A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/The Awakening (Les Châtiments, Victor Hugo)
There are days abject when, seduced by joys,
Of Honour reft,
The peoples serve success, and follow noise:
What then is left?
Then from such peoples, lulled by fatal dreams
In swoon-like sleep,
Virtue flows out, as blood from sword-wounds' streams,
And angels weep.
Then—then, before all Evil, Folly, Crime,
They, but to live,
Bend like vile reeds—bow, bow, they say, in time,
And offerings give.
Then revels reign; then whispers of the soul
Are heard no more,
They eat, drink, sing, nor care they, if they roll
In mire and gore.
Then happy Crime, by brazen tools obeyed,
Seems half a god,
But bones of heroes quiver as afraid,
Beneath the clod.
Then have men eyes, and yet they do not see
And fear no harms—
When sharp a clarion rings out—'Liberty!
'To arms! To arms!'
And they awake, like drunkards whom the sun
Surprises rude,
Ah! Well, if they can grasp at last the gun,
For Right withstood!