Poems by Victor Hugo - HTML preview

THE BEACON IN THE STORM.

("Quels sont ces bruits sourds?")
    {XXIV., July 17, 1836.}

Hark to that solemn sound!
       It steals towards the strand.—
     Whose is that voice profound
       Which mourns the swallowed land,
               With moans,
               Or groans,
       New threats of ruin close at hand?
     It is Triton—the storm to scorn
     Who doth wind his sonorous horn.

     How thick the rain to-night!
       And all along the coast
     The sky shows naught of light
       Is it a storm, my host?
               Too soon
               The boon
       Of pleasant weather will be lost
     Yes, 'tis Triton, etc.

     Are seamen on that speck
       Afar in deepening dark?
     Is that a splitting deck
       Of some ill-fated bark?
               Fend harm!
               Send calm!
       O Venus! show thy starry spark!
     Though 'tis Triton, etc.

     The thousand-toothèd gale,—
      Adventurers too bold!—
     Rips up your toughest sail
      And tears your anchor-hold.
              You forge
              Through surge,
      To be in rending breakers rolled.
     While old Triton, etc.

     Do sailors stare this way,
      Cramped on the Needle's sheaf,
     To hail the sudden ray
      Which promises relief?
              Then, bright;
              Shine, light!
      Of hope upon the beacon reef!
     Though 'tis Triton, etc.