Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A OUTRANCE (FRANCE, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY), by ROBERT CAMERON ROGERS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A OUTRANCE (FRANCE, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY), by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Heigho! Why the plague did you wake me?
Last Line: De genlis, my love to madame.
Subject(s): Women


Heigho! Why the plague did you wake me?
It's barely a half after four;
My head, too, is—ah! I remember
That little affair at the shore.
Well, I had forgotten completely!
I must have been drinking last night—
Rapiers, West Sands, and sunrise—
But whom, by the way, do I fight?

De Genlis! Ah, now I recall it!
He started it all, did he not?
I drank to his wife—but, the devil!
He needn't have gotten so hot.
Just see what a ruffler that man is,
Just to give me a challenge to fight,
And only for pledging milady
A half-dozen times in a night.

Ah, well! It's a beautiful morning,—
The sun just beginning to rise,—
A glorious day for one's spirit
To pilgrimage off to the skies—

God keep mine from any such notion;—
This duel's à outrance, you see,—
I haven't confessed for a month back,
And haven't had breakfast, tant pis!

Well, here we are, first at the West Sands!
The tide is well out: and how red
The sunrise is painting the ocean;—
Is that a sea-gull overhead?
And here come De Genlis and Virron:
Messieurs, we were waiting for you
To complete, with the sea and the sunrise,
The charming effect of the view.

Are we ready? Indeed we were waiting
Your orders, Marigny and I.
On guard then it is,—we must hasten:
The sun is already quite high.
Where now would you like me to pink you?
I've no choice at all, don't you see;
And any spot you may desire
Will be convenable for me.

From this hand-shake, I judge I was drinking
Last night, with the thirst of a fish;
I've vigour enough though to kill you,
Mon ami, and that's all I wish.
Keep cool, keep your temper, I beg you,—
Don't fret yourself—Now by your leave
I'll finish you off—Help, Marigny!
His sword's in my heart, I believe.

God! God! What a mortification!
The Amontillado last night—
Was drinking, you know, and my hand shook;—
My head, too, was dizzy and light.
And I the best swordsman in Paris!
No priest, please, for such as I am—
I'm going—Good-by, my Marigny;
De Genlis, my love to Madame.





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