Appel, ou chant bien doux à vêpres, ou frais signal,
Ou beau sanglot qui va mourir au pli des châles!...”
How he has dreamed over the tender sentiment of her twilight song, and been melted and conquered by the still greater, more beautiful appeal of the emotional soul for love and understanding,—“beau sanglot” indeed!
Then comes the wonderful third stanza, and its denunciation of man’s brutality and selfishness.
“Hommes durs! Vie atroce et laide d’ici-bas!
Ah! que du moins, loins des baisers et des combats,
Quelque chose demeure un peu sur la montagne.”
Here is the appeal for sentiment, for the love of the spirit, choked in the throats of dumb and suffering women.
“Quelque chose du cœur,” he repeats and persuades, “enfantin et subtil.”