 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
LES BOHÉMIENS
FROM THE FRENCH OF BÉRANGER
Wizards, jugglers, thieving crew,—
Refuse drawn
From the nations gone,—
Wizards, jugglers, thieving crew,
Merry Gipsies, whence come you?
Refuse drawn
From the nations gone,—
Wizards, jugglers, thieving crew,
Merry Gipsies, whence come you?
Whence we come? There's none may know.
Swallows come,
But where their home?
Whence we come? There's none may know
Who shall tell us where we go?
Swallows come,
But where their home?
Whence we come? There's none may know
Who shall tell us where we go?
From country, law and monarch free,
Such a lot
Who envies not?
From country, law and monarch free
Man is blest one day in three.
Such a lot
Who envies not?
From country, law and monarch free
Man is blest one day in three.
Free-born babes we greet the day,—
Church's rite
Denied us quite,—
Free-born babes we greet the day,
To sound of fife and roundelay.
Church's rite
Denied us quite,—
348
To sound of fife and roundelay.
Our young feet are unconfined
Here below
Where follies grow,—
Our young feet are unconfined
By swaddling bands of errors blind.
Here below
Where follies grow,—
Our young feet are unconfined
By swaddling bands of errors blind.
Good people at whose cost we thieve
In juggling book
Will always look;
Good people at whose cost we thieve
In sorcerers and in saints believe.
In juggling book
Will always look;
Good people at whose cost we thieve
In sorcerers and in saints believe.
If Plutus meets our tramping band,
Charity!
We gaily cry;
If Plutus meets our tramping band,
We sing and hold him out our hand.
Charity!
We gaily cry;
If Plutus meets our tramping band,
We sing and hold him out our hand.
Hapless birds whom God has blest
Hunted down
Through every town,—
Hapless birds whom God has blest
Deep in forests hangs our nest.
Hunted down
Through every town,—
Hapless birds whom God has blest
Deep in forests hangs our nest.
Love, without his torch, at night
Bids us meet
In union sweet;
Love, without his torch, at night,
Binds us to his chariot's flight.
Bids us meet
In union sweet;
Love, without his torch, at night,
Binds us to his chariot's flight.
Thine eye can never stir again,
Learned sage
Of slenderest gauge,—
Thine eye can never stir again
From thy old steeple's rusty vane.
Learned sage
Of slenderest gauge,—
Thine eye can never stir again
From thy old steeple's rusty vane.
Seeing is having. Here we go!
Life that's free
Is ecstasy.
Seeing is having. Here we go!
Who sees all, conquers all below.
Life that's free
Is ecstasy.
Seeing is having. Here we go!
Who sees all, conquers all below.
But still in every place they cry,
Join the strife
Or lag through life;
But still in every place they cry,
‘Thou'rt born, good-day; thou diest, good-bye.’
Join the strife
Or lag through life;
But still in every place they cry,
‘Thou'rt born, good-day; thou diest, good-bye.’
When we die, both young and old,
Great and small,
God save us all!
When we die, both young and old,
To the doctors all are sold.
Great and small,
God save us all!
When we die, both young and old,
To the doctors all are sold.
We are neither rich nor proud;
Laws we scorn
For freedom born;
We are neither rich nor proud,—
Have no cradle, roof or shroud.
Laws we scorn
For freedom born;
We are neither rich nor proud,—
Have no cradle, roof or shroud.
But, trust us, we are merry still;
Lord or priest
Greatest or least:
But, trust us, we are merry still;
'Tis happiness to have our will.
Lord or priest
Greatest or least:
But, trust us, we are merry still;
'Tis happiness to have our will.
Yes, trust us, we are merry still
Lord or priest
Greatest or least
Yes, trust us, we are merry still:
'Tis happiness to have our will.
Lord or priest
Greatest or least
Yes, trust us, we are merry still:
'Tis happiness to have our will.
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |