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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Targum, by George Borrow
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Targum
+
+Author: George Borrow
+
+Release Date: June 3, 2004  [eBook #12510]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: US-ASCII
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARGUM***
+
+
+
+Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+
+
+
+
+
+TARGUM.
+Or Metrical Translations From Thirty Languages And Dialects.
+By George Borrow.
+
+
+
+
+"The raven has ascended to the nest of the nightingale."
+Persian Poem
+
+The following pieces, selections from a huge and undigested mass of
+translation, accumulated during several years devoted to philological
+pursuits, are with much diffidence offered to the public, the writer being
+fully aware that not unfrequently he has failed in giving his version that
+cast and turn, which constitute no slight part of the beauty of the
+original; a point the accomplishment of which the poetical Translator
+ought, in all instances, to bear particularly in view, but which he will
+invariably find the most difficult part of the task which he has
+undertaken; in comparison with which the rendering of the diction of his
+Author into tolerable verse is an easy achievement.  Perhaps no person,
+amongst the many individuals who have distinguished themselves by skill in
+the targumannic art, has more successfully surmounted this difficulty than
+Fairfax, the Translator into English "octave rhyme" of "The Jerusalem,"
+the master-piece of the greatest poet of modern Italy and, with one
+exception, of modern time.
+
+That the character of a nation is best distinguishable by the general tone
+of its poetry, has been frequently remarked, and is a truth which does not
+admit of controversy; the soft songs of the Persian, and the bold and
+warlike ditties of the Dane are emblems of the effeminacy of the one, and
+the reckless heroism of the other.--In most instances the writer in the
+selection of pieces for this little work has been guided by a desire of
+exhibiting what is most characteristic of the people to whose literature
+it belongs.  At the same time, he has been careful that this desire should
+not lead him to the countenancing of any thing which could be considered
+as pregnant with injury to good taste and morals, and has in consequence
+been compelled to exclude from his anthology many a glorious flower, which
+he would gladly have woven therein, had he not been apprehensive that it
+was the offspring of a poisonous bulb.  He cannot refrain from lamenting
+that in his literary researches he has too often found amongst the
+writings of those, most illustrious for their genius and imagination, the
+least of that which is calculated to meet the approbation of the
+Christian, or even of the mere Moralist; and in conclusion he will take
+the liberty of addressing to those who may feel within them the stirrings
+of a mind capable of mighty things, the sublime words, slightly modified,
+of an Arabian sage and poet:  O man, though the years of thy worldly fame
+are destined to be equal in number to the doves of the heaven, they shall
+nevertheless have an end, but whatever thou shalt do or say, which is
+founded on the love of wisdom and of God, shall endure for ever.
+
+Saint Petersburg.  June 1, 1835.
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO GOD.
+
+
+From the Hebrew.
+
+Reign'd the Universe's Master ere were earthly things begun;
+When His mandate all created, Ruler was the name He won,
+And alone He'll rule tremendous when all things are past and gone;
+He no equal has nor consort, He the singular and lone
+Has no end and no beginning, His the sceptre, might, and throne;
+He's my God and living Saviour, rock to which in need I run;
+He's my banner and my refuge, fount of weal when call'd upon;
+In His hand I place my spirit at night-fall and rise of sun,
+And therewith my body also; God's my God--I fear no one.
+
+
+
+
+PRAYER.
+
+
+From the Arabic.
+
+O Thou who dost know what the heart fain would hide;
+Who ever art ready whate'er may betide;
+In whom the distressed can hope in their woe;
+Whose ears with the groans of the wretched are plied--
+Still bid Thy good gifts from Thy treasury flow;
+All good is assembled where Thou dost abide;
+To Thee, save my poverty, nought can I show,
+And of Thee all my poverty's wants are supplied;
+What choice have I save to Thy portal to go?
+If 'tis shut, to what other my steps can I guide?
+'Fore whom as a suppliant low shall I bow,
+If Thy bounty to me, Thy poor slave, is denied?
+But oh:  though rebellious full often I grow
+Thy bounty and kindness are not the less wide.
+
+
+
+
+DEATH.
+
+
+From the Arabic.
+
+Grim Death in his shroud swatheth mortals each hour,
+Yet little we reck of what's hanging us o'er;
+O would on the world that ye laid not such stress,
+That its baubles ye lov'd not, so gaudy and poor;
+O where are the friends we were wont to caress,
+And where are the lov'd ones who dwelt on our floor?
+They have drank of the goblet of death's bitterness,
+And have gone to the deep, to return never more;
+Their mansions bewail them in tears and distress;
+Yet has paradise lovelier mansions in store;
+Of the worth of the plume the dove strips from its dress
+Were their views, save in memory heaven they bore.
+
+
+
+
+STANZAS.
+
+
+From the Arabic.
+
+On a Fountain.
+
+In the fount fell my tears, like rain,
+And straight defil'd became its flood;
+How should it undefil'd remain,
+All purpled o'er with human blood?
+
+The Pursued.
+
+How wretched roams the weary wight,
+Who rage of keen pursuers fears;
+The whole earth's surface in his sight
+A hunter's treacherous net appears.
+
+
+
+
+ODES.
+
+
+From the Persian.
+
+1.
+
+Boy, hand my friends the cup, 'tis time of roses now;
+Midst roses let us break each penitential vow;
+With shout and antic bound we'll in the garden stray;
+When nightingales are heard, we'll rove where roses blow;
+Here in this open spot fill, fill, and quaff away;
+Midst roses here we stand a troop with hearts that glow;
+The rose our long-miss'd friend retains in full array;
+No fairer pearls than friends and cups the roses know;
+Poor Hafiz loves the rose, and down his soul would lay,
+With joy, to win the dust its guardian's foot below.
+
+2.
+
+If shedding lovers' blood thou deem'st a matter slight,
+No goodness I can plead to scare thee and affright,
+O Thou, in whose black locks night's Genius stands confest,
+Whose maiden cheek displays the morning's Master bright.
+My eyes to fountains turn, down pouring on my breast,
+I sink amid their waves, to swim I have no might.
+O ruby lip, by thee life's water is possest,
+Thou couldst awake the dead to vigour and delight;
+There's no salvation from the tresses which invest
+Those temples, nor from eyes swift-flashing left and right.
+Devotion, piety I plead not to arrest
+My doom, no goodness crowns the passion-madden'd wight;
+Thy prayer unmeaning cease, with which thou weariest,
+O Hafiz, the most High at morning and at night.
+
+3.
+
+O Thou, whose equal mind knows no vexation,
+Who holding love in deep abomination,
+On love's divan to loiter wilt not deign,
+Thy wit doth merit every commendation.
+Love's visions never will disturb his brain,
+Who drinketh of the vine the sweet oblation;
+And know, thou passion-smit, pale visag'd swain,
+There's medicine to work thy restoration;
+Ever in memory the receipt retain--
+'Tis quaffing wine-cups to intoxication.
+
+
+
+
+STANZAS.
+
+
+From the Turkish of Fezouli.
+
+O Fezouli, the hour is near,
+Which bids thee from this world depart,
+And leave--what now thou hold'st so dear--
+The loves of thy too ardent heart.
+
+Yet till that fated hour arrive,
+Be thy emprises, every one,
+If thou wouldst fain behold them thrive,
+In God's Almighty name begun.
+
+
+
+
+DESCRIPTION OF PARADISE.
+
+
+From the Turkish.
+(Translated from the metrical History of the World.)
+
+Eight Gennets {8} there be, as some relate,
+Or one subdivided, as others state;
+The first Dar al Galal, the next is Salem,
+And Gennet Amawi stands next to them;
+Then Kholud and Nayim and Gennet Ferdous--
+And that last as most lovely is pictur'd to us;
+A seventh there is, Dar al Karar the same,
+And an eighth there is also, and Ad is its name.
+God made Dar al Galal of white pearls fair,
+Then of rubies Al Salem, so red in their glare;
+He made Gennet Kholud so splendid to stand
+Of bright yellow corals, so smooth to the hand;
+Then blest Gennet Nayim of silver ore--
+Behold ye its strength, and its Maker adore.
+Gold bricks He employ'd when He built Ferdous,
+And of living sapphires Al Karar rose.
+He made the eighth Gennet of jewels all,
+With arbours replete 'tis a diamond hall.
+Broad and vast is paradise-peak--
+The lowest foundation is not weak.
+One over the other the stories are pil'd:
+The loftiest story Ad is styl'd.
+From above or below if you cast your eyes,
+You can see the Gennets in order rise.
+You ask, for whom are those mansions gay;
+For the prophets of God, for his lov'd, I say.
+
+Seven walls are plac'd, which to open are meant,
+Far betwixt them is the extent;
+Betwixt two walls the whole doth stand,
+Walls uncrumbling, mighty and grand.
+Within are bowers, cedar-woods dusk,
+Houries and odours of amber and musk;
+Eight are the gates for the eight estates,
+Jewel-beset, gold-beaming gates;
+Upon the first inscrib'd you see:
+For those who repent this gate is free.
+On the second:  for those who up-offer pray'r;
+On the third:  for the sons of charity fair.
+On the fourth this solemn inscription stands:
+For those who fulfil the Lord's commands.
+In painted letters the fifth doth say:
+For those who for pilgrimage gold up-lay.
+The sixth fair portal thus proclaims:
+For ye who inhibit from sin your frames;
+The seventh:  for God's own warrior train,
+Who bleed for his cause, nor flinch from pain.
+'Tis written in white the eighth above:
+For those who instruct for Allah's love {10}.
+For ye who serve God with heart and eye,
+Control your passions when swelling high,
+Your parents cherish and all your race,
+For ye are the halls of joy and grace;
+For the prophets of God are they decreed,
+Who His law in the sacred volumes read.
+
+
+
+
+O LORD!  I NOTHING CRAVE BUT THEE.
+
+
+From the Tartar.
+
+O thou, from whom all love doth flow,
+Whom all the world doth reverence so,
+Thou constitut'st each care I know;
+   O Lord!  I nothing crave but Thee.
+
+O keep me from each sinful way;
+Thou breathedst life within my clay,
+I'll therefore serve Thee, night and day;
+   O Lord!  I nothing crave but Thee.
+
+I ope my eyes and see Thy face,
+On Thee my musings all I place,
+I've left my parents, friends and race;
+   O Lord!  I nothing crave but Thee.
+
+Take Thou my soul, my every thing,
+My blood from out its vessels wring,
+Thy slave am I, and Thou my King;
+   O Lord!  I nothing crave but Thee.
+
+I speak--my tongue on Thee doth roam;
+I list--the winds Thy title boom;
+For in my soul has God His home;
+   O Lord!  I nothing crave but Thee.
+
+The world the shallow worldling craves,
+And greatness need ambitious knaves,
+The lover of his maiden raves;
+   O Lord!  I nothing crave but Thee.
+
+The student needs his bookish lore,
+The bigot shrines, to pray before,
+His pulpit needs the orator;
+   O Lord!  I nothing crave but Thee.
+
+Though all the learning 'neath the skies,
+And th' houries all of paradise,
+The Lord should place before my eyes,
+   O Lord!  I'd nothing crave but Thee.
+
+When I through paradise shall stray,
+Its houries and delights survey,
+Full little gust awake will they,
+   O Lord!  I'll nothing crave but Thee.
+
+For Hadgee Ahmed is my name,
+My heart with love of God doth flame,
+Here and above I'll bide the same;
+   O Lord!  I nothing crave but Thee.
+
+
+
+
+MYSTICAL POEM.
+
+
+Relating to the worship of the Great Foutsa or Buddh.
+From the Tibetian.
+
+Should I Foutsa's force and glory,
+Earth's protector, all unfold,
+Through more years would last my story
+Than has Ganges sands of gold.
+Him the fitting reverence showing
+For a minute's period e'en,
+Bringeth blessing overflowing
+Unto heaven and man, I ween.
+If from race of man descended,
+Or from that of dragon-sprite,
+When thy prior course {13} is ended,
+Thou in evil paths shouldst light,--
+If Great Foutsa ever, ever
+Thou but seek with mind sincere,
+Thou the mists of sin shalt sever,
+All shall lie before thee clear.
+Whosoe'er his parents losing
+From his early infancy,
+Cannot guess with all his musing,
+Where their place of birth might be;
+He who sister dear nor brother,
+Since the sun upon him shone,
+And of kindred all the other
+Shoots and branches ne'er has known--
+If of Foutsa Grand the figure
+He shall shape and colour o'er,
+Gaze upon it rapt and eager,
+And with fitting rites adore,
+And through twenty days shall utter
+The dread name with reverend fear,
+Foutsa huge of form shall flutter
+Round about him and appear,
+And to him the spot discover,
+Birth-place of his flesh and bone {14};
+And though evils whelm them over,
+For his sake release them soon;
+If that man unchang'd still keeping
+From back-sliding shall refrain,
+He, by Foutsa touch'd when sleeping,
+Shall Biwangarit's title gain;
+If to Bouddi's elevation,
+He would win, and from the three
+Confines dark of tribulation
+Soar to light and liberty--
+When a heart with kindness glowing
+He within him shall descry,
+To Grand Foutsa's image going,
+Let him gaze attentively:
+Soon his every wish acquiring
+He shall triumph glad and fain,
+And the shades of sin retiring
+Never more his soul restrain.
+Whosoever bent on speeding
+To that distant shore, the home
+Of the wise, shall take to reading
+The all-wondrous Soudra tome;
+If that study deep beginning,
+No fit preparation made,
+Scanty shall he find his winning,
+Straight forgetting what he's read:
+Whilst he in the dark subjection
+Shall of shadowing sin remain,
+Soudra's page of full perfection
+How shall he in mind retain?
+Unto him the earth who blesses,
+Unto Foutsa, therefore he
+Drink and incense, food and dresses
+Should up-offer plenteously;
+And the fountain's limpid liquor
+Pour Grand Foutsa's face before,
+Drain himself a cooling beaker
+When a day and night are o'er;
+Tune his heart to high devotion:
+The five evil things eschew,
+Lust and flesh and vinous potion,
+And the words which are not true;
+Living thing abstain from killing
+For full twenty days and one,
+And meanwhile with accents thrilling
+Mighty Foutsa call upon--
+Then of infinite dimension
+Foutsa's form in dreams he'll see,
+And if he with fixt attention,
+When his sleep dissolv'd shall be,
+Shall but list to Soudra's volume,
+He, through thousand ages flight,
+Shall of Soudra's doctrine solemn;
+Ne'er forget one portion slight
+Yes, a soul so richly gifted
+Every child of man can find,
+If to mighty Foutsa lifted
+He but keep his heart and mind.
+He who goods and cattle lacking
+Is to fell disease a prey,
+In whose household bones are cracking,
+Cuts occurring every day,
+Who though slumbering never resteth
+From excess of bitter pain,
+And what he in prayer requesteth
+Never, never can obtain,--
+To earth-favouring Foutsa's figure
+If but reverence he shall pay
+Dire misfortune's dreadful rigour
+Flits for ever and for aye;
+In his sleep no ills distress him,
+And of nought he knows the want;
+Cattle, corn and riches bless him,
+Which the favouring demons grant.
+Those, who sombre forests threading,
+Those, who sailing ocean's plain,
+Fain would wend their way undreading
+Evil poisons, beasts and men,
+Evil spirits, demons, javals {17},
+And the force of evil winds,
+And each ill, which he who travels
+In his course so frequent finds--
+Let them only take their station
+'Fore the form of Foutsa Grand,
+On it gaze with adoration,
+Sacrifice with reverent hand--
+And within the forest gloomy,
+On the mountain or the vale,
+On the ocean wide and roomy
+Them no evil shall assail.
+Thou, who every secret knowest,
+Foutsa, hear my heart-felt pray'r;
+Thou, who earth such favour showest,
+How shall I thy praise declare?
+Through ten million calaps {18} hoary
+If with cataract's voice I roar,
+Yet of Foutsa's force and glory
+I may not the sum out-pour
+Whosoe'er the title learning
+Of the earth's protector high,
+Shall, whene'er his form discerning,
+On it gaze with steadfast eye,
+And at times shall offer dresses,
+Offer fitting drink and food.
+He ten thousand joys possesses,
+And escapes each trouble rude.
+Whoso into deed shall carry
+Of the law each precept, he
+Through all time alive shall tarry,
+And from birth and death be free.
+Foutsa, thou, who best of any
+Know'st the truth of what I've told,
+Spread the tale through regions, many
+As the Ganges' sands of gold.
+
+
+
+
+MORAL METAPHORS.
+
+
+From the Chinese.
+
+1.
+
+From out the South the genial breezes sigh,
+They shake the bramble branches to and fro,
+Whose lovely green delights the gazer's eye--
+A mother's thoughts are troubled even so.
+
+From out the South the genial breezes move,
+They shake the branches of the bramble-tree;
+Unless the sons fair men and honest prove,
+The virtuous mother will dishonor'd be.
+
+The frigid fount with violence and spray
+By Shiyoun's town upcasts its watery store;
+Though full seven sons she give to life and day
+The mother's heart is but disturb'd the more.
+
+When sings the redbreast it is bliss to hear
+The dulcet notes the little songster breeds;
+But ah, more blissful to a mother's ear
+The fair report of seven good children's deeds.
+
+2.
+
+Survey, survey Gi Shoi's murmuring flood!
+How its bamboos with living green are gay;
+Survey the great, illustrious and good--
+How sculptur'd, polish'd and refin'd are they!
+What elegance and majesty they bear!
+What witchery lurketh in their voice and eyes;
+View them but once, and whilst thou breath'st the air
+Thou'lt ne'er forget the great, the good and wise.
+
+Survey, survey Gi Shoi's murmuring flood!
+How its bamboos uptower in green array;
+The bonnets of the great, the wise and good
+At either ear an agate gem display;
+Bright as a star the crownlet of their hair--
+What witchery lurketh in their voice and eyes;
+Survey them once, and whilst thou breath'st the air
+Thou'lt ne'er forget the great, the good and wise.
+
+Survey, survey Gi Shoi's murmuring flood!
+Like to the green bamboos upon it's shore
+Are the illustrious, the great and good--
+More pure than gold, more soft than stannine ore;
+The round imperial agate's not more sheen;
+Ever magnanimous and constant found,
+On glory's car they sit with placid mien,
+And smile benign where jocund sports abound.
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAIN-CHASE.
+
+
+From the Mandchou or Chinese Tartar.
+(An extract from the "Description of Moukden" by the Emperor Kian Loung.)
+
+Autumn has fled and winter left our bounds;
+Now for the chase amongst the mountain grounds,
+Our troops their implements and arms prepare.
+Like colour'd rainbow see our banners glare;
+While paler far and like the waning bow,
+Rustle the standards in the winds that blow;
+Piercing the mists, above our heads that lower,
+Aloft behold our stately Toron {21} tower,
+Flapping the skies with its embroider'd rim.
+Away we journey, hale in mind and limb;
+Our cars of state are creaking in the rear,
+Whilst in the front the active guides appear.
+
+And now our children mount their colts of speed,
+Their sculptur'd cars full little here they need;
+From the right side they take the arrow keen,
+Ne'er to its quiver to return, I ween;
+The bow, the left side's fitting ornament;
+The bow, the tough and pliant bow is bent;
+It yields a sound, like thunder from afar,
+While flies the arrow, like a streaming star.
+
+None now expects a tale of fabled might;
+Wang Liyang's {22} bridle will no more delight;
+Nor how his chariot Siyan Ou did guide;
+Nor how, incas'd in hauberk's steely pride,
+His hundred myriads, at the cymbals' sound,
+The falcon launch'd, or slipp'd the eager hound;
+Or giving rein to every fiery steed
+No more precipitous Tai Shan would heed,
+Than stair which leadeth to some upper bower;
+Or swarming down tumultuous to the shore,
+Chain'd the sea-waters with the nets they cast--
+For such wild miracles the time is past.
+
+Numerous and brilliant spreads our hunting train,
+Stilly or noisily the aim is ta'en,
+Forth the shaft speedeth all athirst for blood,
+Whilst the string rattleth sharp against the wood;
+The stags we scatter, in the plain which browse,
+Or from his cavern the rough boar uprouse;
+We scare the bokoin to the highest steeps,
+Hunt down the hare, along the plain which leaps.
+But though we slaughter, nor the work resign
+When stiff and wearied are each hand and spine,
+On field and mountain still the beasts are spied
+Plenteous as grasses in the summer tide;
+As at three points the fierce attack I ply,
+Seeing what numbers still remain to die,
+Captains, pick'd captains I with speed despatch,
+Who by the tail the spotted leopard catch,
+Crash to the brain the furious tiger's head,
+Grapple the bear so powerful and dread,
+The ancient sow, the desert's haunter, slay--
+Whilst with applause their prowess we survey.
+
+When thus fresh meat they have obtain'd with glee,
+The largest beasts the hunters bear to me,
+From which we separate and cast aside
+Whatever beast by frontal wound has died;
+To those the preference we at once decree,
+In whose left side the fatal mark we see,
+Those to be offer'd to our fathers' manes,
+Within their high and consecrated fanes,
+To dry and cure in wooden trays are laid,
+Till bak'd or roast the offering is made.
+Our guests they dine on the rejected prey,
+And what they leave is safely stor'd away;
+The gross amount of what is slain and shot
+Falls to the carmen and the rabble's lot.
+
+
+
+
+THE GLORY OF THE COSSACKS.
+
+
+An Ode.
+From the Russian of Boris Fedorow.
+
+Quiet Don!
+Azure Don!
+Who dost glide
+Deep and wide,
+To the proud
+Cossack crowd
+Drink which cheers,
+Path which bears.
+
+Quiet Don!
+Azure Don!
+Glory be
+To thy sons,
+Cossacks free
+Warrior ones;
+The world mute
+Of their deeds
+Hears the bruit--
+Wide it speeds.
+
+Light, I wot,
+Hands they've not;
+Down they fly
+Thundringly,
+Foes to crush,
+E'en as rush
+Down midst rocks
+Eagle flocks.
+
+Silent Don!
+Azure Don!
+Praise to their
+Deeds so fair;
+Fain our bright
+Czar requite
+Would each one,
+Knew it might
+Scarce be done--
+Gave his son.
+
+Silent Don!
+Azure Don!
+Sport and play,
+Shine forth gay;
+Gift most rare--
+Alexander,
+Russia's heir,
+To thy clan
+Given is for
+Attaman.
+
+Joys now every Cossack man,
+Joys the Black sea's every stan {26}
+   And Ural
+   Flings its spray,
+   Roars withal
+   Night and day--
+Joy to Cossacks--joy and glee
+To each hero-regiment be:
+   Given is an
+   Attaman.
+
+
+
+
+THE BLACK SHAWL.
+
+
+From the Russian of Pushkin.
+
+On the shawl, the black shawl with distraction I gaze,
+And on my poor spirit keen agony preys.
+
+When easy of faith, young and ardent was I,
+I lov'd a fair Grecian with love the most high.
+
+The damsel deceitful she flatter'd my flame,
+But soon a dark cloud o'er my sunshine there came.
+
+One day I'd invited of guests a gay crew,
+Then to me there came creeping an infamous Jew.
+
+"With thy friends thou art feasting" he croaked in my ear--
+"Whilst to thee proves unfaithful Greshenka thy dear."
+
+I gave to him gold and a curse, for his meed,
+And I summon'd a thrall, ever faithful in need.
+
+Forth rushing, I leap'd my tall courser upon,
+And soft pity I bade from my bosom begone.
+
+But scarcely the door of Greshenka I view'd
+When my eyes became dark, and a swoon near ensu'd.
+
+Alone to a far remote chamber I pac'd,
+And there an Armenian my damsel embrac'd.
+
+My sight it forsook me--forth flash'd my sword straight,
+But I to prevent the knave's kiss was too late.
+
+The vile, headless trunk I spurn'd fierce with my foot,
+And I gaz'd on the pallid maid darkly and mute.
+
+I remember her praying--her blood streaming wide--
+There perish'd Greshenka, my sweet love there died.
+
+The shawl, the black shawl from her shoulders I tore,
+And in silence I wip'd from my sabre the gore.
+
+My thrall, when the evening mists fell with their dew,
+In the waves of the Dunau her fair body threw.
+
+From that hour I have seen not her eyes' beamy lights,
+From that hour I have known no delectable nights.
+
+On the shawl, the black shawl with distraction I gaze,
+And on my poor spirit keen agony preys.
+
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+
+From the Russian of Pushkin.
+
+Hoary man, hateful man!
+Gash my frame, burn my frame;
+Bold I am, scoff I can
+At the sword, at the flame.
+
+Thee as hell I abhor,
+And despise heartily;
+I another do adore,
+And for love of him die.
+
+Gash my frame, burn my frame!--
+Nothing I will tell thee;
+Man of age, man of rage,
+Him thou'lt ne'er know from me.
+
+Fresh as May and as gay,
+Warm as Summer days he;
+O how sweet, young and neat,
+O how well he loves me.
+
+O how him I carest
+In the night still and fine;
+O how then we did jest
+At that grey head of thine.
+
+
+
+
+THE COSSACK.
+
+
+An ancient Ballad.
+From the Malo-Russian.
+
+O'er the field the snow is flying,
+There a wounded Cossack's lying;
+On a bush his head he's leaning,
+And his eyes with grass is screening,
+Meadow-grass so greenly shiny,
+And with cloth the make of China;
+Croaks the raven hoarsely o'er him,
+Neighs his courser sad before him:
+"Either, master, give me pay,
+Or dismiss me on my way."
+"Break thy bridle, O my courser,
+Down the path amain be speeding,
+Through the verdant forest leading;
+Drink of two lakes on thy way,
+Eat of mowings two the hay;
+Rush the castle-portal under,
+With thy hoof against it thunder,
+Out shall come a Dame that moaneth,
+Whom thy lord for mother owneth;
+I will tell thee, my brave prancer,
+When she speaks thee what to answer.
+
+"O thou steed, than lightning faster,
+Tell me where's thy youthful master!
+Him in fight thou hast forsaken,
+Or has cast him down, I reckon."
+
+"Nor in fight I've him forsaken,
+Nor have cast him down, I reckon,
+The lone field with blood bedewing,
+There the damsel Death he's wooing."
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE SONS OF BUDRYS.
+
+
+A Lithuanian Ballad.
+From the Polish of Mickiewicz.
+
+With his three mighty sons, tall as Ledwin's were once,
+To the court-yard old Budrys advances;
+"Your best steeds forth lead ye, to saddle them speed ye,
+And sharpen your swords and your lances.
+
+For in Wilna I've vow'd, that three trumpeters loud
+I'd despatch unto lands of like number,
+To make Russ Olgierd vapour, and Pole Skirgiel caper,
+And to rouse German Kiestut from slumber.
+
+Hie away safe and sound, serve your dear native ground;
+May the High Gods Litewskian defend ye!
+Though at home I must tarry, my counsel forth carry:
+Ye are three, and three ways ye must wend ye.
+
+Unto Olgierd's Russ plain one of ye must amain,
+To where Ilmen and Novogrod tower;
+There are sables for plunder, veils work'd to a wonder,
+And of coin have the merchants a power.
+
+Let another essay to prince Kiestut his way,
+To whose crosletted doys {32} bitter gruel!
+There is amber like gravel, cloth worthy to travel,
+And priests deck'd in diamond and jewel.
+
+Unto Pole Skirgiel's part let the third hero start,
+There the dwellings but poorly are furnish'd;
+So choose ye there rather, and bring to your father,
+Keen sabres and bucklers high-burnish'd.
+
+But bring home, above all, Laskian {33} girls to our hall,
+More sprightly than fawns in fine weather;
+The hues of the morning their cheeks are adorning,
+Their eyes are like stars of the ether.
+
+Half a century ago, when my young blood did glow,
+A wife from their region I bore me;
+Death tore us asunder, yet ne'er I look yonder,
+But memory straight brings her before me."
+
+Now advis'd them he hath, so he blesseth their path,
+And away they high-spirited rattle;
+Grim winter comes chiding--of them there's no tiding;
+Says Budrys:  they've fallen in battle.
+
+With an avalanche's might to the gate spurs a knight,
+And beneath his wide mantle he's laden:
+"Hast there Russian money--the roubles so bonny?"
+"No, no!  I've a Laskian maiden."
+
+Like an avalanche in might riding comes an arm'd knight,
+And beneath his wide mantle he's laden:
+"From the German, brave fellow, bring'st amber so yellow?"
+"No, no! here's a Laskian maiden."
+
+Like an avalanche of snow the third up rideth now,
+Nor has he, as it seemeth, been idle;
+As the booty he showeth, old Budrys hallooeth
+To bid guests for the brave triple bridal.
+
+
+
+
+THE BANNING OF THE PEST.
+
+
+From the Finnish.
+
+The plague is solemnly conjured to leave the country, and the speaker
+offers to find a suitable conveyance, namely a demon-horse summoned from
+one of those mountains in Norway supposed to be inhabited by evil spirits
+and goblins.
+
+Hie away, thou horrid monster!
+Hie away, our country's ruin!
+Hie thee from our plains and valleys!
+I will find thee fit conveyance,
+Find a horse for thee to ride on,
+One whose feet nor slip nor stumble
+On the ice or on the mountain;
+Get thee gone, I do conjure thee;
+Take thee from the hill a courser,
+From the Goblin's Burg a stallion
+For thy dreary homeward journey;
+If thou ask me for conveyance,
+If thou ask me for a courser,
+I will raise thee one full quickly,
+On whose back though mayest gallop
+To thy home accurst in Norway,
+To the flint-hard hill in Norway.
+When the Goblin's Burg thou reachest
+Burst with might its breast asunder;
+Plunge thee past its sand-born witches
+Down into the gulf eternal;
+Never be thou seen or heard of
+From that dismal gulf eternal.
+Get thee gone, I do conjure thee,
+Into Lapland's thickest forest,
+To the North's extremest region;
+Get thee gone, I do command thee,
+To the North's most dusky region.
+
+
+
+
+WOINOMOINEN.
+
+
+From the Finnish.
+
+Woinomoinen was, according to the Mythology of the ancient Finns, the
+second Godhead, being only inferior to Jumala.  He was master of the
+musical art, and when he played upon his instrument produced much the same
+effect as the Grecian Orpheus, enticing fishes from the stream and the
+wild animals from the forest.  The lines here translated are a fragment of
+a poem which describes a musical contest between Woinomoinen and the Giant
+Joukkawainen, in which the latter was signally defeated.
+
+Then the ancient Woinomoinen,
+On the bench himself he seated,
+Took the harp betwixt his fingers,
+On his knee about he turn'd it,
+In his hand he fitly plac'd it.
+Play'd the ancient Woinomoinen,
+Universal joy awaking;
+Like a concert was his playing;
+There was nothing in the forest
+On four nimble feet that runneth,
+On four lengthy legs that stalketh,
+But repair'd to hear the music,
+When the ancient Woinomoinen,
+When the Father joy awaken'd.
+E'en at Woinomoinen's harping
+'Gainst the hedge the bear up-bounded.
+There was nothing in the forest
+On two whirring pinions flying,
+But with whirl-wind speed did hasten;
+There was nothing in the ocean,
+With six fins about that roweth,
+Or with eight to move delighteth,
+But repair'd to hear the music.
+E'en the briny water's mother {38}
+'Gainst the beach, breast-forward, cast her,
+On a little sand-hill rais'd her,
+On her side with toil up-crawling.
+E'en from Woinomoinen's eye-balls
+Tears of heart-felt pleasure trickled,
+Bigger than the whortle-berry,
+Heavier than the eggs of plovers,
+Down his broad and mighty bosom,
+Knee-ward from his bosom flowing,
+From his knee his feet bedewing;
+And I've heard, his tears they trickled
+Through the five wool-wefts of thickness,
+Through his jackets eight of wadmal.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORDS OF BEOWULF, SON OF EGTHEOF.
+
+
+From the Anglo Saxon.
+
+Every one beneath the heaven
+Should of death expect the day,
+And let him, whilst life is given,
+Bright with fame his name array.
+
+For amongst the countless number
+In the clay-cold grave at rest,
+Lock'd in arms of iron slumber,
+He most happy is and blest.
+
+
+
+
+THE LAY OF BIARKE.
+
+
+From the Ancient Norse.
+
+The day in East is glowing,
+The cock on high is crowing;
+Upon the heath's brown heather
+'Tis time our bands we gather.
+Ye Chieftains disencumber
+Your eyes of clogging slumber;
+Ye mighty friends of Attil,
+The far-renown'd in battle!
+
+Thou Har, who grip'st thy foeman
+Right hard, and Rolf the bowman,
+And many, many others,
+The forky lightning's brothers!
+Wake--not for banquet-table!
+Wake--not with maids to gabble!
+But wake for rougher sporting,
+For Hildur's {40} bloody courting.
+
+Now food forego and drinking;
+On war be ye all thinking,
+To serve the king who've bound ye
+For roof and raiment found ye;
+Reflect there's prize and booty
+For all who do their duty;
+Away with fear inglorious,
+If ye would be victorious!
+
+Great Rolf, the land who shielded,
+And who its sceptre wielded,
+Who freely fed and paid us,
+With mail and swords array'd us,
+Now lies on bier extended,
+His life by treachery ended--
+To us be like disaster,
+Save we avenge our master.
+
+
+
+
+THE HAIL-STORM.
+
+
+From the Ancient Norse.
+
+(This piece describes the disaster of Sigvald, Earl of Jomsborg, a
+celebrated viking or pirate, who, according to tradition, was repulsed
+from the coast of Norway by Hakon Jarl, with the assistance of Thorgerd, a
+female demon, to whom Hakon sacrificed his youngest son, Erling.)
+
+For victory as we bounded,
+I heard, with fear astounded,
+The storm, of Thorgerd's waking,
+From Northern vapours breaking.
+Sent by the fiend in anger,
+With din and stunning clangour,
+To crush our might intended,
+Gigantic hail descended.
+
+A pound the smallest pebble
+Did weigh, and others treble;
+Full dreadful was the slaughter;
+And blood ran out like water,
+Ran, reeking, red and horrid
+From batter'd cheek and forehead.
+But though so rudely greeted,
+No Jomsborg man retreated.
+
+The fiend, so fierce and savage,
+To work us further ravage,
+Shot lightning from each finger,
+Which sped, and did not linger;
+Then sank our brave in numbers
+To cold, eternal slumbers;
+There lay the good and gallant,
+Unmatch'd for warlike talent.
+
+Our captain this perceiving,
+The signal made for leaving,
+And with his ship departed,
+Down-cast and broken-hearted;
+We spread our sails to follow,--
+And soon the breezes hollow,
+From shores we came to harry,
+Our luckless remnant carry.
+
+
+
+
+THE KING AND CROWN.
+
+
+From the Suabian.
+
+The King who well crown'd does govern the land,
+And whose fair crown well fill'd does stand--
+   That King adorns his crown, I trow;
+And he who is thus by his crown adorn'd,
+And for whose sake never that crown is scorn'd,
+   Does bear a well-fill'd crown on his brow.
+
+
+
+
+ODE.
+
+
+To a Mountain Torrent.
+From the German of Stolberg.
+
+O stripling immortal thou forth dost career
+From thy deep rocky chasm; beheld has no eye
+The mighty one's cradle, and heard has no ear
+At his under-ground spring-head his infant-like cry.
+
+How lovely art thou in the foam of thy brow,
+And yet the warm blood in my bosom grows chill;
+For awful art thou and terrific, I vow,
+In the roar of the echoing forest and hill.
+
+The pine-trees are shaken--they yield to thy shocks,
+And crashing they tumble in wild disarray;
+The rocks fly before thee--thou seizest the rocks,
+And contemptuously whirlst them like pebbles away.
+
+But why dost thou haste to the ocean's dark flood?
+Say, art thou not blest in thine own native ground,
+When in the lone mountain and black shady wood
+Thou dost bellow, and all gives response to thy sound?
+
+Then haste not, I pray thee, to yonder blue sea,
+For there thou must crouch beneath tyranny's rod,
+Whilst here thou art lonely, and lovely, and free--
+Free as a cloud-bird, and strong as a God.
+
+Forsooth it is pleasant, at eve or at noon,
+To gaze on the sea and its far-winding bays,
+When ting'd by the light of the wandering moon,
+Or when red with the gold of the midsummer rays.
+
+What of that? what of that? thou shouldst ever behold
+That lustre as nought but a bait and a snare:
+Ah, what is the summer sun's purple and gold
+Unto him, who can breathe not in freedom the air?
+
+O pause for a while in thy downward career!
+But still art thou streaming, my words are in vain:
+Bethink thee that oft-changing winds domineer
+On the billowy breast of the time-serving main.
+
+Then haste not, I pray thee, to yonder blue sea,
+For there thou must crouch beneath tyranny's rod,
+Whilst here thou art lonely, and lovely, and free--
+Free as a cloud-bird, and strong as a God.
+
+
+
+
+CHLOE.
+
+
+From the Dutch of Johannes Bellamy.
+
+O we have a sister on earthly dominions!
+Cried two of the holy Angelical train,
+And flew up to heaven with fluttering pinions,
+But quickly to earth they descended again;
+Their brothers, with voices triumphantly lifted,
+Behind them came flocking this wonder to view,
+More fast than the gleam from the cloud that is rifted,
+Down, down to a forest of beeches they flew,
+
+And there beheld Chloe, all rapt in devotion,
+Upon the ground kneeling, unable to speak;
+A tear-drop, the offspring of pious emotion,
+Was streaming like dew down her beautiful cheek.
+Confounded, astonish'd, in ecstacy gazing,
+Around her the spirits aerial stood,
+Then sudden their voices tumultuously raising
+Cried:  Father, we'll stay with her here in the wood!
+
+Then frown'd the dread Father; his thunders appalling
+To rattle began, and his whirlwinds to roar,
+Then trembled the host, but they heeded his calling,
+And Chloe up-snatching, to heaven they soar.
+O we had a sister on earthly dominions!
+They sang as through heaven triumphant they stray'd,
+And bore with flush'd faces and fluttering pinions
+To God's throne of brightness the yet praying maid.
+
+
+
+
+NATIONAL SONG.
+
+
+From the Danish of Evald.
+
+Written to commemorate three great naval victories achieved by the three
+great Danish heroes, Christian, Juul, and Tordenskiold.
+
+King Christian stood beside the mast
+In smoke and mist.
+His weapons, hammering hard and fast,
+Through helms and brains of Gothmen pass'd,
+Then sank each hostile sail and mast
+In smoke and mist.
+"Fly," said the foe, "fly all that can,
+For who can Denmark's Christian
+Resist?"
+
+Niels Juul he mark'd the tempest's roar:
+"Now, now's the tide!"
+He hoists his banner, red as gore,
+And plied his foemen aft and fore,
+Loud crying 'midst the tempest's roar:
+"Now, now's the tide!"
+"Fly each, who knows a refuge path,
+For who can Juul, when hot with wrath,
+Abide!"
+
+O North sea, Weasel's {50} flashes rent
+Thy vapours dun.
+Down to thy bosom heroes went,
+For with those flashes death was blent;
+From the fight rose a yell which rent
+Thy vapours dun.
+From Denmark lighteneth Tordenskiold,--
+"Yield, yield to heaven's favourite bold,
+And run."
+
+Thou Danish path to fame and might,
+Dark-rolling main!
+Receive thy friend, who holds as light
+The perils of the stormy fight,
+Who braves like thee the tempest's might,
+Dark-rolling main!
+Bear me through battle, song and sport,
+Until the grave, my final port,
+I gain!
+
+
+
+
+SIR SINCLAIR. {51}
+
+
+From the Danish of Edward Storm.
+
+(At the commencement of the last century, Colonel Sinclair, a Scotsman in
+the service of the King of Sweden, landed upon the coast of Norway, at the
+time war was raging between the Danish and Swedish crowns, with a band of
+Scots which he had levied in his native country.  After committing much
+havoc and cruelty, the invaders were destroyed to a man in a conflict with
+the peasantry, who had assembled in considerable number.  Many of the
+broad-swords lost by the Scots in this encounter are to be seen in the
+Museum of Copenhagen, trophies of a victory achieved in a hallowed cause--
+the defence of the father-land against unprovoked aggression.)
+
+Sir Sinclair sail'd from the Scottish ground,
+To Norroway o'er he hasted;
+On Guldbrand's rocks his grave he found,
+Where his corse in its gore is wasted.
+
+Sir Sinclair sail'd o'er the blue, blue wave,
+For Swedish pay he hath sold him,
+God help the Scot, for the Norsemen brave
+Shall biting the grass behold him.
+
+The moon at night shed pale its light,
+The billows are gently swelling;
+See a mermaid merge from the briny surge,
+To Sir Sinclair evil telling.
+
+"Turn back, turn back, thou bonny Scot:
+Thy purpose straight abandon:
+To return will not be Sir Sinclair's lot,
+Should Sir Sinclair Norroway land on."
+
+"A curse on thy strain, thou imp of the main,
+Who boding ill art ever!
+For what thou dost preach, wert thou in my reach,
+Thy limbs I would dissever."
+
+He sail'd for a day, he sail'd for three,
+With all his hired legions;
+On the fourth day's morn Sir Sinclair he
+Saw Norroway's rocky regions.
+
+On Romsdale's sands he quickly lands,
+Himself for a foe declaring;
+Him follow'd then twelve hundred men
+Such evil intentions bearing.
+
+They vex'd the people, where'er they rov'd,
+With pillage and conflagration;
+Nor them old age's feebleness mov'd,
+Nor the widow's lamentation.
+
+The child was slain at the mother's breast,
+Though it smil'd on the murderous savage:
+But soon went tidings, east and west,
+Of all this wo and ravage.
+
+From neighbour to neighbour the message runs,
+On the mountain blaz'd the beacon;
+Into lurking-holes crept not the valley's sons,
+As the Scots perchance might reckon.
+
+"The soldiers have follow'd the King to the war,
+Ourselves must arm us, brothers!
+And he who here his life will spare
+Shall be damn'd as a cur by the others."
+
+The peasants of Vaage, of Laxoe and Lom,
+With axes sharp and heavy,
+To the gathering at Bredaboig, one and all, come,
+On the Scots fierce war to levy.
+
+A pass, which all men Kringe call,
+By the foot of the mountain goeth;
+The Lauge, wherein the Scots shall fall,
+Close, close beside it floweth.
+
+The aged shooters are taking aim,
+Each gun has been call'd into duty;
+The Naik {54} his wet beard uplifts from the stream,
+And with longing expects his booty.
+
+Sir Sinclair fell the first, with a yell
+His soul escap'd him for ever,
+Each Scot loud cried when his leader died;
+"May the Lord-God us deliver!"
+
+"Now fierce on the dogs, ye jolly Norse-men,
+To the chine strike down and cleave them!"
+Then the Scots would fain be at home again,
+Their vaunty spirits leave them.
+
+Filling their craws to their hearts content
+'Midst carnage the ravens wander'd;
+The Scottish maids shall long lament
+The young blood on the Kringe squander'd.
+
+Not a single man escap'd, not one,
+To his landsmen to tell the story;
+'Tis a perilous thing to invade who wone
+On Norroway's mountains hoary.
+
+A pillar still towers on that self-same spot,
+Which Norraway's foes defyeth;
+To the Norman wo, whose heart glows not
+When he that pillar eyeth.
+
+
+
+
+HVIDFELD.
+
+
+From the Danish.
+
+Our native land has ever teem'd
+With warriors gallant-hearted,
+Who bravery as their duty deem'd,
+And ne'er from danger started;
+Such Tordenskiold, and Adeler,
+And Juul, and many others were.
+Our native land has ever teem'd
+With warriors gallant-hearted.
+
+But who had e'er of bravery
+The gallant Hvidfeld's measure?
+Who e'er saw Death so plain as he,
+And enter'd it with pleasure?
+Ne'er shall his name oblivion meet,
+For with his death he sav'd our fleet.
+Our native land has ever teem'd
+With warriors gallant-hearted.
+
+'Gainst numerous foes we fought one day
+A fight so fierce and gory,
+And next the foe Sir Hvidfeld lay,
+To danger close and glory;
+And there was no man fought so stout
+As Hvidfeld fought, that bloody bout.
+Our native land has ever teem'd
+With warriors gallant-hearted.
+
+But as Sir Hvidfeld broadsides loud
+Lay taking and returning,
+His own fire set his vessel proud,
+His Dannebrog, a burning.
+"Slip anchor, Sir," his sailors cry,
+"To land for safety let us fly!"
+Our native land has ever teem'd
+With warriors gallant-hearted.
+
+"No!" answer'd he, "for danger then
+'Midst Denmark's fleet we carry;
+Shall it be risk'd by Danish men,
+That they alive may tarry?
+We'll die, but we'll avenge our death;
+We'll fight until our latest breath."
+Our native land has ever teem'd
+With warriors gallant hearted.
+
+"Yes, to the latest breath we'll fight!"
+His seamen answer'd, cheering;
+Around was death in horrors dight,
+But still they fought unfearing,
+Till the fire reach'd the powder-store,
+And all died heroes midst its roar.
+Our native land has ever teem'd
+With warriors gallant-hearted.
+
+And Hvidfeld's fame shall ne'er decay,
+His gallant seamens' never;
+A worthy countryman shall they
+In every Dane find ever;
+When Denmark dear to us shall cry,
+Like them will we grim death defy.
+Our native ground shall still abound
+With warriors gallant-hearted.
+
+
+
+
+BIRTING.
+
+
+A Fragment.
+From the Ancient Danish.
+
+It was late at evening tide,
+Sinks the day-star in the wave,
+When alone Orm Ungarswayne
+Rode to seek his father's grave.
+
+Late it was at evening hour,
+When the steeds to streams are led;
+Let me now, said Orm the young,
+Wake my father from the dead.
+
+It was bold Orm Ungarswayne
+Stamp'd the hill with mighty foot:
+Riv'n were wall and marble-stone,
+Shook the mountain to its root.
+
+It was bold Orm Ungarswayne
+Struck the hill with such a might,
+That it was a miracle,
+That the hill fell not outright.
+
+From the hill Orm's father cried,
+Where so long, so long he'd lain;
+"Cannot I in quiet lie
+Deep within my dark domain?
+
+Who upon my hill doth stand?
+Who doth dare disturb my bones?
+Cannot I in quiet lie
+'Neath my heavy roof of stones?
+
+Who doth dare my sleep to scare?
+Who brings down this ruin all?
+Let him fear, for now I swear
+That by Birting he shall fall."
+
+"I'm Orm Ungarswayne, thy son,
+Youngest son, O father dear:
+And to beg a mighty boon
+In my need I seek thee here."
+
+"If thou be Orm Ungarswayne,
+Orm the kempion bold and free,
+Silver, gold, last year I told--
+All thou cravedst--o'er to thee."
+
+"Thou wast free of gold and fee,
+Glittering trash of little worth--
+Birting now I crave of thee,
+Birting bravest sword of earth."
+
+"Never shalt thou Birting win,
+To obtain the King's fair daughter,
+Till to Ireland thou hast been,
+And aveng'd thy father's slaughter."
+
+"Give to me the Birting sword,
+And with Birting bid me thrive,
+Or I will thy sheltering hill
+Into thousand atoms rive."
+
+"Stretch thou down thy right hand here,
+Take the falchion from my side;
+If thou break thy father's hill,
+Dreadful wo will thee betide."
+
+From the hill he Birting stretch'd,
+Plac'd the hilt within his grasp:
+"Strong of hand and valiant stand,
+That thy foes before thee gasp."
+
+From the hill he Birting stretch'd,
+Plac'd the hilt within his hold:
+"Save good fate on thee await,
+I shall never be consol'd."
+
+
+
+
+INGEBORG'S LAMENTATION.
+
+
+From the Swedish of Tegner.
+(An extract from Frithiof's Saga.)
+
+Autumn winds howl;
+Ocean is swelling so stormy.--My soul,
+Would with the sighs which I utter
+Forth thou wouldst flutter!
+
+Long did I view
+Far in the West the sail which flew--
+Happy my Frithiof to follow
+O'er the wave hollow!
+
+Blue billow run
+O not so high, for it still sails on!
+Stars, for my mariner sparkle,
+As the nights darkle!
+
+Spring will appear.
+He will come home, but unmet by his dear
+Or in the hall, or the dingle,
+Or on the shingle.
+
+She'll lie in mould,
+All for her love's sake, pallid and cold,
+Or she will bleed, by no other
+Slain than her brother.
+
+Hawk, left behind!
+Thou shalt be mine and I'll prove ever kind:
+Ever, wing'd hunter, I'll scatter
+Food on thy platter.
+
+Here on his hand
+Work'd on my kerchiefs hem thou shalt stand,
+Pinions of silver and glowing
+Gold-talons showing.
+
+Hawk-pinions tried
+Freia {63} one time, and around about hied;
+Sought North and South to discover
+Oder her lover.
+
+E'en shouldst thou lend
+Me thy brave wings, yet I could not ascend;
+Only Death brings me, poor minion,
+The divine pinion.
+
+Hunter so free!
+Sit on my shoulder and look to the sea;
+Spite of our looking and yearning,
+He's not returning.
+
+When I'm at rest,
+And he comes safe, do thou mind my behest:
+O with best greetings receive him,
+Frithiof, who'll grieve him.
+
+
+
+
+THE DELIGHTS OF FINN MAC COUL {65}
+
+
+From the Ancient Irish.
+
+Finn Mac Coul 'mongst his joys did number
+To hark to the boom of the dusky hills;
+By the wild cascade to be lull'd to slumber,
+Which Cuan Na Seilg with its roaring fills.
+He lov'd the noise when storms were blowing,
+And billows with billows fought furiously,
+Of Magh Maom's kine the ceaseless lowing,
+And deep from the glen the calves' feeble cry;
+The noise of the chase from Slieve Crott pealing,
+The hum from the bushes Slieve Cua below,
+The voice of the gull o'er the breakers wheeling,
+The vulture's scream, over the sea flying slow;
+The mariners' song from the distant haven,
+The strain from the hill of the pack so free,
+From Cnuic Nan Gall the croak of the raven,
+The voice from Slieve Mis of the streamlets three;
+Young Oscar's voice, to the chase proceeding,
+The howl of the dogs, of the deer in quest;
+But to recline where the cattle were feeding
+That was the delight which pleas'd him best.
+Delighted was Oscar, the generous-hearted,
+To listen when shields rang under the blow:
+But nothing to him such delight imparted
+As fighting with heroes and laying them low.
+
+
+
+
+CAROLAN'S LAMENT.
+
+
+From the Irish.
+
+The arts of Greece, Rome and of Eirin's fair earth,
+If at my sole command they this moment were all,
+I'd give, though I'm fully aware of their worth,
+Could they back from the dead my lost Mary recall.
+
+I'm distrest every noon, now I sit down alone,
+And at morn, now with me she arises no more:
+With no woman alive after Thee would I wive,
+Could I flocks and herds gain and of gold a bright store.
+
+Awhile in green Eirin so pleasant I dwelt,
+With her nobles I drank to whom music was dear;
+Then left to myself, O how mournful I felt
+At the close of my life, with no partner to cheer.
+
+My sole joy and my comfort wast thou 'neath the sun,
+Dark gloom, now I'm reft of thee, filleth my mind;
+I shall know no more happiness now thou art gone,
+O my Mary, of wit and of manners refin'd.
+
+
+
+
+TO ICOLMCILL.
+
+
+From the Gaelic of Mac-Intyre.
+
+On Icolmcill may blessings pour!
+It is the island blest of yore;
+Mull's sister-twin in the wild main,
+Owning the sway of high Mac-Lean;
+The sacred spot, whose fair renown
+To many a distant land has flown,
+And which receives in courteous way
+All, all who thither chance to stray.
+
+There in the grave are many a King
+And duine-wassel {68} slumbering;
+And bodies, once of giant strength,
+Beneath the earth are stretch'd at length;
+It is the fate of mortals all
+To ashes fine and dust to fall;
+I've hope in Christ, for sins who died,
+He has their souls beatified.
+
+Now full twelve hundred years, and more,
+On dusky wing have flitted o'er,
+Since that high morn when Columb grey
+Its wall's foundation-stone did lay;
+Images still therein remain
+And death-memorials carv'd with pain;
+Of good hewn stone from top to base,
+It shows to Time a dauntless face.
+
+A man this day the pulpit fill'd,
+Whose sermon brain and bosom thrill'd,
+And all the listening crowd I heard
+Praising the mouth which it proferr'd:
+Since death has seiz'd on Columb Cill,
+And Mull may not possess him still,
+There's joy throughout its heathery lands,
+In Columb's place that Dougal stands.
+
+
+
+
+THE DYING BARD.
+
+
+From the Gaelic.
+
+O for to hear the hunter's tread
+With his spear and his dogs the hills among;
+In my aged cheek youth flushes red
+When the noise of the chase arises strong.
+
+Awakes in my bones the marrow whene'er
+I hark to the distant shout and bay;
+When peals in my ear; "We've kill'd the deer"--
+To the hill-tops boundeth my soul away;
+
+I see the slug-hound tall and gaunt,
+Which follow'd me, early and late, so true;
+The hills, which it was my delight to haunt,
+And the rocks, which rang to my loud halloo.
+
+I see Scoir Eild by the side of the glen,
+Where the cuckoo calleth so blithe in May,
+And Gorval of pines, renown'd 'mongst men
+For the elk and the roe which bound and play.
+
+I see the cave, which receiv'd our feet
+So kindly oft from the gloom of night,
+Where the blazing tree with its genial heat
+Within our bosoms awak'd delight.
+
+On the flesh of the deer we fed our fill--
+Our drink was the Treigh, our music its wave;
+Though the ghost shriek'd shrill, and bellow'd the hill,
+'Twas pleasant, I trow, in that lonely cave.
+
+I see Benn Ard of form so fair,
+Of a thousand hills the Monarch proud;
+On his side the wild deer make their lair,
+His head's the eternal couch of the cloud.
+
+But vision of joy, and art thou flown?
+Return for a moment's space, I pray,--
+Thou dost not hear--ohone, ohone--
+Hills of my love, farewell for aye.
+
+Farewell ye youths, so bold and free,
+And fare ye well, ye maids divine!
+No more I can see ye--yours is the glee
+Of the summer, the gloom of the winter mine.
+
+At noon-tide carry me into the sun,
+To the bank by the side of the wandering stream,
+To rest the shamrock and daisy upon,
+And then will return of my youth the dream.
+
+Place ye by my side my harp and shell,
+And the shield, my fathers in battle bore;
+Ye halls, where Oisin and Daoul {72} dwell,
+Unclose--for at eve I shall be no more.
+
+
+
+
+PROPHECY {73a} OF TALIESIN.
+
+
+From the Ancient British.
+
+      Within my mind
+      I hold books confin'd,
+Of Europa's land all the mighty lore;
+      O God of heaven high!
+      With how many a bitter sigh,
+I my prophecy upon Troy's line {73b} pour:
+
+      A serpent coiling,
+      And with fury boiling,
+From Germany coming with arm'd wings spread,
+      Shall Britain fair subdue
+      From the Lochlin ocean blue,
+To where Severn rolls in her spacious bed.
+
+      And British men
+      Shall be captives then
+To strangers from Saxonia's strand;
+      From God they shall not swerve,
+      They their language shall preserve,
+But except wild Wales, they shall lose their land.
+
+
+
+
+THE HISTORY OF TALIESIN.
+
+
+From the Ancient British.
+
+Talieson was a foundling, discovered in his infancy lying in a coracle, on
+a salmon-weir, in the domain of Elphin, a prince of North Wales, who
+became his patron.  During his life he arrogated to himself a supernatural
+descent and understanding, and for at least a thousand years after his
+death he was regarded by the descendants of the ancient Britons in the
+character of a prophet or something more.  The poems which he produced
+procured for him the title of "Bardic King;" they display much that is
+vigorous and original, but are disfigured by mysticism and extravagant
+metaphor; one of the most spirited of them is the following, which the
+Author calls his "Hanes" or history.
+
+The head Bard's place I hold
+To Elphin, Chieftain bold;
+The country of my birth
+Was the Cherubs' land of mirth;
+I from the prophet John
+The name of Merddin won;
+And now the Monarchs all
+Me Taliesin call.
+
+My inspiration's {74} flame
+From Cridwen's cauldron came;
+Nine months was I in gloom
+In Sorceress Cridwen's womb;
+Though late a child--I'm now
+The Bard of splendid brow {75};
+When roar'd the deluge dark,
+I with Noah trod the Ark.
+
+By the sleeping man I stood
+When the rib grew flesh and blood.
+To Moses strength I gave
+Through Jordan's holy wave;
+The thrilling tongue was I
+To Enoch and Elie;
+I hung the cross upon,
+Where died the .....................
+
+A chair of little rest
+'Bove the Zodiac I prest,
+Which doth ever, in a sphere,
+Through three elements career;
+I've sojourn'd in Gwynfryn,
+In the halls of Cynfelyn;
+To the King the harp I play'd,
+Who Lochlyn's sceptre sway'd.
+
+With the Israelites of yore
+I endur'd a hunger sore;
+In Africa I stray'd
+Ere was Rome's foundation laid;
+Now hither I have hied
+With the race of Troy to bide;
+In the firmament I've been
+With Mary Magdalen.
+
+I work'd as mason-lord
+When Nimrod's pile up-soar'd;
+I mark'd the dread rebound
+When its ruins struck the ground;
+When strode to victory on
+The men of Macedon,
+The bloody flag before
+The heroic King I bore.
+
+I saw the end with horror
+Of Sodom and Gomorrah!
+And with this very eye
+Have seen the . . . ;
+I till the judgment day
+Upon the earth shall stray:
+None knows for certainty
+Whether fish or flesh I be.
+
+
+
+
+EPIGRAM.
+
+
+On a Miser who had built a stately Mansion.
+From the Cambrian British.
+
+Of every pleasure is thy mansion void;
+To ruin-heaps may soon its walls decline.
+O heavens, that one poor fire's but employ'd,
+One poor fire only for thy chimneys nine!
+
+Towering white chimneys--kitchen cold and drear--
+Chimneys of vanity and empty show--
+Chimneys unwarm'd, unsoil'd throughout the year--
+Fain would I heatless chimneys overthrow.
+
+Plague on huge chimneys, say I, huge and neat,
+Which ne'er one spark of genial warmth announce;
+Ignite some straw, thou dealer in deceit--
+Straw of starv'd growth--and make a fire for once!
+
+The wretch a palace built, whereon to gaze,
+And sighing, shivering there around to stray;
+To give a penny would the niggard craze,
+And worse than bane he hates the minstrel's lay.
+
+
+
+
+THE INVITATION.
+
+
+By Goronwy Owen.
+From the Cambrian British.
+
+(Sent from Northolt, in the year 1745, to William Parry, Deputy
+Comptroller of the Mint.)
+
+Parry, of all my friends the best,
+Thou who thy maker cherishest,
+Thou who regard'st me so sincere,
+And who to me art no less dear;
+Kind friend, in London since thou art,
+To love thee's not my wisest part;
+This separation's hard to bear:
+To love thee not far better were.
+
+But wilt thou not from London town
+Journey some day to Northolt down,
+Song to obtain, O sweet reward,
+And walk the garden of the Bard?--
+But thy employ, the year throughout,
+Is wandering the White Tower about,
+Moulding and stamping coin with care,
+The farthing small and shilling fair.
+Let for a month thy Mint lie still,
+Covetous be not, little Will;
+Fly from the birth-place of the smoke,
+Nor in that wicked city choke;
+O come, though money's charms be strong,
+And if thou come I'll give thee song,
+A draught of water, hap what may,
+Pure air to make thy spirits gay
+And welcome from an honest heart,
+That's free from every guileful art.
+I'll promise--fain thy face I'd see--
+Yet something more, sweet friend, to thee:
+The poet's cwrw {79} thou shalt prove,
+In talk with him the garden rove,
+Where in each leaf thou shalt behold
+The Almighty's wonders manifold;
+And every flower, in verity,
+Shall unto thee show visibly,
+In every fibre of its frame,
+His deep design, who made the same.--
+A thousand flowers stand here around,
+With glorious brightness some are crown'd:
+How beauteous art thou, lily fair!
+With thee no silver can compare:
+I'll not forget thy dress outshone
+The pomp of regal Solomon.
+I write the friend, I love so well,
+No sounding verse his heart to swell.
+The fragile flowerets of the plain
+Can rival human triumphs vain.
+I liken to a floweret's fate
+The fleeting joys of mortal state;
+The flower so glorious seen to-day
+To-morrow dying fades away;
+An end has soon the flowery clan,
+And soon arrives the end of man;
+The fairest floweret, ever known,
+Would fade when cheerful summer's flown;
+Then hither haste, ere turns the wheel!
+Old age doth on these flowers steal;
+Though pass'd two-thirds of Autumn-time,
+Of summer temperature's the clime;
+The garden shows no sickliness,
+The weather old age vanquishes,
+The leaves are greenly glorious still--
+But friend! grow old they must and will.
+
+The rose, at edge of winter now,
+Doth fade with all its summer glow;
+Old are become the roses all,
+Decline to age we also shall;
+And with this prayer I'll end my lay,
+Amen, with me, O Parry say;
+To us be rest from all annoy,
+And a robust old age of joy;
+May we, ere pangs of death we know,
+Back to our native Mona go;
+May pleasant days us there await,
+United and inseparate!
+And the dread hour, when God shall please
+To bid our mutual journey cease,
+May Christ, who reigns in heaven above,
+Receive us to his breast of love!
+
+
+
+
+THE RISING OF ACHILLES.
+
+
+From the Iliad.
+
+Straightway Achilles arose, the belov'd of Jove, round his shoulders
+Brawny her AEgis spread, fair fring'd, his guardian Athena,
+And his head with a cloud of golden hue and transparent
+She has encircled about, whence darted fire resplendent.
+As when fire from the town ascending clambers the ether
+Out of the island afar, around which enemies gather--
+Fierce the defenders all day engage in desperate warfare,
+Forth from the town advanc'd; but soon as the sun has descended
+Flame with beacons the dense, huge turrets; upwards the blazes
+Flaring, struggling ascend to be seen by friends and by neighbours,
+If with assistance in war o'er the sea in ships they are coming--
+So from Achilles's head uptower'd the blazes to heaven;
+Striding from out the wall, he stood o'er the trench, but he mingled
+Not with the Greeks, for he heeded his mother's solemn injunction;
+Standing, he shouted there, conjointly Pallas Athena
+Scream'd, and trouble immense was caus'd thereby to the Trojans;
+Like to the clamorous sound that's heard, when pealing the trumpet
+Thrills through the city, besieg'd by bands of turbulent foemen,
+E'en was the clamorous sound sent forth by Eacus' grandson--
+Soon as the dreadful voice was heard of Eacus' grandson,
+All their minds were amaz'd--the fair-man'd beautiful horses
+Back'd with the chariots amain, such fear was awak'd in their bosoms;
+Ghasted the charioteers survey'd the untameable blazes
+Horribly round the brow of high, heroic Peleides
+Burning, ignited by her the blue-eyed Goddess Athena
+Thrice then o'er the deep trench loud shouted god-like Achilles,
+Thrice were the Trojans confus'd and all their illustrious aiders;
+Already round that trench had twice six champions fallen,
+Spoil'd of their chariots and arms, so that gladly now the Achaians
+Out of the tempest of darts the slain Patroclus dragging
+Plac'd on the sorrowful couch; his comrades round it arrang'd them
+Loudly lamenting, and thither there came swift-footed Achilles
+Shedding the hottest of tears, when he saw his comrade so faithful
+Stretch'd on that sorrowful couch, transfixt with the sharp pointed iron--
+Him he had lately despatch'd with chariot and steeds to the war-field
+Never, alas, to receive from that red war-field returning.
+
+
+
+
+THE MEETING OF ODYSSES AND ACHILLES.
+
+
+In Hades.
+From the Odyssey.
+
+Tow'rds me came the Shade of Peleidean Achilles,
+And of Patroclus belov'd, and Antilochus daring and blameless,
+And of Aias--of Him, who in bulk and beauty of figure
+Far excell'd every Greek, to Peleides only inferior.
+Me on the instant knew the Shade of Eacus' grandson,
+And in sorrowful mood with words swift flowing address'd me.
+
+Tell me Laertes' son, Odysses matchless in wisdom,
+What fresh wondrous deed within thy brain thou art brooding,
+That to the vasty deep of Hades down thou descendest,
+Where the poor dead abide, mere idle shapes of the living.
+
+Soon as the Hero ceas'd, in answer thus I address'd him:
+Know, O Peleus' son, Achilles bravest of Grecians,
+Seeking Tiresias hither I've come, to beg of him counsel
+How I may Ithaca reach with its high-ridg'd, cloud-cover'd mountains;
+Nor to Achaia I've been, nor my foot on the shore of my country
+Wretch have I plac'd, whom ever misfortunes pursue; but no mortal
+E'er was so blest, as Thou, or ever will be, O Achilles,
+For when alive, as a God, we Argives held thee in honor;
+Now e'en here, how high above the mighty departed
+Thou dost in majesty rise; grieve not though dead, O Achilles.
+
+Soon as these words I'd said, the Shade in answer address'd me:
+Talk not of death to me, in mercy, glorious Odysses,
+For on the Earth's green sod I'd rather toil as the hireling
+Of some inglorious wight, and of one as poor as inglorious,
+Than over all the dead in Hades reign as a Monarch;
+But of my noble boy some tiding give me, I pray thee,
+Whether or not he's fam'd as a gallant leader in battle;
+And if aught thou hast heard of good old Peleus, tell me;
+Still is he held in dread in Myrmidonian cities,
+Or has he lost respect in Hellas-land and in Pthia,
+Now old age has robb'd his hands and feet of their vigour?
+Think not an aid so good I'm now in the light of the sun-beam,
+As of old time I prov'd on the broad domain of the Trojans,
+When, in the Argives aid, I slew the best of their army;
+Were I to enter now, as I am, the hall of my father,
+Full little dread these hands would wake in the bosoms of any,
+Who in that hall do serve, and are kept by fear in obeisance.
+
+Soon as the Hero ceas'd, in answer thus I address'd him:
+Nothing, alas, which regards the good, old Peleus know I;
+But the whole tale of thy boy, thy Neoptolemus cherish'd,
+I will with truth relate, by thee, great Shade, as commanded:
+I myself had the luck in my own hollow ship to convey him
+Forth from Scyros afar with a band of well-greav'd Achaians.
+Ever when round Troy's town in council grave we assembled
+He was the first to rise with a flow of eloquence faultless,
+So that Nestor divine and myself confess'd him our master;
+But when on Troy's champain we strove with spear and with buckler
+Never amid the crowd you'd have found him or in the phalanx--
+Far in front he advanc'd, in courage shining the foremost,
+And full many a man he slew in the rage of the combat;
+There's no need to recount and to name in endless succession
+All the renown'd he slew, whilst assisting strongly the Argives;
+Let it suffice that with steel he stretch'd Eurypilus lifeless,
+Telephos' hero-son, and around that hero were slaughter'd
+All his Ceteian friends, ensnar'd by the smiles of the damsels.
+
+But when within the horse, the wondrous work of Epeius,
+Enter'd the noble Greeks, with me their chosen commander,
+Where we reclin'd thick and close, and one o'er the other we panted,--
+Then whilst the rest of the chiefs and princes high of the Argives
+Wip'd away feminine tears, and each shook in every member,
+Him in that hour of dread these orbs of vision beheld not
+Either grow pallid or quake, or away from his cheek fresh and downy
+Wiping the tears--O no! and ever he begg'd for the signal
+Forth from the horse to emerge; and with ill intent to the Trojan,
+Ever his spear he grip'd, or rattled the hilt of his falchion--
+But when with ruin dread we raz'd the city of Priam
+Fraught with the choicest prey the hero mounted his vessel,
+Free from all scathe; his form nor smit from afar by the jav'lin,
+Nor by the sword from near; no rare result of the combat,
+For the tremendous Mars is no respecter of persons.
+
+Scarce had I spoke when the Shade of Eacus' swift-footed grandson
+Stalk'd with huge strides away o'er the flowery grass of the meadow,
+Glad at the heart that its boy was fam'd 'mongst the brave as a warrior.
+
+
+
+
+HYMN
+
+
+To Thetis and Neoptolemus.
+From the Greek of Heliodorus.
+
+Of Thetis I sing with her locks of gold-shine,
+The daughter of Nereus, lord of the brine,
+To Peleus wedded, by Jove's high decree;
+I sing her, the Venus so fair of the sea.
+Of the spearman tremendous, the Mars of the fight,
+Thunderbolt of old Greece, she was quickly made light,
+Of Achilles divine, to whom Pyrrha an heir,
+The boy Neoptolemus, gladly did bear,
+The destroyer of Trojans, of Grecians the shield--
+Thy protection to us, Neoptolemus yield!
+Who blessed doth slumber in Pythia's green plain;
+To accept this oblation of hymns from us deign,
+And each peril drive far from our city benign.--
+Of Thetis I sing with her locks of gold-shine.
+
+
+
+
+THE GRAVE OF DEMOS.
+
+
+From the Modern Greek.
+
+Thus old Demos spoke, as sinking sought the sun the western wave:
+Now, my brave lads, fetch us water, after supping let us lave;
+O Lamprakes, O my nephew, down beside thy uncle sit--
+When I'm gone, wear thou my trappings, and be captain, as is fit;
+And do ye, my merry fellows, now my vacant sabre take,
+And therewith green branches cutting, straight for me a pallet make;
+Some one for the holy father, that I may confess me, run,
+And that I to him may whisper all the crimes, in life I've done;
+I've full thirty years as warrior, twenty five as robber pass'd;
+Now I feel my end approaching, and I fain would breathe my last;
+Me a tomb that's broad and lofty, O forget not to prepare,
+For erect I'll stand within it, as in war, and weapons bear:
+On the right side leave an opening, that the merry larks in spring,
+Of its coming, welcome coming, may to me the tiding bring,
+And for me in May's sweet season nightingales may sweetly sing.
+
+
+
+
+THE SORCERIES OF CANIDIA.
+
+
+From Horace.
+
+(Canidia and other witches, having enticed a boy of high birth into some
+secret cell, proceed to bury him in the earth, up to the chin; in order
+that, when he has perished with hunger in that situation, his liver etc.
+may serve as ingredients for a draught, by administering which Canidia
+purposes to regain the affection of Varus, who has deserted her.  The poem
+commences with the entreaties of the boy, and concludes with the
+imprecations which he utters when about to be abandoned to famine and
+inhumation.)
+
+"Father of Gods, who rul'st the sky,
+The earth and all the heavenly race!
+What means this noise, why savagely
+On me is turn'd each frightful face?--
+By thy dear babes, if aid e'er lent
+Lucine to thee in child-birth hour,
+By this proud purple ornament,
+By hands ne'er clasp'd to crave before,
+I beg thee, Dame! thou wilt declare
+Why she-wolf like thou me dost eye."
+Stript of his tests of lineage fair
+He stood, who rais'd this piteous cry--
+A boy, of form which might have made
+The Thracian furies' bosoms kind.
+Canidia with her uncomb'd head
+And hair with vipers short entwin'd,
+Commands wild fig-trees, once that stood
+By graves, and cypresses uptorn,
+And toads foul eggs, imbued with blood,
+And plume, by night-owl lately worn,
+Herbs too, which Iolchos and Spain
+Produce, renown'd for poisons dire,
+And bone from hungry mastiff ta'en,
+Straight to be burn'd in magic fire.
+And now the witch strode through the house,
+Hell-waters scattering wide around;
+Her hair like hedgehog's bristling rose,
+Or like the boar's whom hunters wound.
+Veia, by pity unrestrain'd,
+With pick-axe hastes the ground to tear,
+And toil'd till sweat she panting rain'd,
+That the poor wretch imburied there
+Might slowly die, in sight of food
+Renew'd each day, his head so far
+Extant from earth, as from the flood
+The heads of swimmers extant are;
+That the parch'd marrow and the dry
+Liver for a love-draught might be,
+When fixt upon the feast the eye,
+The craving eye should cease to see.
+All Naples says in verity,
+And all the neighbouring towns beside,
+That Folia lewd of Rimini
+Was present there, that dreadful tide--
+She who with verse Thessalian sang
+Down from their spheres the stars and moon.
+Her uncut thumb with livid fang
+The fell Canidia biting soon:
+"Night and Diana," scream'd she out,
+"Of my deeds faithful witnesses!
+Ye who spread silence wide about,
+When wrought are sacred mysteries!
+Now aid me:  in my foe's house bid
+Your wrath and power divine to hie,
+Whilst in their awful forests hid,
+O'ercome with sleep, the wild beasts lie:
+May suburb curs, that all may jeer,
+Bay the old lecher, smear'd with nard {94},
+More choice than which these fingers ne'er
+Have, skilful, at my need prepar'd.
+But why have charms by me employ'd,
+Less luck than her's, Medea dread,
+With which her rival she destroy'd,
+Great Creon's child, then proudly fled,
+When the robe bane-imbued, her gift,
+Enwrapp'd the new-wed bride in flame?
+But neither herb, nor root from rift
+Of lone rock ta'en, are here to blame;
+In every harlot's bed lies he
+Anointed with oblivion;
+Ah, ah, 'tis plain he walketh free
+Protected by some mightier one.
+But Varus! thou shalt suffer yet!
+Thou shalt re-seek these longing arms,
+And ne'er from me re-alienate
+Thy mind, enthrall'd by Marsan charms.
+A cup more powerful I for thee
+Will soon prepare, disdainful wretch!
+Ere shall the sky sink 'neath the sea,
+And that shall o'er the earth out-stretch,
+Than with my love thou shalt not burn,
+Like pitch, which in these flames I throw."
+Not with mild words their bosoms stern
+To melt, as erst, the boy sought now;
+But madly reckless he began
+The direst curses forth to rave:
+"And do not think your sorceries can
+Yourselves from retribution save:
+Your curse I'll prove; my deathless hate
+By sacrifice ne'er sooth'd shall be;
+But when I perish, bid by fate,
+A night-ghost ye shall have in me.
+With crook'd nails I'll your faces tear,
+For great is injur'd spirits might,
+On your breasts seated, hard I'll bear,
+And banish sleep with ceaseless fright;
+Ye through the streets with stones the crowd
+To death shall pelt, ye hags obscene!
+Your limbs, no sepulture allow'd,
+The wolves shall tear and birds unclean.
+My parents who, though grey and old,
+Shall me survive, their youthful boy
+When they that spectacle behold
+Shall clap their hands and smile for joy."
+
+
+
+
+THE FRENCH CAVALIER, etc.
+
+
+From the Provencal.
+
+The French cavalier shall have my praise,
+And the dame of the Catalan;
+Of the Genoese the honorable ways,
+And a court on Castilian plan;
+The gentle, gentle Provencal lays,
+The dance of Trevisan;
+The heart which the Aragonese displays,
+And the pearl of Julian;
+The hands and face of the English race,
+And a youth of Tuscan clan.
+
+
+
+
+ADDRESS TO SLEEP.
+
+
+From the Italian of Vincenzio Filicaia.
+
+Sweet death of sense, oblivion of ill,
+Sleep! who from war, from time to time, dost bear
+Poor, wretched mortals, and in peace dost still--
+Compose the discords, which my bosom tear,
+For a brief space, and kindly interpose
+Thy soothing wings betwixt me and my care.
+These eyes, which seem in love with weeping, close!
+And make my senses for a time thy bower,
+That whilst I sleep I may my sorrows lose.
+I do not crave that thou the wand of power,
+Three times in Lethe dipp'd, at me shouldst shake,
+And all my senses sprinkle o'er and o'er;
+Let souls, more fortunate, thereof partake--
+Of languid rest a portion scant and slight,
+My weary, wandering eyes content will make.
+Now all the world is hush'd; to sleep invite
+The falling stars, and lull'd appears the main,
+And prone the winds have slumber'd on their flight;
+I, I alone--who will believe my strain?
+I, I alone, in this repose profound
+And universal, no repose can gain;
+Four suns, and moons as many, have come round,
+Since tasted last these wretched lights of mine
+Of thee, sweet cordial to the sick and sound.
+There on the rough peaks of the Apennine,
+Or where to Arno's breast in dower doth throw
+The Pesa limpid waves and crystalline--
+With eye-balls motionless, and hearts which glow
+With zeal and faith, repel thee as a sin,
+Perchance some band of eremites e'en now;
+O come from thence! and for one hour within
+My bosom deign to tarry, then retreat,
+And in some other breast admission win;
+I call thee thence! but if thou'dst hither fleet
+From, where now Love excludes thy gentle might--
+Love with its phantasies so bitter sweet,--
+Avaunt, avaunt! full wretched is my plight!
+But honor, virtue I adore 'bove all,
+Nor to profane night's sacred hours delight,
+Descend on me, as on some mountain tall
+Descends the snow, and there, dissolving soon,
+Back to its pristine element doth fall;
+Or that same dew, which suckleth bland and boon
+Each green grass blade when morn begins to peep,
+That none neglected may its faith impugn.
+Before I die thy humid pinions sweep
+Above me once, but O to stain forbear
+The heart which still immaculate I keep!
+But thou com'st not, and now, with rosy hair
+From Ganges hastening, to all things again
+Their native hue restores Day's harbinger.
+Perhaps thou'st come, and ah, my cruel pain
+And wakeful thoughts thee ingress have denied
+Into my eyes, or hurl'd thee out amain.
+Since, blundering archer, thou dost shoot aside,
+Or snapp'st thy every dart my breast upon,
+To me thy wand be never more applied!
+Away, away! grim Death can blunt alone
+My miseries' point, and ne'er till life be spent
+I shall the hour of dear repose have won.
+O how the strife within is vehement!
+Now reason wins, now madness holds the sway;
+So much my ill can do, nor I prevent.
+O may this soul of mine from out its clay
+Fly to repose elsewhere!  I'm sure to see
+My last hour once; and though far, far away
+The feign'd death keep, the true shall visit me.
+
+
+
+
+THE MOORMEN'S MARCH FROM GRANADA.
+
+
+An Ancient Ballad.
+From the Spanish,
+
+"Reduan, I but lately heard
+From thy mouth the sounding word,
+That for me the town of Jaen
+In one night thou wouldst obtain;
+Reduan, if thou do the same,
+Double pay thou mayest claim;
+Save thy word perform'd I see,
+From Granada thou shalt flee,
+Banish'd to a far frontier,
+Where thy lady shall not cheer."
+Reduan, at the Monarch's side,
+With unalter'd mien replied:
+"Though the word I never said,
+It I'll do, or lose my head."
+Reduan crav'd one thousand men--
+Five the Monarch gave him then.
+From Elvira's portal-arch
+See the cavalcado march:
+Many a Moor of birth was there,
+Many a bay, high-blooded mare,
+Many a lance in fist of might,
+Many a buckler beaming bright,
+Many a green marlote is spied,
+Many a ren aljube beside,
+Many a plume of gallant air,
+Many a rich-grain'd cappellare,
+Many a boot a-borzegui,
+Many a silken string and tie,
+Many a spur of gold there clung,
+Many a silver stirrup swung.
+All the men that rode that day
+Were expert at battle-fray:
+Midst of all that pomp and pow'r
+Chyquo Monarch of the Moor.
+Moorish dames and maidens high
+Them from proud Alhambra eye;
+And the Moorish Queen so grey
+In this guise was heard to say:
+"Speed thee hence my son and love!
+Mahomet thy Guardian prove!
+Crown'd with honor back from Jaen
+May he bring thee soon again."
+
+
+
+
+THE FORSAKEN.
+
+
+From the Spanish.
+
+Up I rose, O mother, early
+On the blest Saint Juan's morn;
+By the sea I saw a damsel,
+Saw a damsel all forlorn.
+
+Lonely there she wash'd her garments
+And upon a rose-tree hung;
+Whilst the garments there were drying
+She a plaintiff ditty sung.
+
+"O my love, my fickle lover--
+Where to find him shall I stray?"
+Up and down the strand she hurried
+Singing, singing this sad lay.
+
+In her hand a comb she carried,
+All of gold, to comb her hair;
+"Tell me, tell me, gentle sailor--
+Heaven take thee 'neath it's care--
+Hast thou seen my fickle lover,
+Hast thou seen him any where?"
+
+
+
+
+STANZAS.
+
+
+From the Portuguese.
+
+A fool is he who in the lap
+Basking of every smiling joy,
+Will each and all with fear alloy
+Of what some future day may hap.
+
+Let him enjoy his present state;
+For he but double make his woes,
+Who midst the future's shadows goes
+To meet the ills of murky fate.
+
+
+
+
+MY EIGHTEENTH YEAR.
+
+
+From the French.
+
+Where is my eighteenth year? far back
+Upon life's variegated track;
+Yet fondly oft I turn my eye,
+And for my eighteenth year I sigh.
+
+Each pleasure then I took with zest,
+And hope was inmate of my breast--
+Enchanting hope, consoling thing,
+The plucker out of sorrow's sting.
+
+The sun above shone brighter then,
+Fairer were women, kinder men;
+If tears I shed, they soon were o'er,
+And I was happier than before.
+
+The minstrel-wight of ancient day
+Wish'd that the twelve months all were May;
+I wish that every year I see
+The eighteenth of my life could be.
+
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+
+From the Rommany or Gypsy Language.
+
+The strength of the ox,
+The wit of the fox,
+And the leveret's speed,--
+Full oft, to oppose
+To their numerous foes,
+The Rommany need.
+
+Our horses they take,
+Our waggons they break,
+And ourselves they seize,
+In their prisons to coop,
+Where we pine and droop,
+For want of breeze.
+
+When the dead swallow
+The fly shall follow
+O'er Burra-panee,
+Then we will forget
+The wrongs we have met,
+And forgiving be.
+
+
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+
+{8}  Gennet is a word of Arabic origin, and signifies paradise.
+
+{10}  No true Mussulman will receive any remuneration for communicating
+instruction.
+
+{13}  Allusion is here made to metempsychosis or the transmigration of
+souls.
+
+{14}  His relations.
+
+{17}  Goblins.
+
+{18}  Spaces of time.
+
+{21}  The principal banner.
+
+{22}  Wang Liyang and Siyan Ou were ancient kings of China, and mighty
+hunters, of whose exploits many extravagant tales are related.
+
+{26}  Cossack village.
+
+{32}  The knights of the German Order, who eventually christianized the
+pagan Lithuanians at the point of the lance and sword.
+
+{33}  Polish.
+
+{38}  The Mermaid.
+
+{40}  The war-goddess, according to the Northern Mythology.
+
+{50}  Wessel was the family name of Tordenskiold.  Tordenskiold is an
+epithet bestowed upon the Danish Admiral for his prowess and heroism.  It
+signifies:  shield of thunder.
+
+{51}  This piece has already appeared in print, having been inserted some
+years since in the Foreign Quarterly Review, in an article on Danish
+poetry, of which the prose part proceeded from the pen of Doctor John
+Bowring.
+
+{54}  The river-god.
+
+{63}  The Northern Venus.
+
+{65}  The personage, who figures in the splendid forgeries of MacPherson
+under the name of Fingal.
+
+{68}  The Gaelic word for nobleman.
+
+{72}  Ancient bards, to whose mansion, in the clouds, the speaker hopes
+that his spirit will be received.
+
+{73a}  Written in the fifth century.
+
+{73b}  The British, like many other nations, whose early history is
+involved in obscurity, claim a Trojan descent.
+
+{74}  Awen, or poetic genius, which he is said to have imbibed in his
+childhood, whilst employed in watching the cauldron of the sorceress
+Cridwen.
+
+{75}  I was but a child, but am now Taliesin,--Taliesin signifies:  brow
+of brightness.
+
+{79}  Ale.
+
+{94}  They had, it seems, made an image of Varus, and besmeared it with
+some high-smelling ointment, in the hope that Varus, by sympathy, would
+bear about him the odour of the same, so that the dogs might bay at him in
+his nocturnal excursions.
+
+
+
+
+
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