table is arranged for one sole guest,
     A solitary chair doth near it rest,
     Throne-like, 'neath canopy that droopeth down
     From the black beams; upon the walls are shown
     The painted histories of the olden might,
     The King of the Wends Thassilo's stern fight
     On land with Nimrod, and on ocean wide
     With Neptune. Rivers too personified
     Appearâ€"the Rhine as by the Meuse betrayed,
     And fading groups of Odin in the shade,
     And the wolf Fenrir and the Asgard snake.
     One might the place for dragons' stable take.
     The only lights that in the shed appear
     Spring from the table's giant chandelier
     With seven iron branchesâ€"brought from hell
     By Attila Archangel, people tell,
     When he had conquered Mammonâ€"and they say
     That seven souls were the first flames that day.
     This banquet hall looks an abyss outlined
     With shadowy vagueness, though indeed we find
     In the far depth upon the table spread
     A sudden, strong, and glaring light is shed,
     Striking upon the goldsmith's burnished works,
     And on the pheasants killed by traitor hawks.
     Loaded the table is with viands cold,
     Ewers and flagons, all enough of old
     To make a love feast. All the napery
     Was Friesland's famous make; and fair to see
     The dishes, silver-gilt and bordered round
     With flowers; for fruit, here strawberries were found
     And citrons, apples too, and nectarines.
     The wooden bowls were carved in cunning lines
     By peasants of the Murg, whose skilful hands
     With patient toil reclaim the barren lands
     And make their gardens flourish on a rock,
     Or mountain where we see the hunters flock.
     Gold fountain-cup, with handles Florentine,
     Shows Acteons horned, though armed and booted fine,
     Who fight with sword in hand against the hounds.
     Roses and gladioles make up bright mounds
     Of flowers, with juniper and aniseed;
     While sage, all newly cut for this great need,
     Covers the Persian carpet that is spread
     Beneath the table, and so helps to shed
     Around a perfume of the balmy spring.
     Beyond is desolation withering.
     One hears within the hollow dreary space
     Across the grove, made fresh by summer's grace,
     The wind that ever is with mystic might
     A spirit ripple of the Infinite.
     The glass restored to frames to creak is made
     By blustering wind that comes from neighboring glade.
     Strange in this dream-like place, so drear and lone,
     The guest expected should be living one!
     The seven lights from seven arms make glow
     Almost with life the staring eyes that show
     On the dim frescoesâ€"and along the walls
     Is here and there a stool, or the light falls
     O'er some long chest, with likeness to a tomb.
     Yet was displayed amid the mournful gloom
     Some copper vessels, and some crockery ware.
     The doorâ€"as if it must, yet scarcely dareâ€"
     Had opened widely to the night's fresh air.

     No voice is heard, for man has fled the place;
     But Terror crouches in the corners' space,
     And waits the coming guest. This banquet hall
     Of Titans is so high, that he who shall
     With wandering eye look up from beam to beam
     Of the confused wild roof will haply seem
     To wonder that the stars he sees not there.
     Giants the spiders are, that weave with care
     Their hideous webs, which float the joists amid,
     Joists whose dark ends in griffins' jaws are hid.
     The light is lurid, and the air like death,
     And dark and foul. Even Night holds its breath
     Awhile. One might suppose the door had fear
     To move its double leavesâ€"their noise to hear.

     VIII.

     WHAT MORE WAS TO BE SEEN.

     But the great hall of generations dead
     Has something more sepulchral and more dread
     Than lurid glare from seven-branched chandelier
     Or table lone with stately daïs nearâ€"
     Two rows of arches o'er a colonnade
     With knights on horseback all in mail arrayed,
     Each one disposed with pillar at his back
     And to another vis-à-vis. Nor lack
     The fittings all complete; in each right hand
     A lance is seen; the armored horses stand
     With chamfrons laced, and harness buckled sure;
     The cuissarts' studs are by their clamps secure;
     The dirks stand out upon the saddle-bow;
     Even unto the horses' feet do flow
     Caparisons,â€"the leather all well clasped,
     The gorget and the spurs with bronze tongues hasped,
     The shining long sword from the saddle hung,
     The battle-axe across the back was flung.
     Under the arm a trusty dagger rests,
     Each spiked knee-piece its murderous power attests.
     Feet press the stirrupsâ€"hands on bridle shown
     Proclaim all ready, with the visors down,
     And yet they stir not, nor is audible
     A sound to make the sight less terrible.

     Each monstrous horse a frontal horn doth bear,
     If e'er the Prince of Darkness herdsman were,
     These cattle black were his by surest right,
     Like things but seen in horrid dreams of night.
     The steeds are swathed in trappings manifold,
     The armed knights are grave, and stern, and cold,
     Terrific too; the clench'd fists seem to hold
     Some frightful missive, which the phantom hands
     Would show, if opened out at hell's commands.
     The dusk exaggerates their giant size,
     The shade is awedâ€"the pillars coldly rise.
     Oh, Night! why are these awful warriors here?

     Horses and horsemen that make gazers fear
     Are only empty armor. But erect
     And haughty mien they all affect
     And threatening airâ€"though shades of iron still.
     Are they strange larvaeâ€"these their statues ill?
     No. They are dreams of horror clothed in brass,
     Which from profoundest depths of evil pass
     With futile aim to dare the Infinite!
     Souls tremble at the silent spectre sight,
     As if in this mysterious cavalcade
     They saw the weird and mystic halt was made
     Of them who at the coming dawn of day
     Would fade, and from their vision pass away.
     A stranger looking in, these masks to see,
     Might deem from Death some mandate there might be
     At times to burst the tombsâ€"the dead to wear
     A human shape, and mustering ranks appear
     Of phantoms, each confronting other shade.

     Grave-clothes are not more grim and sombre made
     Than are these helms; the deaf and sealed-up graves
     Are not more icy than these arms; the staves
     Of hideous biers have not their joints more strong
     Than are the joinings of these legs; the long
     Scaled gauntlet fingers look like worms that shine,
     And battle robes to shroud-like folds incline.
     The heads are skull-like, and the stony feet
     Seem for the charnel house but only meet.
     The pikes have death's-heads carved, and seem to be
     Too heavy; but the shapes defiantly
     Sit proudly in the saddleâ€"and perforce
     The rider looks united to the horse!
     The network of their mail doth clearly cross.
     The Marquis' mortar beams near Ducal wreath,
     And on the helm and gleaming shield beneath
     Alternate triple pearls with leaves displayed
     Of parsley, and the royal robes are made
     So large that with the knightly harness they
     Seem to o'ermaster palfreys every way.
     To Rome the oldest armor might be traced,
     And men and horses' armor interlaced
     Blent horribly; the man and steed we feel
     Made but one hydra with its scales of steel.
     Yet is there history here. Each coat of mail
     Is representant of some stirring tale.
     Each delta-shaped escutcheon shines to show
     A vision of the chief by it we know.
     Here are the blood-stained Dukes' and Marquis' line,
     Barbaric lords, who amid war's rapine
     Bore gilded saints upon their banners still
     Painted on fishes' skin with cunning skill.
     Here Geth, who to the Slaves cried "Onward go,"
     And Mundiaque and Ottocarâ€"Plato
     And Ladisläus Kunne; and Welf who bore
     These words upon his shield his foes before;
     "Nothing there is I fear." Otho blear-eyed,
     Zultan and Nazamustus, and beside
     The later Spignus, e'en to Spartibor
     Of triple vision, and yet more and more
     As if a pause at every age were made,
     And Antaeus' fearful dynasty portrayed.

     What do they here so rigid and erect?
     What wait they forâ€"and what do they expect?
     Blindness fills up the helm 'neath iron brows;
     Like sapless tree no soul the hero knows.
     Darkness is now where eyes with flame were fraught,
     And thrice-bored visor serves for mask of naught.
     Of empty void is spectral giant made,
     And each of these all-powerful knights displayed
     Is only rind of pride and murderous sin;
     Themselves are held the icy grave within.
     Rust eats the casques enamoured once so much
     Of death and daringâ€"which knew kiss-like touch
     Of bannerâ€"mistress so august and dearâ€"
     But not an arm can stir its hinges here;
     Behold how mute are they whose threats were heard
     Like savage roarâ€"whose gnashing teeth and word
     Deadened the clarion's tones; the helmets dread
     Have not a sound, and all the armor spread,
     The hauberks, that strong breathing seemed to sway,
     Are stranded now in helplessness alway
     To see the shadows, still prolonged, that seem
     To take at night the image of a dream.

     These two great files reach from the door afar
     To where the table and the daïs are,
     Leaving between their fronts a narrow lane.
     On the left side the Marquises maintain
     Their place, but the right side the Dukes retain,
     And till the roof, embattled by Spignus,
     But worn by time that even that subdues,
     Shall fall upon their heads, these forms will stand
     The grades confrontingâ€"one on either hand.
     While in advance beyond, with haughty headâ€"
     As if commander of this squadron dreadâ€"
     All waiting signal of the Judgment Day,
     In stone was seen in olden sculptors' way
     Charlemagne the King, who on the earth had found
     Only twelve knights to grace his Table Round.

     The crests were an assembly of strange things,
     Of horrors such as nightmare only brings.
     Asps, and spread eagles without beak or feet,
     Sirens and mermaids here and dragons meet,
     And antlered stags and fabled unicorn,
     And fearful things of monstrous fancy born.
     Upon the rigid form of morion's sheen
     Winged lions and the Cerberus are seen,
     And serpents winged and finned; things made to fright
     The timid foe, alone by sense of sight.
     Some leaning forward and the others back,
     They looked a growing forest that did lack
     No form of terror; but these things of dread
     That once on barons' helms the battle led
     Beneath the giant banners, now are still,

     As if they gaped and found the time but ill,
     Wearied the ages passed so slowly by,
     And that the gory dead no more did lie
     Beneath their feetâ€"pined for the battle-cry,
     The trumpet's clash, the carnage and the strife,
     Yawning to taste again their dreadful life.
     Like tears upon the palfreys' muzzles were
     The hard reflections of the metal there;
     From out these spectres, ages past exhumed,
     And as their shadows on the roof-beams loomed,
     Cast by the trembling light, each figure wan
     Seemed growing, and a monstrous shape to don,
     So that the double range of horrors made
     The darkened zenith clouds of blackest shade,
     That shaped themselves to profiles terrible.

     All motionless the coursers horrible,
     That formed a legion lured by Death to war,
     These men and horses masked, how dread they are!
     Absorbed in shadows of the eternal shore,
     Among the living all their tasks are o'er.
     Silent, they seem all mystery to brave,
     These sphinxes whom no beacon light can save
     Upon the threshold of the gulf so near,
     As if they faced the great enigma here;
     Ready with hoofs, between the pillars blue
     To strike out sparks, and combats to renew,
     Choosing for battle-field the shades below,
     Which they provoked by deeds we cannot know,
     In that dark realm thought dares not to expound
     False masks from heaven lowered to depths profound.

     IX.

     A NOISE ON THE FLOOR.

     This is the scene on which now enters in
     Eviradnus; and follows page Gasclin.

     The outer walls were almost all decayed,
     The door, for ancient Marquises once madeâ€"
     Raised many steps above the courtyard nearâ€"
     Commanded view of the horizon clear.
     The forest looked a great gulf all around,
     And on the rock of Corbus there were found
     Secret and blood-stained precipices tall.
     Duke Plato built the tower and banquet hall
     Over great pits,â€"so was it Rumor said.
     The flooring sounds 'neath Eviradnus' tread
     Above abysses many.
                          "Page," said he,
     "Come here, your eyes than mine can better see,
     For sight is woman-like and shuns the old;
     Ah! he can see enough, when years are told,
     Who backwards looks. But, boy, turn towards the glade
     And tell me what you see."
                                 The boy obeyed,
     And leaned across the threshold, while the bright,
     Full moon shed o'er the glade its white, pure light.

     "I see a horse and woman on it now,"
     Said Gasclin, "and companions also show."
     "Who are they?" asked the seeker of sublime
     Adventures. "Sir, I now can hear like chime
     The sound of voices, and men's voices too,
     Laughter and talk; two men there are in view,
     Across the road the shadows clear I mark
     Of horses three."
                        "Enough. Now, Gasclin, hark!"
     Exclaimed the knight, "you must at once return
     By other path than that which you discern,
     So that you be not seen. At break of day
     Bring back our horses fresh, and every way
     Caparisoned; now leave me, boy, I say."
     The page looked at his master like a son,
     And said, "Oh! if I might stay on,
     For they are two."

         "Goâ€"I suffice alone!"

     X.

     EVIRADNUS MOTIONLESS.

     And lone the hero is within the hall,
     And nears the table where the glasses all
     Show in profusion; all the vessels there,
     Goblets and glasses gilt, or painted fair,
     Are ranged for different wines with practised care.
     He thirsts; the flagons tempt; but there must stay
     One drop in emptied glass, and 'twould betray
     The fact that some one living had been here.
     Straight to the horses goes he, pauses near
     That which is next the table shining bright,
     Seizes the riderâ€"plucks the phantom knight
     To piecesâ€"all in vain its panoply
     And pallid shining to his practised eye;
     Then he conveys the severed iron remains
     To corner of the hall where darkness reigns;
     Against the wall he lays the armor low
     In dust and gloom like hero vanquished nowâ€"
     But keeping pond'rous lance and shield so old,
     Mounts to the empty saddle, and behold!
     A statue Eviradnus has become,
     Like to the others in their frigid home.
     With visor down scarce breathing seemed maintained
     Throughout the hall a death-like silence reigned.

     XI.

     A LITTLE MUSIC.

     Listen! like hum froth unseen nests we hear
     A mirthful buzz of voices coming near,
     Of footstepsâ€"laughterâ€"from the trembling trees.
     And now the thick-set forest all receives
     A flood of moonlightâ€"and there gently floats
     The sound of a guitar of Inspruck; notes
     Which blend with chimesâ€"vibrating to the handâ€"
     Of tiny bellâ€"where sounds a grain of sand.
     A man's voice mixes with the melody,
     And vaguely melts to song in harmony.

       "If you like we'll dream a dream.
         Let us mount on palfreys two;
       Birds are singing,â€"let it seem
         You lure meâ€"and I take you.

       "Let us startâ€"'tis eve, you see,
          I'm thy master and thy prey.
       My bright steed shall pleasure be;
         Yours, it shall be love, I say.

       "Journeying leisurely we go,
         We will make our steeds touch heads,
       Kiss for fodder,â€"and we so
         Satisfy our horses' needs.

       "Come! the two delusive things
         Stamp impatiently it seems,
       Yours has heavenward soaring wings,
         Mine is of the land of dreams.

       "What's our baggage? only vows,
         Happiness, and all our care,
       And the flower that sweetly shows
         Nestling lightly in your hair.

       "Come, the oaks all dark appear,
         Twilight now will soon depart,
       Railing sparrows laugh to hear
         Chains thou puttest round my heart.

       "Not my fault 'twill surely be
         If the hills should vocal prove,
       And the trees when us they see,
         All should murmurâ€"let us love!

       "Oh, be gentle!â€"I am dazed,
        See the dew is on the grass,
       Wakened butterflies amazed
         Follow thee as on we pass.

       "Envious night-birds open wide
         Their round eyes to gaze awhile,
       Nymphs that lean their urns beside
         From their grottoes softly smile,

       "And exclaim, by fancy stirred,
         'Hero and Leander they;
       We in listening for a word
         Let our water fall away.'

       "Let us journey Austrian way,
         With the daybreak on our brow;
       I be great, and you I say
         Rich, because we love shall know.

       "Let us over countries rove,
         On our charming steeds content,
       In the azure light of love,
         And its sweet bewilderment.

       "For the charges at our inn,
         You with maiden smiles shall pay;
       I the landlord's heart will win
         In a scholar's pleasant way.

       "You, great ladyâ€"and I, Countâ€"
        Come, my heart has opened quite,
       We this tale will still recount,
         To the stars that shine at night."

     The melody went on some moments more
     Among the trees the calm moon glistened o'er,
     Then trembled and was hushed; the voice's thrill
     Stopped like alighting birds, and all was still.

     XII.

     GREAT JOSS AND LITTLE ZENO.

     Quite suddenly there showed across the door,
     Three heads which all a festive aspect wore.
     Two men were there; and, dressed in cloth of gold,
     A woman. Of the men one might have told
     Some thirty years, the other younger seemed,
     Was tall and fair, and from his shoulder gleamed
     A gay guitar with ivy leaves enlaced.
     The other man was dark, but pallid-faced
     And small. At the first glance they seemed to be
     But made of perfume and frivolity.
     Handsome they were, but through their comely mien
     A grinning demon might be clearly seen.
     April has flowers where lurk the slugs between.

     "Big Joss and little Zeno, pray come here;
     Look nowâ€"how dreadful! can I help but fear!"
     Madame Mahaud was speaker. Moonlight there
     Caressingly enhanced her beauty rare,
     Making it shine and tremble, as if she
     So soft and gentle were of things that be
     Of air created, and are brought and ta'en
     By heavenly flashes. Now, she spoke again
     "Certes, 'tis heavy purchase of a throne,
     To pass the night here utterly alone.
     Had you not slyly come to guard me now,
     I should have died of fright outright I know."
     The moonbeams through the open door did fall,
     And shine upon the figure next the wall.

     Said Zeno, "If I played the Marquis part,
     I'd send this rubbish to the auction mart;
     Out of the heap should come the finest wine,
     Pleasure and gala-fêtes, were it all mine."
     And then with scornful hand he touched the thing,
     And made the metal like a soul's cry ring.
     He laughedâ€"the gauntlet trembled at his stroke.
     "Let rest my ancestors"â€"'twas Mahaud spoke;
     Then murmuring added she, "For you are much
     Too small their noble armor here to touch."

     And Zeno paled, but Joss with laugh exclaimed,
     "Why, all these good black men so grandly named
     Are only nests for mice. By Jove, although
     They lifelike look and terrible, we know
     What is within; just listen, and you'll hear
     The vermins' gnawing teeth, yet 'twould appear
     These figures once were proudly named Otho,
     And Ottocar, and Bela, and Plato.
     Alas! the end's not pleasantâ€"puts one out;
     To have been kings and dukesâ€"made mighty routâ€"
     Colossal heroes filling tombs with slain,
     And, Madame, this to only now remain;
     A peaceful nibbling rat to calmly pierce
     A prince's noble armor proud and fierce."

     "Sing, if you willâ€"but do not speak so loud;
     Besides, such things as these," said fair Mahaud,
     "In your condition are not understood."
     "Well said," made answer Zeno, "'tis a place
     Of wondersâ€"I see serpents, and can trace
     Vampires, and monsters swarming, that arise
     In mist, through chinks, to meet the gazer's eyes."

     Then Mahaud shuddered, and she said: "The wine
     The Abbé made me drink as task of mine,
     Will soon enwrap me in the soundest sleepâ€"
     Swear not to leave meâ€"that you here will keep."
     "I swear," cried Joss, and Zeno, "I also;
     But now at once to supper let us go."

     XIII.

     THEY SUP.

     With laugh and song they to the table went.
     Said Mahaud gayly: "It is my intent
     To make Joss chamberlain. Zeno shall be
     A constable supreme of high degree."
     All three were joyous, and were fair to see.
     Joss ateâ€"and Zeno drank; on stools the pair,
     With Mahaud musing in the regal chair.
     The sound of separate leaf we do not noteâ€"
     And so their babble seemed to idly float,
     And leave no thought behind. Now and again
     Joss his guitar made trill with plaintive strain
     Or Tyrolean air; and lively tales they told
     Mingled with mirth all free, and frank, and bold.
     Said Mahaud: "Do you know how fortunate
     You are?" "Yes, we are young at any rateâ€"
     Lovers half crazyâ€"this is truth at least."
     "And more, for you know Latin like a priest,
     And Joss sings well."
                          "Ah, yes, our master true,
     Yields us these gifts beyond the measure due."
     "Your master!â€"who is he?" Mahaud exclaimed.
     "Satan, we sayâ€"but Sin you'd think him named,"
     Said Zeno, veiling words in raillery.
     "Do not laugh thus," she said with dignity;
     "Peace, Zeno. Joss, you speak, my chamberlain."
     "Madame, Viridis, Countess of Milan,
     Was deemed superb; Diana on the mount
     Dazzled the shepherd boy; ever we count
     The Isabel of Saxony so fair,
     And Cleopatra's beauty all so rareâ€"
     Aspasia's, too, that must with theirs compareâ€"
     That praise of them no fitting language hath.
     Divine was Rhodopeâ€"and Venus' wrath
     Was such at Erylesis' perfect throat,
     She dragged her to the forge where Vulcan smote
     Her beauty on his anvil. Well, as much
     As star transcends a sequin, and just such
     As temple is to rubbish-heap, I say,
     You do eclipse their beauty every way.
     Those airy sprites that from the azure smile,
     Peris and elfs the while they men beguile,
     Have brows less youthful pure than yours; besides
     Dishevelled they whose shaded beauty hides
     In clouds."
                "Flatt'rer," said Mahaud, "you but sing
     Too well."
                Then Joss more homage sought to bring;
     "If I were angel under heav'n," said he,
     "Or girl or demon, I would seek to be
     By you instructed in all art and grace,
     And as in school but take a scholar's place.
     Highness, you are a fairy bright, whose hand
     For sceptre vile gave up your proper wand."
     Fair Mahaud musedâ€"then said, "Be silent now;
     You seem to watch me; little 'tis I know,
     Only that from Bohemia Joss doth come,
     And that in Poland Zeno hath his home.
     But you amuse me; I am rich, you poorâ€"
     What boon shall I confer and make secure?
     What gift? ask of me, poets, what you will
     And I will grant itâ€"promise to fulfil."
     "A kiss," said Joss.
                         "A kiss!" and anger fraught
     Amazed at minstrel having such a thoughtâ€"
     While flush of indignation warmed her cheek.
     "You do forget to whom it is you speak,"
     She cried.
               "Had I not known your high degree,
     Should I have asked this royal boon," said he,
     "Obtained or given, a kiss must ever be.
     No gift like king'sâ€"no kiss like that of queen!"
     Queen! And on Mahaud's face a smile was seen.

     XIV.

     AFTER SUPPER.

     But now the potion proved its subtle power,
     And Mahaud's heavy eyelids 'gan to lower.
     Zeno, with finger on his lip, looked onâ€"
     Her head next drooped, and consciousness was gone.
     Smiling she slept, serene and very fair,
     He took her hand, which fell all unaware.

     "She sleeps," said Zeno, "now let chance or fate
     Decide for us which has the marquisate,
     And which the girl."

                         Upon their faces now
     A hungry tiger's look began to show.
     "My brother, let us speak like men of sense,"
     Said Joss; "while Mahaud dreams in innocence,
     We grasp all hereâ€"and hold the foolish thingâ€"
     Our Friend below to us success will bring.
     He keeps his word; 'tis thanks to him I say,
     No awkward chance has marred our plans to-day.
     All has succeededâ€"now no human power
     Can take from us this woman and her dower.
     Let us conclude. To wrangle and to fight
     For just a yes or no, or to prove right
     The Arian doctrines, all the time the Pope
     Laughs in his sleeve at youâ€"or with the hope
     Some blue-eyed damsel with a tender skin
     And milkwhite dainty hands by force to winâ€"
     This might be well in days when men bore loss
     And fought for Latin or Byzantine Cross;
     When Jack and Rudolf did like fools contend,
     And for a simple wench their valor spendâ€"
     When Pepin held a synod at Leptine,
     And times than now were much less wise and fine.
     We do no longer heap up quarrels thus,
     But better know how projects to discuss.
     Have you the needful dice?"

                                "Yes, here they wait
     For us."

             "Who wins shall have the Marquisate;
     Loser, the girl."

                      "Agreed."

                               "A noise I hear?"
     "Only the wind that sounds like some one nearâ€"
     Are you afraid?" said Zeno.

                                "Naught I fear
     Save fastingâ€"and that solid earth should gape.
     Let's throw and fate decideâ€"ere time escape."
     Then rolled the dice.

                          "'Tis four."

                                      'Twas Joss to throw.
     "Six!â€"and I neatly win, you see; and lo!
     At bottom of this box I've found Lusace,
     And henceforth my orchestra will have place;
     To it they'll dance. Taxes I'll raise, and they
     In dread of rope and forfeit well will pay;
     Brass trumpet-calls shall be my flutes that lead,
     Where gibbets rise the imposts grow and spread."

     Said Zeno, "I've the girl and so is best,"
     "She's beautiful," said Joss.

                                  "Yes, 'tis confess'd."
     "What shall you do with her?" asked Joss.

                                              "I know.
     Make her a corpse," said Zeno; "marked you how
     The jade insulted me just now! Too small
     She called meâ€"such the words her lips let fall.
     I say, that moment ere the dice I threw
     Had yawning Hell cried out, 'My son, for you
     The chance is open still: take in a heap
     The fair Lusace's seven towns, and reap
     The corn, and wine, and oil of counties ten,
     With all their people diligent, and then
     Bohemia with its silver mines, and now
     The lofty land whence mighty rivers flow
     And not a brook returns; add to these counts
     The Tyrol with its lovely azure mounts
     And France with her historic fleurs-de-lis;
     Come now, decide, what 'tis your choice must be?'
     I should have answered, 'Vengeance! give to me
     Rather than France, Bohemia, or the fair
     Blue Tyrol, I my choice, O Hell! declare
     For government of darkness and of death,
     Of grave and worms.' Brother, this woman hath
     As marchioness with absurdity set forth
     To rule o'er frontier bulwarks of the north.
     In any case to us a danger she,
     And having stupidly insulted me
     'Tis needful that she die. To blurt all outâ€"
     I know that you desire her; without doubt
     The flame that rages in my heart warms yours;
     To carry out these subtle plans of ours,
     We have become as gypsies near this doll,
     You as her pageâ€"I dotard to controlâ€"
     Pretended gallants changed to lovers now.
     So, brother, this being fact for us to know
     Sooner or later, 'gainst our best intent
     About her we should quarrel. Evident
     Is it our compact would be broken through.
     There is one only thing for us to do,
     And that is, kill her."

                            "Logic very clear,"
     Said musing Joss, "but what of blood shed here?"
     Then Zeno stooped and lifted from the ground
     An edge of carpetâ€"groped until he found
     A ring, which, pulled, an opening did disclose,
     With deep abyss beneath; from it there rose
     The odor rank of crime. Joss walked to see
     While Zeno pointed to it silently.
     But eyes met eyes, and Joss, well pleased, was fain
     By nod of head to make approval plain.

     XV.

     THE OUBLIETTES.

     If sulphurous light had shone from this vile well
     One might have said it was a mouth of hell,
     So large the trap that by some sudden blow
     A man might backward fall and sink below.
     Who looked could see a harrow's threatening teeth,
     But lost in night was everything beneath.
     Partitions blood-stained have a reddened smear,
     And Terror unrelieved is master here.
     One feels the place has secret histories
     Replete with dreadful murderous mysteries,
     And that this sepulchre, forgot to-day,
     Is home of trailing ghosts that grope their way
     Along the walls where spectre reptiles crawl.
     "Our fathers fashioned for us after all
     Some useful things," said Joss; then Zeno spoke:
     "I know what Corbus hides beneath its cloak,
     I and the osprey know the castle old,
     And what in bygone times the justice bold."

     "And are you sure that Mahaud will not wake?"
     "Her eyes are closed as now my fist I make;
     She is in mystic and unearthly sleep;
     The potion still its power o'er her must keep."
     "But she will surely wake at break of day?"
     "In darkness."

                   "What will all the courtiers say
     When in the place of her they find two men?"
     "To them we will declare ourselvesâ€"and then
     They at our feet will fall."

                                 "Where leads this hole?"
     "To where the crow makes feast and torrents roll
     To desolation. Let us end it now."

     These young and handsome men had seemed to grow
     Deformed and hideousâ€"so doth foul black heart
     Disfigure man, till beauty all depart.
     So to the hell within the human face
     Transparent is. They nearer move apace;
     And Mahaud soundly sleeps as in a bed.
     "To work."

               Joss seizes her and holds her head
     Supporting her beneath her arms, in his;
     And then he dared to plant a monstrous kiss
     Upon her rosy lips,â€"while Zeno bent
     Before the massive chair, and with intent
     Her robe disordered as he raised her feet;
     Her dainty ankles thus their gaze to meet.
     And while the mystic sleep was all profound,
     The pit gaped wide like grave in burial ground.

     XVI.

     WHAT THEY ATTEMPT BECOMES DIFFICULT.

     Bearing the sleeping Mahaud they moved now
     Silent and bent with heavy step and slow.
     Zeno faced darknessâ€"Joss turned towards the lightâ€"
     So that the hall to Joss was quite in sight.
     Sudden he stoppedâ€"and Zeno, "What now!" called,
     But Joss replied not, though he seemed appalled,
     And made a sign to Zeno, who with speed
     Looked back. Then seemed they changed to stone indeed.
     For both perceived that in the vaulted hall
     One of the grand old knights ranged by the wall
     Descended from his horse. Like phantom he
     Moved with a horrible tranquillity.
     Masked by his helm towards them he came; his tread
     Made the floor trembleâ€"and one might have said
     A spirit of th' abyss was here; between
     Them and the pit he cameâ€"a barrier seen;
     Then said, with sword in hand and visor down,
     In measured tones that had sepulchral grown
     As tolling bell, "Stop, Sigismond, and you,
     King Ladisläus;" at those words, though few,
     They dropped the Marchioness, and in such a way
     That at their feet like rigid corpse she lay.

     The deep voice speaking from the visor's grate
     Proceededâ€"while the two in abject state
     Cowered low. Joss paled, by gloom and dread o'ercast,
     And Zeno trembled like a yielding mast.
     "You two who listen now must recollect
     The compact all your fellow-men suspect.
     'Tis this: 'I, Satan, god of darkened sphere,
     The king of gloom and winds that bring things drear,
     Alliance make with my two brothers dear,
     The Emperor Sigismond and Polish King
     Named Ladisläus. I to surely bring
     Aid and protection to them both alway,
     And never to absent myself or say
     I'm weary. And yet moreâ€"I, being lord
     Of sea and land, to Sigismond award
     The earth; to Ladisläus all the sea.
     With this condition that they yield to me
     When I the forfeit claimâ€"the King his head,
     But shall the Emperor give his soul instead.'"

     Said Joss, "Is't he?â€"Spectre with flashing eyes,
     And art thou Satan come to us surprise?"
     "Much less am I and yet much more.
     Oh, kings of crimes and plots! your day is o'er,
     But I your lives will only take to-day;
     Beneath the talons black your souls let stay
     To wrestle still."

                        The pair looked stupefied
     And crushed. Exchanging looks 'twas Zeno cried,
     Speaking to Joss, "Now whoâ€"who can it be?"
     Joss stammered, "Yes, no refuge can I see;
     The doom is on us. But oh, spectre! say
     Who are you?"

                  "I'm the judge."

                                  "Then mercy, pray."
     The voice replied: "God guides His chosen hand
     To be th' Avenger in your path to stand.
     Your hour has sounded, nothing now indeed
     Can change for you the destiny decreed,
     Irrevocable quite. Yes, I looked on.
     Ah! little did you think that any one
     To this unwholesome gloom could knowledge bring
     That Joss a kaiser was, and Zeno king.
     You spoke just nowâ€"but why?â€"too late to plead.
     The forfeit's due and hope should all be dead.
     Incurables! For you I am the grave.
     Oh, miserable men! that naught can save.
     Yes, Sigismond a kaiser is, and you
     A king, O Ladisläus!â€"it is true.
     You thought of God but as a wheel to roll
     Your chariot on; you who have king's control
     O'er Poland and its many towns so strong.
     You, Milan's Duke, to whom at once belong
     The gold and iron crowns. You, Emperor made
     By Rome, a son of Hercules 'tis said;
     And you of Spartibor. And your two crowns
     Are shining lights; and yet your shadow frowns
     From every mountain land to trembling sea.
     You are at giddy heights twin powers to be
     A glory and a force for all that's greatâ€"
     But 'neath the purple canopy of state,
     Th' expanding and triumphant arch you prize,
     'Neath royal power that sacred veils disguise,
     Beneath your crowns of pearls and jewelled stars,
     Beneath your exploits terrible and wars,
     You, Sigismond, have but a monster been,
     And, Ladisläus, you are scoundrel seen.
     Oh, degradation of the sceptre's might
     And swordsâ€"when Justice has a hand like night,
     Foul and polluted; and before this thing,
     This hydra, do the Temple's hinges swingâ€"
     The throne becomes the haunt of all things base
     Oh, age of infamy and foul disgrace!
     Oh, starry heavens looking on the shame,
     No brow but reddens with resentful flameâ€"
     And yet the silent people do not stir!
     Oh, million arms! what things do you deterâ€"
     Poor sheep, whom vermin-majesties devour,
     Have you not nails with strong desiring power
     To rend these royalties, that you so cower?
     But two are taken,â€"such as will amaze
     E'en hell itself, when it on them shall gaze.
     Ah, Sigismond and Ladisläus, you
     Were once triumphant, splendid to the view,
     Stifling with your prosperityâ€"but now
     The hour of retribution lays you low.
     Ah, do the vulture and the crocodile
     Shed tears! At such a sight I fain must smile.
     It seems to me 'tis very good sometimes
     That princes, conquerors stained with bandits' crimes,
     Sparkling with splendor, wearing crowns of gold,
     Should know the deadly sweat endured of old,
     That of Jehoshaphat; should sob and fear,
     And after crime th' unclean be brought to bear.
     'Tis wellâ€"God rulesâ€"and thus it is that I
     These masters of the world can make to lie
     In ashes at my feet. And this was he
     Who reignedâ€"and this a Caesar known to be!
     In truth, my old heart aches with very shame
     To see such cravens with such noble name.
     But let us finishâ€"what has just passed here
     Demands thick shrouding, and the time is near.
     Th' accursed dice that rolled at Calvary
     You rolled a woman's murder to decree
     It was a dark disastrous game to play;
     But not for me a moral to essay.
     This moment to the misty grave is due,
     And far too vile and little human you
     To see your evil ways. Your fingers lack
     The human power your shocking deeds to track.
     What use in darkness mirror to uphold?
     What use your doings to be now retold?
     Drink of the darknessâ€"greedy of the ill
     To which from habit you're attracted still,
     Not recognizing in the draught you take
     The stench that your atrocities must make.
     I only tell you that this burdened age
     Tires of your Highnesses, that soil its page,
     And of your villaniesâ€"and this is why
     You now must swell the stream that passes by
     Of refuse filth. Oh, horrid scene to show
     Of these young men and that young girl just now!
     Oh! can you really be of human kind
     Breathing pure air of heaven? Do we find
     That you are men? Oh, no! for when you laid
     Foul lips upon the mouth of sleeping maid,
     You seemed but ghouls that had come furtively
     From out the tombs; only a horrid lie
     Your human shape; of some strange frightful beast
     You have the soul. To darkness I at least
     Remit you now. Oh, murderer Sigismond
     And Ladisläus pirate, both beyond
     Releaseâ€"two demons that have broken ban!
     Therefore 'tis time their empire over man
     And converse with the living, should be o'er;
     Tyrants, behold your tomb your eyes before;
     Vampires and dogs, your sepulchre is here.
     Enter."

                 He pointed to the gulf so near.
     All terrified upon their knees they fell.
     "Oh! take us not in your dread realm to dwell,"
     Said Sigismond. "But, phantom! do us tell
     What thou wouldst have from usâ€"we will obey.
     Oh, mercy!â€"'tis for mercy now we pray."
     "Behold us at your feet, oh, spectre dread!"
     And no old crone in feebler voice could plead
     Than Ladisläus did.

                          But not a word
     Said now the figure motionless, with sword
     In hand. This sovereign soul seemed to commune
     With self beneath his metal sheath; yet soon
     And suddenly, with tranquil voice said he,
     "Princes, your craven spirit wearies me.
     No phantomâ€"only man am I. Arise!
     I like not to be dreaded otherwise
     Than with the fear to which I'm used; know me,
     For it is Eviradnus that you see!"

     XVII.

     THE CLUB.

     As from the mist a noble pine we tell
     Grown old upon the heights of Appenzel,
     When morning freshness breathes round all the wood,
     So Eviradnus now before them stood,
     Opening his visor, which at once revealed
     The snowy beard it had so well concealed.
     Thin Sigismond was still as dog at gaze,
     But Ladisläus leaped, and howl did raise,
     And laughed and gnashed his teeth, till, like a cloud
     That sudden bursts, his rage was all avowed.
     "'Tis but an old man after all!" he cried.

     Then the great knight, who looked at both, replied,
     "Oh, kings! an old man of my time can cope
     With two much younger ones of yours, I hope.
     To mortal combat I defy you both
     Singly; or, if you will, I'm nothing loth
     With two together to contend; choose here
     From out the heap what weapon shall appear
     Most fit. As you no cuirass wear, I see,
     I will take off my own, for all must be
     In order perfectâ€"e'en your punishment."

     Then Eviradnus, true to his intent,
     Stripped to his Utrecht jerkin; but the while
     He calmly had disarmedâ€"with dexterous guile
     Had Ladisläus seized a knife that lay
     Upon the damask cloth, and slipped away
     His shoes; then barefoot, swiftly, silently
     He crept behind the knight, with arm held high.
     But Eviradnus was of all aware,
     And turned upon the murderous weapon there,
     And twisted it away; then in a trice
     His strong colossal hand grasped like a vice
     The neck of Ladisläus, who the blade
     Now dropped; over his eyes a misty shade
     Showed that the royal dwarf was near to death.

     "Traitor!" said Eviradnus in his wrath,
     "I rather should have hewn your limbs away,
     And left you crawling on your stumps, I say,â€"
     But now die fast."

                        Ghastly, with starting eyes,
     The King without a cry or struggle dies.
     One deadâ€"but lo! the other stands bold-faced,
     Defiant; for the knight, when he unlaced
     His cuirass, had his trusty sword laid down,
     And Sigismond now grasps it as his own.
     The monster-youth laughed at the silv'ry beard,
     And, sword in hand, a murderer glad appeared.
     Crossing his arms, he cried, "'Tis my turn now!"
     And the black mounted knights in solemn row
     Were judges of the strife. Before them lay
     The sleeping Mahaudâ€"and not far away
     The fatal pit, near which the champion knight
     With evil Emperor must contend for right,
     Though weaponless he was. And yawned the pit
     Expectant which should be engulfed in it.

     "Now we shall see for whom this ready grave,"
     Said Sigismond, "you dog, whom naught can save!"
     Aware was Eviradnus that if he
     Turned for a blade unto the armory,
     He would be instant piercedâ€"what can he do?
     The moment is for him supreme. But, lo!
     He glances now at Ladisläus dead,
     And with a smile triumphant and yet dread,
     And air of lion caged to whom is shown
     Some loophole of escape, he bends him down.

     "Ha! ha! no other club than this I need!"
     He cried, as seizing in his hands with speed
     The dead King's heels, the body lifted high,
     Then to the frightened Emperor he came nigh,
     And made him shake with horror and with fear,
     The weapon all so ghastly did appear.
     The head became the stone to this strange sling,
     Of which the body was the potent string;
     And while 'twas brandished in a deadly way,
     The dislocated arms made monstrous play
     With hideous gestures, as now upside down
     The bludgeon corpse a giant force had grown.
     "'Tis well!" said Eviradnus, and he cried,
     "Arrange between yourselves, you two allied;
     If hell-fire were extinguished, surely it
     By such a contest might be all relit;
     From kindling spark struck out from dead King's brow,
     Batt'ring to death a living Emperor now."

     And Sigismond, thus met and horrified,
     Recoiled to near the unseen opening wide;
     The human club was raised, and struck again * * *
     And Eviradnus did alone remain
     All empty-handedâ€"but he heard the sound
     Of spectres two falling to depths profound;
     Then, stooping o'er the pit, he gazed below,
     And, as half-dreaming now, he murmured low,
     "Tiger and jackal meet their portion here,
     'Tis well together they should disappear!"

     XVIII.

     DAYBREAK.

     Then lifts he Mahaud to the ducal chair,
     And shuts the trap with noiseless, gentle care;
     And puts in order everything around,
     So that, on waking, naught should her astound.

     "No drop of blood the thing has cost," mused he,
     "And that is best indeed."

                                 But suddenly
     Some distant bells clang out. The mountains gray
     Have scarlet tips, proclaiming dawning day;
     The hamlets are astir, and crowds come outâ€"
     Bearing fresh branches of the broomâ€"about
     To seek their Lady, who herself awakes
     Rosy as morn, just when the morning breaks;
     Half-dreaming still, she ponders, can it be
     Some mystic change has passed, for her to see
     One old man in the place of two quite young!
     Her wondering eyes search carefully and long.
     It may be she regrets the change: meanwhile,
     The valiant knight salutes her with a smile,
     And then approaching her with friendly mien,
     Says, "Madam, has your sleep all pleasant been?"

     MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND.


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THE BOY-KING'S PRAYER by Victor Hugo
     ("Le cheval galopait toujours.")

     {Bk. XV. ii. 10.}
     The good steed flew o'er river and o'er plain,
     Till far away,â€"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 God! 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 God! hast saved both life and soul to-day.
     I saw Thee in that noble knight; I saw
     Pure light, true faith, and honor's sacred law,
     My Father,â€"and I learnt that monarchs must
     Compassionate 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 nobly 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

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II by Victor Hugo
     But he saw nothing; space was blackâ€"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 everâ€"without noise, as though
     From the black feet of some night-gibbeted corpse.
     Alas! Who wept those formidable tears?
     The Infinite!â€"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 God,
     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.}

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KING CANUTE by Victor Hugo
     ("Un jour, Kanut mourut.")

     {Bk. X. i.}
     King Canute died.{1} Encoffined he was laid.
     Of Aarhuus came the Bishop prayers to say,
     And sang a hymn upon his tomb, and held
     That Canute was a saintâ€"Canute the Great,
     That from his memory breathed celestial perfume,
     And that they saw him, they the priests, in glory,
     Seated at God's right hand, a prophet crowned.

     I.

                                   Evening came,
     And hushed the organ in the holy place,
     And the priests, issuing from the temple doors,
     Left the dead king in peace. Then he arose,
     Opened his gloomy eyes, and grasped his sword,
     And went forth loftily. The massy walls
     Yielded before the phantom, like a mist.

     There is a sea where Aarhuus, Altona,
     And Elsinore's vast domes and shadowy towers
     Glass in deep waters. Over this he went
     Dark, and still Darkness listened for his foot
     Inaudible, itself being but a dream.
     Straight to Mount Savo went he, gnawed by time,
     And thus, "O mountain buffeted of storms,
     Give me of thy huge mantle of deep snow
     To frame a winding-sheet." The mountain knew him,
     Nor dared refuse, and with his sword Canute
     Cut from his flank white snow, enough to make
     The garment he desired, and then he cried,
     "Old mountain! death is dumb, but tell me thou
     The way to God." More deep each dread ravine
     And hideous hollow yawned, and sadly thus
     Answered that hoar associate of the clouds:
     "Spectre, I know not, I am always here."
     Canute departed, and with head erect,
     All white and ghastly in his robe of snow,
     Went forth into great silence and great night
     By Iceland and Norway. After him
     Gloom swallowed up the universe. He stood
     A sovran kingdomless, a lonely ghost
     Confronted with Immensity. He saw
     The awful Infinite, at whose portal pale
     Lightning sinks dying; Darkness, skeleton
     Whose joints are nights, and utter Formlessness
     Moving confusedly in the horrible dark
     Inscrutable and blind. No star was there,
     Yet something like a haggard gleam; no sound
     But the dull tide of Darkness, and her dumb
     And fearful shudder. "'Tis the tomb," he said,
     "God is beyond!" Three steps he took, then cried:
     'Twas deathly as the grave, and not a voice
     Responded, nor came any breath to sway
     The snowy mantle, with unsullied white
     Emboldening the spectral wanderer.
     Sudden he marked how, like a gloomy star,
     A spot grew broad upon his livid robe;
     Slowly it widened, raying darkness forth;
     And Canute proved it with his spectral hands
     It was a drop of blood.

     R. GARNETT.


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SONG OF THE GERMAN LANZKNECHT by Victor Hugo
     ("Sonnex, clarions!")

     {Bk. VI. vii.}
     Flourish the trumpet! and rattle the drum!
     The Reiters are mounted! the Reiters will come!

     When our bullets cease singing
     And long swords cease ringing
         On backplates of fearsomest foes in full flight,
     We'll dig up their dollars
     To string for girls' collarsâ€"
         They'll jingle around them before it is night!
                 When flourish the trumpets, etc.

     We're the Emperor's winners
     Of right royal dinners,
         Where cities are served up and flanked by estates,
     While we wallow in claret,
     Knowing not how to spare it,
         Though beer is less likely to muddle our patesâ€"
               While flourish the trumpets, etc.

     Gods of battle! red-handed!
     Wise it was to have banded
         Such arms as are these for embracing of gain!
     Hearken to each war-vulture
     Crying, "Down with all culture
         Of land or religion!" Hoch! to our refrain
               Of flourish the trumpets, etc.

     Give us "bones of the devil"
     To exchange in our revel
         The ingot, the gem, and yellow doubloon;
     Coronets are but playthingsâ€"
     We reck not who say things
         When the Reiters have ridden to death! none too soon!â€"
     To flourish of trumpet and rattle of drum,
     The Reiters will finish as firm as they come!

     H.L.W.

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BOAZ ASLEEP by Victor Hugo
     ("Booz s'était couché.")

     {Bk. II. vi.}
     At work within his barn since very early,
       Fairly tired out with toiling all the day,
       Upon the small bed where he always lay
     Boaz was sleeping by his sacks of barley.

     Barley and wheat-fields he possessed, and well,
       Though rich, loved justice; wherefore all the flood
       That turned his mill-wheels was unstained with mud
     And in his smithy blazed no fire of hell.

     His beard was silver, as in April all
       A stream may be; he did not grudge a stook.
       When the poor gleaner passed, with kindly look,
     Quoth he, "Of purpose let some handfuls fall."

     He walked his way of life straight on and plain,
       With justice clothed, like linen white and clean,
       And ever rustling towards the poor, I ween,
     Like public fountains ran his sacks of grain.

     Good master, faithful friend, in his estate
       Frugal yet generous, beyond the youth
       He won regard of woman, for in sooth
     The young man may be fairâ€"the old man's great.

     Life's primal source, unchangeable and bright,
       The old man entereth, the day eterne;
       And in the young man's eye a flame may burn,
     But in the old man's eye one seeth light.

     As Jacob slept, or Judith, so full deep
       Slept Boaz 'neath the leaves. Now it betided,
       Heaven's gate being partly open, that there glided
     A fair dream forth, and hovered o'er his sleep.

     And in his dream to heaven, the blue and broad,
       Right from his loins an oak tree grew amain.
       His race ran up it far, like a long chain;
     Below it sung a king, above it died a God.

     Whereupon Boaz murmured in his heart,
       "The number of my years is past fourscore:
       How may this be? I have not any more,
     Or son, or wife; yea, she who had her part.

     "In this my couch, O Lord! is now in Thine;
       And she, half living, I half dead within,
       Our beings still commingle and are twin,
     It cannot be that I should found a line!

     "Youth hath triumphal mornings; its days bound
       From night, as from a victory. But such
       A trembling as the birch-tree's to the touch
     Of winter is an eld, and evening closes round.

     "I bow myself to death, as lone to meet
       The water bow their fronts athirst." He said.
       The cedar feeleth not the rose's head,
     Nor he the woman's presence at his feet!

     For while he slept, the Moabitess Ruth
       Lay at his feet, expectant of his waking.
       He knowing not what sweet guile she was making;
     She knowing not what God would have in sooth.

     Asphodel scents did Gilgal's breezes bringâ€"
       Through nuptial shadows, questionless, full fast
       The angels sped, for momently there passed
     A something blue which seemed to be a wing.

     Silent was all in Jezreel and Urâ€"
       The stars were glittering in the heaven's dusk meadows.
       Far west among those flowers of the shadows.
     The thin clear crescent lustrous over her,

     Made Ruth raise question, looking through the bars
       Of heaven, with eyes half-oped, what God, what comer
       Unto the harvest of the eternal summer,
     Had flung his golden hook down on the field of stars.

     BP. ALEXANDER.


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CAIN by Victor Hugo
     ("Lorsque avec ses enfants Cain se fût enfui.")

     {Bk. II}
     Then, with his children, clothed in skins of brutes,
     Dishevelled, livid, rushing through the storm,
     Cain fled before Jehovah. As night fell
     The dark man reached a mount in a great plain,
     And his tired wife and his sons, out of breath,
     Said: "Let us lie down on the earth and sleep."
     Cain, sleeping not, dreamed at the mountain foot.
     Raising his head, in that funereal heaven
     He saw an eye, a great eye, in the night
     Open, and staring at him in the gloom.
     "I am too near," he said, and tremblingly woke up
     His sleeping sons again, and his tired wife,
     And fled through space and darkness. Thirty days
     He went, and thirty nights, nor looked behind;
     Pale, silent, watchful, shaking at each sound;
     No rest, no sleep, till he attained the strand
     Where the sea washes that which since was Asshur.
     "Here pause," he said, "for this place is secure;
     Here may we rest, for this is the world's end."
     And he sat down; when, lo! in the sad sky,
     The selfsame Eye on the horizon's verge,
     And the wretch shook as in an ague fit.
     "Hide me!" he cried; and all his watchful sons,
     Their finger on their lip, stared at their sire.
     Cain said to Jabal (father of them that dwell
     In tents): "Spread here the curtain of thy tent,"
     And they spread wide the floating canvas roof,
     And made it fast and fixed it down with lead.
     "You see naught now," said Zillah then, fair child
     The daughter of his eldest, sweet as day.
     But Cain replied, "That Eyeâ€"I see it still."
     And Jubal cried (the father of all those
     That handle harp and organ): "I will build
     A sanctuary;" and he made a wall of bronze,
     And set his sire behind it. But Cain moaned,
     "That Eye is glaring at me ever." Henoch cried:
     "Then must we make a circle vast of towers,
     So terrible that nothing dare draw near;
     Build we a city with a citadel;
     Build we a city high and close it fast."
     Then Tubal Cain (instructor of all them
     That work in brass and iron) built a towerâ€"
     Enormous, superhuman. While he wrought,
     His fiery brothers from the plain around
     Hunted the sons of Enoch and of Seth;
     They plucked the eyes out of whoever passed,
     And hurled at even arrows to the stars.
     They set strong granite for the canvas wall,
     And every block was clamped with iron chains.
     It seemed a city made for hell. Its towers,
     With their huge masses made night in the land.
     The walls were thick as mountains. On the door
     They graved: "Let not God enter here." This done,
     And having finished to cement and build
     In a stone tower, they set him in the midst.
     To him, still dark and haggard, "Oh, my sire,
     Is the Eye gone?" quoth Zillah tremblingly.
     But Cain replied: "Nay, it is even there."
     Then added: "I will live beneath the earth,
     As a lone man within his sepulchre.
     I will see nothing; will be seen of none."
     They digged a trench, and Cain said: "'Tis enow,"
     As he went down alone into the vault;
     But when he sat, so ghost-like, in his chair,
     And they had closed the dungeon o'er his head,
     The Eye was in the tomb and fixed on Cain.

     Dublin University Magazine

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THE POET'S SIMPLE FAITH by Victor Hugo
     You say, "Where goest thou?" I cannot tell,
     And still go on. If but the way be straight,
     It cannot go amiss! before me lies
     Dawn and the Day; the Night behind me; that
     Suffices me; I break the bounds; I see,
     And nothing more; believe, and nothing less.
     My future is not one of my concerns.

     PROF. E. DOWDEN.
     I AM CONTENT.

     ("J'habite l'ombre.")

     {1855.}
           True; I dwell lone,
             Upon sea-beaten cape,
           Mere raft of stone;
             Whence all escape
     Save one who shrinks not from the gloom,
     And will not take the coward's leap i' the tomb.

           My bedroom rocks
             With breezes; quakes in storms,
           When dangling locks
             Of seaweed mock the forms
     Of straggling clouds that trail o'erhead
     Like tresses from disrupted coffin-lead.

           Upon the sky
             Crape palls are often nailed
           With stars. Mine eye
             Has scared the gull that sailed
     To blacker depths with shrillest scream,
     Still fainter, till like voices in a dream.

           My days become
             More plaintive, wan, and pale,
           While o'er the foam
             I see, borne by the gale,
     Infinity! in kindness sentâ€"
     To find me ever saying: "I'm content!"

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ST. JOHN by Victor Hugo
     ("Un jour, le morne esprit.")

     {Bk. VI. vii., Jersey, September, 1855.}
     One day, the sombre soul, the Prophet most sublime
         At Patmos who aye dreamed,
     And tremblingly perused, without the vast of Time,
         Words that with hell-fire gleamed,

     Said to his eagle: "Bird, spread wings for loftiest flightâ€"
         Needs must I see His Face!"
     The eagle soared. At length, far beyond day and night,
         Lo! the all-sacred Place!

     And John beheld the Way whereof no angel knows
         The name, nor there hath trod;
     And, lo! the Place fulfilled with shadow that aye glows
         Because of very God.

     NELSON R. TYERMAN.


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EPITAPH by Victor Hugo
     ("Il vivait, il jouait.")

     {Bk. III. xv., May, 1843.}
     He lived and ever played, the tender smiling thing.
     What need, O Earth, to have plucked this flower from blossoming?
     Hadst thou not then the birds with rainbow-colors bright,
       The stars and the great woods, the wan wave, the blue sky?
       What need to have rapt this child from her thou hadst placed him byâ€"
     Beneath those other flowers to have hid this flower from sight?

     Because of this one child thou hast no more of might,
     O star-girt Earth, his death yields thee not higher delight!
     But, ah! the mother's heart with woe for ever wild,
       This heart whose sovran bliss brought forth so bitter birthâ€"
       This world as vast as thou, even thou, O sorrowless Earth,
     Is desolate and void because of this one child!

     NELSON K. TYERMAN.

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THE DYING CHILD TO ITS MOTHER by Victor Hugo
     ("Oh! vous aurez trop dit.")

     {Bk. III. xiv., April, 1843.}
     Ah, you said too often to your angel
       There are other angels in the skyâ€"
     There, where nothing changes, nothing suffers,
       Sweet it were to enter in on high.

     To that dome on marvellous pilasters,
       To that tent roofed o'er with colored bars,
     That blue garden full of stars like lilies,
       And of lilies beautiful as stars.

     And you said it was a place most joyous,
       All our poor imaginings above,
     With the wingèd cherubim for playmates,
       And the good God evermore to love.

     Sweet it were to dwell there in all seasons,
       Like a taper burning day and night,
     Near to the child Jesus and the Virgin,
       In that home so beautiful and bright.

     But you should have told him, hapless mother,
       Told your child so frail and gentle too,
     That you were all his in life's beginning,
       But that also he belonged to you.

     For the mother watches o'er the infant,
       He must rise up in her latter days,
     She will need the man that was her baby
       To stand by her when her strength decays.

     Ah, you did not tell enough your darling
       That God made us in this lower life,
     Woman for the man, and man for woman,
       In our pains, our pleasures and our strife.

     So that one sad day, O loss, O sorrow!
       The sweet creature left you all alone;
     'Twas your own hand hung the cage door open,
       Mother, and your pretty bird is flown.

     BP. ALEXANDER.

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DEATH, IN LIFE by Victor Hugo
     ("Ceux-ci partent.")

     {Bk. III. v., February, 1843.}
         We passâ€"these sleep
     Beneath the shade where deep-leaved boughs
     Bend o'er the furrows the Great Reaper ploughs,
     And gentle summer winds in many sweep
         Whirl in eddying waves
         The dead leaves o'er the graves.

         And the living sigh:
     Forgotten ones, so soon your memories die.
     Ye never more may list the wild bird's song,
     Or mingle in the crowded city-throng.
         Ye must ever dwell in gloom,
         'Mid the silence of the tomb.

         And the dead reply:
     God giveth us His life. Ye die,
     Your barren lives are tilled with tears,
     For glory, ye are clad with fears.
         Oh, living ones! oh, earthly shades!
         We live; your beauty clouds and fades.


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INSCRIPTION FOR A CRUCIFIX by Victor Hugo
     ("Vous qui pleurez, venez à ce Dieu.")

     {Bk. III. iv., March, 1842.}
     Ye weepers, the Mourner o'er mourners behold!
     Ye wounded, come hitherâ€"the Healer enfold!
     Ye gloomy ones, brighten 'neath smiles quelling careâ€"
     Or passâ€"for this Comfort is found ev'rywhere.

     {Footnote 1: Music by Gounod.}

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HAVE YOU NOTHING TO SAY FOR YOURSELF? By Victor Hugo
     ("Si vous n'avez rien à me dire.")

     {Bk. II. iv., May, 18â€".}
     Speak, if you love me, gentle maiden!
       Or haunt no more my lone retreat.
     If not for me thy heart be laden,
       Why trouble mine with smiles so sweet?

     Ah! tell me why so mute, fair maiden,
       Whene'er as thus so oft we meet?
     If not for me thy heart be, Aideen,
       Why trouble mine with smiles so sweet?

     Why, when my hand unconscious pressing,
       Still keep untold the maiden dream?
     In fancy thou art thus caressing
       The while we wander by the stream.

     If thou art pained when I am near thee,
       Why in my path so often stray?
     For in my heart I love yet fear thee,
       And fain would fly, yet fondly stay.

     C.H. KENNY.

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HOW BUTTERFLIES ARE BORN by Victor Hugo
     ("Comme le matin rit sur les roses.")

     {Bk. I. xii.}
     The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
     The tearful rosesâ€"lo, the little loversâ€"
     That kiss the buds and all the flutterings
     In jasmine bloom, and privet, of white wings
     That go and come, and fly, and peep, and hide
     With muffled music, murmured far and wide!
     Ah, Springtime, when we think of all the lays
     That dreamy lovers send to dreamy Mays,
     Of the proud hearts within a billet bound,
     Of all the soft silk paper that men wound,
     The messages of love that mortals write,
     Filled with intoxication of delight,
     Written in April, and before the Maytime
     Shredded and flown, playthings for the winds' playtime.
     We dream that all white butterflies above,
     Who seek through clouds or waters souls to love,
     And leave their lady mistress to despair,
     To flirt with flowers, as tender and more fair,
     Are but torn love-letters, that through the skies
     Flutter, and float, and change to Butterflies.

     A. LANG.


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SATIRE ON THE EARTH by Victor Hugo
     ("Une terre au flanc maigre.")

     {Bk. III. xi., October, 1840.}
     A clod with rugged, meagre, rust-stained, weather-worried face,
     Where care-filled creatures tug and delve to keep a worthless race;
     And glean, begrudgedly, by all their unremitting toil,
     Sour, scanty bread and fevered water from the ungrateful soil;
     Made harder by their gloom than flints that gash their harried hands,
     And harder in the things they call their hearts than wolfish bands,
     Perpetuating faults, inventing crimes for paltry ends,
     And yet, perversest beings! hating Death, their best of friends!
     Pride in the powerful no more, no less than in the poor;
     Hatred in both their bosoms; love in one, or, wondrous! two!
     Fog in the valleys; on the mountains snowfields, ever new,
     That only melt to send down waters for the liquid hell,
     In which, their strongest sons and fairest daughters vilely fell!
     No marvel, Justice, Modesty dwell far apart and high,
     Where they can feebly hear, and, rarer, answer victims' cry.
     At both extremes, unflinching frost, the centre scorching hot;
     Land storms that strip the orchards nude, leave beaten grain to rot;
     Oceans that rise with sudden force to wash the bloody land,
     Where War, amid sob-drowning cheers, claps weapons in each hand.
     And this to those who, luckily, abide afarâ€"
     This is, ha! ha! a star!

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CHILDHOOD by Victor Hugo
     ("L'enfant chantait.")

     {Bk. I. xxiii., Paris, January, 1835.}
     The small child sang; the mother, outstretched on the low bed,
       With anguish moaned,â€"fair Form pain should possess not long;
     For, ever nigher, Death hovered around her head:
       I hearkened there this moan, and heard even there that song.

     The child was but five years, and, close to the lattice, aye
       Made a sweet noise with games and with his laughter bright;
     And the wan mother, aside this being the livelong day
       Carolling joyously, coughed hoarsely all the night.

     The mother went to sleep 'mong them that sleep alway;
       And the blithe little lad began anew to sing...
     Sorrow is like a fruit: God doth not therewith weigh
       Earthward the branch strong yet but for the blossoming.

     NELSON R. TYERMAN.

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THE VALE TO YOU, TO ME THE HEIGHTS by Victor Hugo
     A FABLE.

     {Bk. III. vi., October, 1846.}
     A lion camped beside a spring, where came the Bird
               Of Jove to drink:
     When, haply, sought two kings, without their courtier herd,
               The moistened brink,
     Beneath the palmâ€"they always tempt pugnacious handsâ€"
               Both travel-sore;
     But quickly, on the recognition, out flew brands
               Straight to each core;
     As dying breaths commingle, o'er them rose the call
               Of Eagle shrill:
     "Yon crownèd couple, who supposed the world too small,
               Now one grave fill!
     Chiefs blinded by your rage! each bleachèd sapless bone
               Becomes a pipe
     Through which siroccos whistle, trodden 'mong the stone
               By quail and snipe.
     Folly's liege-men, what boots such murd'rous raid,
               And mortal feud?
     I, Eagle, dwell as friend with Leoâ€"none afraidâ€"
               In solitude:
     At the same pool we bathe and quaff in placid mood.
               Kings, he and I;
     For I to him leave prairie, desert sands and wood,
               And he to me the sky."

     H.L.W.


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THE UNIVERSAL REPUBLIC by Victor Hugo
     ("Temps futurs.")

     {Part "Lux," Jersey, Dec. 16-20, 1853.}
     O vision of the coming time!
     When man has 'scaped the trackless slime
       And reached the desert spring;
     When sands are crossed, the sward invites
     The worn to rest 'mid rare delights
       And gratefully to sing.

     E'en now the eye that's levelled high,
     Though dimly, can the hope espy
       So solid soon, one day;
     For every chain must then be broke,
     And hatred none will dare evoke,
       And June shall scatter May.

     E'en now amid our misery
     The germ of Union many see,
       And through the hedge of thorn,
     Like to a bee that dawn awakes,
     On, Progress strides o'er shattered stakes,
       With solemn, scathing scorn.

     Behold the blackness shrink, and flee!
     Behold the world rise up so free
       Of coroneted things!
     Whilst o'er the distant youthful States,
     Like Amazonian bosom-plates,
       Spread Freedom's shielding wings.

     Ye, liberated lands, we hail!
     Your sails are whole despite the gale!
     Your masts are firm, and will not failâ€"
       The triumph follows pain!
     Hear forges roar! the hammer clanksâ€"
     It beats the time to nations' thanksâ€"
       At last, a peaceful strain!

     'Tis rust, not gore, that gnaws the guns,
     And shattered shells are but the runs
       Where warring insects cope;
     And all the headsman's racks and blades
     And pincers, tools of tyrants' aids,
       Are buried with the rope.

     Upon the sky-line glows i' the dark
     The Sun that now is but a spark;
       But soon will be unfurledâ€"
     The glorious banner of us all,
     The flag that rises ne'er to fall,
       Republic of the World!


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