Indignation!

("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 flows-- 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.

IMPERIAL REVELS.

("Courtisans! attablés dans le splendide orgie.")

[Bk. I. x., Jersey, December, 1852.]

Cheer, courtiers! round the banquet spread-- 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 dust-- 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 maid-- 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 cup-- 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 fête-- The bread of Liberty!

H.L.W.

POOR LITTLE CHILDREN.

("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,-- 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 watching-- Poor little lambkins!

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

APOSTROPHE TO NATURE.

("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?