Collected Works (Vol. II)

TRANSLATIONS FROM BAUDELAIRE 15 Mine host protects an honest roof. (Bring gold and frankincense and myrrh !) His spouse sniffs loud and holds aloof. (O Holy Spirit, pity her !) The Angel has not come again. (Bring gold and frankincense and myrrh !) Why did God deal her out such pain? (O Holy Spirit, pity her !) Her love-hours held the Holy Ghost. (Bring gold and frankincense and myrrh: !) Where is he now she needs him most? (O Holy Spirit, pity her !) Joseph drinks deep outside the inn. (Bring gold and frankincense and myrrh !) She is half hated by her kin. (O Holy Spirit, pity her !) The agony increases fast. (Bring gold and frankincense and myrrh !) Each spasm is a holocaust. (O Holy Spirit, pity her !) There are three kings upon the road. (Bring gold and frankincense and myrrh !) She hath thrice cursed the name of God. (O Holy Spirit, pity her !) There stands her star above the sky. (Bring gold and frankincense and myrrh !) She hath thrice prayed that she may die. (O Holy Spirit, pity her !) Ifer bitter anguish hath sufficed. (Bring gold and frankincense and myrrh !) She is delivered of the Christ. (The angels come to worship her.) TRANSLATIONS FROM BAUDE- LAIRE.! CAIN ET ABEL. I. SEED of Abel, eat, drink, sleep ! God shall smile complaisantly. Seed of Cain, in the muck-heap Crawl and miserably die ! 1 The original metres are in all cases closely imitated, Seed of Abel, thine oblation Sweet to Seraphim doth smell : Seed of Cain, shall thy damnation Ever find the bounds of Hell? Race of Abel, see thy seed And thy cattle flourish more ! Race of Cain, for hunger’s need, Like a dog thy bowels roar. Seed of Abel, warm thy paunch At thy patriarchal hall ! Seed of Cain, on shivering haunch Squat in cave, despised jackal ! Seed of Abel, love and swarm ! So thy gold shall also grow. Seed of Cain, heart over-warm, Guard thy lust and crush it low! Seed of Abel, grow, well-faring Like the bugs in forest beats ! Seed of Cain, at bay, despairing, Throw thy children on the streets ! Il. Seed of Abel, carrion Shall make fat the smoking soil. Seed of Cain, on thee has none Laid sufficient woes of toil. Seed of Abel, this thy shame— To the boar-spear yields the sword. Seed of Cain, to heaven flame, And to earth cast Heaven’s Lord ! THE LITANY OF SATAN. O thou, of Angels fairest and most wise, God by Fate’s treachery shorn of liturgies ! O Satan, have pity of my long misery ! O Prince of Exile, Sufferer of wrong, Whose vengeance, conquered, rises triply strong ! O Satan, have pity of my long misery !