Francis S. Mahony

The Garret of Béranger

(From the French of Béranger)

Oh! It was here that Love his gifts bestowed

            On youth’s wild age !

Gladly once more I seek my youth’s abode,

            In pilgrimage:

Here my young mistress with her poet dared

            Reckless to dwell:

She was sixteen, I twenty, and we shared

            This attic cell.

Yes, ‘twas a garret! be it known to all,

            Here was Love’s shrine;

There read, in charcoal traced along the wall,

            Th’ unfinished line—

Here was the board where kindred hearts would blend.

            The Jew can tell

How oft I pawned my watch, to feast a friend

            In attic cell!

O! My Lisette’s fair form could I recall

            With fairy wand!

There she would blind the window with her shawl—

            Bashful, yet fond!

What though from whom she got her dress I’ve since

            Learnt but too well.

Still in those days I envied not a prince

            In attic cell!

Here the glad tidings on our banquet burst,

            Mid the bright bowls:

Yes, it was here Marengo’s triumph first

            Kindled our souls!

Bronze cannon roared; France with redoubled might

            Felt her heart swell!

Proudly we drank our Consul’s health that night

            In attic cell!

Dreams of my joyful youth! I’d freely give,

            Ere my life’s close,

All the dull days I’m destined yet to live,

            For one of those!

Where shall I now find raptures that were felt,

            Joys that befell,

And hopes that dawned at twenty, when I dwelt

            In attic cell?