The Casque's Lark; or, Victoria, the Mother of the Camps. Эжен Сю

freedom that we enjoy to-day."

      "That is true, Schanvoch, but that song is very long, and you warned us that we were soon to become silent as fishes."

      "Douarnek," one of the soldiers spoke up, "sing to us the song of Hena the Virgin of the Isle of Sen. It always brings tears to my eyes. She is my favorite saint, the beautiful and sweet Hena, who lived centuries and centuries ago."

      "Yes, yes," said the other soldiers, "sing the song of Hena, Douarnek! That song predicts the victory of Gaul – and Gaul is to-day triumphant!"

      Hearing these words I was greatly moved, I felt happy and, I confess it, proud at seeing that the name of Hena, dead more than three hundred years, had remained in Gaul as popular as it was at the time of Sylvest.

      "Very well, the song of Hena it shall be!" replied the veteran. "I also love the sweet and saintly girl, who offered her blood to Hesus for the deliverance of Gaul. And you, Schanvoch, do you know the song?"

      "Yes – quite well – I have heard it sung – "

      "You will know it enough to repeat the refrain with us."

      Saying this Douarnek struck up the song in a full and sonorous voice that reached far over the waters of the Rhine:

      "She was young, she was fair,

      And holy was she.

      To Hesus her blood gave

      That Gaul might be free.

      Hena her name!

      Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!

      " – Blessed be the gods, my sweet daughter, —

      Said her father Joel,

      The brenn of the tribe of Karnak.

      – Blessed be the gods, my sweet daughter,

      Since you are at home this night

      To celebrate the day of your birth! —

      " – Blessed be the gods, my sweet girl, —

      Said Margarid, her mother.

      – Blessed be your coming!

      But why is your face so sad? —

      " – My face is sad, my good mother;

      My face is sad, my good father,

      Because Hena your daughter

      Comes to bid you Adieu,

      Till we meet again. —

      " – And where are you going, my sweet daughter?

      Will your journey, then, be long?

      Whither thus are you going? —

      " – I go to those worlds

      So mysterious, above,

      That no one yet knows,

      But that all will yet know.

      Where living ne'er traveled,

      Where all will yet travel,

      To live there again

      With those we have loved. – "

      And myself and the three other oarsmen replied in chorus:

      "She was young, she was fair,

      And holy was she.

      To Hesus her blood gave,

      That Gaul might be free.

      Hena her name!

      Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!"

      Douarnek then proceeded with the song:

      "Hearing Hena speak these words,

      Sadly gazed upon her her father

      And her mother, aye, all the family,

      Even the little children,

      For Hena loved them very dearly.

      " – But why, dear daughter,

      Why now quit this world,

      And travel away beyond

      Without the Angel of Death having called you? —

      " – Good father, good mother,

      Hesus is angry.

      The stranger now threatens our Gaul so beloved.

      The innocent blood of a virgin

      Offered by her to the gods

      May their anger well soften.

      Adieu, then, till we meet again,

      Good father, good mother,

      Adieu till we meet again,

      All, my dear ones and friends.

      These collars preserve, and these rings

      As mementoes of me.

      Let me kiss for the last time your blonde heads,

      Dear little ones. Good bye till we meet.

      Remember your Hena, she waits for you yonder,

      In the worlds yet unknown. – "

      And the other oarsmen and I replied in chorus to the rythmical sound of the oars:

      "She was young, she was fair,

      And holy was she.

      To Hesus her blood gave

      That Gaul might be free.

      Hena her name.

      Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!"

      Douarnek proceeded:

      "Bright is the moon, high is the pyre

      Which rises near the sacred stones of Karnak;

      Vast is the gathering of the tribes

      Which presses 'round the funeral pile.

      "Behold her, it is she, it is Hena!

      She mounts the pyre, her golden harp in hand,

      And singeth thus:

      " – Take my blood, O Hesus,

      And deliver my land from the stranger.

      Take my blood, O Hesus,

      Pity for Gaul! Victory to our arms! —

      And it flowed, the blood of Hena.

      "O, holy Virgin, in vain 'twill not have been,

      The shedding of your innocent and generous blood.

      Bowed beneath the yoke, Gaul will some day rise erect,

      Free and proud, and crying, like thee,

      – Victory and Freedom!"

      And Douarnek, along with the three other soldiers, repeated in a low voice, vibrating with pious admiration, this last refrain:

      "So it was that she offered her blood to Hesus,

      To Hesus for the deliverance of Gaul!

      She was young, she was fair,

      And holy was she,

      Hena her name!

      Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!"

      I alone did not join in the last refrain of the song. I was too deeply moved!

      Noticing my emotion and my silence, Douarnek said to me surprised:

      "What, Schanvoch, have you lost your voice? You remain silent at the close of so glorious a song?"

      "Your speech is sooth, Douarnek; it is just because that song is particularly glorious to me – that you see me so deeply moved."

      "That song is particularly glorious to you? I do not understand you."

      "Hena was the daughter of one of my