SONGS AND BALLADS
changed into a casemate, within two steps of the redoubt which they had thrown up, their carbines, primed and loaded, resting on the back of their chairs, these gallant young men, so near their last hour, began to sing love-rhymes.... The hour, the place, these memories of youth recalled, the few stars which began to shine in the sky, the funereal repose of these deserted streets, the imminence of the inexorable event, gave a pathetic charm to these rhymes, murmured in a low tone in the twilight by Jean Prouvaire, who, as we have said, was a sweet poet." Les Miserable: Saint Denis, Book XII, chapter vi.
Do you remember our charming times,
When we were both so young, and knew
Of naught on earth that was worth a wish
But love, and to look our best,—we two;
When all your birthdays, added to mine,
A total of forty would not bring,
And when, in our humble and cosey roost,
All, even the Winter, to us was Spring?
Rare days! then prudish Manuel stalked,
Paris a godly life essayed,
Foy thundered, and yes, 't was then a pin
In your bodice pricked my hand that abrayed!
Every one ogled you. At Prado's,
Where you and your briefless barrister dined,
You were so pretty, the roses, I thought,
Turned to look at you from behind.
They seemed to whisper: "How handsome she is!
What wavy tresses! what sweet perfume!
Under her mantle she hides her wings;
Her flower of a bonnet is just in bloom!"
I roamed with you, pressing your dainty arm,
And the passers thought that Love, in play,
Had mated, in unison so sweet,
The gallant April with gentle May.
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