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The Exile's Desire.
By Victor-Marie Hugo
("Si je pouvais voir, O patrie!")
[Bk. III. xxxvii.]
Would I could see you, native land,
Where lilacs and the almond stand
Behind fields flowering to the strand -
But no!
Can I - oh, father, mother, crave
Another final blessing save
To rest my head upon your grave? -
But no!
In the one pit where ye repose,
Would I could tell of France's woes,
My brethren, who fell facing foes -
But no!
Would I had - oh, my dove of light,
After whose flight came ceaseless night,
One plume to clasp so purely white. -
But no!
Far from ye all - oh, dead, bewailed!
The fog-bell deafens me empaled
Upon this rock - I feel enjailed -
Though free.
Like one who watches at the gate
Lest some shall 'scape the doomèd strait.
I watch! the tyrant, howe'er late,
Must fall!
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