TRANSLATION OF ALFRED DE MUSSET'S ADDRESS TO LAMARTINE

On his poem Le Lac, by Sir Tollemache Sinclair. Which of us, Lamartine, of our youth, the world o'er. Knows not by heart that song which lovers all adore. Which thou didst sigh one evening at the lake's shore grey? Who does not read a thousand times — and read for aye Those mystic lines in which thy mistress does hearts sway? Who has not wept at those divine heart-sobs so sad, Profound as heaven, — pure like the waves, which seem so glad ? Alas ! these long regrets of lying loves extinct. These wrecks of Time one finds at each step here below, These countless tracks of gleams ephemeral close linked, Ah ! Who can call himself a man and don't them know ?