Upon the sky-line glows i' the dark The Sun that now is but a spark; But soon will be unfurled-- The glorious banner of us all, The flag that rises ne'er to fall, Republic of the World! LES CONTEMPLATIONS.--1830-56. THE VALE TO YOU, TO ME THE HEIGHTS. A FABLE. [Bk. III. vi., October, 1846.] A lion camped beside a spring, where came the Bird Of Jove to drink: When, haply, sought two kings, without their courtier herd, The moistened brink, Beneath the palm--_they_ always tempt pugnacious hands-- Both travel-sore; But quickly, on the recognition, out flew brands Straight to each core; As dying breaths commingle, o'er them rose the call Of Eagle shrill: "Yon crownèd couple, who supposed the world too small, Now one grave fill! Chiefs blinded by your rage! each bleachèd sapless bone Becomes a pipe Through which siroccos whistle, trodden 'mong the stone By quail and snipe. Folly's liege-men, what boots such murd'rous raid, And mortal feud? I, Eagle, dwell as friend with Leo--none afraid-- In solitude: At the same pool we bathe and quaff in placid mood. Kings, he and I; For I to him leave prairie, desert sands and wood, And he to me the sky." H.L.W. CHILDHOOD. _("L'enfant chantait.")_ [Bk. I. xxiii., Paris, January, 1835.] The small child sang; the mother, outstretched on the low bed, With anguish moaned,--fair Form pain should possess not long; For, ever nigher, Death hovered around her head: I hearkened there this moan, and heard even there that song. The child was but five years, and, close to the lattice, aye Made a sweet noise with games and with his laughter bright; And the wan mother, aside this being the livelong day Carolling joyously, coughed hoarsely all the night. The mother went to sleep 'mong them that sleep alway; And the blithe little lad began anew to sing... Sorrow is like a fruit: God doth not therewith weigh Earthward the branch strong yet but for the blossoming. NELSON R. TYERMAN. SATIRE ON THE EARTH. _("Une terre au flanc maigre.")_ [Bk. III. xi., October, 1840.]