Oracles

TRANSLATIONS FROM BAUDELAIRE 5I Who knowest all, of under earth the king, Familiar healer of man’s suffering ! O Satan, have pity of my long misery ! Who to the leper, even the cursed pariah, Hast taught by love the taste of heavenly fire ! O Satan, have pity of my long misery ! Thou who on Death, thine old and strong leman, Begottest Hope—a charming madwoman ! O Satan, have pity of my long misery ! Who knowest in which caves of envious lands God has hid precious stones with jealous hands ! O Satan, have pity of my long misery ! Thou whose clear eye discerns the arsenals deep, Where the small folk of buried metals sleep ! O Satan, have pity of my long misery ! Whose broad hand hides the giddy precipice From sleepers straying about some edifice ! O Satan, have pity of my long misery ! Whose skill makes supple the old bones, at needs, Of the belated sot, ’mid surging steeds ! O Satan, have pity of my long misery !