Unknown, yet well-known to the eye of faith!
Ah, I have heard that wail far, far away
In distant lands, by many a sheltered bay,
When slumbered in his cave the water-wraith,
And the waves gently kissed the classic shore
Of France or Italy, beneath the moon,
When earth lay tranced in a dreamless swoon:
And every time the music rose, before
Mine inner vision rose a form sublime,
Thy form, O Tree, as in my happy prime
I saw thee, in my own loved native clime.
Therefore I fain would consecrate a lay
Unto thy honour, Tree, beloved of those
Who now in blessed sleep, for aye, repose,
Dearer than life to me, alas! were they!
Mayst thou be numbered when my days are done
With deathless trees—like those in Borrowdale,
Under whose awful branches lingered pale
"Fear, trembling Hope, and Death the skeleton,
And Time the shadow;" and though weak the verse
That would thy beauty fain, oh fain rehearse,
May Love defend thee from Oblivion's curse!
Morning Serenade.[1]
From Victor Hugo.
Still barred thy doors!—The far east glows,
The morning wind blows fresh and free,
Should not the hour that wakes the rose
Awaken also thee?
- ↑ This poem, quoted in the preface of "Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan" as the work of Toru Dutt, has been assigned rightly to her elder sister, Aru Dutt, some of whose translations appear in "A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields."
