FORTUNIO’S SONG.
From the French of Alfred de Musset.
COMRADES! in vain ye seek to learn
For whom I burn;
Not for a kingdom would I dare
Her name declare.
But we will chant in chorus still,—
If so you will,—
That she I love is blonde and sweet,
As blades of wheat.
Whate’er her wayward fancies ask
Becomes my task;
Should she my very life demand,
’Tis in her hand.
The pain of passion unrevealed
Can scarce be healed:
Such pain within my heart I bear,
To my despair:
Nathless I love her all too well
Her name to tell;
And I would sooner die than e’er
Her name declare.
George Murray.
SPLENDIDE MENDAX.
WHEN God some day shall call my name
And scorch me with a blaze of shame,
Bringing to light my inmost thought
And all the evil I have wrought,
Tearing away the veils I wove
To hide my foulness from my love,
And leaving my transgressions bare
To the whole heaven’s clear, cold air—
When all the angels weep to see
The branded outcast soul of me,
One saint at least will hide her face,—
She will not look at my disgrace.