Poems by Victor Hugo - HTML preview

LORD ROCHESTER'S SONG.

("Un soldat au dur visage.")
     {CROMWELL, ACT I.}

"Hold, little blue-eyed page!"
       So cried the watchers surly,
     Stern to his pretty rage
       And golden hair so curly—
     "Methinks your satin cloak
       Masks something bulky under;
     I take this as no joke—
       Oh, thief with stolen plunder!"

     "I am of high repute,
       And famed among the truthful:
     This silver-handled lute
       Is meet for one still youthful
     Who goes to keep a tryst
       With her who is his dearest.
     I charge you to desist;
       My cause is of the clearest."

     But guardsmen are so sharp,
       Their eyes are as the lynx's:
     "That's neither lute nor harp—
       Your mark is not the minxes.
     Your loving we dispute—
       That string of steel so cruel
     For music does not suit—
       You go to fight a duel!"