The Poetry Corner

Lord Rochester's Song.

By Victor-Marie Hugo

("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!"