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 If ever a more superb structure of lyric verse was devised by the brain of man, it must have been, I am very certain, in a language utterly unknown to me. Every line, every pause, every note of it should be studied and restudied by those who would thoroughly understand the lyrical capacity of Hugo's at its very highest point of power, in the fullest sweetness of its strength.

About the next poem—'Souvenir de la nuit du 4'—others may try, if they please, to write, if they can; I can only confess that I cannot. Nothing so intolerable in its pathos, I should think, was ever written.

The stately melody of the stanzas in which the exile salutes in a tone of severe content the sorrows that environ and the comforts that sustain him, the island of his refuge, the sea-birds and the sea-rocks and the sea, closes aptly with yet another thought of the mothers weeping for their children.

Puisque le juste est dans l'abîme, Puisqu'on donne le sceptre au crime, Puisque tous les droits sont trahis, Puisque les plus fiers restent mornes, Puisqu'on affiche au coin des bornes Le déshonneur de mon pays;

O République de nos pères, Grand Panthéon plein de lumières, Dôme d'or dans le libre azur, Temple des ombres immortelles, Puisqu'on vient avec des échelles Coller l'empire sur ton mur;

Puisque toute âme est affaiblie; Puisqu'on rampe; puisqu'on oublie Le vrai, le pur, le grand, le beau,