Don Rodrigo. - 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 outshone -
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 road - at last, no balk -
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 slight -
The spawn of some dog Moorish?

"I seek the by-born spawn of one
I e'er renounce as brother -
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 cover -
Look on it now - here, plain, upborne!
And further be no rover.

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

"I shall not grant the least delay -
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 crest -
Our seal with gems enwreathing -
In open air - 'twas in your breast
To seek its fated sheathing!"

Victor-Marie Hugo

Victor-Marie Hugo was a French poet, novelist, and dramatist of the Romantic movement. He is considered one of the greatest French writers, with works such as "Les Misérables" and "The Hunchback of Notre-Dame." His literary works often explore themes of justice, love, and human rights. In addition to his literary achievements, he was also a politician and human rights activist. Hugo's influence extends beyond literature into politics and society.

Victor-Marie Hugo

The Grandmother

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The Watching Angel.

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Prayer For France.

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Have You Nothing To Say For Yourself?

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

English

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("L'homme auquel on vous destina.")

[HERNANI, Act I.]


Listen. The man for whom your youth is destined,
Your uncle, Ruy de Silva, is the Duke
Of Pastrana, Count of Castile and Aragon.
For lack of youth, he brings you, dearest girl,
Treasures of gold, jewels, and precious gems,
With which your brow might outshine royalty;
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Might many a queen be envious of his duchess!
Here is one picture. I am poor; my youth
I passed i' the woods, a barefoot fugitive.
My shield, perchance, may bear some noble blazons
Spotted with blood, defaced though not dishonored.
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The Roll Of The De Silva Race.

("Celui-ci, des Silvas, c'est l'aîné.")

[HERNANI, Act III.]


    In that reverend face
Behold the father of De Silva's race,
Silvius; in Rome he filled the consul's place
Three times (your patience for such honored names).
This second was Grand Master of St. James
And Calatrava; his strong limbs sustained
Armor which ours would sink beneath. He gained
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Three hundred standards from the Infidel;
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Won Antiquera, Suez, and Nijar;
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Gastibelza.

("Gastibelza, l'homme à la carabine.")

[XXII., March, 1837.]


Gastibelza, with gun the measure beating,
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Oh! this chill wind across the mountain rushing
    Will drive me wild!

"You stare as though you hardly knew my lady -
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Her dam inhabits yonder cavern shady,
    A witch of shame,
Who shrieks o' nights upon the Haunted Tower,
    With horrors piled -
Oh! this chill wind, etc.

"Sing on and leap - enjoying all the favors
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Song Of The Cid.[194]

The Cid is sitting, in martial state,
Within Valencia's wall;
And chiefs of high renown attend
The knightly festival.

Brave Alvar Fanez, and a troop
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His wife and daughters fair.

When the footpage bent on his knee,
What tidings brought he then?
Morocco's king is on the seas,
With fifty thousand men.

Now God be praised! the Cid he cried,
Let every hold be stored:
Let fly the holy Gonfalon,[195]
And give, "St James," the word.

And now, upon the turret high,
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The Cid then raised his sword on high,
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Knight and Troubadour, to his Lady the Beautiful Maenz of Martagnac

The burden of the sometime years,
That once my soul did overweigh,
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To cheer my life upon its way.

Thine eyes! the daybreak of my heart!
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Whose beauty is a radiant part
Of all my songs; the music there;
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And glorifies my mind's dull mart,
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A Legend Of Madrid

Translated from the Spanish


Francesca.

Crushd and throngd are all the places
In our amphitheatre,
Midst a sea of swarming faces
I can yet distinguish her;
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Is my secret known to thee?
On the sands of yon arena
I shall yet my vengeance see.
Now through portals fast careering
Picadors are disappearing;
Now the barriers nimbly clearing
Has the hindmost chulo flown.
Clots of dusky crimson streaking,
Brindled flanks and haunches reeking,
Wheels the wild bull, vengeance seeking,
On the matador alone.
Features by sombrero shaded,
Pale and passionless and cold;
Doublet richly laced and braided,
Trunks of velvet slashd with gold,
Blood-red scarf, and bare Toledo,
...

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