Poems by Victor Hugo
page 117 of 429 (27%)
page 117 of 429 (27%)
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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 Nature--not her journeymen--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 power-- 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 |
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