Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/102

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From the blue pall of heaven spread out on high Thousands of stars look down like tender eyes Of lovely women—bright, and large, and full, Full of desire and strange intelligence. As they have done for æons, they regard The blue sea stretching miles and miles away, Covered with purple vapours, lit by starts With strange phosphoric gleams. Murmur the waves Voluptuously around the gallant ship. No sail floats on its towering masts. It seems Despoiled of all its rigging and its gear. But lanterns shine upon the glancing deck Where joyful music summons to the dance. The pilot plays the violin, the cook Breathes on the flute, a sailor strikes the drum, And Van der Smissen gives the trumpet voice. About a hundred men and women dark Utter wild cries of joy, and leap and whirl In Bacchanal frenzy. At each turn Their chains resound in cadence to their steps. They beat the creaking planks beneath their feet Like folk gone mad, and many an ebon nymph Twines with her arms voluptuously the form Of some companion stalwart yet though gaunt. But ever and anon across the noise Tumultuous, a low, low sob resounds. The garde-chiourme, the master of the bands, Is master of the ceremonies here, And with the lash by fits he stimulates The dancers faint, and urges them to joy. And dideldumdei! And schnedderedeng! The tumult from the waves' dark depths attracts