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PATRIA by Victor Hugo
     ("Là-haut, qui sourit.")

     {Bk. VII. vii., September, 1853.}
     Who smiles there? Is it
     A stray spirit,
     Or woman fair?
       Sombre yet soft the brow!
       Bow, nations, bow;
     O soul in air,
       Speakâ€"what art thou?

     In grief the fair face seemsâ€"
     What means those sudden gleams?
     Our antique pride from dreams
     Starts up, and beams
     Its conquering glance,â€"
     To make our sad hearts dance,
     And wake in woods hushed long
     The wild bird's song.
     Angel of Day!
     Our Hope, Love, Stay,
     Thy countenance
       Lights land and sea
       Eternally,
     Thy name is France
       Or Verity.

     Fair angel in thy glass
     When vile things move or pass,
     Clouds in the skies amass;
     Terrible, alas!
     Thy stern commands are then:
     "Form your battalions, men,
     The flag display!"
     And all obey.
     Angel of might
     Sent kings to smite,
     The words in dark skies glance,
       "Mené, Mené," hiss
       Bolts that never miss!
     Thy name is France,
       Or Nemesis.

     As halcyons in May,
     O nations, in his ray
     Float and bask for aye,
     Nor know decay!
     One arm upraised to heaven
     Seals the past forgiven;
     One holds a sword
     To quell hell's horde,
     Angel of God!
     Thy wings stretch broad
       As heaven's expanse!
       To shield and free
       Humanity!
     Thy name is France,
      Or Liberty!

     {Footnote 1: Written to music by Beethoven.}


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AFTER THE COUP D'ÊTAT by Victor Hugo
     ("Devant les trahisons.")

     {Bk. VII, xvi., Jersey, Dec. 2, 1852.}
     Before foul treachery and heads hung down,
       I'll fold my arms, indignant but serene.
     Oh! faith in fallen thingsâ€"be thou my crown,
       My force, my joy, my prop on which I lean:

     Yes, whilst he's there, or struggle some or fall,
       O France, dear France, for whom I weep in vain.
     Tomb of my sires, nest of my lovesâ€"my all,
       I ne'er shall see thee with these eyes again.

     I shall not see thy sad, sad sounding shore,
       France, save my duty, I shall all forget;
     Amongst the true and tried, I'll tug my oar,
       And rest proscribed to brand the fawning set.

     O bitter exile, hard, without a term,
       Thee I accept, nor seek nor care to know
     Who have down-truckled 'mid the men deemed firm,
       And who have fled that should have fought the foe.

     If true a thousand stand, with them I stand;
       A hundred? 'tis enough: we'll Sylla brave;
     Ten? put my name down foremost in the band;
       One?â€"well, aloneâ€"until I find my grave.

     TORU DUTT.

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THE TRUMPETS OF THE MIND by Victor Hugo
     ("Sonnez, clairons de la pensée!")

     {Bk. VII. i., March 19, 1853.}
     Sound, sound for ever, Clarions of Thought!

     When Joshua 'gainst the high-walled city fought,
     He marched around it with his banner high,
     His troops in serried order following nigh,
     But not a sword was drawn, no shaft outsprang,
     Only the trumpets the shrill onset rang.
     At the first blast, smiled scornfully the king,
     And at the second sneered, half wondering:
     "Hop'st thou with noise my stronghold to break down?"
     At the third round, the ark of old renown
     Swept forward, still the trumpets sounding loud,
     And then the troops with ensigns waving proud.
     Stepped out upon the old walls children dark
     With horns to mock the notes and hoot the ark.
     At the fourth turn, braving the Israelites,
     Women appeared upon the crenelated heightsâ€"
     Those battlements embrowned with age and rustâ€"
     And hurled upon the Hebrews stones and dust,
     And spun and sang when weary of the game.
     At the fifth circuit came the blind and lame,
     And with wild uproar clamorous and high
     Railed at the clarion ringing to the sky.
     At the sixth time, upon a tower's tall crest,
     So high that there the eagle built his nest,
     So hard that on it lightning lit in vain,
     Appeared in merriment the king again:
     "These Hebrew Jews musicians are, meseems!"
     He scoffed, loud laughing, "but they live on dreams."
     The princes laughed submissive to the king,
     Laughed all the courtiers in their glittering ring,
     And thence the laughter spread through all the town.

     At the seventh blastâ€"the city walls fell down.

     TORU DUTT.


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THE OCEAN'S SONG by Victor Hugo
     ("Nous nous promenions à Rozel-Tower.")

     {Bk. VI. iv., October, 1852.}
     We walked amongst the ruins famed in story
             Of Rozel-Tower,
     And saw the boundless waters stretch in glory
             And heave in power.

     O ocean vast! we heard thy song with wonder,
             Whilst waves marked time.
     "Appeal, O Truth!" thou sang'st with tone of thunder,
             "And shine sublime!

     "The world's enslaved and hunted down by beagles,â€"
             To despots sold,
     Souls of deep thinkers, soar like mighty eagles,
             The Right uphold.

     "Be born; arise; o'er earth and wild waves bounding
             Peoples and suns!
     Let darkness vanish;â€"tocsins be resounding,
             And flash, ye guns!

     "And you,â€"who love no pomps of fog, or glamour,
             Who fear no shocks,
     Brave foam and lightning, hurricane and clamor,
             Exilesâ€"the rocks!"

     TORU DUTT

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From Presidential Spokesperson Harry Roque:

NCR is now MECQ; 20M face masks for the poor

President Rodrigo Roa Duterte on Sunday night, August 2, reverted the National Capital Region (NCR) and the provinces of Laguna, Cavite, Rizal and Bulacan to modified enhanced community quarantine (MECQ) effective midnight August 4, 2020.

The Chief Executive likewise approved the hiring of additional healthcare workers to augment the current workforce, including the hiring of 10,000 medical professionals and the calling to active duty and enlistment to the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP).

Healthcare workers would also be provided additional benefits, such as risk allowance for private sector healthcare workers treating COVID-19 patients,  the amount of 10 to 15,000 pesos for every healthcare worker that gets sick, life insurance, free accommodation, free transportation, free and frequent testing.

Also approved was the Cabinet’s recommendation to issue work and quarantine passes to minimize movement.

The local government units (LGUs) and the COVID-19 CODE Teams are directed to intensify the localized lockdown strategy and the implementation of Oplan Kalinga.

The guidelines for minimum health standards will also be strictly enforced and intensified while giving twenty million face masks for the poor.

The use of RT-PCT testing as gold standard has likewise been approved by PRRD.  ###

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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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Book of Joel 1 A Faithful Version

 1  The Word of the LORD that came to Joel, the son of Pethuel.

 2  Hear this, you old men, and give ear, all you inhabitants of the land. Has this been in your days or even in the days of your fathers?

 3  Tell your children of it, and let your children tell their children, and their children another generation.

 4  That which the creeping locust has left, the swarming locust has eaten. And that which the swarming locust has left, the locust larvae has eaten. And that which the locust larvae has left, the destroying locust has eaten.

 5  Awake, drunkards, and weep; and howl, all you drinkers of wine because of the new wine; for it is cut off from your mouth,

 6  For a nation has come up on My land, strong and without number, whose teeth are the teeth of a lion, and he has the jaw teeth of a great lion.

 7  He has laid My vine waste and splintered My fig tree. He has stripped it and cast it away; its branches are bared white.

 8  Weep like a virgin clothed with sackcloth for the husband of her youth.

 9  The grain offering and the drink offering are cut off from the house of the LORD; the priests, the LORD'S ministers, mourn.

 10  The field is wasted; the land mourns, for the grain is wasted. The new wine is dried up; the fresh oil is wasted away.

 11  Be ashamed, O you husbandmen; howl, O you vinedressers, for the wheat and for the barley; because the harvest of the field has perished.

 12  The vine is dried up, and the fig tree is wasted away, the pomegranate and the palm tree, and the apple tree; all the trees of the field are dried up, for joy has withered away from the sons of men.

 13  Gird yourselves and lament, you priests; howl, you ministers of the altar. Come, lie all night in sackcloth, you ministers of my God, for the grain offering and the drink offering are held back from the house of your God.

 14  Sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the elders and all the people of the land unto the house of the LORD your God, and cry out to the LORD.

 15  Alas for the day! For the day of the LORD is at hand, and it shall come as a destruction from the Almighty.

 16  Is not the food cut off before our eyes, and joy and gladness from the house of our God?

 17  The seed is rotten under their clods; the storage bins are desolate; the barns are broken down, for the grain has dried up.

 18  How the beasts groan! The herds of cattle are troubled because they have no pasture. Yes, the flocks of sheep are devastated.

 19  O LORD, to You will I cry; for the fire has burned up the pastures of the wilderness, and the flame has burned all the trees of the field.

 20  The beasts of the field also cry to You; for the rivers of water are dried up, and the fire has burned up the pastures of the wilderness.

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THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW by Victor Hugo
     ("Il neigeait.")

     {Bk. V. xiii., Nov. 25-30, 1852.}
     It snowed. A defeat was our conquest red!
     For once the eagle was hanging its head.
     Sad days! the Emperor turned slowly his back
     On smoking Moscow, blent orange and black.
     The winter burst, avalanche-like, to reign
     Over the endless blanched sheet of the plain.
     Nor chief nor banner in order could keep,
     The wolves of warfare were 'wildered like sheep.
     The wings from centre could hardly be known
     Through snow o'er horses and carts o'erthrown,
     Where froze the wounded. In the bivouacs forlorn
     Strange sights and gruesome met the breaking morn:
     Mute were the bugles, while the men bestrode
     Steeds turned to marble, unheeding the goad.
     The shells and bullets came down with the snow
     As though the heavens hated these poor troops below.
     Surprised at trembling, though it was with cold,
     Who ne'er had trembled out of fear, the veterans bold
     Marched stern; to grizzled moustache hoarfrost clung
     'Neath banners that in leaden masses hung.

     It snowed, went snowing still. And chill the breeze
     Whistled upon the glassy endless seas,
     Where naked feet on, on for ever went,
     With naught to eat, and not a sheltering tent.
     They were not living troops as seen in war,
     But merely phantoms of a dream, afar
     In darkness wandering, amid the vapor dim,â€"
     A mystery; of shadows a procession grim,
     Nearing a blackening sky, unto its rim.
     Frightful, since boundless, solitude behold
     Where only Nemesis wove, mute and cold,
     A net all snowy with its soft meshes dense,
     A shroud of magnitude for host immense;
     Till every one felt as if left alone
     In a wide wilderness where no light shone,
     To die, with pity none, and none to see
     That from this mournful realm none should get free.
     Their foes the frozen North and Czarâ€"That, worst.
     Cannon were broken up in haste accurst
     To burn the frames and make the pale fire high,
     Where those lay down who never woke or woke to die.
     Sad and commingled, groups that blindly fled
     Were swallowed smoothly by the desert dread.

     'Neath folds of blankness, monuments were raised
     O'er regiments. And History, amazed,
     Could not record the ruin of this retreat,
     Unlike a downfall known before or the defeat
     Of Hannibalâ€"reversed and wrapped in gloom!
     Of Attila, when nations met their doom!
     Perished an armyâ€"fled French glory then,
     Though there the Emperor! he stood and gazed
     At the wild havoc, like a monarch dazed
     In woodland hoar, who felt the shrieking sawâ€"
     He, living oak, beheld his branches fall, with awe.
     Chiefs, soldiers, comrades died. But still warm love
     Kept those that rose all dastard fear above,
     As on his tent they saw his shadow passâ€"
     Backwards and forwards, for they credited, alas!
     His fortune's star! it could not, could not be
     That he had not his work to doâ€"a destiny?
     To hurl him headlong from his high estate,
     Would be high treason in his bondman, Fate.
     But all the while he felt himself alone,
     Stunned with disasters few have ever known.
     Sudden, a fear came o'er his troubled soul,
     What more was written on the Future's scroll?
     Was this an expiation? It must be, yea!
     He turned to God for one enlightening ray.
     "Is this the vengeance, Lord of Hosts?" he sighed,
     But the first murmur on his parched lips died.
     "Is this the vengeance? Must my glory set?"
     A pause: his name was called; of flame a jet
     Sprang in the darkness;â€"a Voice answered; "No!
     Not yet."

                 Outside still fell the smothering snow.
     Was it a voice indeed? or but a dream?
     It was the vulture's, but how like the sea-bird's scream.

     TORU DUTT.


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THE SEAMAN'S SONG by Victor Hugo
     ("Adieu, patrie.")

     {Bk. V. ix., Aug. 1, 1852.}
           Farewell the strand,
           The sails expand
                 Above!
           Farewell the land
                 We love!
     Farewell, old home where apples swing!
     Farewell, gay song-birds on the wing!

           Farewell, riff-raff
           Of Customs' clerks who laugh
                 And shout:
           "Farewell!" We'll quaff
                 One bout
     To thee, young lass, with kisses sweet!
     Farewell, my dearâ€"the ship flies fleet!

     The fog shuts out the last fond peep,
     As 'neath the prow the cast drops weep.
     Farewell, old home, young lass, the bird!
     The whistling wind alone is heard:
                 Farewell! Farewell!

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THE DESPATCH OF THE DOOM by Victor Hugo
     ("Pendant que dans l'auberge.")

     {Bk. IV. xiii., Jersey, November, 1852.}
     While in the jolly tavern, the bandits gayly drink,
     Upon the haunted highway, sharp hoof-beats loudly clink?
     Yea; past scant-buried victims, hard-spurring sturdy steed,
     A mute and grisly rider is trampling grass and weed,
     And by the black-sealed warrant which in his grasp shines clear,
     I known it is the Futureâ€"God's Justicer is here!

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NO ASSASSINATION by Victor Hugo
     ("Laissons le glaive à Rome.")

     {Bk. III. xvi., October, 1852.}
     Pray Rome put up her poniard!
       And Sparta sheathe the sword;
     Be none too prompt to punish,
       And cast indignant word!
     Bear back your spectral Brutus
       From robber Bonaparte;
     Time rarely will refute us
       Who doom the hateful heart.

     Ye shall be o'ercontented,
       My banished mates from home,
     But be no rashness vented
       Ere time for joy shall come.
     No crime can outspeed Justice,
       Who, resting, seems delayedâ€"
     Full faith accord the angel
       Who points the patient blade.

     The traitor still may nestle
       In balmy bed of state,
     But mark the Warder, watching
       His guardsman at his gate.
     He wears the crown, a monarchâ€"
       Of knaves and stony hearts;
     But though they're blessed by Senates,
       None can escape the darts!

     Though shored by spear and crozier,
       All know the arrant cheat,
     And shun the square of pavement
       Uncertain at his feet!
     Yea, spare the wretch, each brooding
       And secret-leaguers' chief,
     And make no pistol-target
       Of stars upon the thief.

     The knell of God strikes seldom
       But in the aptest hour;
     And when the life is sweetest,
       The worm will feel His power!

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FACT OR FABLE? By Victor Hugo
     (BISMARCK AND NAPOLEON III.)

     ("Un jour, sentant un royal appétit.")

     {Bk. III. iii., Jersey, September, 1852.}
     One fasting day, itched by his appetite,
       A monkey took a fallen tiger's hide,
       And, where the wearer had been savage, tried
     To overpass his model. Scratch and bite
     Gave place, however, to mere gnash of teeth and screams,
       But, as he prowled, he made his hearers fly
     With crying often: "See the Terror of your dreams!"
       Till, for too long, none ventured thither nigh.
     Left undisturbed to snatch, and clog his brambled den,
       With sleepers' bones and plumes of daunted doves,
     And other spoil of beasts as timid as the men,
       Who shrank when he mock-roared, from glens and grovesâ€"
     He begged his fellows view the crannies crammed with pelf
       Sordid and tawdry, stained and tinselled things,
     As ample proof he was the Royal Tiger's self!
       Year in, year out, thus still he purrs and sings
     Till tramps a butcher byâ€"he risks his headâ€"
       In darts the hand and crushes out the yell,
       And plucks the hideâ€"as from a nut the shellâ€"
     He holds him nude, and sneers: "An ape you dread!"

     H.L.W.
     A LAMENT.

     ("Sentiers où l'herbe se balance.")

     {Bk. III. xi., July, 1853.}
     O paths whereon wild grasses wave!
       O valleys! hillsides! forests hoar!
     Why are ye silent as the grave?
       For One, who came, and comes no more!

     Why is thy window closed of late?
       And why thy garden in its sear?
     O house! where doth thy master wait?
       I only know he is not here.

     Good dog! thou watchest; yet no hand
       Will feed thee. In the house is none.
     Whom weepest thou? child! My father. And
       O wife! whom weepest thou? The Gone.

     Where is he gone? Into the dark.â€"
       O sad, and ever-plaining surge!
     Whence art thou? From the convict-bark.
       And why thy mournful voice? A dirge.

     EDWIN ARNOLD, C.S.I.

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NAPOLEON "THE LITTLE" by Victor Hugo
     ("Ah! tu finiras bien par hurler!")

     {Bk. III. ii., Jersey, August, 1852.}
     How well I knew this stealthy wolf would howl,
       When in the eagle talons ta'en in air!
     Aglow, I snatched thee from thy preyâ€"thou fowlâ€"
       I held thee, abject conqueror, just where
     All see the stigma of a fitting name
       As deeply red as deeply black thy shame!
     And though thy matchless impudence may frame
       Some mask of seeming courageâ€"spite thy sneer,
     And thou assurest sloth and skunk: "It does not smart!"
       Thou feel'st it burning, in and in,â€"and fear
     None will forget it till shall fall the deadly dart!

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APOSTROPHE TO NATURE by Victor Hugo
     ("O Soleil!")

     {Bk. II. iv., Anniversary of the Coup d'État, 1852.}
     O Sun! thou countenance divine!
       Wild flowers of the glen,
     Caves swoll'n with shadow, where sunshine
       Has pierced not, far from men;
     Ye sacred hills and antique rocks,
       Ye oaks that worsted time,
     Ye limpid lakes which snow-slide shocks
       Hurl up in storms sublime;
     And sky above, unruflfed blue,
       Chaste rills that alway ran
     From stainless source a course still true,
       What think ye of this man?


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POOR LITTLE CHILDREN by Victor Hugo
     ("La femelle! elle est morte.")

     {Bk. I. xiii., Jersey, February, 1853.}
     Mother birdie stiff and cold,
       Puss has hushed the other's singing;
     Winds go whistling o'er the wold,â€"
       Empty nest in sport a-flinging.
           Poor little birdies!

     Faithless shepherd strayed afar,
       Playful dog the gadflies catching;
     Wolves bound boldly o'er the bar,
       Not a friend the fold is watchingâ€"
           Poor little lambkins!

     Father into prison fell,
       Mother begging through the parish;
     Baby's cot they, too, will sell,â€"
       Who will now feed, clothe and cherish?
           Poor little children!


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IMPERIAL REVELS by Victor Hugo
     ("Courtisans! attablés dans le splendide orgie.")

     {Bk. I. x., Jersey, December, 1852.}
     Cheer, courtiers! round the banquet spreadâ€"
       The board that groans with shame and plate,
     Still fawning to the sham-crowned head
       That hopes front brazen turneth fate!
     Drink till the comer last is full,
     And never hear in revels' lull,
     Grim Vengeance forging arrows fleet,
           Whilst I gnaw at the crust
           Of Exile in the dustâ€"
     But Honor makes it sweet!

     Ye cheaters in the tricksters' fane,
       Who dupe yourself and trickster-chief,
     In blazing cafés spend the gain,
       But draw the blind, lest at his thief
     Some fresh-made beggar gives a glance
     And interrupts with steel the dance!
     But let him toilsomely tramp by,
           As I myself afar
           Follow no gilded car
     In ways of Honesty.

     Ye troopers who shot mothers down,
       And marshals whose brave cannonade
     Broke infant arms and split the stone
       Where slumbered age and guileless maidâ€"
     Though blood is in the cup you fill,
     Pretend it "rosy" wine, and still
     Hail Cannon "King!" and Steel the "Queen!"
           But I prefer to sup
           From Philip Sidney's cupâ€"
     True soldier's draught serene.

     Oh, workmen, seen by me sublime,
       When from the tyrant wrenched ye peace,
     Can you be dazed by tinselled crime,
       And spy no wolf beneath the fleece?
     Build palaces where Fortunes feast,
     And bear your loads like well-trained beast,
     Though once such masters you made flee!
           But then, like me, you ate
           Food of a blessed fêteâ€"
     The bread of Liberty!

     H.L.W.

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INDIGNATION by Victor Hugo
     ("Toi qu'aimais Juvénal.")

     {Nox (PRELUDE) ix., Jersey, November, 1852.}
     Thou who loved Juvenal, and filed
       His style so sharp to scar imperial brows,
     And lent the lustre lightening
       The gloom in Dante's murky verse that flowsâ€"
     Muse Indignation! haste, and help
       My building up before this roseate realm,
     And its so fruitless victories,
       Whence transient shame Right's prophets overwhelm,
     So many pillories, deserved!
       That eyes to come will pry without avail,
     Upon the wood impenetrant,
       And spy no glimmer of its tarnished tale.


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BABY'S SEASIDE GRAVE by Victor Hugo
     ("Vieux lierre, frais gazon.")

     {XXXVIII., 1840.}
     Brown ivy old, green herbage new;
       Soft seaweed stealing up the shingle;
     An ancient chapel where a crew,
       Ere sailing, in the prayer commingle.
     A far-off forest's darkling frown,
       Which makes the prudent start and tremble,
     Whilst rotten nuts are rattling down,
       And clouds in demon hordes assemble.

     Land birds which twit the mews that scream
       Round walls where lolls the languid lizard;
     Brine-bubbling brooks where fishes stream
       Past caves fit for an ocean wizard.
     Alow, aloft, no lullâ€"all life,
       But far aside its whirls are keeping,
     As wishfully to let its strife
       Spare still the mother vainly weeping
       O'er baby, lost not long, a-sleeping.


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THE MARBLE FAUN by Victor Hugo
     ("Il semblait grelotter.")

     {XXXVI., December, 1837.}
     He seemed to shiver, for the wind was keen.
     'Twas a poor statue underneath a mass
     Of leafless branches, with a blackened back
     And a green footâ€"an isolated Faun
     In old deserted park, who, bending forward,
     Half-merged himself in the entangled boughs,
     Half in his marble settings. He was there,
     Pensive, and bound to earth; and, as all things
     Devoid of movement, he was thereâ€"forgotten.

       Trees were around him, whipped by icy blastsâ€"
     Gigantic chestnuts, without leaf or bird,
     And, like himself, grown old in that same place.
     Through the dark network of their undergrowth,
     Pallid his aspect; and the earth was brown.
     Starless and moonless, a rough winter's night
     Was letting down her lappets o'er the mist.
       Thisâ€"nothing more: old Faun, dull sky, dark wood.

       Poor, helpless marble, how I've pitied it!
     Less often manâ€"the harder of the two.

       So, then, without a word that might offend
     His ear deformedâ€"for well the marble hears
     The voice of thoughtâ€"I said to him: "You hail
     From the gay amorous age. O Faun, what saw you
     When you were happy? Were you of the Court?

       "Speak to me, comely Faun, as you would speak
     To tree, or zephyr, or untrodden grass.
     Have you, O Greek, O mocker of old days,
     Have you not sometimes with that oblique eye
     Winked at the Farnese Hercules?â€"Alone,
     Have you, O Faun, considerately turned
     From side to side when counsel-seekers came,
     And now advised as shepherd, now as satyr?â€"
     Have you sometimes, upon this very bench,
     Seen, at mid-day, Vincent de Paul instilling
     Grace into Gondi?â€"Have you ever thrown
     That searching glance on Louis with Fontange,
     On Anne with Buckingham; and did they not
     Start, with flushed cheeks, to hear your laugh ring forth
     From corner of the wood?â€"Was your advice
     As to the thyrsis or the ivy asked,
     When, in grand ballet of fantastic form,
     God Phoebus, or God Pan, and all his court,
     Turned the fair head of the proud Montespan,
     Calling her Amaryllis?â€"La Fontaine,
     Flying the courtiers' ears of stone, came he,
     Tears on his eyelids, to reveal to you
     The sorrows of his nymphs of Vaux?â€"What said
     Boileau to youâ€"to youâ€"O lettered Faun,
     Who once with Virgil, in the Eclogue, held
     That charming dialogue?â€"Say, have you seen
     Young beauties sporting on the sward?â€"Have you
     Been honored with a sight of Molière
     In dreamy mood?â€"Has he perchance, at eve,
     When here the thinker homeward went, has he,
     Whoâ€"seeing souls all nakedâ€"could not fear
     Your nudity, in his inquiring mind,
     Confronted you with Man?"

       Under the thickly-tangled branches, thus
     Did I speak to him; he no answer gave.

       I shook my head, and moved myself away;
     Then, from the copses, and from secret caves
     Hid in the wood, methought a ghostly voice
     Came forth and woke an echo in my souls
     As in the hollow of an amphora.

       "Imprudent poet," thus it seemed to say,
     "What dost thou here? Leave the forsaken Fauns
     In peace beneath their trees! Dost thou not know,
     Poet, that ever it is impious deemed,
     In desert spots where drowsy shades reposeâ€"
     Though love itself might prompt theeâ€"to shake down
     The moss that hangs from ruined centuries,
     And, with the vain noise of throe ill-timed words,
     To mar the recollections of the dead?"

       Then to the gardens all enwrapped in mist
     I hurried, dreaming of the vanished days,
     And still behind meâ€"hieroglyph obscure
     Of antique alphabetâ€"the lonely Faun
     Held to his laughter, through the falling night.

       I went my way; but yetâ€"in saddened spirit
     Pondering on all that had my vision crossed,
     Leaves of old summers, fair ones of old timeâ€"
     Through all, at distance, would my fancy see,
     In the woods, statues; shadows in the past!

     WILLIAM YOUNG
     A LOVE FOR WINGED THINGS.

     {XXXVII., April 12, 1840.}
     My love flowed e'er for things with wings.
       When boy I sought for forest fowl,
     And caged them in rude rushes' mesh,
       And fed them with my breakfast roll;
     So that, though fragile were the door,
       They rarely fled, and even then
     Would flutter back at faintest call!

       Man-grown, I charm for men.


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SWEET MEMORY OF LOVE by Victor Hugo
     ("Toutes les passions s'éloignent avec l'âge.")

     {XXXIV. ii., October, 183-.}
     As life wanes on, the passions slow depart,
       One with his grinning mask, one with his steel;
     Like to a strolling troupe of Thespian art,
       Whose pace decreases, winding past the hill.
     But naught can Love's all charming power efface,
       That light, our misty tracks suspended o'er,
     In joy thou'rt ours, more dear thy tearful grace,
       The young may curse thee, but the old adore.

     But when the weight of years bow down the head,
       And man feels all his energies decline,
     His projects gone, himself tomb'd with the dead,
       Where virtues lie, nor more illusions shine,
     When all our lofty thoughts dispersed and o'er,
       We count within our hearts so near congealed,
     Each grief that's past, each dream, exhausted ore!
       As counting dead upon the battle-field.

     As one who walks by the lamp's flickering blaze,
       Far from the hum of men, the joys of earthâ€"
     Our mind arrives at last by tortuous ways,
       At that drear gulf where but despair has birth.
     E'en there, amid the darkness of that night,
       When all seems closing round in empty air,
     Is seen through thickening gloom one trembling light!
       'Tis Love's sweet memory that lingers there!

     Author of "Critical Essays."


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EARLY LOVE REVISITED by Victor Hugo
     ("O douleur! j'ai voulu savoir.")

     {XXXIV. i., October, 183-.}
     I have wished in the grief of my heart to know
       If the vase yet treasured that nectar so clear,
     And to see what this beautiful valley could show
       Of all that was once to my soul most dear.
     In how short a span doth all Nature change,
       How quickly she smoothes with her hand sereneâ€"
     And how rarely she snaps, in her ceaseless range,
       The links that bound our hearts to the scene.

     Our beautiful bowers are all laid waste;
       The fir is felled that our names once bore;
     Our rows of roses, by urchins' haste,
       Are destroyed where they leap the barrier o'er.
     The fount is walled in where, at noonday pride,
       She so gayly drank, from the wood descending;
     In her fairy hand was transformed the tide,
       And it turned to pearls through her fingers wending

     The wild, rugged path is paved with spars,
       Where erst in the sand her footsteps were traced,
     When so small were the prints that the surface mars,
       That they seemed to smile ere by mine effaced.
     The bank on the side of the road, day by day,
       Where of old she awaited my loved approach,
     Is now become the traveller's way
       To avoid the track of the thundering coach.

     Here the forest contracts, there the mead extends,
       Of all that was ours, there is little leftâ€"
     Like the ashes that wildly are whisked by winds,
       Of all souvenirs is the place bereft.
     Do we live no moreâ€"is our hour then gone?
       Will it give back naught to our hungry cry?
     The breeze answers my call with a mocking tone,
       The house that was mine makes no reply.

     True! others shall pass, as we have passed,
       As we have come, so others shall meet,
     And the dream that our mind had sketched in haste,
       Shall others continue, but never complete.
     For none upon earth can achieve his scheme,
       The best as the worst are futile here:
     We awake at the selfsame point cf the dreamâ€"
       All is here begun, and finished elsewhere.

     Yes! others shall come in the bloom of the heart,
       To enjoy in this pure and happy retreat,
     All that nature to timid love can impart
       Of solemn repose and communion sweet.
     In our fields, in our paths, shall strangers stray,
       In thy wood, my dearest, new lovers go lost,
     And other fair forms in the stream shall play
       Which of old thy delicate feet have crossed.

     Author of "Critical Essays."


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COME WHEN I SLEEP by Victor Hugo
     ("Oh, quand je dors.")

     {XXVII.}
     Oh! when I sleep, come near my resting-place,
       As Laura came to bless her poet's heart,
     And let thy breath in passing touch my faceâ€"
                 At once a space
                   My lips will part.

     And on my brow where too long weighed supreme
       A visionâ€"haply spent nowâ€"black as night,
     Let thy look as a star arise and beamâ€"
                 At once my dream
                   Will seem of light.

     Then press my lips, where plays a flame of blissâ€"
       A pure and holy love-lightâ€"and forsake
     The angel for the woman in a kissâ€"
                 At once, I wis,
                   My soul will wake!

     WM. W. TOMLINSON.

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Sudoku puzzles have always boasted that it is a brain stimulating game that requires no mathematical skills. In essence, the statement is correct because a player does not really have to add numbers, columns or rows to play Sudoku puzzles.

However, if we look at the game of Sudoku puzzles more closely, we can actually identify some basic reference to concepts that are of purely mathematical nature. For instance, Sudoku games usually have several blocks or squares that are already filled up with certain numbers. But what if we start from a totally blank grid, meaning no given numbers at all? The question then will be how many ways can the solution be achieved given the rules set forth by the puzzle game? If we go by the simple 4 by 4 Sudoku grid, there are a total of 576 ways of arranging the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4. in a square or block presentation with each number appearing only once in every row and column. However, Frazer Jarvis of the University of Sheffield was able to come up with 88 valid arrangements for the very same grid and subsequently posted his observations on the Sudoku Programmers Forum.

Clearly, logic is not the only factor at work in Sudoku puzzles. Mathematics is also a key player. Ditto with various rules. Sudoku said it only has one basic rule, but when you sit down and try to solve the puzzle, various rules as well as techniques will crop up that you can find useful as you try to uncover the enigma of the game. While Sudoku's basic rule will help in getting the correct solution, repeated application of this one basic rule can make the game one big bore. Barry Cipra, a mathematician and writer from Northfield, Minnesota, said the Sudoku rules actually have several hierarchies. These rules get more complicated as the puzzle becomes more complex as in the case of 10 by 10, 12 by 12, and 14 by 14 grids. The basic rules, Cipra said, apply only to the standard 9 by 9 grid. Higher levels of the puzzle mean more complex rules. Nevertheless, the fun begins when a player is able to discover patterns that will trigger the application of the rules

The concept of Sudoku puzzles about no mathematics required is thus a bit flawed. What the game actually wants to say is that no arithmetic is really required, meaning no counting of 1, 2, 3, 4, and so on. Sudoku puzzles also say it only has one simple rule, which is, to fill in the grid with numbers ranging from 1 through 9 in such a way that every row and column will have one instance each of the said digits. Again, there is error here, because sticking too rigidly to this one simple rule will not help a player to easily solve the puzzle. Analytical methods, including the discovery of unwritten rules and tactics, are needed to see the game to its logical conclusion.

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One of the most popular and fun elements of any get together, be it a holiday, a special event like a wedding or a child's birthday, is to provide your guests with personalized sweets. And thanks to the computer age, doing so can be taken to a whole new level with candy wrapper software. Easy to use, incredibly flexible, these applications allow you to design and print out virtually any size covering for almost any type of goodie or treat.

In a typical use, you launch the program on your computer and go step-by-step to design the wrapper for your own needs. You start by selecting a background image that repeats across the entire surface of the covering. Then you add in a picture, say of a family member, add text (and you can use any font on your computer) to describe the event and then tidy up the layout. Print them out, wrap up the sweets (or containers) and you're done!

Most of these programs come pre-loaded with the dimensions of the most popular sizes and shapes, but you can usually add additional wrappers for unusual sizes simply by taking a few measurements. On a garden variety chocolate bar, don't forget that you can make use of both the front and back surfaces as well. You can easily save your designs, share them with friends and use them again and again!

More than just a hobby, if you've got a flair for design, candy wrapper software can be the key to launching your own part-time business! With very little overhead, huge demand and a home computer, you can literally earn thousands of extra dollars a month providing custom designed coverings for family, friends and others in your community.

And you needn't worry about marketing your services â€" your fun, popular designs will do it for you. Using novelty ideas such as chocolate bar wedding invitations will have your phone ringing off the hook with orders for more wrappers! If you're not interested in running a business yourself, it can also be the ideal opportunity for a mature teenager to get involved in.

If you're active in your community, you can also use your packaging design skills to personalize sweets for hospital and nursing home patients. Around holidays, community events, fundraisers and other activities will give you countless opportunities to make unique contributions that will be remembered long after the candy is gone!

If you’re crafty and you enjoy designing and embellishing small gifts and treats for others, your next step will be finding some software that you like.  Ease of use and a significant ability to personalize the labels and/or wrappers with many options will be big factors.  Also a reasonable price point will also be a consideration for most.  When you do find the right software though, you’ll be a big step ahead of everyone else out there who is “just thinking about” this business.  Act on your passion.

What child wouldn't be thrilled with a personalized sweet from Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny; what fund raiser wouldn't be even better with personalized wrappers? You'll brighten everyone's day with your personalized designs and an inexpensive candy wrapper software program will get you started right!



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REP. ALEXIE BESAS TUTOR
Bohol 3rd District
Vice-Chair, Committee on Health
Member, Committee on Appropriations
Author, House Resolution number 946 FOR-FASTER-and-MORE-RELIABLE-INTERNET-SERVICE-UNDER-THE-NEW-NORMAL
https://www.facebook.com/Cong.AlexieTutor/ | 09177292437

Para makinabang ang mga estudyante at guro

TELCOS PAYMENTS TO LGUs SHOULD GO TO THE SPECIAL EDUCATION FUND OF EACH CITY OR TOWN

To follow through on the order of President Duterte on the passage of all pending ordinances on telecom tower sites, I humbly recommend to the DICT and DILG that there be a national standard on payments of the telcos to the LGUs.

The simple way is one rate for all types of LGUs regardless of their income classification or status.

The not-as-simple way is for a schedule of rates taking into account the income classification of the cities and towns.

Probably more beneficial to the poor towns from 2nd to 6th class is the single nationwide rate, especially the tourism destinations in coastal areas, islands, and uplands.

For maximum development impact, the annual payments of the telco companies should go into the Special Education Fund of each LGU, so that teachers and students would also gain from the new revenues. (END)

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REP. FRANCISCO GAMBOA DATOL, JR.
SENIOR CITIZEN Party-list
Chair, Special Committee on Senior Citizens
Mobile number - 09177292437
With surge In new COVID-19 cases, better preventive steps needed

MANDATORY FACE SHIELDS, TWO METER PHYSICAL DISTANCING

[Rep. Datol wants Manila example on face masks plus face shields followed by all areas still under GCQ or worse]

Ipatupad na sana ng IATF ang two meters na minimum physical distancing, imbis na one meter lang sa mga palengke, botika, bakery, malls, at iba pang pampublikong lugar.

Tulad ng ginagawa na ngayon sa City of Manila, required na dapat sa lahat na GCQ areas ang face shield bukod pa sa face mask para sa lahat ng tao na lumalabas ng bahay o nasa trabaho. 

One meter is a short distance for any sneeze or cough loaded with coronavirus. Dagdag proteksyon ito para sa ating mga mamamayan dahil ang one meter ay maikling distansya na kapag may taong umubo o bumahing. 

OTHER MEASURES
Iwasan ang close contact sa mga lumalabas ng bahay para magtrabaho dahil maaari nilang madala sa loob ng bahay ang coronavirus. Kung maaari sana, maligo at magpalit ng damit bago pumasok sa bahay ang mga nagmula sa trabaho.

Para sa mga bahay na siksikan o maliit ang espasyo, madalas na paghuhugas ng mga kamay, pagsuot ng face masks at face shields, ang araw-araw na paliligo ang mabisang pag-iwas sa sakit.

Mayors and governors should be supplying their constituents with free and steady supplies of face masks, face shields, and personal hygiene items, lalo na iyong mga mahihirap dahil nga sa wala silang pambili ng mga iyan.

This early, the mayors and governors should already be drawing up plans for how their constituents will be systemically vaccinated in an orderly and safe way.

VACCINATION PLAN
I believe vaccination tents should be set up per street, instead of done by house-to-house. Street by street vaccination can be done safely and well. Pero para sa seniors, dapat puntahan mismo sa bahay para sa bahay bakunahan.

The open air on streets and open fields would be added protection against COVID-19 because it is not a closed or enclosed or semi-enclosed space where contaminated air can circulate.

Hindi na dapat maulit ang kalbaryong dinaanan ng seniors at iba pa nating mamamayan noong unang yugto ng distribution ng SAP cash grants. Hanggang ngayon nga, hindi pa tapos ang DSWD sa SAP distribution lampas tatlong buwan mula ang unang ayudang pinansyal.

Nakikiusap na rin ako ngayon sa DSWD na ihanda na ang distribusyon ng seniors socialized pension na balanse para sa buong taon ng 2020 na hindi pa ibinigay from January to June 2020.

Agosto na po ngayon kaya marapat lamang na ihanda na nila ang balanse ng socialized pension for seniors. (END)

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Joel 1 A Faithful Version

 1  The Word of the LORD that came to Joel, the son of Pethuel.

 2  Hear this, you old men, and give ear, all you inhabitants of the land. Has this been in your days or even in the days of your fathers?

 3  Tell your children of it, and let your children tell their children, and their children another generation.

 4  That which the creeping locust has left, the swarming locust has eaten. And that which the swarming locust has left, the locust larvae has eaten. And that which the locust larvae has left, the destroying locust has eaten.

 5  Awake, drunkards, and weep; and howl, all you drinkers of wine because of the new wine; for it is cut off from your mouth,

 6  For a nation has come up on My land, strong and without number, whose teeth are the teeth of a lion, and he has the jaw teeth of a great lion.

 7  He has laid My vine waste and splintered My fig tree. He has stripped it and cast it away; its branches are bared white.

 8  Weep like a virgin clothed with sackcloth for the husband of her youth.

 9  The grain offering and the drink offering are cut off from the house of the LORD; the priests, the LORD'S ministers, mourn.

 10  The field is wasted; the land mourns, for the grain is wasted. The new wine is dried up; the fresh oil is wasted away.

 11  Be ashamed, O you husbandmen; howl, O you vinedressers, for the wheat and for the barley; because the harvest of the field has perished.

 12  The vine is dried up, and the fig tree is wasted away, the pomegranate and the palm tree, and the apple tree; all the trees of the field are dried up, for joy has withered away from the sons of men.

 13  Gird yourselves and lament, you priests; howl, you ministers of the altar. Come, lie all night in sackcloth, you ministers of my God, for the grain offering and the drink offering are held back from the house of your God.

 14  Sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the elders and all the people of the land unto the house of the LORD your God, and cry out to the LORD.

 15  Alas for the day! For the day of the LORD is at hand, and it shall come as a destruction from the Almighty.

 16  Is not the food cut off before our eyes, and joy and gladness from the house of our God?

 17  The seed is rotten under their clods; the storage bins are desolate; the barns are broken down, for the grain has dried up.

 18  How the beasts groan! The herds of cattle are troubled because they have no pasture. Yes, the flocks of sheep are devastated.

 19  O LORD, to You will I cry; for the fire has burned up the pastures of the wilderness, and the flame has burned all the trees of the field.

 20  The beasts of the field also cry to You; for the rivers of water are dried up, and the fire has burned up the pastures of the wilderness.



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GUITAR SONG by Victor Hugo
     ("Comment, disaient-ils.")

     {XXIII., July 18, 1838.}
     How shall we flee sorrowâ€"flee sorrow? said he.
     How, how! How shall we flee sorrowâ€"flee sorrow? said he.
     Howâ€"howâ€"how? answered she.

     How shall we see pleasureâ€"see pleasure? said he.
     How, how! How shall we see pleasureâ€"see pleasure? said he.
     Dreamâ€"dreamâ€"dream! answered she.

     How shall we be happyâ€"be happy? said he.
     How, how! How shall we be happyâ€"be happy? said he.
     Loveâ€"loveâ€"love! whispered she.

     EVELYN JERROLD


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GASTIBELZA by Victor Hugo
     ("Gastibelza, l'homme à la carabine.")

     {XXII., March, 1837.}
     Gastibelza, with gun the measure beating,
                 Would often sing:
     "Has one o' ye with sweet Sabine been meeting,
                 As, gay, ye bring
     Your songs and steps which, by the music,
                 Are reconciledâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind across the mountain rushing
                 Will drive me wild!

     "You stare as though you hardly knew my ladyâ€"
                 Sabine's her name!
     Her dam inhabits yonder cavern shady,
                 A witch of shame,
     Who shrieks o' nights upon the Haunted Tower,
                 With horrors piledâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind, etc.

     "Sing on and leapâ€"enjoying all the favors
                 Good heaven sends;
     She, too, was youngâ€"her lips had peachy savors
                 With honey blends;
     Give to that hagâ€"not always oldâ€"a penny,
                 Though crime-defiledâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind, etc.

     "The queen beside her looked a wench uncomely,
                 When, near to-night,
     She proudly stalked a-past the maids so homely,
                 In bodice tight
     And collar old as reign of wicked Julian,
                 By fiend beguiledâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind, etc.

     "The king himself proclaimed her peerless beauty
                 Before the court,
     And held it were to win a kiss his duty
                 To give a fort,
     Or, more, to sign away all bright Dorado,
                 Tho' gold-plate tiledâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind, etc.

     "Love her? at least, I know I am most lonely
               Without her nigh;
     I'm but a hound to follow her, and only
               At her feet die.
     I'd gayly spend of toilsome years a dozenâ€"
               A felon styledâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind, etc.

     "One summer day when longâ€"so long? I'd missed her,
               She came anew,
     To play i' the fount alone but for her sister,
               And bared to view
     The finest, rosiest, most tempting ankle,
               Like that of childâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind, etc.

     "When I beheld her, Iâ€"a lowly shepherdâ€"
               Grew in my mind
     Till I was Caesarâ€"she that crownèd leopard
               He crouched behind,
     No Roman stern, but in her silken leashes
               A captive mildâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind, etc.

     "Yet dance and sing, tho' night be thickly falling;â€"
               In selfsame time
     Poor Sabine heard in ecstasy the calling,
               In winning rhyme,
     Of Saldane's earl so noble, ay, and wealthy,
               Name e'er reviledâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind, etc.

     "(Let me upon this bench be shortly resting,
               So weary, I!)
     That noble bore her smiling, unresisting,
               By yonder high
     And ragged road that snakes towards the summit
               Where crags are piledâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind, etc.

     "I saw her pass beside my lofty stationâ€"
               A glanceâ€"'twas all!
     And yet I loathe my daily honest ration,
               The air's turned gall!
     My soul's in chase, my body chafes to wanderâ€"
               My dagger's filedâ€"
     Oh! this chill wind may change, and o'er the mountain
               May drive me wild!"

     HENRY L. WILLIAMS

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THE PRECEPTOR by Victor Hugo
     ("Homme chauve et noir.")

     {XIX., May, 1839.}
     A gruesome man, bald, clad in black,
     Who kept us youthful drudges in the track,
     Thinking it good for them to leave home care,
     And for a while a harsher yoke to bear;
     Surrender all the careless ease of home,
     And be forbid from schoolyard bounds to roam;
     For this with blandest smiles he softly asks
     That they with him will prosecute their tasks;
     Receives them in his solemn chilly lair,
     The rigid lot of discipline to share.
     At dingy desks they toil by day; at night
     To gloomy chambers go uncheered by light,
     Where pillars rudely grayed by rusty nail
     Of heavy hours reveal the weary tale;
     Where spiteful ushers grin, all pleased to make
     Long scribbled lines the price of each mistake.
     By four unpitying walls environed there
     The homesick students pace the pavements bare.

     E.E. FREWER

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ON A FLEMISH WINDOW-PANE by Victor Hugo
     ("J'aime le carillon dans tes cités antiques.")

     {XVIII., August, 1837.}
     Within thy cities of the olden time
     Dearly I love to list the ringing chime,
     Thou faithful guardian of domestic worth,
     Noble old Flanders! where the rigid North
     A flush of rich meridian glow doth feel,
     Caught from reflected suns of bright Castile.
     The chime, the clinking chime! To Fancy's eyeâ€"
     Prompt her affections to personifyâ€"
     It is the fresh and frolic hour, arrayed
     In guise of Andalusian dancing maid,
     Appealing by a crevice fine and rare,
     As of a door oped in "th' incorporal air."
     She comes! o'er drowsy roofs, inert and dull,
     Shaking her lap, of silv'ry music full,
     Rousing without remorse the drones abed,
     Tripping like joyous bird with tiniest tread,
     Quiv'ring like dart that trembles in the targe,
     By a frail crystal stair, whose viewless marge
     Bears her slight footfall, tim'rous half, yet free,
     In innocent extravagance of glee
     The graceful elf alights from out the spheres,
     While the quick spiritâ€"thing of eyes and earsâ€"
     As now she goes, now comes, mounts, and anon
     Descends, those delicate degrees upon,
     Hears her melodious spirit from step to step run on.

     Fraser's Magazine

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YE MARINERS WHO SPREAD YOUR SAILS by Victor Hugo
     ("Matelôts, vous déploirez les voiles.")

     {XVI., May 5, 1839.}
     Ye mariners! ye mariners! each sail to the breeze unfurled,
     In joy or sorrow still pursue your course around the world;
     And when the stars next sunset shine, ye anxiously will gaze
     Upon the shore, a friend or foe, as the windy quarter lays.

     Ye envious souls, with spiteful tooth, the statue's base will bite;
     Ye birds will sing, ye bending boughs with verdure glad the sight;
     The ivy root in the stone entwined, will cause old gates to fall;
     The church-bell sound to work or rest the villagers will call.

     Ye glorious oaks will still increase in solitude profound,
     Where the far west in distance lies as evening veils around;
     Ye willows, to the earth your arms in mournful trail will bend,
     And back again your mirror'd forms the water's surface send.

     Ye nests will oscillate beneath the youthful progeny;
     Embraced in furrows of the earth the germing grain will lie;
     Ye lightning-torches still your streams will cast into the air,
     Which like a troubled spirit's course float wildly here and there.

     Ye thunder-peals will God proclaim, as doth the ocean wave;
     Ye violets will nourish still the flower that April gave;
     Upon your ambient tides will be man's sternest shadow cast;
     Your waters ever will roll on when man himself is past.

     All things that are, or being have, or those that mutely lie,
     Have each its course to follow out, or object to descry;
     Contributing its little share to that stupendous whole,
     Where with man's teeming race combined creation's wonders roll.

     The poet, too, will contemplate th' Almighty Father's love,
     Who to our restless minds, with light and darkness from above,
     Hath given the heavens that glorious urn of tranquil majesty,
     Whence in unceasing stores we draw calm and serenity.

     Author of "Critical Essays."

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THE POOL AND THE SOUL by Victor Hugo
     ("Comme dans les étangs.")

     {X., May, 1839.}
     As in some stagnant pool by forest-side,
     In human souls two things are oft descried;
     The sky,â€"which tints the surface of the pool
     With all its rays, and all its shadows cool;
     The basin next,â€"where gloomy, dark and deep,
     Through slime and mud black reptiles vaguely creep.

     R.F. HODGSON

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STILL BE A CHILD by Victor Hugo
     ("O vous que votre âge défende")

     {IX., February, 1840.}
     In youthful spirits wild,
       Smile, for all beams on thee;
     Sport, sing, be still the child,
       The flower, the honey-bee.

     Bring not the future near,
       For Joy too soon declinesâ€"
     What is man's mission here?
       Toil, where no sunlight shines!

     Our lot is hard, we know;
       From eyes so gayly beaming,
     Whence rays of beauty flow,
       Salt tears most oft are streaming.

     Free from emotions past,
       All joy and hope possessing,
     With mind in pureness cast,
       Sweet ignorance confessing.

     Plant, safe from winds and showers,
       Heart with soft visions glowing,
     In childhood's happy hours
       A mother's rapture showing.

     Loved by each anxious friend,
       No carking care withinâ€"
     When summer gambols end,
       My winter sports begin.

     Sweet poesy from heaven
       Around thy form is placed,
     A mother's beauty given,
       By father's thought is graced!

     Seize, then, each blissful second,
       Live, for joy sinks in night,
     And those whose tale is reckoned,
       Have had their days of light.

     Then, oh! before we part,
       The poet's blessing take,
     Ere bleeds that aged heart,
       Or child the woman make.

     Dublin University Magazine.


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Has there been a movie produced in Maribojoc, Bohol?

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Bohol News Page

Patay ang usa ka motorista human nadisgrasya didto sa lungsod sa Maribojoc pasado alas 5:30 sa hapon kagahapon 8/2/20.

Ang biktima nailhan nga si Miguelito Gultiano, 35 anyos, ulitawo, molupyo sa brgy. Bacong, Anda.

Gisaysay ni Gloria inahan sa biktima nga nakadawat siya ug tawag nga nagpahibalo nga ang iyang anak nadisgrasya ug gidala sa Maribojoc hospital  unya  girefer sa Gov. Celestino Gallares Memorial Hospital human giingong nga mibangga sa punuan sa kahoy didto sa lungsod sa Maribojoc.

Sigun pa ni Gloria nga grabeng bun-og sa nawong ug ulo ang naangkon sa biktima nga nakaingon sa kamatayon karung lang buntag, Lunes, 8/3/20.

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THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY by Victor Hugo
     ("O dix-huitième siècle!")

     {IV. vi}
       O Eighteenth Century! by Heaven chastised!
     Godless thou livedst, by God thy doom was fixed.
     Thou in one ruin sword and sceptre mixed,
       Then outraged love, and pity's claim despised.
     Thy life a banquetâ€"but its board a scaffold at the close,
     Where far from Christ's beatic reign, Satanic deeds arose!
     Thy writers, like thyself, by good men scornedâ€"
       Yet, from thy crimes, renown has decked thy name,
       As the smoke emplumes the furnace flame,
     A revolution's deeds have thine adorned!

     Author of "Critical Essays."

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THE HUMBLE HOME by Victor Hugo
     ("L'église est vaste et haute.")

     {IV., June 29, 1839.}
     The Church{1} is vast; its towering pride, its steeples loom on high;
     The bristling stones with leaf and flower are sculptured wondrously;
         The portal glows resplendent with its "rose,"
     And 'neath the vault immense at evening swarm
     Figures of angel, saint, or demon's form,
         As oft a fearful world our dreams disclose.
     But not the huge Cathedral's height, nor yet its vault sublime,
     Nor porch, nor glass, nor streaks of light, nor shadows deep with time;
         Nor massy towers, that fascinate mine eyes;
       No, 'tis that spotâ€"the mind's tranquillityâ€"
       Chamber wherefrom the song mounts cheerily,
         Placed like a joyful nest well nigh the skies.

     Yea! glorious is the Church, I ween, but Meekness dwelleth here;
     Less do I love the lofty oak than mossy nest it bear;
         More dear is meadow breath than stormy wind:
     And when my mind for meditation's meant,
     The seaweed is preferred to the shore's extent,â€"
         The swallow to the main it leaves behind.

     Author of "Critical Essays."

     {Footnote 1: The Cathedral Nôtre Dame of Paris, which is the scene of the
     author's romance, "Nôtre Dame."}

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HOLYROOD PALACE by Victor Hugo
     ("O palais, sois bénié.")

     {II., June, 1839.}
     Palace and ruin, bless thee evermore!
     Grateful we bow thy gloomy tow'rs before;
     For the old King of France{1} hath found in thee
     That melancholy hospitality
     Which in their royal fortune's evil day,
     Stuarts and Bourbons to each other pay.

     Fraser's Magazine.

     {Footnote 1: King Charles X.}


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THE ROSE AND THE GRAVE by Victor Hugo
     ("La tombe dit à la rose.")

     {XXXI., June 3, 1837}
     The Grave said to the rose
       "What of the dews of dawn,
     Love's flower, what end is theirs?"
       "And what of spirits flown,
     The souls whereon doth close
       The tomb's mouth unawares?"
     The Rose said to the Grave.

     The Rose said: "In the shade
     From the dawn's tears is made
     A perfume faint and strange,
       Amber and honey sweet."
       "And all the spirits fleet
     Do suffer a sky-change,
       More strangely than the dew,
       To God's own angels new,"
     The Grave said to the Rose.

     A. LANG.

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LOVE'S TREACHEROUS POOL by Victor Hugo
     ("Jeune fille, l'amour c'est un miroir.")

     {XXVI., February, 1835.}
     Young maiden, true love is a pool all mirroring clear,
       Where coquettish girls come to linger in long delight,
     For it banishes afar from the face all the clouds that besmear
         The soul truly bright;
     But tempts you to ruffle its surface; drawing your foot
       To subtilest sinking! and farther and farther the brink
     That vainly you snatchâ€"for repentance, 'tis weed without root,â€"
         And struggling, you sink!


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THE BEACON IN THE STORM by Victor Hugo
     ("Quels sont ces bruits sourds?")

     {XXIV., July 17, 1836.}
     Hark to that solemn sound!
       It steals towards the strand.â€"
     Whose is that voice profound
       Which mourns the swallowed land,
               With moans,
               Or groans,
       New threats of ruin close at hand?
     It is Tritonâ€"the storm to scorn
     Who doth wind his sonorous horn.

     How thick the rain to-night!
       And all along the coast
     The sky shows naught of light
       Is it a storm, my host?
               Too soon
               The boon
       Of pleasant weather will be lost
     Yes, 'tis Triton, etc.

     Are seamen on that speck
       Afar in deepening dark?
     Is that a splitting deck
       Of some ill-fated bark?
               Fend harm!
               Send calm!
       O Venus! show thy starry spark!
     Though 'tis Triton, etc.

     The thousand-toothèd gale,â€"
      Adventurers too bold!â€"
     Rips up your toughest sail
      And tears your anchor-hold.
              You forge
              Through surge,
      To be in rending breakers rolled.
     While old Triton, etc.

     Do sailors stare this way,
      Cramped on the Needle's sheaf,
     To hail the sudden ray
      Which promises relief?
              Then, bright;
              Shine, light!
      Of hope upon the beacon reef!
     Though 'tis Triton, etc.

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MY THOUGHTS OF YE by Victor Hugo
     ("À quoi je songe?")

     {XXIII., July, 1836.}
     What do I dream of? Far from the low roof,
     Where now ye are, children, I dream of you;
     Of your young heads that are the hope and crown
     Of my full summer, ripening to its fall.
     Branches whose shadow grows along my wall,
     Sweet souls scarce open to the breath of day,
     Still dazzled with the brightness of your dawn.
     I dream of those two little ones at play,
     Making the threshold vocal with their cries,
     Half tears, half laughter, mingled sport and strife,
     Like two flowers knocked together by the wind.
     Or of the elder twoâ€"more anxious thoughtâ€"
     Breasting already broader waves of life,
     A conscious innocence on either face,
     My pensive daughter and my curious boy.
     Thus do I dream, while the light sailors sing,
     At even moored beneath some steepy shore,
     While the waves opening all their nostrils breathe
     A thousand sea-scents to the wandering wind,
     And the whole air is full of wondrous sounds,
     From sea to strand, from land to sea, given back
     Alone and sad, thus do I dream of you.
     Children, and house and home, the table set,
     The glowing hearth, and all the pious care
     Of tender mother, and of grandsire kind;
     And while before me, spotted with white sails,
     The limpid ocean mirrors all the stars,
     And while the pilot, from the infinite main,
     Looks with calm eye into the infinite heaven,
     I dreaming of you only, seek to scan
     And fathom all my soul's deep love for youâ€"
     Love sweet, and powerful, and everlastingâ€"
     And find that the great sea is small beside it.

     Dublin University Magazine.


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TO SOME BIRDS FLOWN AWAY by Victor Hugo
     ("Enfants! Oh! revenez!")

     {XXII, April, 1837}
     Children, come backâ€"come back, I sayâ€"
     You whom my folly chased away
     A moment since, from this my room,
     With bristling wrath and words of doom!
     What had you done, you bandits small,
     With lips as red as roses all?
     What crime?â€"what wild and hapless deed?
       What porcelain vase by you was split
     To thousand pieces? Did you need
       For pastime, as you handled it,
     Some Gothic missal to enrich
       With your designs fantastical?
       Or did your tearing fingers fall
     On some old picture? Which, oh, which
     Your dreadful fault? Not one of these;
     Only when left yourselves to please
     This morning but a moment here
       'Mid papers tinted by my mind
     You took some embryo verses nearâ€"
       Half formed, but fully well designed
     To open out. Your hearts desire
     Was but to throw them on the fire,
     Then watch the tinder, for the sight
     Of shining sparks that twinkle bright
     As little boats that sail at night,
     Or like the window lights that spring
     From out the dark at evening.

     'Twas all, and you were well content.
     Fine loss was this for anger's ventâ€"
     A strophe ill made midst your play,
     Sweet sound that chased the words away
     In stormy flight. An ode quite new,
     With rhymes inflatedâ€"stanzas, too,
     That panted, moving lazily,
       And heavy Alexandrine lines
     That seemed to jostle bodily,
       Like children full of play designs
     That spring at once from schoolroom's form.
     Instead of all this angry storm,
     Another might have thanked you well
     For saving prey from that grim cell,
     That hollowed den 'neath journals great,
       Where editors who poets flout
       With their demoniac laughter shout.
     And I have scolded you! What fate
     For charming dwarfs who never meant
       To anger Hercules! And I
     Have frightened you!â€"My chair I sent
       Back to the wall, and then let fly
     A shower of words the envious useâ€"
     "Get out," I said, with hard abuse,
     "Leave me aloneâ€"alone I say."
     Poor man alone! Ah, well-a-day,
     What fine resultâ€"what triumph rare!
       As one turns from the coffin'd dead
     So left you me:â€"I could but stare
       Upon the door through which you fledâ€"
     I proud and graveâ€"but punished quite.
     And what care you for this my plight!â€"
     You have recovered liberty,
     Fresh air and lovely scenery,
     The spacious park and wished-for grass;
       The running stream, where you can throw
     A blade to watch what comes to pass;
       Blue sky, and all the spring can show;
     Nature, serenely fair to see;
     The book of birds and spirits free,
     God's poem, worth much more than mine,
     Where flowers for perfect stanzas shineâ€"
     Flowers that a child may pluck in play,
     No harsh voice frightening it away.
     And I'm aloneâ€"all pleasure o'erâ€"
       Alone with pedant called "Ennui,"
     For since the morning at my door
       Ennui has waited patiently.
     That docto-r-London born, you mark,
     One Sunday in December dark,
     Poor little onesâ€"he loved you not,
     And waited till the chance he got
     To enter as you passed away,
       And in the very corner where
     You played with frolic laughter gay,
       He sighs and yawns with weary air.

     What can I do? Shall I read books,
     Or write more verseâ€"or turn fond looks
     Upon enamels blue, sea-green,
     And whiteâ€"on insects rare as seen
     Upon my Dresden china ware?
     Or shall I touch the globe, and care
     To make the heavens turn upon
     Its axis? No, not oneâ€"not one
     Of all these things care I to do;
     All wearies meâ€"I think of you.
     In truth with you my sunshine fled,
     And gayety with your light treadâ€"
     Glad noise that set me dreaming still.
     'Twas my delight to watch your will,
     And mark you point with finger-tips
       To help your spelling out a word;
     To see the pearls between your lips
       When I your joyous laughter heard;
     Your honest brows that looked so true,
       And said "Oh, yes!" to each intent;
     Your great bright eyes, that loved to view
       With admiration innocent
     My fine old Sèvres; the eager thought
     That every kind of knowledge sought;
     The elbow push with "Come and see!"

     Oh, certes! spirits, sylphs, there be,
     And fays the wind blows often here;
     The gnomes that squat the ceiling near,
     In corners made by old books dim;
     The long-backed dwarfs, those goblins grim
     That seem at home 'mong vases rare,
     And chat to them with friendly airâ€"
     Oh, how the joyous demon throng
     Must all have laughed with laughter long
     To see you on my rough drafts fall,
     My bald hexameters, and all
     The mournful, miserable band,
     And drag them with relentless hand
     From out their box, with true delight
     To set them each and all a-light,
     And then with clapping hands to lean
     Above the stove and watch the scene,
     How to the mass deformed there came
     A soul that showed itself in flame!

     Bright tricksy childrenâ€"oh, I pray
     Come back and sing and dance away,
     And chatter tooâ€"sometimes you may,
     A giddy group, a big book seizeâ€"
     Or sometimes, if it so you please,
     With nimble step you'll run to me
       And push the arm that holds the pen,
     Till on my finished verse will be
       A stroke that's like a steeple when
     Seen suddenly upon a plain.
     My soul longs for your breath again
     To warm it. Oh, returnâ€"come here
     With laugh and babbleâ€"and no fear
       When with your shadow you obscure
       The book I read, for I am sure,
     Oh, madcaps terrible and dear,
     That you were right and I was wrong.
     But who has ne'er with scolding tongue
     Blamed out of season. Pardon me!
     You must forgiveâ€"for sad are we.

     The young should not be hard and cold
     And unforgiving to the old.
     Children each morn your souls ope out
       Like windows to the shining day,
     Oh, miracle that comes about,
       The miracle that children gay
     Have happiness and goodness too,
     Caressed by destiny are you,
       Charming you are, if you but play.
     But we with living overwrought,
     And full of grave and sombre thought,
     Are snappish oft: dear little men,
     We have ill-tempered days, and then,
     Are quite unjust and full of care;
     It rained this morning and the air
     Was chill; but clouds that dimm'd the sky
     Have passed. Things spited me, and why?
     But now my heart repents. Behold
     What 'twas that made me cross, and scold!
     All by-and-by you'll understand,
     When brows are mark'd by Time's stern hand;
     Then you will comprehend, be sure,
     When olderâ€"that's to say, less pure.

     The fault I freely own was mine.
     But oh, for pardon now I pine!
     Enough my punishment to meet,
     You must forgive, I do entreat
     With clasped hands prayingâ€"oh, come back,
     Make peace, and you shall nothing lack.
     See now my pencilsâ€"paperâ€"here,
     And pointless compasses, and dear
     Old lacquer-work; and stoneware clear
     Through glass protecting; all man's toys
     So coveted by girls and boys.
     Great China monstersâ€"bodies much
     Like cucumbersâ€"you all shall touch.
     I yield up all! my picture rare
       Found beneath antique rubbish heap,
     My great and tapestried oak chair
       I will from you no longer keep.
     You shall about my table climb,
       And dance, or drag, without a cry
     From me as if it were a crime.
       Even I'll look on patiently
     If you your jagged toys all throw
     Upon my carved bench, till it show
     The wood is torn; and freely too,
     I'll leave in your own hands to view,
     My pictured Bibleâ€"oft desiredâ€"
     But which to touch your fear inspiredâ€"
     With God in emperor's robes attired.

     Then if to see my verses burn,
     Should seem to you a pleasant turn,
     Take them to freely tear away
     Or burn. But, oh! not so I'd say,
     If this were Méry's room to-day.
     That noble poet! Happy town,
     Marseilles the Greek, that him doth own!
     Daughter of Homer, fair to see,
     Of Virgil's son the mother she.
     To you I'd say, Hold, children all,
     Let but your eyes on his work fall;
     These papers are the sacred nest
     In which his crooning fancies rest;
     To-morrow winged to Heaven they'll soar,
       For new-born verse imprisoned still
     In manuscript may suffer sore
       At your small hands and childish will,
     Without a thought of bad intent,
     Of cruelty quite innocent.
     You wound their feet, and bruise their wings,
     And make them suffer those ill things
     That children's play to young birds brings.

     But mine! no matter what you do,
     My poetry is all in you;
     You are my inspiration bright
     That gives my verse its purest light.
     Children whose life is made of hope,
     Whose joy, within its mystic scope,
     Owes all to ignorance of ill,
     You have not suffered, and you still
     Know not what gloomy thoughts weigh down
     The poet-writer weary grown.
     What warmth is shed by your sweet smile!
     How much he needs to gaze awhile
     Upon your shining placid brow,
     When his own brow its ache doth know;
     With what delight he loves to hear
     Your frolic play 'neath tree that's near,
     Your joyous voices mixing well
     With his own song's all-mournful swell!
     Come back then, children! come to me,
     If you wish not that I should be
     As lonely now that you're afar
     As fisherman of Etrétat,
     Who listless on his elbow leans
     Through all the weary winter scenes,
     As tired of thoughtâ€"as on Time fliesâ€"
     And watching only rainy skies!

     MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND.


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MOTHERS by Victor Hugo
     ("Regardez: les enfants.")

     {XX., June, 1884.}
     See all the children gathered there,
     Their mother near; so young, so fair,
     An eider sister she might be,
     And yet she hears, amid their games,
     The shaking of their unknown names
       In the dark urn of destiny.

     She wakes their smiles, she soothes their cares,
     On that pure heart so like to theirs,
       Her spirit with such life is rife
     That in its golden rays we see,
     Touched into graceful poesy,
       The dull cold commonplace of life.

     Still following, watching, whether burn
     The Christmas log in winter stern,
       While merry plays go round;
     Or streamlets laugh to breeze of May
     That shakes the leaf to break awayâ€"
       A shadow falling to the ground.

     If some poor man with hungry eyes
     Her baby's coral bauble spies,
       She marks his look with famine wild,
     For Christ's dear sake she makes with joy
     An alms-gift of the silver toyâ€"
       A smiling angel of the child.

     Dublin University Magazine

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THE COW by Victor Hugo
     ("Devant la blanche ferme.")

     {XV., May, 1837.}
     Before the farm where, o'er the porch, festoon
     Wild creepers red, and gaffer sits at noon,
     Whilst strutting fowl display their varied crests,
     And the old watchdog slumberously rests,
     They half-attentive to the clarion of their king,
     Resplendent in the sunshine op'ning wingâ€"
     There stood a cow, with neck-bell jingling light,
     Superb, enormous, dappled red and whiteâ€"
     Soft, gentle, patient as a hind unto its young,
     Letting the children swarm until they hung
     Around her, underâ€"rustics with their teeth
     Whiter than marble their ripe lips beneath,
     And bushy hair fresh and more brown
     Than mossy walls at old gates of a town,
     Calling to one another with loud cries
     For younger imps to be in at the prize;
     Stealing without concern but tremulous with fear
     They glance around lest Doll the maid appear;â€"
     Their jolly lipsâ€"that haply cause some pain,
     And all those busy fingers, pressing now and 'gain,
     The teeming udders whose small, thousand pores
     Gush out the nectar 'mid their laughing roars,
     While she, good mother, gives and gives in heaps,
     And never moves. Anon there creeps
     A vague soft shiver o'er the hide unmarred,
     As sharp they pull, she seems of stone most hard.
     Dreamy of large eye, seeks she no release,
     And shrinks not while there's one still to appease.
       Thus Natureâ€"refuge 'gainst the slings of fate!
     Mother of all, indulgent as she's great!
     Lets us, the hungered of each age and rank,
     Shadow and milk seek in the eternal flank;
     Mystic and carnal, foolish, wise, repair,
     The souls retiring and those that dare,
     Sages with halos, poets laurel-crowned,
     All creep beneath or cluster close around,
     And with unending greed and joyous cries,
     From sources full, draw need's supplies,
     Quench hearty thirst, obtain what must eftsoon
     Form blood and mind, in freest boon,
     Respire at length thy sacred flaming light,
     From all that greets our ears, touch, scent or sightâ€"
     Brown leaves, blue mountains, yellow gleams, green sodâ€"
     Thou undistracted still dost dream of God.

     TORU DUTT.

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TO HIS MUSE by Victor Hugo
     ("Puisqu'ici-bas tout âme.")

     {XL, May 19, 1836.}

     Since everything below,
       Doth, in this mortal state,
     Its tone, its fragrance, or its glow
       Communicate;

     Since all that lives and moves
       Upon the earth, bestows
     On what it seeks and what it loves
       Its thorn or rose;

     Since April to the trees
       Gives a bewitching sound,
     And sombre night to grief gives ease,
       And peace profound;

     Since day-spring on the flower
       A fresh'ning drop confers,
     And the fresh air on branch and bower
       Its choristers;

     Since the dark wave bestows
       A soft caress, imprest
     On the green bank to which it goes
       Seeking its rest;

     I give thee at this hour,
       Thus fondly bent o'er thee,
     The best of all the things in dow'r
       That in me be.

     Receive,-poor gift, 'tis true,
       Which grief, not joy, endears,â€"
     My thoughts, that like a shower of dew,
       Reach thee in tears.

     My vows untold receive,
       All pure before thee laid;
     Receive of all the days I live
       The light or shade!

     My hours with rapture fill'd,
       Which no suspicion wrongs;
     And all the blandishments distill'd
       From all my songs.

     My spirit, whose essay
       Flies fearless, wild, and free,
     And hath, and seeks, to guide its way
       No star but thee.

     No pensive, dreamy Muse,
       Who, though all else should smile,
     Oft as thou weep'st, with thee would choose,
       To weep the while.

     Oh, sweetest mine! this gift
       Receive;â€"'tis throe alone;â€"
     My heart, of which there's nothing left
       When Love is gone!

     Fraser's Magazine.

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TO ALBERT DÃœRER by Victor Hugo
     ("Dans les vieilles forêts.")

     {X., April 20, 1837.}
     Through ancient forestsâ€"where like flowing tide
     The rising sap shoots vigor far and wide,
     Mounting the column of the alder dark
     And silv'ring o'er the birch's shining barkâ€"
     Hast thou not often, Albert Dürer, strayed
     Pond'ring, awe-strickenâ€"through the half-lit glade,
     Pallid and tremblingâ€"glancing not behind
     From mystic fear that did thy senses bind,
     Yet made thee hasten with unsteady pace?
     Oh, Master grave! whose musings lone we trace
     Throughout thy works we look on reverently.
     Amidst the gloomy umbrage thy mind's eye
     Saw clearly, 'mong the shadows soft yet deep,
     The web-toed faun, and Pan the green-eyed peep,
     Who deck'd with flowers the cave where thou might'st rest,
     Leaf-laden dryads, too, in verdure drest.
     A strange weird world such forest was to thee,
     Where mingled truth and dreams in mystery;
     There leaned old ruminating pines, and there
     The giant elms, whose boughs deformed and bare
     A hundred rough and crooked elbows made;
     And in this sombre group the wind had swayed,
     Nor lifeâ€"nor deathâ€"but life in death seemed found.
     The cresses drinkâ€"the water flowsâ€"and round
     Upon the slopes the mountain rowans meet,
     And 'neath the brushwood plant their gnarled feet,
     Intwining slowly where the creepers twine.
     There, too, the lakes as mirrors brightly shine,
     And show the swan-necked flowers, each line by line.
     Chimeras roused take stranger shapes for thee,
     The glittering scales of mailèd throat we see,
     And claws tight pressed on huge old knotted tree;
     While from a cavern dim the bright eyes glare.
     Oh, vegetation! Spirit! Do we dare
     Question of matter, and of forces found
     'Neath a rude skin-in living verdure bound.
     Oh, Masterâ€"I, like thee, have wandered oft
     Where mighty trees made arches high aloft,
     But ever with a consciousness of strife,
     A surging struggle of the inner life.
     Ever the trembling of the grass I say,
     And the boughs rocking as the breezes play,
     Have stirred deep thoughts in a bewild'ring way.
     Oh, God! alone Great Witness of all deeds,
     Of thoughts and acts, and all our human needs,
     God only knows how often in such scenes
     Of savage beauty under leafy screens,
     I've felt the mighty oaks had spirit dowerâ€"
     Like me knew mirth and sorrowâ€"sentient power,
     And whisp'ring each to each in twilight dim,
     Had hearts that beatâ€"and owned a soul from Him!

     MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND

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THE BLINDED BOURBONS by Victor Hugo
     ("Qui leur eût dit l'austère destineé?")

     {II. v., November, 1836.}
     Who then, to them{1} had told the Future's story?
     Or said that France, low bowed before their glory,
         One day would mindful be
     Of them and of their mournful fate no more,
     Than of the wrecks its waters have swept o'er
         The unremembering sea?

     That their old Tuileries should see the fall
     Of blazons from its high heraldic hall,
         Dismantled, crumbling, prone;{2}
     Or that, o'er yon dark Louvre's architrave{3}
     A Corsican, as yet unborn, should grave
         An eagle, then unknown?

     That gay St. Cloud another lord awaited,
     Or that in scenes Le Nôtre's art created
         For princely sport and ease,
     Crimean steeds, trampling the velvet glade,
     Should browse the bark beneath the stately shade
         Of the great Louis' trees?

     Fraser's Magazine.

     {Footnote 1: The young princes, afterwards Louis XVIII. and Charles X.}

     {Footnote 2: The Tuileries, several times stormed by mobs, was so
     irreparably injured by the Communists that, in 1882, the Paris Town
     Council decided that the ruins should be cleared away.}

     {Footnote 3: After the Eagle and the Bee superseded the Lily-flowers,
     the Third Napoleon's initial "N" flourished for two decades, but has
     been excised or plastered over, the words "National Property" or
     "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity" being cut in the stone profusely.}

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THE POET TO HIS WIFE by Victor Hugo
     ("À toi, toujours à toi.")

     {XXXIX., 1823}
         To thee, all time to thee,
         My lyre a voice shall be!
         Above all earthly fashion,
           Above mere mundane rage,
         Your mind made it my passion
           To write for noblest stage.

     Whoe'er you be, send blessings to herâ€"she
     Was sister of my soul immortal, free!
     My pride, my hope, my shelter, my resource,
     When green hoped not to gray to run its course;
     She was enthronèd Virtue under heaven's dome,
     My idol in the shrine of curtained home.

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ROSES AND BUTTERFLIES by Victor Hugo
     ("Roses et Papillons.")

     {XXVII., Dec. 7, 1834.}
     The grave receives us all:
       Ye butterflies and roses gay and sweet
     Why do ye linger, say?
       Will ye not dwell together as is meet?
     Somewhere high in the air
       Would thy wing seek a home 'mid sunny skies,
     In mead or mossy dellâ€"
       If there thy odors longest, sweetest rise.

     Have where ye will your dwelling,
       Or breath or tint whose praise we sing;
     Butterfly shining bright,
       Full-blown or bursting rosebud, flow'r or wing.
     Dwell together ye fair,
       'Tis a boon to the loveliest given;
     Perchance ye then may choose your home
       On the earth or in heaven.

     W.C. WESTBROOK
     A SIMILE.

     ("Soyez comme l'oiseau.")

     {XXXIII. vi.}
     Thou art like the bird
       That alights and sings
     Though the frail spray bendsâ€"
       For he knows he has wings.

     FANNY KEMBLE (BUTLER)

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MORE STRONG THAN TIME by Victor Hugo
     ("Puisque j'ai mis ma lèvre à ta coupe.")

     {XXV., Jan. 1, 1835.}
     Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
       Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
     Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
       And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;

     Since it was given to me to hear one happy while,
       The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
     Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
       Your lips upon my lips, and your gaze upon my eyes;

     Since I have known upon my forehead glance and gleam,
       A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
     Since I have felt the fall upon my lifetime's stream,
        Of one rose-petal plucked from the roses of your days;

     I now am bold to say to the swift-changing hours,
       Passâ€"pass upon your way, for I grow never old.
     Flee to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
       One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.

     Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
       The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet.
     My heart has far more fire than you have frost to chill,
       My soul more love than you can make my love forget.

     A. LANG.

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Bible Reflection: Do you believe that Jesus is coming again?

Joel 2 A Faithful Version, Old Testament

 1  Blow the ram's horn in Zion, and sound an alarm in My holy mountain!" Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day of the LORD comes, for it is near at handâ€"

 2  A day of darkness and of gloominess, a day of clouds and of thick darkness. As the morning is spread across the mountains, so comes a great people and a mighty people; there has never been the like, nor shall there ever be again, even to the years of many generations.

 3  A fire devours before them, and behind them a flame burns. The land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind them a desolate wildernessâ€"and nothing shall escape them.

 4  Their appearance is as the appearance of horses; and as war horses, so they run.

 5  They shall leap with the noise of chariots on the tops of mountains, with the noise of a flame of fire that devours the stubble, like a mighty people set in battle array.

 6  In their presence the people shall greatly tremble; all faces shall grow pale.

 7  They shall run like mighty men. They shall climb the wall like men of war, and they shall march each one in his path, and they shall not break their ranks.

 8  And each one shall not crowd another; they go every one in his own path. And when they fall upon the sword, they shall not be wounded.

 9  They shall run to and fro in the city; they shall run upon the wall; they shall climb up upon the houses; they shall enter in at the windows like a thief.

 10  The earth shall quake before them; the heavens shall tremble. The sun and the moon shall grow dark, and the stars shall withdraw their shining.

 11  And the LORD shall utter His voice before His army; for His camp is exceedingly great; for powerful is He who executes His Word, for the day of the LORD is great and very terrible; and who can endure it?

 12  "Therefore even now," says the LORD, "turn to Me with all your heart, and with fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning.

 13  Yes, rend your heart and not your garments, and return to the LORD your God: for He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness, and He repents of the evil.

 14  Who knows if He will return and repent and leave a blessing behind Himâ€"a grain offering and a drink offering unto the LORD your God?"

 15  Blow a ram's horn in Zion, sanctify a fast, call a solemn assembly.

 16  Gather the people, sanctify the congregation, assemble the elders, gather the children and those who suck the breasts. Let the bridegroom go forth out of his chamber, and the bride out of her room.

 17  Let the priests, the ministers of the LORD, weep between the porch and the altar, and let them say, "Spare Your people, O LORD, and give not Your inheritance to shame, that the nations should rule over them. Why should they say among the people, 'Where is their God?' ”

 18  Then the LORD will be jealous for His land and pity His people.

 19  Yea, the LORD will answer and say to His people, "Behold, I will send you grain, and wine, and oil, and you shall be satisfied with them. And I will no more make you a curse among the nations.

 20  But I will remove the northern army far off from you, and will drive him into a barren and deserted land, with his face toward the eastern sea and his back toward the western sea. And his stench shall come up, and his rotten odor shall come up because he has magnified his deeds.

 21  Fear not, O land; be glad and rejoice, for the LORD will magnify his deeds.

 22  Do not be afraid, beasts of the field; for the pastures of the wilderness grow green; for the tree bears its fruit, and the fig tree and the vine yield their strength.

 23  Be glad then, children of Zion, and rejoice in the LORD your God, for He has given you the former rain in just measure, and He will cause the rain to come down for you, the former rain and the latter rain as before.

 24  And the threshing floors shall be full of wheat, and the vats shall overflow with wine and oil.

 25  And I will restore to you the years which the swarming locust has eaten, the locust larvae, and the destroying locust, and the cutting locust, My great army which I sent among you.

 26  And you shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied, and praise the name of the LORD your God, who has dealt with you wondrously; and My people shall never again be ashamed.

 27  And you shall know that I am in the midst of Israel, and that I am the LORD your God, and there is none else; and My people shall never again be ashamed.

 28  And afterward it shall be that I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh. And your sons and your daughters shall prophesy; your old men shall dream dreams; your young men shall see visions.

 29  And also I will pour out My Spirit upon the servants and upon the handmaids in those days.

 30  And I will show wonders in the heavens and in the earthâ€"blood and fire and pillars of smoke.

 31  The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the coming of the great and awesome day of the LORD.

 32  And it shall be that whoever shall call on the name of the LORD shall be saved; for salvation shall be in Mount Zion and in Jerusalem, as the LORD has said, and among the remnant whom the LORD shall call."



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Joel 3
 1  "For, behold, in those days and in that timeâ€"when I will bring back the exiles of Judah and Jerusalemâ€"

 2  I will also gather all nations and will bring them down into the valley of Jehoshaphat. And I will fight with them there for My people and for My inheritance Israel, whom they have scattered among the nations, and divided My land.

 3  And they have cast lots for My people, and have given a boy for a prostitute, and sold a girl for wine, so that they might drink.

 4  Yea, and what have you to do with Me, O Tyre and Sidon, and all the borders of Philistia? Will you give Me a reward? And if you reward Me, swiftly and speedily I will return your reward upon your own head,

 5  Because you have taken My silver and My gold, and have carried My good treasures into your temples.

 6  You have also sold the children of Judah and the children of Jerusalem to the children of the Greeks, that you might remove them far from their border.

 7  Behold, I will raise them up out of the place where you have sold them, and will return your reward upon your own head.

 8  And I will sell your sons and your daughters into the hand of the children of Judah, and they shall sell them to the Sabeans, to a people far off; for the LORD has spoken it."

 9  Proclaim this among the nations, "Prepare for war!" Wake up the mighty men, let all the men of war draw near; let them come up.

 10  Beat your plowshares into swords, and your pruning hooks into spears. Let the weak say, "I am strong."

 11  Gather yourselves and come, all you nations, and gather yourselves together all around; cause Your mighty ones to come down there, O LORD.

 12  Let the nations be awakened and come up to the valley of Jehoshaphat; for there I will sit to judge all the nations all around.

 13  Put in the sickle, for the harvest is ripe. Come, come down; for the press is full; the vats overflowâ€"for their wickedness is great.

 14  Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision; for the day of the LORD is near in the valley of decision!

 15  The sun and the moon shall be darkened, and the stars shall withdraw their shining.

 16  The LORD shall also roar out of Zion and utter His voice from Jerusalem. And the heavens and the earth shall shake. But the LORD will be the hope of His people and the strength of the children of Israel.

 17  "Then you shall know that I am the LORD your God dwelling in Zion, My holy mountain. And Jerusalem shall be a holy thing, and no stranger shall pass through her any more.

 18  And it shall be, in that day the mountains shall drop down new wine, and the hills shall flow with milk, and all the rivers of Judah shall flow with waters; and a fountain shall come forth from the house of the LORD, and shall water the valley of Acacias.

 19  Egypt shall be a desolation, and Edom shall be a desolate wilderness, from violence done against the children of Judah, whose innocent blood they poured out in their land.

 20  But Judah will dwell forever, and Jerusalem from generation to generation.

 21  And I will cleanse their blood which I did not cleanse; and the LORD is dwelling in Zion."



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Obadiah 1
 1  The vision of Obadiah. This is what the Lord has said about Edom: We have had word from the Lord, and a representative has been sent among the nations, saying, Up! and let us make war against her.

 2  See, I have made you small among the nations: you are much looked down on.

 3  You have been tricked by the pride of your heart, O you whose living-place is in the cracks of the rock, whose house is high up; who has said in his heart, Who will make me come down to earth?

 4  Though you go up on high like an eagle, though your house is placed among the stars, I will make you come down from there, says the Lord.

 5  If thieves came, attacking you by night, (how are you cut off!) would they not go on taking till they had enough? if men came cutting your grapes would they take them all?

 6  How are the things of Esau searched out! how are his secret stores looked for!

 7  All the men who were united with you have been false to you, driving you out to the edge of the land: the men who were at peace with you have overcome you; they have taken their heritage in your place.

 8  Will I not, in that day, says the Lord, take away the wise men out of Edom, and wisdom out of the mountain of Esau?

 9  And your men of war, O Teman, will be overcome with fear, so that every one of them may be cut off from the mountain of Esau.

 10  Because you were the cause of violent death and because of your cruel behaviour to your brother Jacob, you will be covered with shame and will be cut off for ever.

 11  Because you were there watching when men from other lands took away his goods, and strange men came into his doors, and put the fate of Jerusalem to the decision of chance; you were like one of them.

 12  Do not see with pleasure your brother's evil day, the day of his fate, and do not be glad over the children of Judah on the day of their destruction, or make wide your mouth on the day of trouble.

 13  Do not go into the doors of my people on the day of their downfall; do not be looking on their trouble with pleasure on the day of their downfall, or put your hands on their goods on the day of their downfall.

 14  And do not take your place at the cross-roads, cutting off those of his people who get away; and do not give up to their haters those who are still there in the day of trouble.

 15  For the day of the Lord is coming quickly on all nations: as you have done it will be done to you; the reward of your acts will come on your head.

 16  For as you have been drinking on my holy mountain, so will all the nations go on drinking without end; they will go on drinking and the wine will go down their throats, and they will be as if they had never been.

 17  But in Mount Zion some will be kept safe, and it will be holy; and the children of Jacob will take their heritage.

 18  And the children of Jacob will be a fire and those of Joseph a flame, and the children of Esau dry stems of grass, burned up by them till all is gone: and there will be no people living in Esau; for the Lord has said it.

 19  And they will take the South, and the lowland, and the country of Ephraim, and Gilead, as their heritage.

 20  And those of the children of Israel who were the first to be taken away as prisoners, will have their heritage among the Canaanites as far as Zarephath; and those who were taken away from Jerusalem, who are in Sepharad, will have the towns of the South.

 21  And those who have been kept safe will come up from Mount Zion to be judges of the mountain of Esau; and the kingdom will be the Lord's.



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Bible End Times: Living in the Last Days

Bohol

Boholympics at CPG Sports Complex Tagbilaran

REP. FRANCISCO GAMBOA DATOL, JR.
SENIOR CITIZEN Party-list
Chair, Special Committee on Senior Citizens - 09177292437
BREAKING NEWS: PH COVID-19 cases exceeded 100,000

WITH SURGE IN NEW COVID-19 CASES, BETTER PREVENTIVE STEPS NEEDED

[Rep. Datol wants Manila example on face masks plus face shields followed by all areas still under GCQ or worse]

Dahil sa nakakagimbal na pagbugso ng maraming bagong kaso ng tinamaan ng COVID-19, ibayong pag-iingat at disiplina ang kailangan ngayon lalo na para sa seniors, PWDs, mga buntis, mga may sakit sa puso, diabetes, kidneys, at HIV-AIDS.

Dumarami ang mga bagong kaso dahil nahahawa ang mga nagtatrabaho habang nasa opisina, pabrika, o sa biyahe tuwing papunta o pauwi sila.

Nakikiusap na rin ako ngayon sa DSWD na ihanda na ang distribusyon ng seniors socialized pension na balanse para sa buong taon ng 2020 na hindi pa ibinigay from January to June 2020.

Agosto na po ngayon kaya marapat lamang na ihanda na nila ang balanse ng socialized pension for seniors.

TWO METERS PHYSICAL DISTANCING

Sa mga lugar na nasa GCQ pa rin, gawin na sana dapat ng IATF na mandatory ang pagsuot ng face mask kasama ang face shield.

Ipatupad na rin ng IATF ang two meters na minimum physical distancing, imbis na one meter lang sa mga palengke, botika, bakery, malls, at iba pang pampublikong lugar.

Tulad ng ginagawa na ngayon sa City of Manila, required na dapat sa lahat na GCQ areas ang face shield bukod pa sa face mask para sa lahat ng tao na lumalabas ng bahay o nasa trabaho.

One meter is a short distance for any sneeze or cough loaded with coronavirus. Dagdag proteksyon ito para sa ating mga mamamayan dahil ang one meter ay maikling distansya na kapag may taong umubo o bumahing.

OTHER MEASURES

Iwasan ang close contact sa mga lumalabas ng bahay para magtrabaho dahil maaari nilang madala sa loob ng bahay ang coronavirus. Kung maaari sana, maligo at magpalit ng damit bago pumasok sa bahay ang mga nagmula sa trabaho.

Para sa mga bahay na siksikan o maliit ang espasyo, madalas na paghuhugas ng mga kamay, pagsuot ng face masks at face shields, ang araw-araw na paliligo ang mabisang pag-iwas sa sakit.

Mayors and governors should be supplying their constituents with free and steady supplies of face masks, face shields, and personal hygiene items, lalo na iyong mga mahihirap dahil nga sa wala silang pambili ng mga iyan.

This early, the mayors and governors should already be drawing up plans for how their constituents will be systemically vaccinated in an orderly and safe way.

VACCINATION PLAN

I believe vaccination tents should be set up per street, instead of done by house-to-house. Street by street vaccination can be done safely and well. Pero para sa seniors, dapat puntahan mismo sa bahay para sa bahay bakunahan.

The open air on streets and open fields would be added protection against COVID-19 because it is not a closed or enclosed or semi-enclosed space where contaminated air can circulate.

Hindi na dapat maulit ang kalbaryong dinaanan ng seniors at iba pa nating mamamayan noong unang yugto ng distribution ng SAP cash grants. Hanggang ngayon nga, hindi pa tapos ang DSWD sa SAP distribution lampas tatlong buwan mula ang unang ayudang pinansyal. (END)

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WASHINGTON (Reuters) - The top Democrats in Congress are not close to a deal with the White House to pump more money into the U.S. economy to ease the coronavirus’ heavy toll, both sides said on Saturday, after an essential lifeline for millions of unemployed Americans expired.

FILE PHOTO: Police officers wearing face masks guard the U.S. Capitol Building in Washington, U.S., May 14, 2020. REUTERS/Erin Scott

“This was the longest meeting we had and it was more productive than the other meetings,” Democratic Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer said. “There are many issues that are still very much outstanding.”

Schumer made the remarks after he and U.S. House of Representatives Speaker Nancy Pelosi concluded a three-hour meeting with Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin and White House Chief of Staff Mark Meadows at the Capitol on Saturday.

Mnuchin told reporters the talks were constructive but had reached an “impasse” over whether to come to a short-term agreement or a more comprehensive deal.

The officials will meet again on Monday, after their staff meet on Sunday, Schumer said.

Congress for the past several months has been unable to reach an accord for a next round of economic relief from a pandemic that has killed more than 150,000 Americans and triggered the sharpest economic collapse since the Great Depression.

In a meeting late Thursday between top White House officials and congressional Democratic leaders, negotiations focused on an extension of the $600 per week in federal unemployment benefits that Americans who lost jobs due to the pandemic have been receiving in addition to state jobless payments.

Pelosi said on Friday that she rejected an offer by Republican President Donald Trump’s administration to continue the $600 payments for one more week.

Congressional Democrats want to see the weekly payments extended into next year as part of a broader package.

Senate Republicans have said the $600 payments are an incentive to stay home rather than return to work. Their proposal would provide a much-reduced weekly payment of $200 until states create a system to provide a 70% wage replacement for laid-off workers.

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SWEET CHARMER by Victor Hugo
     ("L'aube naît et ta porte est close.")

     {XXIII., February, 18â€".}
     Though heaven's gate of light uncloses,
       Thou stirr'st notâ€"thou'rt laid to rest,
     Waking are thy sister roses,
       One only dreamest on thy breast.
             Hear me, sweet dreamer!
               Tell me all thy fears,
             Trembling in song,
               But to break in tears.

     Lo! to greet thee, spirits pressing,
       Soft music brings the gentle dove,
     And fair light falleth like a blessing,
       While my poor heart can bring thee only love.
     Worship thee, angels love thee, sweet woman?
       Yes; for that love perfects my soul.
     None the less of heaven that my heart is human,
       Blent in one exquisite, harmonious whole.

     H.B. FARNIE.

     {Footnote 1: Set to music by Sir Arthur Sullivan.}

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SONG OF LOVE by Victor Hugo
     ("S'il est un charmant gazon.")

     {XXII, Feb. 18, 1834.}
     If there be a velvet sward
       By dewdrops pearly drest,
     Where through all seasons fairies guard
       Flowers by bees carest,
     Where one may gather, day and night,
     Roses, honeysuckle, lily white,
     I fain would make of it a site
       For thy foot to rest.

     If there be a loving heart
       Where Honor rules the breast,
     Loyal and true in every part,
       That changes ne'er molest,
     Eager to run its noble race,
     Intent to do some work of grace,
     I fain would make of it a place
       For thy brow to rest.

     And if there be of love a dream
       Rose-scented as the west,
     Which shows, each time it comes, a gleam,â€"
       A something sweet and blest,â€"
     A dream of which heaven is the pole,
     A dream that mingles soul and soul,
     I fain of it would make the goal
       Where thy mind should rest.

     TORU DUTT.


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MORNING by Victor Hugo
     ("L'aurore s'allume.")

     {XX. a, December, 1834.}
     Morning glances hither,
       Now the shade is past;
     Dream and fog fly thither
       Where Night goes at last;
     Open eyes and roses
     As the darkness closes;
     And the sound that grows is
       Nature walking fast.

     Murmuring all and singing,
       Hark! the news is stirred,
     Roof and creepers clinging,
       Smoke and nest of bird;
     Winds to oak-trees bear it,
     Streams and fountains hear it,
     Every breath and spirit
       As a voice is heard.

     All takes up its story,
       Child resumes his play,
     Hearth its ruddy glory,
       Lute its lifted lay.
     Wild or out of senses,
     Through the world immense is
     Sound as each commences
       Schemes of yesterday.

     W.M. HARDINGE.

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INSULT NOT THE FALLEN by Victor Hugo
     ("Oh! n'insultez jamais une femme qui tombe.")

     {XIV., Sept. 6, 1835.}
     I tell you, hush! no word of sneering scornâ€"
       True, fallen; but God knows how deep her sorrow.
     Poor girl! too many like her only born
       To love one dayâ€"to sinâ€"and die the morrow.
     What know you of her struggles or her grief?
       Or what wild storms of want and woe and pain
     Tore down her soul from honor? As a leaf
       From autumn branches, or a drop of rain
     That hung in frailest splendor from a boughâ€"
       Bright, glistening in the sunlight of God's dayâ€"
     So had she clung to virtue once. But nowâ€"
       See Heaven's clear pearl polluted with earth's clay!
     The sin is yoursâ€"with your accursed goldâ€"
       Man's wealth is masterâ€"woman's soul the slave!
     Some purest water still the mire may hold.
       Is there no hope for herâ€"no power to save?
     Yea, once again to draw up from the clay
       The fallen raindrop, till it shine above,
     Or save a fallen soul, needs but one ray
       Of Heaven's sunshine, or of human love.

     W.C.K. WILDE.

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POLAND by Victor Hugo
     ("Seule au pied de la tour.")

     {IX., September, 1833.}
     Alone, beneath the tower whence thunder forth
     The mandates of the Tyrant of the North,
     Poland's sad genius kneels, absorbed in tears,
     Bound, vanquished, pallid with her fearsâ€"
     Alas! the crucifix is all that's left
     To her, of freedom and her sons bereft;
     And on her royal robe foul marks are seen
     Where Russian hectors' scornful feet have been.
     Anon she hears the clank of murd'rous arms,â€"
     The swordsmen come once more to spread alarms!
     And while she weeps against the prison walls,
     And waves her bleeding arm until it falls,
     To France she hopeless turns her glazing eyes,
     And sues her sister's succor ere she dies.

     G.W.M. REYNOLDS.


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TO CANARIS, THE GREEK PATRIOT by Victor Hugo
     ("Canaris! nous t'avons oublié.")

     {VIII., October, 1832.}
     O Canaris! O Canaris! the poet's song
     Has blameful left untold thy deeds too long!
     But when the tragic actor's part is done,
     When clamor ceases, and the fights are won,
     When heroes realize what Fate decreed,
     When chieftains mark no more which thousands bleed;
     When they have shone, as clouded or as bright,
     As fitful meteor in the heaven at night,
     And when the sycophant no more proclaims
     To gaping crowds the glory of their names,â€"
     'Tis then the mem'ries of warriors die,
     And fallâ€"alas!â€"into obscurity,
     Until the poet, in whose verse alone
     Exists a worldâ€"can make their actions known,
     And in eternal epic measures, show
     They are not yet forgotten here below.
     And yet by us neglected! glory gloomed,
     Thy name seems sealed apart, entombed,
     Although our shouts to pigmies riseâ€"no cries
     To mark thy presence echo to the skies;
     Farewell to Grecian heroesâ€"silent is the lute,
     And sets your sun without one Memnon bruit?

     There was a time men gave no peace
     To cheers for Athens, Bozzaris, Leonidas, and Greece!
     And Canaris' more-worshipped name was found
     On ev'ry lip, in ev'ry heart around.
     But now is changed the scene! On hist'ry's page
     Are writ o'er thine deeds of another age,
     And thine are not remembered.â€"Greece, farewell!
     The world no more thine heroes' deeds will tell.

     Not that this matters to a man like thee!
     To whom is left the dark blue open sea,
     Thy gallant bark, that o'er the water flies,
     And the bright planet guiding in clear skies;
     All these remain, with accident and strife,
     Hope, and the pleasures of a roving life,
     Boon Nature's fairest prospectsâ€"land and mainâ€"
     The noisy starting, glad return again;
     The pride of freeman on a bounding deck
     Which mocks at dangers and despises wreck,
     And e'en if lightning-pinions cleave the sea,
     'Tis all replete with joyousness to thee!

     Yes, these remain! blue sky and ocean blue,
     Thine eagles with one sweep beyond the viewâ€"
     The sun in golden beauty ever pure,
     The distance where rich warmth doth aye endureâ€"
     Thy language so mellifluously bland,
     Mixed with sweet idioms from Italia's strand,
     As Baya's streams to Samos' waters glide
     And with them mingle in one placid tide.

     Yes, these remain, and, Canaris! thy armsâ€"
     The sculptured sabre, faithful in alarmsâ€"
     The broidered garb, the yataghan, the vest
     Expressive of thy rank, to thee still rest!
     And when thy vessel o'er the foaming sound
     Is proud past storied coasts to blithely bound,
     At once the point of beauty may restore
     Smiles to thy lip, and smoothe thy brow once more.

     G.W.M. REYNOLDS.

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PRAYER FOR FRANCE by Victor Hugo
     ("O Dieu, si vous avez la France.")

     {VII., August, 1832.}
     O God! if France be still thy guardian care,
     Oh! spare these mercenary combats, spare!
     The thrones that now are reared but to be broke;
     The rights we render, and anon revoke;
     The muddy stream of laws, ideas, needs,
     Flooding our social life as it proceeds;
     Opposing tribunes, even when seeming oneâ€"
     Soft, yielding plaster put in place of stone;
     Wave chasing wave in endless ebb and flow;
     War, darker still and deeper in its woe;
     One party fall'n, successor scarce preludes,
     Than, straight, new views their furious feuds;
     The great man's pressure on the poor for gold,
     Rumors uncertain, conflicts, crimes untold;
     Dark systems hatched in secret and in fear,
     Telling of hate and strife to every ear,
     That even to midnight sleep no peace is given,
     For murd'rous cannon through our streets are driven.

     J.S. MACRAE.


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OUTSIDE THE BALL-ROOM by Victor Hugo
     ("Ainsi l'Hôtel de Ville illumine.")

     {VI., May, 1833.}
     Behold the ball-room flashing on the sight,
     From step to cornice one grand glare of light;
     The noise of mirth and revelry resounds,
     Like fairy melody on haunted grounds.
     But who demands this profuse, wanton glee,
     These shouts prolonged and wild festivityâ€"
     Not sure our cityâ€"web, more woe than bliss,
     In any hour, requiring aught but this!

     Deaf is the ear of all that jewelled crowd
     To sorrow's sob, although its call be loud.
     Better than waste long nights in idle show,
     To help the indigent and raise the lowâ€"
     To train the wicked to forsake his way,
     And find th' industrious work from day to day!
     Better to charity those hours afford,
     Which now are wasted at the festal board!

     And ye, O high-born beauties! in whose soul
     Virtue resides, and Vice has no control;
     Ye whom prosperity forbids to sin,
     So fair withoutâ€"so chaste, so pure withinâ€"
     Whose honor Want ne'er threatened to betray,
     Whose eyes are joyous, and whose heart is gay;
     Around whose modesty a hundred arms,
     Aided by pride, protect a thousand charms;
     For you this ball is pregnant with delight;
     As glitt'ring planets cheer the gloomy night:â€"
     But, O, ye wist not, while your souls are glad,
     How millions wander, homeless, sick and sad!
     Hazard has placed you in a happy sphere,
     And like your own to you all lots appear;
     For blinded by the sun of bliss your eyes
     Can see no dark horizon to the skies.

     Such is the chance of life! Each gallant thane,
     Prince, peer, and noble, follow in your train;â€"
     They praise your loveliness, and in your ear
     They whisper pleasing things, but insincere;
     Thus, as the moths enamoured of the light,
     Ye seek these realms of revelry each night.
     But as ye travel thither, did ye know
     What wretches walk the streets through which you go.
     Sisters, whose gewgaws glitter in the glare
     Of your great lustre, all expectant there,
     Watching the passing crowd with avid eye,
     Till one their love, or lust, or shame may buy;
     Or, with commingling jealousy and rage,
     They mark the progress of your equipage;
     And their deceitful life essays the while
     To mask their woe beneath a sickly smile!

     G.W.M. REYNOLDS.


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INVOCATION by Victor Hugo
     {V, vi., August, 1832.}
     Say, Lord! for Thou alone canst tell
     Where lurks the good invisible
     Amid the depths of discord's seaâ€"
     That seem, alas! so dark to me!
     Oppressive to a mighty state,
     Contentions, feuds, the people's hateâ€"
     But who dare question that which fate
         Has ordered to have been?
     Haply the earthquake may unfold
     The resting-place of purest gold,
     And haply surges up have rolled
         The pearls that were unseen!

     G.W.M. REYNOLDS.

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THE EAGLET MOURNED by Victor Hugo
     ("Encore si ce banni n'eût rien aimé sur terre.")

     {V, iv., August, 1832.}
     Too hard Napoleon's fate! if, lone,
     No being he had loved, no single one,
         Less dark that doom had been.
     But with the heart of might doth ever dwell
     The heart of love! and in his island cell
         Two things there wereâ€"I ween.

     Two thingsâ€"a portrait and a map there wereâ€"
     Here hung the pictured world, an infant there:
     That framed his genius, this enshrined his love.
     And as at eve he glanced round th' alcove,
     Where jailers watched his very thoughts to spy,
     What mused he thenâ€"what dream of years gone by
     Stirred 'neath that discrowned brow, and fired that glistening eye?

     'Twas not the steps of that heroic tale
     That from Arcola marched to Montmirail
         On Glory's red degrees;
     Nor Cairo-pashas' steel-devouring steeds,
     Nor the tall shadows of the Pyramidsâ€"
         Ah! Twas not always these;

     'Twas not the bursting shell, the iron sleet,
     The whirlwind rush of battle 'neath his feet,
         Through twice ten years ago,
     When at his beck, upon that sea of steel
     Were launched the rustling bannersâ€"there to reel
         Like masts when tempests blow.

     'Twas not Madrid, nor Kremlin of the Czar,
     Nor Pharos on Old Egypt's coast afar,
     Nor shrill réveillé's camp-awakening sound,
     Nor bivouac couch'd its starry fires around,
     Crested dragoons, grim, veteran grenadiers,
     Nor the red lancers 'mid their wood of spears
     Blazing like baleful poppies 'mong the golden ears.

     Noâ€"'twas an infant's image, fresh and fair,
     With rosy mouth half oped, as slumbering there.
         It lay beneath the smile,
     Of her whose breast, soft-bending o'er its sleep,
     Lingering upon that little lip doth keep
         One pendent drop the while.

     Then, his sad head upon his hands inclined,
     He wept; that father-heart all unconfined,
         Outpoured in love alone.
     My blessing on thy clay-cold head, poor child.
     Sole being for whose sake his thoughts, beguiled,
         Forgot the world's lost throne.

     Fraser's Magazine


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A city in pandemic by Pexels

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The Lighthouse by Pexels

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View from the Window by Unsplash

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COVID COMMUNITY TRANSMISSION HITS TALIBON AND BIEN UNIDO

Maayong gabie, Bohol.

Adunay duha ka bag-ong kaso nga natala dinhi sa atong lalawigan. Ang usa taga Talibon samtang laing usa taga Bien Unido. Walay travel history ang duha, dili LSI o OFW ug dili usab produkto sa contact tracing.  Gi-classify nato kini as Community Transmission. Mao kini ang report nga atong nadawat gikan sa DOH.

Ang taga Talibon, gi-admit sa Garcia Memorial Provincial Hospital niadtong July 27, 2020 ug gi-isolate na sukad sa admission hangtod karon. Nahuman na pud ang contact tracing sa kaso ug ang tanang naka-close contact sa pasyente naka-isolate na usab.

Ang taga Bien Unido, nanganak didto sa Don Emilio Del Valle Memorial Hospital sa Ubay niadtong July 27, 2020. Gihilantan siya pagka July 28, mao nga gikuhaan ug swab samples. Padayon nga gi-isolate ang pasyente ug ang tanang naka-close contact sa pasyente, gi-isolate na ug nahuman na usab ang contact tracing sa kaso.

Mga kaigsuonang Bol-anon, karon nga nagkadaghan ang atong community transmission kinahanglan gyud ta magbantay. Pagpuyo sa balay kung walay lakwon. Disiplina sa kaugalingon ang importante. Sundon nato ang minimum health standards. Ayaw kalimot pagsul-ob sa face mask, atong i-observe ang social distancing ug magbaton ta kanunay sa kalimpyo.

Sa tanang mga Mayor,  mga Chief of Police, mga Kapitanes ug tanang Brgy. Officials, striktohon nato ang pagpatuman sa atong mga protocols ug polisiya.

Daghang salamat. God save Bohol.

----- GOV. ART YAP-----

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THE MORROW OF GRANDEUR by Victor Hugo
     ("Non, l'avenir n'est à personne!")

     {V. ii., August, 1832.}
     Sire, beware, the future's range
       Is of God alone the power,
     Naught below but augurs change,
       E'en with ev'ry passing hour.
     Future! mighty mystery!
     All the earthly goods that be,
     Fortune, glory, war's renown,
     King or kaiser's sparkling crown,
     Victory! with her burning wings,
     Proud ambition's covetings,â€"
       These may our grasp no more detain
     Than the free bird who doth alight
     Upon our roof, and takes its flight
       High into air again.

     Nor smile, nor tear, nor haughtiest lord's command,
     Avails t' unclasp the cold and closèd hand.
       Thy voice to disenthrall,
     Dumb phantom, shadow ever at our side!
     Veiled spectre, journeying with us stride for stride,
       Whom men "To-morrow" call.

     Oh, to-morrow! who may dare
       Its realities to scan?
     God to-morrow brings to bear
       What to-day is sown by man.
     'Tis the lightning in its shroud,
     'Tis the star-concealing cloud,
     Traitor, 'tis his purpose showing,
     Engine, lofty tow'rs o'erthrowing,
     Wand'ring star, its region changing,
     "Lady of kingdoms," ever ranging.
       To-morrow! 'Tis the rude display
     Of the throne's framework, blank and cold,
     That, rich with velvet, bright with gold,
       Dazzles the eye to-day.

     To-morrow! 'tis the foaming war-horse falling;
     To-morrow! thy victorious march appalling,
       'Tis the red fires from Moscow's tow'rs that wave;
     'Tis thine Old Guard strewing the Belgian plain;
     'Tis the lone island in th' Atlantic main:
       To-morrow! 'tis the grave!

     Into capitals subdued
       Thou mayst ride with gallant rein,
     Cut the knots of civil feud
       With the trenchant steel in twain;
     With thine edicts barricade
     Haughty Thames' o'er-freighted trade;
     Fickle Victory's self enthrall,
     Captive to thy trumpet call;
     Burst the stoutest gates asunder;
     Leave the names of brightest wonder,
       Pale and dim, behind thee far;
     And to exhaustless armies yield
     Thy glancing spur,â€"o'er Europe's field
       A glory-guiding star.

     God guards duration, if lends space to thee,
     Thou mayst o'er-range mundane immensity,
       Rise high as human head can rise sublime,
     Snatch Europe from the stamp of Charlemagne,
     Asia from Mahomet; but never gain
       Power o'er the Morrow from the Lord of Time!

     Fraser's Magazine.


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MARRIAGE AND FEASTS by Victor Hugo
     ("La salle est magnifique.")

     {IV. Aug. 23, 1839.}
       The hall is gay with limpid lustre brightâ€"
       The feast to pampered palate gives delightâ€"
       The sated guests pick at the spicy food,
       And drink profusely, for the cheer is good;
       And at that tableâ€"where the wise are fewâ€"
       Both sexes and all ages meet the view;
       The sturdy warrior with a thoughtful faceâ€"
       The am'rous youth, the maid replete with grace,
       The prattling infant, and the hoary hair
       Of second childhood's proselytesâ€"are there;â€"
       And the most gaudy in that spacious hall,
       Are e'er the young, or oldest of them all
       Helmet and banner, ornament and crest,
       The lion rampant, and the jewelled vest,
       The silver star that glitters fair and white,
       The arms that tell of many a nation's mightâ€"
       Heraldic blazonry, ancestral pride,
       And all mankind invents for pomp beside,
       The wingèd leopard, and the eagle wildâ€"
       All these encircle woman, chief and child;
       Shine on the carpet burying their feet,
       Adorn the dishes that contain their meat;
       And hang upon the drapery, which around
       Falls from the lofty ceiling to the ground,
       Till on the floor its waving fringe is spread,
       As the bird's wing may sweep the roses' bed.â€"

     Thus is the banquet ruled by Noise and Light,
     Since Light and Noise are foremost on the site.

       The chamber echoes to the joy of them
       Who throng around, each with his diademâ€"
       Each seated on proud throneâ€"but, lesson vain!
       Each sceptre holds its master with a chain!
       Thus hope of flight were futile from that hall,
       Where chiefest guest was most enslaved of all!
       The godlike-making draught that fires the soul
       The Loveâ€"sweet poison-honeyâ€"past control,
       (Formed of the sexual breathâ€"an idle name,
       Offspring of Fancy and a nervous frame)â€"
       Pleasure, mad daughter of the darksome Night,
       Whose languid eye flames when is fading lightâ€"
       The gallant chases where a man is borne
       By stalwart charger, to the sounding hornâ€"
       The sheeny silk, the bed of leaves of rose,
       Made more to soothe the sight than court repose;
       The mighty palaces that raise the sneer
       Of jealous mendicants and wretches nearâ€"
       The spacious parks, from which horizon blue
       Arches o'er alabaster statues new;
       Where Superstition still her walk will take,
       Unto soft music stealing o'er the lakeâ€"
       The innocent modesty by gems undoneâ€"
       The qualms of judges by small brib'ry wonâ€"
       The dread of children, trembling while they playâ€"
       The bliss of monarchs, potent in their swayâ€"
       The note of war struck by the culverin,
       That snakes its brazen neck through battle dinâ€"
       The military millipede
       That tramples out the guilty seedâ€"
       The capital all pleasure and delightâ€"
       And all that like a town or army chokes
       The gazer with foul dust or sulphur smokes.
       The budget, prize for which ten thousand bait
       A subtle hook, that ever, as they wait
       Catches a weed, and drags them to their fate,
       While gleamingly its golden scales still spreadâ€"
       Such were the meats by which these guests were fed.

       A hundred slaves for lazy master cared,
       And served each one with what was e'er prepared
       By him, who in a sombre vault below,
       Peppered the royal pig with peoples' woe,
       And grimly glad went laboring till lateâ€"
       The morose alchemist we know as Fate!
       That ev'ry guest might learn to suit his taste,
       Behind had Conscience, real or mock'ry, placed;
       Conscience a guide who every evil spies,
       But royal nurses early pluck out both his eyes!

       Oh! at the table there be all the great,
       Whose lives are bubbles that best joys inflate!
       Superb, magnificent of revelsâ€"doubt
       That sagest lose their heads in such a rout!
       In the long laughter, ceaseless roaming round,
       Joy, mirth and glee give out a maelström's sound;
       And the astonished gazer casts his care,
       Where ev'ry eyeball glistens in the flare.

       But oh! while yet the singing Hebes pour
       Forgetfulness of those without the doorâ€"
       At very hour when all are most in joy,
       And the hid orchestra annuls annoy,
       Woeâ€"woe! with jollity a-top the heights,
       With further tapers adding to the lights,
       And gleaming 'tween the curtains on the street,
       Where poor folks stareâ€"hark to the heavy feet!
       Some one smites roundly on the gilded grate,
       Some one below will be admitted straight,
       Some one, though not invited, who'll not wait!
       Close not the door! Your orders are vain breathâ€"
       That stranger enters to be known as Deathâ€"
       Or merely Exileâ€"clothed in alien guiseâ€"
       Death drags awayâ€"with his prey Exile flies!

       Death is that sight. He promenades the hall,
       And casts a gloomy shadow on them all,
       'Neath which they bend like willows soft,
       Ere seizing oneâ€"the dumbest monarch oft,
       And bears him to eternal heat and drouth,
       While still the toothsome morsel's in his mouth.

     G.W.M. REYNOLDS.

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THE ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS by Victor Hugo
     ("Quand longtemps a grondé la bouche du Vésuve.")

     {I. vii.}
       When huge Vesuvius in its torment long,
       Threatening has growled its cavernous jaws among,
       When its hot lava, like the bubbling wine,
       Foaming doth all its monstrous edge incarnadine,
       Then is alarm in Naples.

                                  With dismay,
       Wanton and wild her weeping thousands pour,
       Convulsive grasp the ground, its rage to stay,
       Implore the angry Mountâ€"in vain implore!
       For lo! a column tow'ring more and more,
     Of smoke and ashes from the burning crest
     Shoots like a vulture's neck reared from its airy nest.

       Sudden a flash, and from th' enormous den
       Th' eruption's lurid mass bursts forth amain,
       Bounding in frantic ecstasy. Ah! then
       Farewell to Grecian fount and Tuscan fane!
       Sails in the bay imbibe the purpling stain,
     The while the lava in profusion wide
     Flings o'er the mountain's neck its showery locks untied.

       It comesâ€"it comes! that lava deep and rich,
       That dower which fertilizes fields and fills
       New moles upon the waters, bay and beach.
       Broad sea and clustered isles, one terror thrills
       As roll the red inexorable rills;
     While Naples trembles in her palaces,
     More helpless than the leaves when tempests shake the trees.

       Prodigious chaos, streets in ashes lost,
         Dwellings devoured and vomited again.
       Roof against neighbor-roof, bewildered, tossed.
         The waters boiling and the burning plain;
     While clang the giant steeples as they reel,
     Unprompted, their own tocsin peal.

       Yet 'mid the wreck of cities, and the pride
       Of the green valleys and the isles laid low,
       The crash of walls, the tumult waste and wide,
       O'er sea and land; 'mid all this work of woe,
       Vesuvius still, though close its crater-glow,
     Forgetful sparesâ€"Heaven wills that it should spare,
     The lonely cell where kneels an aged priest in prayer.

     Fraser's Magazine.


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ANGEL OR DEMON by Victor Hugo
     ("Tu domines notre âge; ange ou démon, qu'importe!")

     {I. vii.}
       Angel or demon! thou,â€"whether of light
       The minister, or darknessâ€"still dost sway
       This age of ours; thine eagle's soaring flight
       Bears us, all breathless, after it away.
       The eye that from thy presence fain would stray,
       Shuns thee in vain; thy mighty shadow thrown
       Rests on all pictures of the living day,
       And on the threshold of our time alone,
     Dazzling, yet sombre, stands thy form, Napoleon!

       Thus, when the admiring stranger's steps explore
       The subject-lands that 'neath Vesuvius be,
       Whether he wind along the enchanting shore
       To Portici from fair Parthenope,
       Or, lingering long in dreamy reverie,
       O'er loveliest Ischia's od'rous isle he stray,
       Wooed by whose breath the soft and am'rous sea
       Seems like some languishing sultana's lay,
     A voice for very sweets that scarce can win its way.

       Him, whether Paestum's solemn fane detain,
       Shrouding his soul with meditation's power;
       Or at Pozzuoli, to the sprightly strain
       Of tarantella danced 'neath Tuscan tower,
       Listening, he while away the evening hour;
       Or wake the echoes, mournful, lone and deep,
       Of that sad city, in its dreaming bower
       By the volcano seized, where mansions keep
     The likeness which they wore at that last fatal sleep;

       Or be his bark at Posillippo laid,
       While as the swarthy boatman at his side
       Chants Tasso's lays to Virgil's pleased shade,
       Ever he sees, throughout that circuit wide,
       From shaded nook or sunny lawn espied,
       From rocky headland viewed, or flow'ry shore,
       From sea, and spreading mead alike descried,
       The Giant Mount, tow'ring all objects o'er,
     And black'ning with its breath th' horizon evermore!

     Fraser's Magazine

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TRIBUTE TO THE VANQUISHED by Victor Hugo
     ("Laissez-moi pleurer sur cette race.")

     {I. v.}
       Oh! let me weep that race whose day is past,
         By exile given, by exile claimed once more,
       Thrice swept away upon that fatal blast.
         Whate'er its blame, escort we to our shore
         These relics of the monarchy of yore;
     And to th' outmarching oriflamme be paid
     War's honors by the flag on Fleurus' field displayed!

     Fraser's Magazine


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THE THREE GLORIOUS DAYS by Victor Hugo
     ("Frères, vous avez vos journées.")

     {I., July, 1830.}
     Youth of France, sons of the bold,
     Your oak-leaf victor-wreaths behold!
     Our civic-laurelsâ€"honored dead!
       So bright your triumphs in life's morn,
       Your maiden-standards hacked and torn,
     On Austerlitz might lustre shed.

     All that your fathers did re-doneâ€"
     A people's rights all nobly wonâ€"
     Ye tore them living from the shroud!
       Three glorious days bright July's gift,
       The Bastiles off our hearts ye lift!
     Oh! of such deeds be ever proud!

     Of patriot sires ye lineage claim,
     Their souls shone in your eye of flame;
     Commencing the great work was theirs;
       On you the task to finish laid
       Your fruitful mother, France, who bade
     Flow in one day a hundred years.

     E'en chilly Albion admires,
     The grand example Europe fires;
     America shall clap her hands,
       When swiftly o'er the Atlantic wave,
       Fame sounds the news of how the brave,
     In three bright days, have burst their bands!

     With tyrant dead your fathers traced
     A circle wide, with battles graced;
     Victorious garland, red and vast!
       Which blooming out from home did go
       To Cadiz, Cairo, Rome, Moscow,
     From Jemappes to Montmirail passed!

     Of warlike Lyceums{1} ye are
     The favored sons; there, deeds of war
     Formed e'en your plays, while o'er you shook
       The battle-flags in air aloft!
       Passing your lines, Napoleon oft
     Electrified you with a look!

     Eagle of France! whose vivid wing
     Did in a hundred places fling
     A bloody feather, till one night
       The arrow whelmed thee 'neath the wave!
       Look upâ€"rejoiceâ€"for now thy brave
     And worthy eaglets dare the light.

     ELIZABETH COLLINS.

     {Footnote 1: The pupils of the Polytechnic Military School distinguished
     themselves by their patriotic zeal and military skill, through all the
     troubles.}


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THE LAND OF FABLE by Victor Hugo
     ("L'Orient! qu'y voyez-vous, poëtes?")

     {PRELUDE, b.}
     Now, vot'ries of the Muses, turn your eyes,
       Unto the East, and say what there appears!
     "Alas!" the voice of Poesy replies,
       "Mystic's that light between the hemispheres!"

     "Yes, dread's the mystic light in yonder heavenâ€"
       Dull is the gleam behind the distant hill;
     Like feeble flashes in the welkin driven,
       When the far thunder seems as it were still!

     "But who can tell if that uncertain glare
       Be Phoebus' self, adorned with glowing vest;
     Or, if illusions, pregnant in the air,
       Have drawn our glances to the radiant west?

     "Haply the sunset has deceived the sightâ€"
       Perchance 'tis evening, while we look for morning;
     Bewildered in the mazes of twilight,
       That lucid sunset may appear a dawning!"

     G.W.M. REYNOLDS

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PRELUDE TO "THE SONGS OF TWILIGHT." By Victor Hugo
     ("De quel non te nommer?")

     {PRELUDE, a, Oct. 20, 1835.}
     How shall I note thee, line of troubled years,
       Which mark existence in our little span?
     One constant twilight in the heaven appearsâ€"
       One constant twilight in the mind of man!

     Creed, hope, anticipation and despair,
       Are but a mingling, as of day and night;
     The globe, surrounded by deceptive air,
       Is all enveloped in the same half-light.

     And voice is deadened by the evening breeze,
       The shepherd's song, or maiden's in her bower,
     Mix with the rustling of the neighboring trees,
       Within whose foliage is lulled the power.

     Yet all unites! The winding path that leads
       Thro' fields where verdure meets the trav'ller's eye.
     The river's margin, blurred with wavy reeds,
       The muffled anthem, echoing to the sky!

     The ivy smothering the armèd tower;
       The dying wind that mocks the pilot's ear;
     The lordly equipage at midnight hour,
       Draws into danger in a fog the peer;

     The votaries of Satan or of Jove;
       The wretched mendicant absorbed in woe;
     The din of multitudes that onward move;
       The voice of conscience in the heart below;

     The waves, which Thou, O Lord, alone canst still;
       Th' elastic air; the streamlet on its way;
     And all that man projects, or sovereigns will;
       Or things inanimate might seem to say;

     The strain of gondolier slow streaming by;
       The lively barks that o'er the waters bound;
     The trees that shake their foliage to the sky;
       The wailing voice that fills the cots around;

     And man, who studies with an aching heartâ€"
       For now, when smiles are rarely deemed sincere,
     In vain the sceptic bids his doubts departâ€"
       Those doubts at length will arguments appear!

     Hence, reader, know the subject of my songâ€"
       A mystic age, resembling twilight gloom,
     Wherein we smile at birth, or bear along,
       With noiseless steps, a victim to the tomb!

     G.W.M. REYNOLDS


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II.

To prayer, my child! and O, be thy first prayer For her who, many nights, with anxious care, Rocked thy first cradle; who took thy infant soul From heaven and gave it to the world; then rife With love, still drank herself the gall of life, And left for thy young lips the honeyed bowl. And thenâ€"I need it moreâ€"then pray for me! For she is gentle, artless, true like thee;â€" She has a guileless heart, brow placid still; Pity she has for all, envy for none; Gentle and wise, she patiently lives on; And she endures, nor knows who does the ill. In culling flowers, her novice hand has ne'er Touched e'en the outer rind of vice; no snare With smiling show has lured her steps aside: On her the past has left no staining mark; Nor knows she aught of those bad thoughts which, dark Like shade on waters, o'er the spirit glide. She knows notâ€"nor mayest thouâ€"the miseries In which our spirits mingle: vanities, Remorse, soul-gnawing cares, Pleasure's false show: Passions which float upon the heart like foam, Bitter remembrances which o'er us come, And Shame's red spot spread sudden o'er the brow. I know life better! when thou'rt older grown I'll tell theeâ€"it is needful to be knownâ€" Of the pursuit of wealthâ€"art, power; the cost. That it is folly, nothingness: that shame For glory is oft thrown us in the game Of Fortune; chances where the soul is lost. The soul will change. Although of everything The cause and end be clear, yet wildering We roam through life (of vice and error full). We wander as we go; we feel the load Of doubt; and to the briars upon the road Man leaves his virtue, as the sheep its wool. Then go, go pray for me! And as the prayer Gushes in words, be this the form they bear:â€" "Lord, Lord, our Father! God, my prayer attend; Pardon! Thou art good! Pardonâ€"Thou art great!" Let them go freely forth, fear not their fate! Where thy soul sends them, thitherward they tend. There's nothing here below which does not find Its tendency. O'er plains the rivers wind, And reach the sea; the bee, by instinct driven, Finds out the honeyed flowers; the eagle flies To seek the sun; the vulture where death lies; The swallow to the spring; the prayer to Heaven! And when thy voice is raised to God for me, I'm like the slave whom in the vale we see Seated to rest, his heavy load laid by; I feel refreshedâ€"the load of faults and woe Which, groaning, I drag with me as I go, Thy wingèd prayer bears off rejoicingly! Pray for thy father! that his dreams be bright With visitings of angel forms of light, And his soul burn as incense flaming wide, Let thy pure breath all his dark sins efface, So that his heart be like that holy place, An altar pavement each eve purified! C., Tait's Magazine

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THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER by Victor Hugo
     ("Ma fille, va prier!")

     {XXXVII., June, 1830.}
     I.

     Come, child, to prayer; the busy day is done,
       A golden star gleams through the dusk of night;
     The hills are trembling in the rising mist,
       The rumbling wain looms dim upon the sight;
     All things wend home to rest; the roadside trees
       Shake off their dust, stirred by the evening breeze.

     The sparkling stars gush forth in sudden blaze,
       As twilight open flings the doors of night;
     The fringe of carmine narrows in the west,
       The rippling waves are tipped with silver light;
     The bush, the pathâ€"all blend in one dull gray;
     The doubtful traveller gropes his anxious way.

     Oh, day! with toil, with wrong, with hatred rife;
       Oh, blessed night! with sober calmness sweet,
     The sad winds moaning through the ruined tower,
       The age-worn hind, the sheep's sad broken bleatâ€"
     All nature groans opprest with toil and care,
     And wearied craves for rest, and love, and prayer.

     At eve the babes with angels converse hold,
       While we to our strange pleasures wend our way,
     Each with its little face upraised to heaven,
       With folded hands, barefoot kneels down to pray,
     At selfsame hour with selfsame words they call
     On God, the common Father of them all.

     And then they sleep, and golden dreams anon,
       Born as the busy day's last murmurs die,
     In swarms tumultuous flitting through the gloom
       Their breathing lips and golden locks descry.
     And as the bees o'er bright flowers joyous roam,
     Around their curtained cradles clustering come.

     Oh, prayer of childhood! simple, innocent;
       Oh, infant slumbers! peaceful, pure, and light;
     Oh, happy worship! ever gay with smiles,
       Meet prelude to the harmonies of night;
     As birds beneath the wing enfold their head,
     Nestled in prayer the infant seeks its bed.

     HENRY HIGHTON, M.A.

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SUNSET by Victor Hugo
     ("Le soleil s'est couché")

     {XXXV. vi., April, 1829.}
     The sun set this evening in masses of cloud,
       The storm comes to-morrow, then calm be the night,
     Then the Dawn in her chariot refulgent and proud,
       Then more nights, and still days, steps of Time in his flight.
     The days shall pass rapid as swifts on the wing.
       O'er the face of the hills, o'er the face of the seas,
     O'er streamlets of silver, and forests that ring
       With a dirge for the dead, chanted low by the breeze;
     The face of the waters, the brow of the mounts
     Deep scarred but not shrivelled, and woods tufted green,
     Their youth shall renew; and the rocks to the founts
     Shall yield what these yielded to ocean their queen.
     But day by day bending still lower my head,
       Still chilled in the sunlight, soon I shall have cast,
     At height of the banquet, my lot with the dead,
       Unmissed by creation aye joyous and vast.

     TORU DUTT.


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THE WATCHING ANGEL by Victor Hugo
     ("Dans l'alcôve sombre.")

     {XX., November, 1831.}
     In the dusky nook,
       Near the altar laid,
     Sleeps the child in shadow
       Of his mother's bed:
     Softly he reposes,
     And his lid of roses,
     Closed to earth, uncloses
       On the heaven o'erhead.

     Many a dream is with him,
       Fresh from fairyland,
     Spangled o'er with diamonds
       Seems the ocean sand;
     Suns are flaming there,
     Troops of ladies fair
     Souls of infants bear
       In each charming hand.

     Oh, enchanting vision!
       Lo, a rill upsprings,
     And from out its bosom
       Comes a voice that sings
     Lovelier there appear
     Sire and sisters dear,
     While his mother near
       Plumes her new-born wings.

     But a brighter vision
       Yet his eyes behold;
     Roses pied and lilies
       Every path enfold;
     Lakes delicious sleeping,
     Silver fishes leaping,
     Through the wavelets creeping
       Up to reeds of gold.

     Slumber on, sweet infant,
       Slumber peacefully
     Thy young soul yet knows not
       What thy lot may be.
     Like dead weeds that sweep
     O'er the dol'rous deep,
     Thou art borne in sleep.
       What is all to thee?

     Thou canst slumber by the way;
       Thou hast learnt to borrow
     Naught from study, naught from care;
       The cold hand of sorrow
     On thy brow unwrinkled yet,
     Where young truth and candor sit,
     Ne'er with rugged nail hath writ
       That sad word, "To-morrow!"

     Innocent! thou sleepestâ€"
       See the angelic band,
     Who foreknow the trials
       That for man are planned;
     Seeing him unarmed,
     Unfearing, unalarmed,
     With their tears have warmed
       This unconscious hand.

     Still they, hovering o'er him,
       Kiss him where he lies,
     Hark, he sees them weeping,
       "Gabriel!" he cries;
     "Hush!" the angel says,
     On his lip he lays
     One finger, one displays
       His native skies.

     Foreign Quarterly Review

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INFANTILE INFLUENCE by Victor Hugo
     ("Lorsque l'enfant parait.")

     {XIX., May 11, 1830.}
     The child comes toddling in, and young and old
     With smiling eyes its smiling eyes behold,
         And artless, babyish joy;
     A playful welcome greets it through the room,
     The saddest brow unfolds its wrinkled gloom,
         To greet the happy boy.

     If June with flowers has spangled all the ground,
     Or winter bleak the flickering hearth around
         Draws close the circling seat;
     The child still sheds a never-failing light;
     We call; Mamma with mingled joy and fright
         Watches its tottering feet.

     Perhaps at eve as round the fire we draw,
     We speak of heaven, or poetry, or law,
         Or politics, or prayer;
     The child comes in, 'tis now all smiles and play,
     Farewell to grave discourse and poet's lay,
         Philosophy and care.

     When fancy wakes, but sense in heaviest sleep
     Lies steeped, and like the sobs of them that weep
         The dark stream sinks and swells,
     The dawn, like Pharos gleaming o'er the sea,
     Bursts forth, and sudden wakes the minstrelsy
         Of birds and chiming bells;

     Thou art my dawn; my soul is as the field,
     Where sweetest flowers their balmy perfumes yield
         When breathed upon by thee,
     Of forest, where thy voice like zephyr plays,
     And morn pours out its flood of golden rays,
         When thy sweet smile I see.

     Oh, sweetest eyes, like founts of liquid blue;
     And little hands that evil never knew,
         Pure as the new-formed snow;
     Thy feet are still unstained by this world's mire,
     Thy golden locks like aureole of fire
         Circle thy cherub brow!

     Dove of our ark, thine angel spirit flies
     On azure wings forth from thy beaming eyes.
         Though weak thine infant feet,
     What strange amaze this new and strange world gives
     To thy sweet virgin soul, that spotless lives
         In virgin body sweet.

     Oh, gentle face, radiant with happy smile,
     And eager prattling tongue that knows no guile,
         Quick changing tears and bliss;
     Thy soul expands to catch this new world's light,
     Thy mazed eyes to drink each wondrous sight,
         Thy lips to taste the kiss.

     Oh, God! bless me and mine, and these I love,
     And e'en my foes that still triumphant prove
         Victors by force or guile;
     A flowerless summer may we never see,
     Or nest of bird bereft, or hive of bee,
         Or home of infant's smile.

     HENRY HIGHTON, M.A.

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THE POET'S LOVE FOR LIVELINESS by Victor Hugo
     ("Moi, quelque soit le monde.")

     {XV., May 11, 1830.}
     For me, whate'er my life and lot may show,
     Years blank with gloom or cheered by mem'ry's glow,
       Turmoil or peace; never be it mine, I pray,
     To be a dweller of the peopled earth,
     Save 'neath a roof alive with children's mirth
       Loud through the livelong day.

     So, if my hap it be to see once more
     Those scenes my footsteps tottered in before,
       An infant follower in Napoleon's train:
     Rodrigo's holds, Valencia and Leon,
     And both Castiles, and mated Aragon;
       Ne'er be it mine, O Spain!

       To pass thy plains with cities scant between,
     Thy stately arches flung o'er deep ravine,
       Thy palaces, of Moor's or Roman's time;
     Or the swift makings of thy Guadalquiver,
     Save in those gilded cars, where bells forever
       Ring their melodious chime.

     Fraser's Magazine

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DICTATED BEFORE THE RHONE GLACIER by Victor Hugo
     ("Souvent quand mon esprit riche.")

     {VII., May 18, 1828.}
     When my mind, on the ocean of poesy hurled,
     Floats on in repose round this wonderful world,
         Oft the sacred fire from heavenâ€"
     Mysterious sun, that gives light to the soulâ€"
     Strikes mine with its ray, and above the pole
         Its upward course is driven,

     Like a wandering cloud, then, my eager thought
     Capriciously flies, to no guidance brought,
         With every quarter's wind;
     It regards from those radiant vaults on high,
     Earth's cities below, and again doth fly,
         And leaves but its shadow behind.

     In the glistening gold of the morning bright,
     It shines, detaching some lance of light,
         Or, as warrior's armor rings;
     It forages forests that ferment around,
     Or bathed in the sun-red gleams is found,
         Where the west its radiance flings.

     Or, on mountain peak, that rears its head
     Where snow-clad Alps around are spread,
         By furious gale 'tis thrown.
     From the yawning abyss see the cloud scud away,
     And the glacier appears, with its multiform ray,
         The giant mountain's crown!

     Like Parnassian pinnacle yet to be scaled,
     In its form from afar, by the aspirant hailed;
         On its side the rainbow plays,
     And at eve, when the shadow sinks sleeping below,
     The last slanting ray on its crest of snow
         Makes its cap like a crater to blaze.

     In the darkness, its front seems some pale orb of light,
     The chamois with fear flashes on in its flight,
         The eagle afar is driven;
     The deluge but roars in despair to its feet,
     And scarce dare the eye its aspect to meet,
         So near doth it rise to heaven.

     Alone on these altitudes, feeling no fear,
     Forgetful of earth, my spirit draws near;
         On the starry vault to gaze,
     And nearer, to gaze on those glories of night,
     On th' horizon high heaving, like arches of light,
         Till again the sun shall blaze.

     For then will the glacier with glory be graced,
     On its prisms will light streaked with darkness be placed,
         The morn its echoes greet;
     Like a torrent it falls on the ocean of life,
     Like Chaos unformed, with the sea-stormy strife,
         When waters on waters meet.

     As the spirit of poesy touches my thought,
     It is thus my ideas in a circle are brought,
         From earth, with the waters of pain.
     As under a sunbeam a cloud ascends,
     These fly to the heavensâ€"their course never ends,
         But descend to the ocean again.

     Author of "Critical Essays."


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THE PATIENCE OF THE PEOPLE by Victor Hugo
     ("Il s'est dit tant de fois.")

     {III., May, 1830.}
     How often have the people said: "What's power?"
     Who reigns soon is dethroned? each fleeting hour
     Has onward borne, as in a fevered dream,
     Such quick reverses, like a judge supremeâ€"
     Austere but just, they contemplate the end
     To which the current of events must tend.
     Self-confidence has taught them to forbear,
     And in the vastness of their strength, they spare.
     Armed with impunity, for one in vain
     Resists a nation, they let others reign.

     G.W.M. REYNOLDS.


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MY NAPOLEON by Victor Hugo
     ("Toujours lui! lui partout!")

     {XL., December, 1828.}
     Above all others, everywhere I see
       His image cold or burning!
     My brain it thrills, and oftentime sets free
       The thoughts within me yearning.
     My quivering lips pour forth the words
       That cluster in his name of gloryâ€"
     The star gigantic with its rays of swords
       Whose gleams irradiate all modern story.

     I see his finger pointing where the shell
       Should fall to slay most rabble,
     And save foul regicides; or strike the knell
       Of weaklings 'mid the tribunes' babble.
     A Consul then, o'er young but proud,
       With midnight poring thinned, and sallow,
     But dreams of Empire pierce the transient cloud,
       And round pale face and lank locks form the halo.

     And soon the Caesar, with an eye a-flame
       Whole nations' contact urging
     To gain his soldiers gold and fame
       Oh, Sun on high emerging,
     Whose dazzling lustre fired the hells
       Embosomed in grim bronze, which, free, arose
     To change five hundred thousand base-born Tells,
       Into his host of half-a-million heroes!

     What! next a captive? Yea, and caged apart.
       No weight of arms enfolded
     Can crush the turmoil in that seething heart
       Which Natureâ€"not her journeymenâ€"self-moulded.
     Let sordid jailers vex their prize;
       But only bends that brow to lightning,
     As gazing from the seaward rock, his sighs
       Cleave through the storm and haste where France looms bright'ning.

     Alone, but greater! Broke the sceptre, true!
       Yet lingers still some powerâ€"
     In tears of woe man's metal may renew
       The temper of high hour;
     For, bating breath, e'er list the kings
       The pinions clipped may grow! the Eagle
     May burst, in frantic thirst for home, the rings
       And rend the Bulldog, Fox, and Bear, and Beagle!

     And, lastly, grandest! 'tween dark sea and here
       Eternal brightness coming!
     The eye so weary's freshened with a tear
       As rises distant drumming,
     And wailing cheerâ€"they pass the pale
       His army mourns though still's the end hid;
     And from his war-stained cloak, he answers "Hail!"
       And spurns the bed of gloom for throne aye-splendid!

     H.L. WILLIAMS.

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OLD OCEAN by Victor Hugo
     ("J'étais seul près des flots.")

     {XXXVII., September 5, 1828.}
     I stood by the waves, while the stars soared in sight,
     Not a cloud specked the sky, not a sail shimmered bright;
       Scenes beyond this dim world were revealed to mine eye;
     And the woods, and the hills, and all nature around,
     Seem'd to question with moody, mysterious sound,
       The waves, and the pure stars on high.
     And the clear constellations, that infinite throng,
     While thousand rich harmonies swelled in their song,
       Replying, bowed meekly their diamond-blazeâ€"
     And the blue waves, which nothing may bind or arrest,
     Chorus'd forth, as they stooped the white foam of their crest
       "Creator! we bless thee and praise!"

     R.C. ELLWOOD


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THE DANUBE IN WRATH by Victor Hugo
     ("Quoi! ne pouvez-vous vivre ensemble?")

     {XXXV., June, 1828.}
     The River Deity upbraids his Daughters, the contributary Streams:â€"

     Ye daughters mine! will naught abate
     Your fierce interminable hate?
     Still am I doomed to rue the fate
       That such unfriendly neighbors made?
     The while ye might, in peaceful cheer,
     Mirror upon your waters clear,
     Semlin! thy Gothic steeples dear,
       And thy bright minarets, Belgrade!

     Fraser's Magazine

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MAZEPPA by Victor Hugo
     ("Ainsi, lorsqu'un mortel!")

     {XXXIV., May, 1828.}

     As when a mortalâ€"Genius' prize, alack!
     Is, living, bound upon thy fatal back,
         Thou reinless racing steed!
     In vain he writhes, mere cloud upon a star,
     Thou bearest him as went Mazeppa, far
         Out of the flow'ry mead,â€"
     Soâ€"though thou speed'st implacable, (like him,
     Spent, pallid, torn, bruised, weary, sore and dim,
         As if each stride the nearer bring
     Him to the grave)â€"when comes the time,
     After the fall, he risesâ€"KING!

     H.L. WILLIAMS

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CORNFLOWERS by Victor Hugo
     ("Tandis que l'étoile inodore.")

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

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

     Nowhere a statelier abbey rears
       Dome huger o'er a shrine,
     Though seek ye from old Rome itself
       To even Seville fine.
     Here countless pilgrims come to pray
      And promenade the Mall,â€"
     Away, ye merry maids, etc.

     Where glide the girls more joyfully
       Than ours who dance at dusk,
     With roses white upon their brows,
       With waists that scorn the busk?
     Mantillas elsewhere hide dull eyesâ€"
       Compared with these, how small!
     Away, ye merry maids, etc.

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

     Young, haughty, from still hotter lands,
       A stranger hither cameâ€"
     Was he a Moor or African,
       Or Murcian known to fame?
     None knewâ€"least, sheâ€"or false or true,
       The name by which to call.
     Away, ye merry maids, etc.

     Alizia asked not his degree,
       She saw him but as Love,
     And through Xarama's vale they strayed,
       And tarried in the grove,â€"
     Oh! curses on that fatal eve,
       And on that leafy hall!
     Away, ye merry maids, etc.

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

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

     Although, above, the hawk describes
       The circle round the lark,
     It sleeps, unconscious, and our lass
       Had eyes but for her sparkâ€"
     A spark?â€"a sun!  'Twas Juan, King!
       Who wears our coronal,â€"
     Away, ye merry maids, etc.

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

     H. L. WILLIAMS

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DON RODRIGO by Victor Hugo
     A MOORISH BALLAD.

     ("Don Roderique est à la chasse.")

     {XXX., May, 1828.}
     Unto the chase Rodrigo's gone,
       With neither lance nor buckler;
     A baleful light his eyes outshoneâ€"
       To pity he's no truckler.

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

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

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

     "What ho!" "Who calls?" "Art Christian knight,
       Or basely born and boorish,
     Or yet that thing I still more slightâ€"
       The spawn of some dog Moorish?

     "I seek the by-born spawn of one
       I e'er renounce as brotherâ€"
     Who chose to make his latest son
       Caress a Moor as mother.

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

     "If you well know the poniard worn
       Without edge-dulling coverâ€"
     Look on it nowâ€"here, plain, upborne!
       And further be no rover.

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

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

     "And if I wore this, with its crestâ€"
       Our seal with gems enwreathingâ€"
     In open airâ€"'twas in your breast
       To seek its fated sheathing!"


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THE OBDURATE BEAUTY by Victor Hugo
     ("A Juana la Grenadine!")

     {XXIX., October, 1843.}
     To Juana ever gay,
     Sultan Achmet spoke one day
       "Lo, the realms that kneel to own
       Homage to my sword and crown
     All I'd freely cast away,
       Maiden dear, for thee alone."

     "Be a Christian, noble king!
     For it were a grievous thing:
       Love to seek and find too well
       In the arms of infidel.
     Spain with cry of shame would ring,
       If from honor faithful fell."

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

     JOHN L. O'SULLIVAN.

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THE DJINNS by Victor Hugo
     ("Murs, ville et port.")

     {XXVIII., Aug. 28, 1828.}
           Town, tower,
             Shore, deep,
           Where lower
             Cliff's steep;
           Waves gray,
           Where play
           Winds gay,
             All sleep.

         Hark! a sound,
           Far and slight,
         Breathes around
           On the night
         High and higher,
         Nigh and nigher,
         Like a fire,
           Roaring, bright.

         Now, on 'tis sweeping
           With rattling beat,
         Like dwarf imp leaping
           In gallop fleet
         He flies, he prances,
         In frolic fancies,
         On wave-crest dances
           With pattering feet.

         Hark, the rising swell,
           With each new burst!
         Like the tolling bell
           Of a convent curst;
         Like the billowy roar
         On a storm-lashed shore,â€"
         Now hushed, but once more
           Maddening to its worst.

         O God! the deadly sound
           Of the Djinn's fearful cry!
         Quick, 'neath the spiral round
           Of the deep staircase fly!
         See, see our lamplight fade!
         And of the balustrade
         Mounts, mounts the circling shade
           Up to the ceiling high!

       'Tis the Djinns' wild streaming swarm
         Whistling in their tempest flight;
       Snap the tall yews 'neath the storm,
         Like a pine flame crackling bright.
       Swift though heavy, lo! their crowd
       Through the heavens rushing loud
       Like a livid thunder-cloud
         With its bolt of fiery might!

     Ho! they are on us, close without!
       Shut tight the shelter where we lie!
     With hideous din the monster rout,
       Dragon and vampire, fill the sky!
     The loosened rafter overhead
     Trembles and bends like quivering reed;
     Shakes the old door with shuddering dread,
       As from its rusty hinge 'twould fly!
     Wild cries of hell! voices that howl and shriek!
       The horrid troop before the tempest tossedâ€"
     O Heaven!â€"descends my lowly roof to seek:

       Bends the strong wall beneath the furious host.
     Totters the house as though, like dry leaf shorn
     From autumn bough and on the mad blast borne,
     Up from its deep foundations it were torn
       To join the stormy whirl. Ah! all is lost!

         O Prophet! if thy hand but now
           Save from these hellish things,
         A pilgrim at thy shrine I'll bow,
           Laden with pious offerings.
         Bid their hot breath its fiery rain
         Stream on the faithful's door in vain;
         Vainly upon my blackened pane
           Grate the fierce claws of their dark wings!

       They have passed!â€"and their wild legion
         Cease to thunder at my door;
       Fleeting through night's rayless region,
         Hither they return no more.
       Clanking chains and sounds of woe
       Fill the forests as they go;
       And the tall oaks cower low,
         Bent their flaming light before.

       On! on! the storm of wings
         Bears far the fiery fear,
       Till scarce the breeze now brings
         Dim murmurings to the ear;
       Like locusts' humming hail,
       Or thrash of tiny flail
       Plied by the fitful gale
         On some old roof-tree sere.

           Fainter now are borne
             Feeble mutterings still;
           As when Arab horn
             Swells its magic peal,
           Shoreward o'er the deep
           Fairy voices sweep,
           And the infant's sleep
             Golden visions fill.

           Each deadly Djinn,
             Dark child of fright,
           Of death and sin,
             Speeds in wild flight.
           Hark, the dull moan,
           Like the deep tone
           Of Ocean's groan,
             Afar, by night!

           More and more
             Fades it slow,
           As on shore
             Ripples flow,â€"
           As the plaint
           Far and faint
           Of a saint
             Murmured low.

           Hark! hist!
             Around,
           I list!
             The bounds
               Of space
               All trace
               Efface
             Of sound.

     JOHN L. O'SULLIVAN.

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NOORMAHAL THE FAIR by Victor Hugo
     ("Entre deux rocs d'un noir d'ébène.")

     {XXVII., November, 1828.}
     Between two ebon rocks
       Behold yon sombre den,
     Where brambles bristle like the locks
       Of wool between the horns of scapegoat banned by men!

     Remote in ruddy fog
       Still hear the tiger growl
     At the lion and stripèd dog
       That prowl with rusty throats to taunt and roar and howl;

     Whilst other monsters fast
       The hissing basilisk;
     The hippopotamus so vast,
       And the boa with waking appetite made brisk!

     The orfrey showing tongue,
       The fly in stinging mood,
     The elephant that crushes strong
       And elastic bamboos an the scorpion's brood;

     And the men of the trees
       With their families fierce,
     Till there is not one scorching breeze
       But brings here its venomâ€"its horror to pierceâ€"

     Yet, rather there be lone,
       'Mid all those horrors there,
     Than hear the sickly honeyed tone
       And see the swimming eyes of Noormahal the Fair!

     {Footnote 1: Noormahal (Arabic) the light of the house; some of the
     Orientals deem fair hair and complexion a beauty.}

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