Genius.

(DEDICATED TO CHATEAUBRIAND.)

[Bk. IV. vi., July, 1822.]


Woe unto him! the child of this sad earth,
    Who, in a troubled world, unjust and blind,
Bears Genius - treasure of celestial birth,
    Within his solitary soul enshrined.
Woe unto him! for Envy's pangs impure,
    Like the undying vultures', will be driven
Into his noble heart, that must endure
Pangs for each triumph; and, still unforgiven,
Suffer Prometheus' doom, who ravished fire from Heaven.

Still though his destiny on earth may be
    Grief and injustice; who would not endure
With joyful calm, each proffered agony;
    Could he the prize of Genius thus ensure?
What mortal feeling kindled in his soul
    That clear celestial flame, so pure and high,
O'er which nor time nor death can have control,
    Would in inglorious pleasures basely fly
    From sufferings whose reward is Immortality?
No! though the clamors of the envious crowd
    Pursue the son of Genius, he will rise

From the dull clod, borne by an effort proud
    Beyond the reach of vulgar enmities.
'Tis thus the eagle, with his pinions spread,
    Reposing o'er the tempest, from that height
Sees the clouds reel and roll above our head,
While he, rejoicing in his tranquil flight,
More upward soars sublime in heaven's eternal light.

MRS. TORRE HULME

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 Fay And The Peri.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

The Preceptor.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

Sunset.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

The Lovers' Colloquy.

Victor-Marie Hugo, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Rhymes On The Road. Extract XVI. Les Charmettes.

A Visit to the house where Rousseau lived with Madame de Warrens.-- Their Menage.--Its Grossness.--Claude Anet.--Reverence with which the spot is now visited.--Absurdity of this blind Devotion to Fame.--Feelings excited by the Beauty and Seclusion of the Scene. Disturbed by its Associations with Rousseau's History.--Impostures of Men of Genius.--Their Power of mimicking all the best Feelings, Love, Independence, etc.


Strange power of Genius, that can throw
Round all that's vicious, weak, and low,
Such magic lights, such rainbows dyes
As dazzle even the steadiest eyes.

            *            *            *            *            *

'Tis worse than weak--'tis wrong, 'tis shame,
This mean prostration before Fame;
This casting down beneath the car
Of Idols, whatsoe'...

Thomas Moore

Genius And Criticism.

        scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur.
        SENECA.


Of old, the Sultan Genius reigned,
    As Nature meant, supreme alone;
With mind unchekt, and hands unchained,
    His views, his conquests were his own.

But power like his, that digs its grave
    With its own sceptre, could not last;
So Genius' self became the slave
    Of laws that Genius' self had past.

As Jove, who forged the chain of Fate,
    Was, ever after, doomed to wear it:
His nods, his struggles all too late--
    "Qui semel jussit, semper paret."

To check young Genius' proud career,
    The slaves who now his throne invaded,
Made Criticism his prime Vizir,
    And from that hour his glories faded.

Tied down in Legislation's scho...

Thomas Moore

To His Orphan Grandchildren.

("O Charles, je te sens près de moi.")

[July, 1871.]


I feel thy presence, Charles. Sweet martyr! down
    In earth, where men decay,
I search, and see from cracks which rend thy tomb,
    Burst out pale morning's ray.

Close linked are bier and cradle: here the dead,
    To charm us, live again:
Kneeling, I mourn, when on my threshold sounds
    Two little children's strain.

George, Jeanne, sing on! George, Jeanne, unconscious play!
    Your father's form recall,
Now darkened by his sombre shade, now gilt
    By beams that wandering fall.

Oh, knowledge! what thy use? did we not know
    Death holds no more the dead;
But Heaven, where, hand in hand, angel and star
    Smile at the grave we dread?

A Heave...

Victor-Marie Hugo

Dictated Before The Rhone Glacier.

("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 heaven -
Mysterious sun, that gives light to the soul -
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 su...

Victor-Marie Hugo

The Swiss Mercenaries.

("Lorsque le regiment des hallebardiers.")

[Bk. XXXI.]


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

O shame! those men that march below -
O ignominy dire!
Are the sons of my free mountains
Sold for imperial hire.
Ah! the vilest in the dungeon!
Ah! the slave upon the seas -
Is great, is pure, is glorious,
Is grand compared with these,
Who, born amid my holy rocks,
In solemn places hig...

Victor-Marie Hugo

The Eaglet Mourned.

("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 were - I ween.

Two things - a portrait and a map there were -
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 then - 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<...

Victor-Marie Hugo