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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/78744-0.txt b/78744-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb819a2 --- /dev/null +++ b/78744-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4809 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78744 *** + + + + + РОССІЙСКАЯ АНТОЛОГІЯ. + + + SPECIMENS + + OF + + _THE RUSSIAN POETS_: + + + TRANSLATED BY + + JOHN BOWRING, F.L.S. + + + _Вамъ, вамъ плетутъ Хариты + Безамертные вѣнцы! + Я вами здѣсь вкушаю + Восторги Піеридъ, + И въ радости взываю: + О Музы! я Піитъ!_ + БАТЮШКОВЪ + + + WITH PRELIMINARY REMARKS AND + BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES. + + SECOND EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS. + + London: + PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR: + SOLD BY R. HUNTER, ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD; + AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO., EDINBURGH. + + 1821. + + + + +[Illustration: ALBRE FLAMMAN printer’s mark.] + +PRINTED BY R. AND A. TAYLOR, + +SHOE-LANE, LONDON. + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT + +TO + +THE SECOND EDITION. + + +The first edition of this work was published without any strong +expectations that it would excite attention. It has been received with +singular indulgence, nay with flattering encouragement, and I trust +it will be followed, at no distant period, by Specimens of the Poetry +of other nations, which is as yet a stranger to our literature and +language. + +The objects of this publication have been in a great degree answered. +Many of the Poets of Russia, whom I have ventured to introduce to my +countrymen, have met with a cordial welcome, and their claims have +been cheerfully admitted by the mighty arbiters of fame. For myself +I own, that my hopes of the future progress of that vast empire in +civilization and virtue and liberty have been greatly flattered, +greatly increased by the observations which this little volume has +served to elicit. + +It must not, however, be forgotten, that this is a representation of +nothing but the unformed and infant poetical literature of Russia. +That literature had its birth but yesterday, and certainly its present +strength and beauty give fair hope for to-morrow. In it are elements +of improvement, and buds and blossoms of future expectation. They +are scattered over “half a world,” and in due time will ripen, to +encourage, to console, and to stimulate myriads and millions. It will +then be an interesting task, to compare the maturer charms of Sclavonic +song, with these its earliest gems. + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS. + + + INTRODUCTION vii + + Derzhavin 1 + + Batiushkov 45 + + Lomonosov 65 + + Zhukovsky 71 + + Karamsin 103 + + Dmitriev 117 + + Krĭlov 129 + + Khemnitzer 135 + + Bobrov 145 + + Bogdanovich 163 + + Davĭdov 175 + + Kostrov 179 + + Neledinsky Meletzky 183 + + National Songs 192 + + Biographical and Critical Notices 203 + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +Few subjects can be more complacent to the philanthropist than to trace +the forward march of mind; peculiarly complacent where its progress is +neither slow nor doubtful; where the stream of light spreads widening +more and more over the whole surface of society; and more delightful +yet, where the first rays of twilight break out of the thick darkness +of long and dreary barbarism, and the day advances with sure and steady +steps. Such were the circumstances under which Russia presented itself +to my contemplation. It had emerged, as it were instantaneously, from +a night of ignorance, to occupy a situation in the world of intellect, +not contemptible, even when compared with that of southern nations; +but singularly striking as contrasted with the almost universal +ignorance which pervaded the immense empire of the Tzars, before Peter +the Great, the Russian Colossus, as one of their poets calls him, gave +it the first impulse towards civilization[1]. The foundation is now +laid, on which the proud edifice of civilization will be raised. The +moral _vis inertiæ_ is in action: and the immense political influence +which Russia has acquired, and seems likely to maintain, will be less +appalling, at all events, to the moralist, if not to the statesman, +than if wholly unaccompanied by a spirit of literature; while, on the +other hand, it is consolatory to remember, that every instance which +Russia affords of the advance of knowledge, is a pledge that the +blessings of freedom and good government, which follow in the train of +intellectual distinction, cannot be for ever shut out. + +Lomonosov[2] is the father of Russian poetry. It did not advance from +step to step through various gradations of improvement, but received +from his extraordinary genius an elevation and a purity which are +singularly opposed to the barbarous compositions which preceded him. +He did more than any other writer to fix the standard of language, and +wielded a then uncouth and unformed idiom with singular address and +power. A natural sense of harmony and beauty, made sublimer by early +contemplation of the prophetic and the poetical compositions of the +Old Testament, did more for his own fame, and for the future literary +reputation of his country, than could have resulted from the closest +acquaintance with the great names of Greece or Rome. His style is +singularly vigorous, and his works are distinguished throughout for +their bold and impressive character. They have been collected into six +volumes; and his name, as well as that of his rival Sumarokov, has +already found its way, with some particulars of his life and writings, +into our biographical dictionaries[3]. + +Sumarokov, whose productions are very voluminous, and were once +considered models of grace, beauty, and harmony, has been much +neglected of late years. His dramatic compositions are, for the most +part, gross and indecent; his contemptuous jealousy of Lomonosov, +though so greatly his superior, is often most ridiculously intruding +itself; but in one point of view, at least, he is entitled to +respect and gratitude. He is the eldest of the Russian fabulists; +the introducer of a species of composition, in which Russian poetry +possesses treasures more varied and more valuable than that of any +other nation. It is no mean praise to say, and it may be said truly, +that Russia can produce more than one rival of the delightful La +Fontaine. Of the dramatic writings of Sumarokov, the best is the +tragedy _Demitrĭj Samosvanelz_, or The False Demetrius[4], which has +been translated into English. + +Von Visin, who seems to have made Moliere his model, improved greatly +upon Sumarokov. His two most celebrated comedies are _Nedorosl_, The +Spoilt Youth, and _Brigadir_, The Brigadier[5]. + +Kheraskov holds a high rank among the lyric poets of Russia. He +died a few years ago. He was curator of the Moscow University. He +published a collection of his poems, which he entitled _Bakhariana, +ili Neisviëstnĭj_; Bachariana, or The Unknown; but his great work is +_Rossiada, ili Rasrushchenie Kasanij_; The Russiad, or The Destruction +of Kasan. + +But of all the poets of Russia, Derzhavin is in my conception entitled +to the very first place. His compositions breathe a high and sublime +spirit; they are full of inspiration. His versification is sonorous, +original, characteristic; his subjects generally such as allowed him +to give full scope to his ardent imagination and lofty conceptions. +Of modern poets, he most resembles Klopstock: his _Oda Bog_, Ode on +God, with the exception of some of the wonderful passages of the +Old Testament, “written with a pen of fire,” and glowing with the +brightness of heaven, passages of which Derzhavin has frequently +availed himself, is one of the most impressive and sublime addresses +I am acquainted with, on a subject so pre-eminently impressive and +sublime. The first poem which excited the public attention to him was +his _Felitza_. + +Bogdanovich has obtained the title of the Russian Anacreon. His +_Dushenka_ (Psyche) is a graceful and lovely poem. I mean at some +future time to give some extracts from this poem, with specimens of +the Russian epics, and longer poetical compositions, which I hope to +collect into one volume. He has also written several dramatic pieces. + +Bobrov was well acquainted with the literature of the South of Europe, +and has transfused many of its beauties into his native tongue. Our +English writers especially have given great assistance to his honest +plagiarism. His _Khersonida_, an oriental epic poem, is not so good as +_Lalla Rookh_, but it is very good notwithstanding. + +Kapnist has written on a variety of subjects--odes, songs, romances and +translations. + +The name of Kostrov closes the list of the most eminent among the +deceased poets of Russia. He died, not long ago, in the meridian of his +days. He had made an admirable translation of Homer, and was engaged in +a version of Ossian, which he left unfinished: the conclusion has since +been added by Gnœdich. + +Of all the living writers of Russia, or rather of all the writers +Russia ever produced, the most successful and the most popular is +Karamsin. Derzhavin called him long ago “the nightingale of poetry,” +but it is not to his poetry alone that he owes his fame. Standing on +the summit of modern literature in Russia, he has been loaded with +honours and distinctions, which, however, have not served to check his +wonted urbanity, or to chill his natural goodness of heart. When a +young writer, he was fond of imitating Sterne[6]; a very bad model, it +may be added, since the peculiarities which characterize him are only +tolerable because they are original. Karamsin’s style was then usually +abrupt and unnatural, and its sentimentality wearisome and affected. +But he has outlived his errors, and established his reputation on +their subjection. His great undertaking, the _Rossijskaje Istorije_ +(History of Russia), is, without comparison, the first and best +literary work which has been produced in the country it celebrates. It +was received with loud eulogiums throughout the Russian empire; it has +been translated into several European languages; and will probably long +maintain a pre-eminent rank among Russian classics, and become one of +the standard authorities of history[7]. + +The peculiar excellence of the Russian fabulists has been mentioned. +Sumarokov and Khemnitzer, Dmitriev and Krĭlov, are the most +distinguished among them. Dmitriev, who is still living at Moscow, has +published a great number of fables and ballads, besides translations +from the Latin and other languages. His style is easy, harmonious, and +energetic: some of his compositions have a sublimer character; his +religious poetry is dignified and solemn; his elegies are tender and +affecting. + +Krĭlov holds an office in the Imperial library at Petersburg. He is +well known to the _bons vivans_ of the English club. His heavy and +unwieldy appearance is singularly contrasted with the shrewdness and +the grace of his writings. He stings like a wasp, and flies laughingly +away, but always leaves his sting behind him. He has published one +volume of fables, remarkable for their spirit and originality. He now +employs himself in translating Herodotus, having, at an advanced period +of life, first entered on the study of the languages of ancient Greece +and Rome. + +Zhukovskij has printed some poetical translations of distinguished +merit from the German, French and English. Among these, his version +of Gray’s elegy is entitled to particular praise. For the sake of +comparison I give the epitaph. + + Sdœs’ pepel iunoshi besvremenno sokrĭli; + Chto slava, shchastie, ne snal on v mirœ sem! + No Musĭ ot nego litza ne otvratili, + I melankholii pechat’ bĭla na nem. + + On krotok serdtzem bĭl, chuvstvitelen dushoiu + Chuvstvitel’nĭm Tvoretz nagradu polozhil! + Daril neshchastnĭkh on--chœm tolko mog--slesoiu! + V nagradu ot Tvortza on druga poluchil! + + Prokhozhii, udalis’! vo grobœ son svjeshchennĭi! + Sud’ba pochivshikh v nem pokrĭta grosnoimgloi + Nadezha robkaje zhivit ikh pepel tlœnnĭi! + Kto snaet, kto nas zhdet sa grobovoi doskoi! + +This piece is one among very many translations from the English. The +following verse from Goldsmith’s Edwin and Angelina will be perhaps +recognised from its cadence alone. + + Voidikh v moi dom--sabot tam chuzhdĭ + Nœt blaga v suetœ! + Nam malĭje denĭ sdœs’ nuzhdĭ! + Na malĭi mig i nœ! + +His _Liudmilla_ (an imitation of Leonora) is deemed more beautiful +and forcible than the original itself. He has written on a variety of +subjects, and is now engaged as a companion to the Grand Dukes. + +I believe Batiushkov is now in Italy. He has published translations +from Tibullus and other classics. His most celebrated composition is +his Address to his Penates, which will be found in the present volume. +As it introduces in a very agreeable manner the most eminent of the +Russian poets, and contains some allusion to Russian manners, it will +not, I hope, be without interest to the English reader. + +There are many other names which the narrow limits of this volume will +not allow to be introduced at length. Mersljekov’s translations from +the Greek and Latin classics: those of Gnœdich, Knjezhnin, Milonov, +Volkov and Bunina from different sources: Rodsjenkai from Addison, and +many others, have produced an admirable effect upon the taste of the +nation, and given noble examples for the imitation of Russian bards. + +I can scarcely hope to satisfy those who are masters of Russian +literature. I have not always satisfied myself; for, far from any +feelings of self-complacency, to do full justice to some of the poets +of Russia has been beyond the compass of my powers. In the instance of +Bogdanovich, especially, the charm I have felt, I have not been able to +convey. + +No one can be more alive than I am to the extreme difficulty of +communicating to a foreign version the peculiar characters of the +original. The grace, the harmony, the happy arrangement, the striking +adaptation of words to ideas; every thing, in fact, except the +primary and naked thought, requires for its perfect communication +a genius equal to its first conception: and, in truth, there are +but few instances of enduring and deserved reputation dependent +only on successful poetical translations, unaided by the merits of +distinguished original works. + +One thing, however, is certain; I have intended no wrong,--I hope I +have done no wrong, to the names and to the works I now introduce to +my countrymen; I mean only to be an honest, conscientious interpreter. +Many of the charms of their compositions have probably escaped me: +their faults, I am afraid, are but too faithfully rendered; I have +discovered many, but I dared not meddle with them. + +The measure of the original has been generally preserved. This adhesion +to one of the distinguishing characters of poetical composition has +been made of late quite a point of conscience in Germany (a country +which possesses a greater number of excellent and faithful translations +than all the united world besides); and as far as the genius of the +language will admit, I hope it will become so in England[8]. It would +have been well if our early translators had been more honest and +correct in this particular--their aberrations have given a sort of +sanction to the wanderings of others. The future poets of Russia have +excellent precursors to study, especially as regards the fidelity of +their early versions. + +A few words on the peculiarities of the Russian language will not, +perhaps, be misplaced[9]. + +The mother-tongue of nearly forty millions of human beings, and which +in the course of thirteen centuries has undergone no radical change, is +indeed entitled to some attention. All Russian grammarians claim for +it an antiquity at least equal to that of the city of Novogorod. The +oldest written documents that exist are two treaties with the Greek +emperors, made by Oleg, A.D. 912, and Igor, A.D. 943. Christianity, +introduced into Russia at the beginning of the eleventh century by +Vladimir the Great, brought with it many words of Greek origin. The +Tartars added considerably to the vocabulary during the two centuries +of their domination. The intercourse which Peter the Great established +with foreign nations, increased it still more; and of late years a +great number of words have been amalgamated with it from the French, +German, and English. It is now one of the richest, if not the richest, +of all the European languages, and contains a multitude of words which +can only be expressed by compounds and redundant definitions in any +northern tongues. Schlözer calculates, that of the five hundred roots +on which the modern Russ is raised, three-fourths of the number are +derived from Greek, Latin, and German. Many are of Sans-crit origin, of +which Adelung published a list in 1811[10]. + +Printing was introduced into Russia about the middle of the sixteenth +century. The oldest printed book which has been discovered is a +Sclavonic Psalter, bearing the date Kiev, 1551; two years after, a +press was established in Moscow. The Sclavonic alphabet, said to have +been introduced by Cyrillus in the ninth century, consists of forty-two +letters. The modern Russ has only thirty-five: those unknown to the +English are as follows: + + Letters. Sounds and Orthography adopted. + Ж[11] zh. + Ф ph. + Х[12] kh (guttural). + Ц tz. + Ч ch (as in chance). + Ш sh. + Щ[13] shtsh, or shch. + Ы[14] ĭ (dull i). + Ъ[15] terminal. + Ь[16] ditto. + Ѣ[17] œ. + Ю[18] iu. + Я je. + +Besides these, there are several letters which seem almost identical as +to sound. + + Е and Э[19] for e. + И -- І[20] -- i. + С -- З[21] -- s. + +Of the above, + + Щ appears a compound of Ш and Ч. + Ю -------------------- І -- У. + Я -------------------- І -- Е. + +Ѳ (_theta_) and Ѵ (_upsilon_) form a part of the Russian alphabet, +but are seldom used. _h_[22], _c_[23], _x_[24], _f_[25], _w_[26], are +wanting altogether. + +The Russian language may be adapted to almost every species of +versification. It is flexible, harmonious, full of rhythmus, rich in +compounds, and possesses all the elements of poetry. From the following +examples in different measures, some idea may be formed of its natural +music. + + +ADONICS OF FIVE SYLLABLES. + + Ti dusha moje + Krasna dævitza, + Moje prezhnjeje + Poliu bovnitza[27]. + + +TROCHAICS OF SEVEN AND EIGHT SYLLABLES. + + Stónet sísoi gólu bóchik + Stónet ón i dén’ i nóch’; + Égo mílen’kói druzhéchik, + Otletœ’l daléko próch’[28]. + + _Derzhavin._ + + +IAMBICS OF SIX AND SEVEN SYLLABLES. + + Sakónĭ ó suzhdáiut, + Predmét moéi liubví: + No któ, o sérdtze! mózhet, + Protiv’it’sjé tebǽ[29]. + + _Karamsin._ + + +DACTYLICS OF SEVEN AND EIGHT SYLLABLES. + + Svǽri rabótĭ ne snaíut, + Ptítzĭ zhivút bes trudá; + Liúdi ne svǽri ne ptítzĭ, + Liúdi rabótoi zhiv`út[30]. + + _Karamsin._ + + +ALEXANDRINES. + + Bozhéstvennĭí metáll! krasjéshchíi ístukánov, + Zhivótvorjéshchajé dushá pustĭ´kh karmánov[31]. + + _Von Visin._ + + +HEXAMETERS AND PENTAMETERS. + + Tám, tam sætóvat’ mnæ vés’væk moi! górestnii mráchnii + Kázhdĭi medlénnii den’, kázhduíus úzhasom nóch’[32]. + +Rimes are either masculine or feminine; the former have the accent on +the last syllable, the latter on the penultimate: + + Masculine. Feminine. + iskál lobóiu + stál krasóiu + tzár póru + tvár góru[33] + +The productions of the Russian press are no index to the national +cultivation. The great majority of that extensive empire are yet little +removed from the uncivilized and brutish state in which they were +left by the Ruriks and the Vladimirs of other times. Unfortunately, +society has few gradations; and there is no influence so unfriendly +to improvement, no state of things so hopeless, as that produced by a +domestic slavery built upon the habits of ages. In Russia, the next +step from absolute dependence is nobility; at least, the intermediate +classes are very inconsiderable. The strength, the intelligence, the +public and the private virtue, of our middling ranks, which serve so +admirably to cement the social edifice, are there wanting. All sympathy +is partial and exclusive. In _this_ country, the spirit of information, +wherever elicited, rapidly spreads over and glows in every link of +the electrical chain of society. It mounts aspiringly, if it have its +origin among the less privileged orders; and it descends through all +the beautiful gradations of rank, when it has its birth in the higher +circles: it is diffusive--it is all-enlightening. But in Russia, +however bright the flame, it is pent up, it cannot spread. The noble +associates with the noble: the slave herds with the slave; but man has +no communion with man. No spot is there, whether sacred to science or +to virtue, in which the “rich and poor” may “meet together,” equalized +though but for a moment, as if the common Father were indeed “the +Maker of all;” and assuredly the Russian nation can make no striking +progress in civilization till the terrible barriers which so completely +separate the different ranks are destroyed. The million, uninstructed +and unambitious, will, it is to be feared, be long held in the fetters +of vassalage. The personal interests of the ruling few are too clearly, +too fatally opposed to the melioration of the subject many, to allow +any thing to be hoped for from these Lords of the soil. There are, it +must be confessed, active minds, generous energies, at work; but where +is their influence seen? To lead such an immense nation through the +different stages of improvement, to rational and permanent liberty, +were indeed an object worthy of the most aspiring, the most glorious +ambition. It were an achievement not to be hailed by the blast of +trumpet, nor the roar of artillery; (the world, recovering from its +drunken infatuation, is well nigh weary of the unholy triumphs which +have been thus celebrated;) it were an achievement which would hand +down the name of him who should effect it to future ages, linked with +the gratitude, the virtue, the happiness, of successive and long +enduring generations. + +I must not, however, be misunderstood. The language of despondency, as +to the progressive improvement and ultimate civilization of Russia, +would be unwarrantable and insincere. If, in the vassalage which +depresses and degrades the most numerous class in that country, we +look in vain for any redeeming circumstance, to create or to encourage +the expectation of a speedy and considerable change; still there +is little fear of active opposition to the progress of truth and +knowledge, among the immense majority of the people; that is, among the +hereditary slaves. They are an inert, unintellectual mass, who, though +they will not probably make sufficient advances, under the present +system, to bring about any very perceptible improvement themselves, +will certainly be little disposed to take any measures in support of +an arbitrary system, or to offer any resistance to those changes whose +benign effects they would so speedily feel. But, as far as _they_ are +concerned, improvement must follow, rather than lead to, any important +melioration. A middle class, as yet neither numerous nor powerful, is +withal growing up in Russia; by and by, they will form the link between +the oppressor and the oppressed. The pride of the first will be brought +down; the ambition of the last will be excited. Bosoms will begin to +glow with hope and ardor, which are now frozen beneath the wintry touch +of bondage; and Russia, full as she is of the materials out of which +great minds are formed, may yet perhaps take her stand in intellectual +eminence among the nations of Europe, at no distant period. + + * * * * * + +For the interesting notices at the close of this volume I am indebted +to my illustrious friend Von Adelung. Thus to thank him is the least +return I can make. + + J. B. + + * * * * * + + I bore you from the regions of the north, + Where ye first blossom’d, flowers of poetry! + Now light your smiles and pour your incense forth + Beneath our Albion’s more benignant sky. + + I cull’d your garlands ’neath the polar star, + From the vast fields of everlasting snow, + Adventurous I transplant your beauties far:-- + Still breathe in fragrance, still in beauty glow. + + Within _our_ temple many a holy wreath, + Hallowed by genius and by time, is hung: + At our old altar many a bard has sung, + Whose music vibrates from the realms of death. + + I may not link your lowlier names with theirs-- + The giants of past ages:--but to bring + To our Parnassus one delightful thing, + Would gild my hopes and answer all my prayers. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] So an anonymous Russian poet: + + Russia and Russia’s strength lay hid in dreary night; + God said “Let Peter be!” and then they burst to light. + + +[2] or Broken Nose. + +[3] Under the engravings of Lomonosov an eulogium is sometimes found, +of which the following is a translation: + + Where Winter sits upon his throne of snow, + Thus spoke the bright Parnassian Deity: + “Another Pindar is created now, + The king of bards, the lord of music, he.” + And Russia’s bosom heaved with holy glow-- + “My Lomonosov! Pindar lives in thee!” + + +[4] The history of this extraordinary man may be found at length in +Coxe’s Travels, ii. 366-393. + +[5] I do not feel myself qualified to give an opinion on the present +state of the Russian Stage: but the translations represented there +from the French and German drama are of acknowledged merit; and many +original pieces have been of late produced, of which their literary men +speak with great delight and even enthusiasm. Ozerov is, I imagine, the +most eminent of their tragic poets. + +[6] Especially in his _Puteshestvennik_ (or Traveller). + +[7] The German translation is faithful, but heavy and ill-written. The +French, tolerably written, perhaps, but miserably incorrect; Karamsin +told me he had discovered two hundred errors in the first volume +alone. The Italian is a rendering from the French. As a proof of the +estimation in which Karamsin is held, I may mention that I learned at +Petersburg, that several thousand copies of this voluminous work were +distributed in a few weeks; and it was said, the author received fifty +thousand rubles for the copy-right of the second edition. + +[8] The merits of Shakespeare were never fully recognised till he was +clad in garments something like his own. There is generally no idea in +this country of the sublime and imposing character of the writings of +Klopstock, for they have never been presented to us in any thing like +their original form. If any one wish to study the freezing effect of +a translation made in conformity to what are called the prejudices, +or the habits of a people, let him read the Hamlet of Moratin; a man +confessedly of extraordinary talent; an original dramatic writer +of most distinguished success; and who has preserved a general +faithfulness to the sense of his author, even in this translation: let +him compare this, or any of the plays of Le Tourneur, or the choicest +passages of Ducis, with ten lines taken at random from Voss, or +Schlegel, and the argument will be fully understood. + +[9] It is a remarkable fact, that the first Russian Grammar ever +published was published in England. It was entitled H. W. Ludolfi +_Grammatica Russica, quæ continet et manuductionem quandam ad +Grammaticam Sclavonicam_. Oxon. 1696. + +[10] _Rapports entre les Langues Russe et Sans-crite._ + +[11] I have adopted _zh_ to convey the sound of this letter, though it +is sometimes rendered by j; it is nearly equivalent to the French _j_, +as in _jardin_, _jaune_; or to s and z in the English words, measure, +vision, azure. + +[12] A strong guttural; the Greek χ. + +[13] This is the letter which disfigures Russian words so much when +written in Roman characters. “I defend,” which has but seven letters +in the original, is thus conveyed by fourteen--_sashchishchaju_; +and much more awkwardly in the German system of orthography by +twenty--_saschtschischtschaju_. Its exact sound may be produced +by connecting together the two last syllables of the words +establi_sht-ch_urch. + +[14] The _shibboleth_ of the Russian alphabet. It is hardly ever well +pronounced by foreigners. It is a deep, indistinct articulation, +something like _i_ in _bill_. + +[15] A mere expletive; and yet so common that Schlözer says, to abandon +it would diminish the trouble and expense of writing and printing five +_per cent._ It occurs, on an average, fifty times among a thousand +letters. It can only be used as the termination of a syllable or a word. + +[16] This letter, which is also a terminal, gives to the consonant that +precedes it the sound which the French call _mouillé_, as in _ai_ll_e_, +_a_gn_eau_; like _gn_ or _gl_ in Italian; in Spanish the _ñ_ or _ll_. I +have adopted an apostrophe ’ when it is introduced. + +[17] The close _e_ of the French. + +[18] The English _u_, as in union, universe, always pronounced _iu_. + +[19] Is of modern introduction, and is used principally in the +beginning of words of foreign origin, as Edinburgh, Etymology. + +[20] The first of these is used before a consonant, the latter before a +vowel. + +[21] С is the sharp s or ss, as in lass: З the soft single s, as +usually pronounced in the middle of words; _e.g._ muse. + +[22] H, where it occurs in foreign words, is rendered by Г, _g_. + +[23] C, is in fact an expletive in all languages. + +[24] X, is always written ks, _v. g._ Aleksandr (Alexander). + +[25] F, is conveyed usually by the Ф (ph), sometimes by the В (v). + +[26] The Germans use their W for the Russian В, which latter is in +fact the English _v_. This letter might in English, as in Russian, +conveniently stand in the alphabet next to B. It is a second B, a +letter which in all times has been constantly confounded with it. In +Spanish the two letters are used almost indifferently. + +[27] + + Thou my sweet spirit, + Beautiful maiden! + Thou my fair empress, + Queen of my bosom! + + +[28] + + Deeply sighs the little wood-dove, + Deeply sighs he day and night; + His beloved heart-companion + Far away has wing’d her flight. + + +[29] + + But law’s imposing fetters + My burning love restrain: + Yet who, O heart! could ever + O’er thee a victory gain? + + +[30] + + Beasts of the field never labour, + Birds of the forest repose; + Man, neither one nor the other, + Man is appointed to toil. + + +[31] + + Thou godlike metal gold! that mov’st the very statues, + And to an empty purse canst give a living spirit. + + +[32] + + There, there do I wear out life’s pilgrimage, sorrowing and dreary, + While the day in its misery rolls, and the terrible night. + + +[33] The best Russian Grammar I have met with is Tappe’s +_Theoretisch-praktische Russische Sprachlehre_. I have availed myself +of it for many of the preceding observations. + + + + +_RUSSIAN ANTHOLOGY._ + + + + +DERZHAVIN. + + +GOD[1]. + + O Thou eternal One! whose presence bright + All space doth occupy, all motion guide; + Unchanged through time’s all-devastating flight; + Thou only God! There is no God beside! + Being above all beings! Three in One! + Whom none can comprehend and none explore; + Who fill’st existence with _Thyself_ alone: + Embracing all,--supporting,--ruling o’er,-- + Being whom we call GOD--and know no more[2]! + + In its sublime research, philosophy + May measure out the ocean-deep--may count + The sands or the sun’s rays--but, God! for Thee + There is no weight nor measure:--none can mount + Up to Thy mysteries; Reason’s brightest spark, + Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try + To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark: + And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high, + Even like past moments in eternity. + + Thou from primeval nothingness didst call + First chaos, then existence;--Lord! on Thee + Eternity had its foundation:--all + Sprung forth from Thee:--of light, joy, harmony, + Sole origin:--all life, all beauty Thine. + Thy word created all, and doth create; + Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine. + Thou art, and wert, and shalt be! Glorious! Great! + Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate! + + Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround: + Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath! + Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, + And beautifully mingled life and death! + As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze, + So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee; + And as the spangles in the sunny rays + Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry + Of heaven’s bright army glitters in Thy praise[3]. + + A million torches lighted by Thy hand + Wander unwearied through the blue abyss: + They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command; + All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. + What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light-- + A glorious company of golden streams-- + Lamps of celestial ether burning bright-- + Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? + But Thou to these art as the noon to night. + + Yes! as a drop of water in the sea, + All this magnificence in Thee is lost:-- + What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee? + And what am _I_ then? Heaven’s unnumber’d host, + Though multiplied by myriads, and array’d + In all the glory of sublimest thought; + Is but an atom in the balance weigh’d + Against Thy greatness; is a cypher brought + Against infinity! What am I then? Nought! + + Nought! But the effluence of Thy light divine, + Pervading worlds, hath reach’d my bosom too; + Yes! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine + As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew. + Nought! but I live, and on hope’s pinions fly + Eager towards Thy presence; for in Thee + I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high, + Even to the throne of Thy divinity. + I am, O God! and surely _Thou_ must be! + + Thou art! directing, guiding all, Thou art! + Direct my understanding then to Thee; + Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart: + Though but an atom midst immensity, + Still I am something, fashion’d by Thy hand! + I hold a middle rank ’twixt heaven and earth, + On the last verge of mortal being stand, + Close to the realms where angels have their birth, + Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land! + + The chain of being is complete in me; + In me is matter’s last gradation lost, + And the next step is spirit--Deity! + I can command the lightning, and am dust! + A monarch, and a slave; a worm, a god! + Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously + Constructed and conceived? unknown! this clod + Lives surely through some higher energy; + For from itself alone it could not be! + + Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word + Created _me_! Thou source of life and good! + Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord! + Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude + Fill’d me with an immortal soul, to spring + Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear + The garments of eternal day, and wing + Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, + Even to its source--to Thee--its Author there. + + O thoughts ineffable! O visions blest! + Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, + Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast, + And waft its homage to Thy Deity. + God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar; + Thus seek Thy presence--Being wise and good! + Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore; + And when the tongue is eloquent no more, + The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. + + +ON THE DEATH OF MESHCHERSKY. + + Ah! that funereal toll! loud tongue of time! + What woes are centred in that frightful sound! + It calls! it calls me with a voice sublime, + To the lone chambers of the burial ground. + My life’s first footsteps are midst yawning graves; + A pale, teeth-clattering spectre passes nigh; + A scythe of lightning that pale spectre waves, + Mows down man’s days like grass, and hurries by. + + Nought his untired rapacity can cloy: + Monarchs and slaves are all the earth-worm’s food; + And the wild-raging elements destroy + Even the recording tomb. Vicissitude + Devours the pride of glory; as the sea + Insatiate drinks the waters, so our days + And years are lost in deep eternity; + Cities and empires vandal death decays. + + We tremble on the borders of the abyss, + And giddy totter headlong from on high; + For death with life our common portion is, + And man is only born that he may die. + Death knows no sympathy; he tramples on + All tenderness--extinguishes the stars-- + Tears from the firmament the glowing sun, + And blots out worlds in his gigantic wars. + + But mortal man forgets mortality! + His dreams crowd ages into life’s short day;-- + While, like a midnight robber stealing by, + Death plunders time by hour and hour away. + When least we fear, then is the traitor nigh; + Where most secure we seem, he loves to come: + Less swift than he, the bolts of thunder fly, + Less sure than he, the lightning strikes the dome. + + Thou son of luxury! child of dance and song, + O whither, whither is thy spirit fled? + On life’s dull sea thy bark delayed not long, + But sought the silent haven of the dead. + Here is thy dust! Thy spirit is not here! + _Where_ is it? There. _Where_ there? ’tis all unknown: + We weep and sigh--alas! we know not _where_! + For man is doubt and darkness’ eldest son. + + Where love and joy and health and worldly good, + And all life’s pleasures in their splendor glow; + He dries the nerves up, he congeals the blood, + And shakes the very soul with mighty woe. + The songs of joy are funeral cries become-- + And luxury’s board is cover’d with a pall-- + The chamber of the banquet is a tomb: + Death, the pale autocrat, he rules o’er all. + + He rules o’er all--and him must kings obey, + Whose will no counsel knows and no control; + The proud and gilded great ones are his prey, + Who stand like pillars in a tyrant’s hall. + Beauty and beauty’s charms are nought to him, + Man’s intellect is crush’d by his decrees; + Man’s brightest light his dreadful frown can dim-- + He whets his scythe with trophies such as these. + + Death makes all nature tremble! What are we? + To-morrow dust, though almost gods to-day! + A mixture strange of pride and poverty: + Now basking in hope’s fair and gladdening ray; + To-morrow--what is man to-morrow? Nought! + How swiftly rolls the never-tarrying stream, + Hour after hour to gloomy chaos brought; + While ages dawn and vanish like a dream! + + Even like an infant’s sweet imagining, + My early, lovely spring-tide hurried on: + Beauty just smiled and sported--then took wing; + Joy laugh’d a moment and then joy was gone. + Now less susceptible of bliss, less blest, + Wiser and worldlier, panting for a name; + With a vain thirst of honour, pain’d, opprest, + I labour wearied up the hill of fame. + + But manhood too and manhood’s care will pass, + And glory’s struggles be ere long forgot; + For fame, like wealth, has busy wings, alas! + And joy’s and sorrow’s sound will move us not. + Begone, ye vain pursuits, ye dreams of bliss, + Changing and false, no longer flatter me! + I stand upon the sepulchre’s abyss, + In the dark portal of eternity. + + To-day, my friend! _may_ bring our final doom; + If not to-day, to-morrow surely _will_: + Why look we sadly on Meshchersky’s tomb? + Here he was happy--he is happy still! + Life was not given for ages to endure, + But virtue on death’s bosom finds her rest; + And know--a spirit order’d well and pure, + May make life’s sorrows and life’s changes blest. + + +THE WATERFALL. + + Lo! like a glorious pile of diamonds bright, + Built on the steadfast cliffs, the waterfall + Pours forth its gems of pearl and silver light: + They sink, they rise, and sparkling cover all + With infinite refulgence; while its song, + Sublime as thunder, rolls the woods along-- + + Rolls through the woods--they send its accents back, + Whose last vibration in the desert dies: + Its radiance glances o’er the watery track, + Till the soft wave, as wrapt in slumber, lies + Beneath the forest-shade; then sweetly flows + A milky stream, all silent, as it goes. + + Its foam is scattered on the margent bound, + Skirting the darksome grove. But list! the hum + Of industry, the rattling hammer’s sound, + Files whizzing, creaking sluices, echoed come + On the fast-travelling breeze! O no! no voice + Is heard around, but thy majestic noise! + + When the mad storm-wind tears the oak asunder, + In thee its shivered fragments find their tomb; + When rocks are riven by the bolt of thunder, + As sands they sink into thy mighty womb: + The ice that would imprison thy proud tide, + Like bits of broken glass is scattered wide. + + The fierce wolf prowls around thee--there he stands + Listening--not fearful, for he nothing fears: + His red eyes burn like fury-kindled brands, + Like bristles o’er him his course fur he rears; + Howling, thy dreadful roar he oft repeats, + And, more ferocious, hastes to bloodier feats. + + The wild stag hears thy falling waters’ sound, + And tremblingly flies forward--o’er her back + She bends her stately horns--the noiseless ground + Her hurried feet impress not--and her track + Is lost amidst the tumult of the breeze, + And the leaves falling from the rustling trees. + + The wild horse thee approaches in his turn: + He changes not his proudly rapid stride; + His mane stands up erect--his nostrils burn-- + He snorts--he pricks his ears--and starts aside; + Then rushing madly forward to thy steep, + He dashes down into thy torrents deep. + + Beneath the cedar, in abstraction sunk, + Close to thine awful pile of majesty, + On yonder old and mouldering moss-bound trunk, + That hangs upon the cliff’s rude edge, I see + An old man, on whose forehead winter’s snow + Is scattered, and his hand supports his brow. + + The lance, the sword, the ample shield beneath + Lie at his feet obscured by spreading rust; + His casque is circled by an ivy wreath-- + Those arms were once his country’s pride and trust: + And yet upon his golden breast-plate plays + The gentle brightness of the sunset rays. + + He sits, and muses on the rapid stream, + While deep thoughts struggling from his bosom rise: + “Emblem of man! here brightly pictured seem + The world’s gay scenery and its pageantries, + Which, as delusive as thy shining wave, + Glow for the proud, the coward and the slave. + + So is our little stream of life poured out, + In the wild turbulence of passion: so, + Midst glory’s glance and victory’s thunder-shout, + The joys of life in hurried exile go-- + Till hope’s fair smile and beauty’s ray of light + Are shrouded in the griefs and storms of night. + + Day after day prepares the funeral shroud; + The world is gray with age:--the striking hour + Is but an echo of death’s summons loud-- + The jarring of the dark grave’s prison door: + Into its deep abyss--devouring all-- + Kings and the friends of kings alike must fall. + + Aye! they must fall! see that unconquered one + Midst Rome’s high senate--hark! his deeds they tell: + He stretch’d his hand to seize the proffered crown; + His mantle veiled his countenance--he fell. + Where are the schemes, the hopes that dazzled him? + Those eyes, aspiring to a throne, are dim[4]. + + Aye! they must fall! another hero see, + From triumph’s golden chariot fortune flings: + The proudest son of magnanimity, + Who scorned the purple robe:--ev’n he whom kings + Looked to with reverence: he in prison dies, + Heaven’s light extinguished in his vacant eyes[5]. + + Aye! they must fall! as I have fallen--I, + Whom late with flowery wreaths the cities crown’d; + And dazzling phantoms played so smilingly + Midst laurels, olive-branches waving round; + ’Tis past--’tis past--for in the battle now + My hand no lightnings at the foe can throw. + + My strength abandons me; the tempest’s roar + Hath in its fury borne my lance away: + My spirit rises proudly as before, + But triumph hides her false and treacherous ray.” + He spake--he slumbered, wearied and opprest; + And Morpheus o’er him waved his wings of rest. + + A wintry darkness visited the world, + Borne on the raven-pinions of the night; + Nothing is heard but thy loud torrents, hurled + Down in their fierceness from the o’erhanging height; + They dash in fury ’gainst the echoing rock, + Even with an Alpine avalanche’s shock. + + The desert is as gloomy as the grave; + The mountains seem all wrapt in solemn sleep; + The clouds are rolling by, like wave on wave, + In silent majesty across heaven’s deep. + But see, the pale-faced melancholy moon + Looks tremblingly from her exalted throne: + + She look’d out tremblingly, and soon withdrew + Her terror-stricken horns: the old man lay + Sleeping in sweet tranquillity: she knew + Her mighty foe--she knew, and slunk away: + She dared not look on that old man, for he + Was the world’s glory and her enemy[6]. + + He slumber’d; glorious were his hero-dreams! + And wondrous visions floated round his eye: + While near, the sleeping bolt of thunder seems + To wait from him its awful destiny. + Ten thousand warriors armed around him stand, + And silently attend his high command. + + His finger points! the loud artillery’s fire + Follows! a sudden trembling shakes the ground; + Army on army, in their proud attire, + Cover the vales, the hills, the plains around; + They rise like mountains o’er the distant sea, + When from the sunny ray the vapours flee. + + His footsteps now imprint the dewy grass; + There early morning opens on his view, + Amidst the dust, th’ innumerable mass + Of enemies: he looks their squadrons through, + And reads the secrets of their vast array, + Even as an eagle soaring o’er his prey. + + Then like a Magus in his dark retreat + He calls his spirits round him; gathering those + And scattering these, with prudence infinite, + Thro’ valleys, plains, and mountains; then he throws + O’er all a mantle of omnipotence, + While the storm bursts with furious vehemence. + + The eagle’s daring, and the crescent’s pride, + There, by the ebony and the amber sea[7], + He humbles; and, by the evening’s golden side[8], + Subdues the golden fleece and Kolkhidi. + A thousand trophies of victorious war + Redeem the losses of the snowy tzar[9]: + + Like the vermilion ray on morning’s wings, + His triumphs o’er admiring nations beam: + Emperors and empires, heroes, kingdoms, kings, + Unite to praise, unite to honour him, + And raise above his glory-circled head + A laurelled, time-enduring pyramid. + + His name, his deeds through hurrying years appear + Bright as the sun-beams on the mountain’s brow, + Dazzling the world with splendor: waving there + Garlands of radiance-giving laurels glow; + Their rays shall animate the future fight, + And fill the brave one’s breast with hope and light. + + Envy, disarmed before his piercing glance, + Bends down her head to earth, and hurries by; + Crawls trembling to her vile retreat askance-- + She cannot bear the lightnings of his eye. + Go, envy, to thy dark and deep abyss! + What deeds, what fame can be compared to his? + + He slumbers midst these images; but now + He hears the howling dogs--the trembling trees; + The vulture’s cries, the screech-owl’s voice of woe, + And the fierce raging of the turbulent breeze; + The wild beasts’ roaring from their distant lair, + And shadowy spirits fill the troubled air. + + The oaks are shivered by the maddened storm; + Armies of ravens flap their funeral wings; + The stony mountain shakes its giant form, + And bursts, with terrible re-echoings: + From rock to rock ’tis vibrated around, + And thunders thunder back the thundering sound[10]. + + A winged woman, clad in sable weeds, + Her long hair scattered by the winds, was there, + Like one with dreadful, deathful news that speeds: + She waved a scythe-like weapon in the air, + And held a golden trump; she called “Arise,” + And her loud voice was echoed through the skies. + + See on her casque the frowning eagle rest, + Grasping the fearful thunderbolt: he bears + His country’s shield upon his noble breast. + The old man waked; he shed a shower of tears; + He sighed, and bent his venerable head, + Uttering--“Some hero surely must be dead. + + Happy if always combating for right + When combating with glory: happy he + Whose sword knew mercy in the bloodiest fight, + His shield an Ægis for an enemy. + Centuries to come shall celebrate his fame, + And ‘Friend of Man’ shall be his noblest name. + + Dear let his memory be, and proud his grave, + And this his epitaph!--‘He lived, he fought + For truth and wisdom: foremost of the brave, + Him glory’s idle glances dazzled not; + ’Twas his ambition, generous and great, + A life to life’s great end to consecrate!’ + + O glory! glory! mighty one on earth! + How justly imaged in this waterfall! + So wild and furious in thy sparkling birth, + Dashing thy torrents down, and dazzling all, + While hurrying thus sublimely from thy height, + Majestic, thundering, beautiful and bright. + + How many a wondering eye is turned to thee, + In admiration lost;--short-sighted men! + Thy furious wave gives no fertility; + Thy waters, rolling fiercely through the plain, + Bring nought but devastation and distress, + And leave the flowery vale a wilderness. + + O fairer, lovelier is the modest rill, + Watering with steps serene the field, the grove; + Its gentle voice as sweet and soft and still + As shepherd’s pipe, or song of youthful love. + It has no _thundering_ torrent, but it flows + Unwearied, scattering blessings as it goes. + + To the wild mountain let the wanderer come, + And, resting on the turf, look round and see, + With sadden’d eye, the green and grassy tomb, + And hear its monitory language: he-- + He sleeps below, not famed in war alone; + The great, the good, the generous-minded one. + + O be immortal, warlike hero! Thou + Hast done thy duty--all thy duty here.” + So said the old man crowned with locks of snow: + He looked to heaven, then stood in silence there,-- + In silence, but the echoes caught the sound, + And filled the listening scenery around. + + Who glances there along the mountain’s side, + Just like the moon upon the darkest wave? + What shadow flits across the midnight tide, + Gleaming as if from heaven? The pitchy grave + Is brighter than that gloomy brow, ’tis clad + In deep and desolate abstraction sad! + + What wondrous spirit from the north descends? + The winds are swift, but cannot follow him: + Nation on nation struck with terror bends; + His voice is thunder; starry glories gleam + Around him, and his glancing footsteps bright + Scatter a thousand thousand rays of light. + + His body, like a dark and gloomy shade, + On midnight’s melancholy bosom lies: + A coarse and heavy garment round him laid, + And thickening films are gathering round his eyes: + His icy fingers press his bosom chill, + His lips are opened wide, but all is still. + + His bed, the earth: his roof, the azure sky: + His palace, yonder desert stretching wide. + Art _thou_ the son of fame and luxury? + The prince of Tavrid? from thy height of pride + Fallen so low and lonely? and is this + But one dark step from glory and from bliss? + + Wert thou the favourite of the northern throne, + Minerva’s[11] favourite? Wert thou he that trod + The Muse’s temple--thou, Apollo’s son, + The pride of Mars--thou, on whose mighty nod + Both peace and war stood waiting; nobly great, + Not clad in purple, but a potentate? + + What! art thou he that cradled and uprear’d + The Russian’s prowess--Catherine’s energy? + Sustain’d by her, thy thunderbolt was heard + Rolling through distant lands its majesty; + And to the everlasting heights was hurl’d, + Whence Rome sent forth her mandates to the world. + + Art thou not he who bade the robber yield; + Scatter’d the pirate herds the desert o’er, + And bade the city flourish and the field, + Where all was waste and barrenness before; + Sprinkled with ships the Euxine--while the shore + Even of the tropics heard thy cannons’ roar? + + Wert thou the great, the glorious one, who knew + With martial fire the hero Russ to fill; + Taught him the very elements to subdue, + In burning Ochakov and Ismahil: + With eagle-daring, eagle-strength inspired; + While valour looked and wondered and admired? + + ’Tis he, the hardiest of mortals; he, + Sublimely soaring, takes his flight alone, + Creator of his own proud destiny: + No footstep near him--that bright path his own. + Thy fame, Potemkin, shall in glory glow, + While everlasting ages lingering flow. + + Beauty and art and knowledge raised to him + Triumphal arches: smiling fortune wove + Myrtle and laurel-wreaths, and victory’s beam + Lighted them up with brightness: joy and love + Play’d round thy flow’ry footsteps: pleasure, pride + Walk’d in majestic glory at thy side. + + ’Tis he, ’tis he to whom the poet brought + His offerings lighted with the Muse’s fire: + Thundering with Pindar’s majesty of thought, + And breathing all the sweetness of the lyre, + I sang the victories of Ismahil; + But thou wert gone--the poet’s lyre was still. + + Alas! ’twas then a vain and voiceless shell: + Or, if it spoke, its tone was but despair; + From my weak hands it fell, in dust it fell, + My eye was dimmed by the fast-falling tear: + I stood the stars of paradise beneath[12], + But all was darkness, desolation, death! + + ’Tis still, where all was eloquent with thee: + The thunders of thy fame have rolled away; + Thy orphan’d armies wail their misery; + The ear is wearied with their plaintive lay. + ’Twas brightness all, with joy and beauty bright, + But now ’tis night, ’tis desolation’s night. + + Thy laurel crown is faded in its pride: + Thy sparkling _Bulava_[13] is broken now; + Thy half-sheathed sword hangs useless at thy side; + And Catherine mourns her woe, her more than woe: + He fell; his mighty, unexpected fall + Shook, like an earthquake, the terrestrial ball. + + Peace brought her fresh green laurel branches; saw + His fall, and from her hands the garland fell. + She heard the voice of wretchedness and woe; + The Muses joined to sing a funeral knell + Around the tomb of Pericles:--the strain + Of Maro wept Macænas’ fate again[14]. + + His was a kingdom full of light: a throne + Of more than regal glory was his seat: + A rosy-silver steed convey’d him on-- + A splendour-glancing phaeton at his feet: + Proudest of all the proud equestrians he-- + He fell:--in death’s dull, dark obscurity. + + O! what is human glory, human pride? + What are man’s triumphs when they brightest seem? + What art thou, mighty one! though deified? + Methusalem’s long pilgrimage, a dream; + Our age is but a shade, our life a tale, + A vacant fancy, or a passing gale, + + Or nothing! ’Tis a heavy hollow ball, + Suspended on a slender, subtle hair, + And filled with storm-winds, thunders, passions, all + Struggling within in furious tumult there. + Strange mystery! man’s gentlest breath can shake it, + And the light zephyrs are enough to break it. + + But a few hours, or moments, and beneath + Empires are buried in a night of gloom: + The very elements are leagued with death, + A breath sends giants to their lonely tomb. + Where is the mighty one? He is not found, + His dust lies trampled in the noiseless ground! + + The dust of heroes? No! their glories rise + Triumphant upwards, spreading living light + And pure imperishable memories + Through ages of forgetfulness and night: + Flowers shining on time’s wintry mountain side; + Potemkin could not die--he has not died! + + His theatre was th’ Euxine’s distant shore, + His temple, thankful hearts: the glorious hand + That crowns him, Catherine’s: glancing, dazzling o’er + Was fame’s all-eloquent, triumphant band. + Life was a list of triumphs, and his head + Beneath a tomb-stone, reared by love, was laid. + + When the red morn breaks trembling o’er the dew, + And through the woods the wild winds whistle shrill; + When the dark Danube wears a bloody hue-- + Then is the name oft heard of Ismahil, + And oft a gloomy voice is echoed then, + Through twilight, “Say what means the Saracen?” + + He trembles, and his eye is dimmed with fear, + The arms he dreads are sparkling in the sun; + And forty thousand Moslems dying there, + Are the proud trophies of the northern one. + Their shades, like frighted spectres, glide before, + And the Russ stands in streams of human gore. + + He trembles, and looks upwards, but the skies + Are covered with portentous omens dire; + Dark visions from the sea of Tavrid rise, + And the land shakes with heaven’s excited ire: + Ochakov pours anew her sanguine flood, + And terror seems to freeze that tide of blood. + + As through the fluid brightness of the sea, + Beneath the welkin’s sunny canopy, + The tenants of the waves glide joyfully; + So o’er the Leman’s face our squadrons fly, + Their swell’d sails bursting with the winds, they tell + How proud the ambition of the Russ can swell. + + Ours is unutterable triumph now, + Theirs fears and apprehensions: on the tomb + That shields _their_ heroes, thorns and mosses grow; + Laurels and roses o’er _our_ heroes bloom. + _Our_ glory-girded mausoleums stand + O’er conquerors of the ocean and the land. + + When the sun sinks at evening’s calmest close, + Love sorrowfully sits: the breeze of spring + Across the melancholy harp-strings blows, + And spreads around its deep notes sorrowing: + Sighs from his bosom burst, and tears are shed + Upon the sleeping hero’s sculptured bed. + + And ere the morning gilds the distant hill, + And o’er the golden tomb the sunbeams play; + While yet the wild deer sleeps; and night winds shrill + Wind round the mountain’s side; the old man gray + Hangs o’er the monument in secret gloom, + And reads, “Potemkin’s consecrated tomb!” + + Manes of Alcibiades! so low, + That even the earth-worm joys in their decay: + There lies the casque that bound Achilles’ brow; + The shepherd finds it--bears that casque away + On his base forehead! Does it matter? Nay! + The victor sleeps--his glory? wrapt in clay! + + But gratitude still lives and loves to cherish + The patriot’s virtues, while the soul of song + In sacred tones, that never never perish, + Fame’s everlasting thunder bears along; + The lyre has an eternal voice--of all + That’s holy, holiest is the good man’s pall. + + List then, ye worldly waterfalls! Vain men, + Whose brains are dizzy with ambition; bright + Your swords--your garments flow’ry like a plain + In the spring time--if truth be your delight + And virtue your devotion, let your sword + Be bared alone at wisdom’s sacred word. + + Roar, roar, thou waterfall! lift up thy voice + Even to the clouded regions of the skies: + Thy brightness and thy beauty may rejoice, + Thy music charms the ears, thy light the eyes; + Joy-giving torrent! sweetest memory + Receives a freshness and a strength from thee. + + Roll on! no clouds shall on thy waters lie + Darkling: no gloomy thunder-tempest break + Over thy face: let the black night-dews fly + Thy smiles, and sweetly let thy murmurs speak + In distance and in nearness: be it thine + To bless with usefulness, with beauty shine. + + Thou parent of the waterfall! proud river! + Thou northern thunderer, Suna! hurrying on + In mighty torrent from the heights, and ever + Sparkling with glory in the gladdened sun, + Now dashing from the mountain to the plain, + And scattering purple fire and sapphire rain. + + ’Tis momentary vehemence: thy course + Is calm and soft and silent; clear and deep + Thy stately waters roll: in the proud force + Of unpretending majesty, they sweep + The sideless marge, and brightly, tranquilly, + Bear their rich tributes to the grateful sea. + + Thy stream, by baser waters unalloyed, + Washes the golden banks that o’er thee smile; + Until the clear Onega drinks its tide, + And swells while welcoming the glorious spoil: + O what a sweet and soul-composing scene, + Clear as the cloudless heavens, and as serene! + + +THE LORD AND THE JUDGE[15]. + + The God of heaven stood up, and loudly + Thus to the gods of earth he spoke: + “How long shall folly triumph proudly, + And virtue wear its heavy yoke? + + ’Tis yours, however high the wronger, + The wrongs of misery to redress; + Defend the weaker from the stronger, + Widow and orphan shield and bless. + + To guard the naked head of sorrow, + To make the path of wisdom light; + To free the prisoner; and to borrow + My attributes for _truth_ and _right_.” + + They _will_ not hear, see, know--O never; + Dark mists are on their vision thrown. + And shall the sick earth groan for ever? + Wilt Thou not tire, long-suffering one? + + Kings! gods of earth! no earthly being + May bid you at his bar appear; + Yet there is _One_ all-knowing--seeing-- + Who sits in sternest judgement there. + + Proud as ye are, your gems imperial + Shall fall like leaves:--your kingdoms--graves; + Your martial pomp--a pall funereal; + Your throne--looked down on by your slaves. + + God of the righteous! God, arise Thee! + Hear the faint prayers Thy children bring! + Judge, scatter all who dare despise Thee, + And be the earth’s unrivalled King! + + +ON THE DEATH OF COUNT ORLOV. + + What do I hear? An eagle from heaven’s cloudy sea, + Midst the high-towering hosts that swam + Before Minerva’s steps, when she + To earth from proud Olympus came: + That eagle, sailing in its state, + Heralding Russia’s naval might, + Pierced by the fatal spear of fate, + Falls rustling from the glorious height! + + Alas! alas! whither his flight through heaven’s blue vault? + Where is his path on ocean’s deep? + Where is his fearful thunderbolt? + Where do his forked lightnings sleep? + Where is the bosom nought could fright, + The piercing, penetrating mind; + ’Tis all, ’tis all enshrined in night; + He left us but his fame behind! + + +SONG. + + Golden bee! for ever sighing, + Round and round my Delia flying; + Ever in attendance near her: + Dost thou really love her, fear her, + Dost thou love her, + Golden bee? + + Erring insect! he supposes, + That her lips are morning roses: + Breathing sweets from Delia’s tresses, + He would probe their fair recesses. + Purest sugar + Is her breast! + + Golden bee! for ever sighing, + Ever round my Delia flying; + Is it thou so softly speaking? + Thine the gentle accents breaking, + “Drink I dare not, + Lest I die!” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] This is the poem of which Golovnin says in his narrative, that it +has been rendered into Japanese, by order of the emperor, and is hung +up, embroidered with gold, in the Temple of Jeddo. I learn from the +periodicals, that an honour something similar has been done in China +to the same poem. It has been translated into the Chinese and Tartar +languages, written on a piece of rich silk, and suspended in the +imperial palace at Pekin. + +[2] In the first edition there was a deviation from the original in +this verse. A translator is bound not to alter the sense of his author, +and I had certainly exceeded the limits which are in any case allowed. +I have been reproved for the variation I had introduced. The reproof +was just, and might have been more severe. + +[3] The force of this simile can hardly be imagined by those who have +never witnessed the sun shining, with unclouded splendor, in a cold +of twenty or thirty degrees of Reaumur. A thousand and ten thousand +sparkling stars of ice, brighter than the brightest diamond, play on +the surface of the frozen snow; while the slightest breeze sets myriads +of icy atoms in motion, whose glancing light and beautiful rainbow-hues +dazzle and weary the eye. + +[4] Julius Cæsar. + +[5] Belisarius, who, by the way, is the subject of many Russian Poems. + +[6] It is scarcely necessary to explain, that Romanzov is the old hero +whom the poet means to depicture, and that these stanzas refer to his +victories over the Turks. To Romanzov a long and laudatory poem was +addressed from London by Petrov in celebration of these successes. + +I must here disclaim all sympathies with the poet in the admiration he +expresses of the warlike character. The victims of the executioner are +at all events doomed to death by the forms and with the solemnities +of justice. Those of the conqueror hurry into another world under the +influence of crimes and passions which, while indeed they unfit them +for this, will serve but as a fearful passport for eternity. I should +as soon think of celebrating the carousals of a horde of cannibals, as +of giving the attractions and decorations of song to those dreadful +scenes of sin and misery which men call victories: and I blush for my +country and for my race when I reflect, that in the very proportion +of the wickedness implied, and the wretchedness produced, are they +made the subjects of pride and congratulation, and honoured with the +designations “great” and “glorious!” Man was surely born to nobler and +better things than these. + +[7] “The ebony and amber sea”--the Euxine and the Caspian. + +[8] “Evening’s side”--the west. + +[9] The white czar (bæloi tzar), a common appellation of the Russian +emperor. + +[10] Original: + + Grokhochet ekho po goram + Kak grom gremjeshchij po gromam. + + +[11] Catherine.--This was one of her favourite titles; and in the +character and dress of Minerva she is often represented on her medals. + +[12] The roofs of many of the apartments of the Tavrid palace were +decorated with golden stars. + +[13] _Bulava_--the Hetman’s staff. + +[14] This is somewhat of an anachronism, as the Poet died before his +patron. + +[15] In the former edition this poem was printed in another shape, and +was then attributed to Lomonosov. It belongs, however, to Derzhavin, +and is here restored to its proper author and to its original measure. + + + + +BATIUSHKOV. + + +TO MY PENATES. + + Fatherland Penates! come, + Kind protectors of my home! + Not in gold or jewels rich-- + Can ye love your simple shrine? + Smile, then, sweetly from your niche + On this lowly hut of mine. + Thus removed from worldly care, + I, a wearied wanderer, + In this silent corner here, + Offer no ambitious prayer. + Here if ye consent to dwell, + Happiness shall court my cell. + Kind and courteous ever prove, + Beaming on me light and love! + Not with streams of fragrant wine, + Not with incense smoking high, + Does the poet seek your shrine-- + His is mild devotion’s sigh, + Grateful tears, the still soft fire + Of feeling heart: and sweetest strains, + Inspired by the Aonian quire. + O Lares! in my dwelling rest, + Smile on the poet where he reigns, + And sure the poet shall be blest. + Come, survey my dwelling over; + I’ll describe it if I’m able: + In the window stands a table, + Three-legged, tott’ring, with a cover, + Gay some centuries ago, + Ragged, bare and faded now. + In a corner, lost to fame, + To honour lost, the blunted sword + (That relic of my fathers’ name) + Harmless hangs, by rust devoured. + Here are pillaged authors laid-- + There, a hard and creaking bed: + Broken, crumbling, argile-ware; + Furniture strewed here and there. + And these in higher love I hold, + Than sofas rich with silk and gold, + Or china vases gay and fair. + Kind Penates! thus I pray-- + O may wealth and vanity + Never hither find their way, + Never here admitted be! + Let the vile, the slavish soul, + Let the sons of pomp and pride, + Fortune’s spoilt ones, turn aside; + Not on them nor theirs I call! + Tottering beggar! hither come, + _Thou_ art bidden to my home; + Throw thy useless crutch away; + Come--be welcome and be gay! + Warmth and rest thy limbs require, + Stretch thee by my cheerful fire: + Reverend teacher! old and hoary, + Thou whom years and toils have taught, + Who with many a storm hast fought, + Storms of time and storms of glory! + Take thy merry balalaika[1], + Sing thy struggles o’er again; + In the battle’s bloody plain, + Where thou swungst the rude nagaika[2]; + Midst the cannon’s thunder-roar, + Midst the sabres clashing o’er; + Trumpets sounding, banners flying + O’er the dead and o’er the dying; + While thy never-wearied blade + Foes on foes in darkness laid. + And thou, Lisette! at evening steal, + Through the shadow-cover’d vale, + To this soft and sweet retreat; + Steal, my nymph, on silent feet. + Let a brother’s hat disguise + Thy golden locks, thy azure eyes; + O’er thee be my mantle thrown, + Bind my warlike sabre on: + When the treacherous day is o’er, + Knock, fair maiden, at my door; + Enter then, thou soldier sweet! + Throw thy mantle at my feet; + Let thy curls, so brightly glowing, + On thy ivory shoulders flowing, + Be unbound: thy lily breast + Heave, no more with robes opprest! + “Thou enchantress! is it so? + Sweetest, softest shepherdess! + Art thou come indeed to bless + With thy smiles my cottage now?” + O her snowy hands are pressing + Warmly, wildly pressing mine! + Mine her rosy lips are blessing, + Sweet as incense from the shrine, + Sweet as zephyr’s breath divine + Gently murmuring through the bough; + Even so she whispers now: + “O my heart’s friend, I am thine; + Mine, beloved one! art thou.” + What a privileged being he, + Who in life’s obscurity, + Underneath a roof of thatch, + Till the morning dawns above, + Sweetly sleeps, while angels watch, + In the arms of holy love! + But the stars are now retreating + From the brightening eye of day, + And the little birds are greeting, + Round their nests, the dewy ray. + Hark! the very heaven is ringing + With the matin song of peace: + Hark! a thousand warblers singing + Waft their music on the breeze: + All to life, to love are waking, + From their wings their slumbers shaking; + But my Lila still is sleeping + In her fair and flowery nest; + And the zephyr, round her creeping, + Fondly fans her breathing breast; + O’er her cheeks of roses straying, + With her golden ringlets playing: + From her lips I steal a kiss; + Drink her breath: but roses fairest, + Richest nectar, rapture dearest, + Sweetest, brightest rays of bliss, + Never were as sweet as this. + Sleep, thou loved one! sweetly sleep; + Angels here their vigils keep! + Blest, in innocence arrayed, + I from fortune’s favours flee; + Shrouded in the forest-shade, + More than blest by love and thee. + Time on dove-like wing glides by: + O! has gold a ray so bright + As thy seraph-smile of light + Throws o’er happy poverty? + Thou good genius! in thy view + Wealth is vile and worthless too: + Riches never brought thee down + From thy splendour-girded throne; + But beneath the shadowy tree + Thou hast deigned to smile on _me_. + Fancy, daughter of the skies, + Thoughts, on wings of light that rise, + Waft my spirit gay and free, + When the storm of passion slumbers, + Far above humanity, + To the Aonian land of numbers, + Where the choirs of music stray; + Rapture, like a feather’d arrow, + Bursting life’s dark prison narrow, + Bears me to the heavens away. + Sovereigns of Parnassus! stay + Till the morning’s rosy ray + Throws its brightness o’er your hill, + Stay with nature’s poet still. + O reveal the shadowy band, + Minstrels of my fatherland! + Let them pass the Stygian shore, + From the ethereal courts descending: + Yonder airy spirits o’er, + O! I hear their voices blending: + List! the heavenly echoes come + Wafted to my privileged home; + Music hovers round my head, + From the living and the dead. + Our Parnassian giant[3], proud, + Tow’ring o’er the rest I see; + And, like storm or thunder loud, + Hear his voice of majesty. + Sons and deeds of glory singing + A majestic swan of light; + Now the harp of angels stringing, + Now he sounds the trump of fight; + Midst the muses’, graces’ throng, + Sailing through the heaven along; + Horace’ strength, and Pindar’s fire, + Blended in his mighty lyre. + Now he thunders, swift and strong, + Even like Suna o’er the waste[4]; + Now, like Philomela’s song, + Soft and spring-like, sweet and chaste, + Gently breathing through the wild, + Heavenly fancy’s best loved child! + Gladdening and enchanting one[5]! + History’s gayest, fairest son! + He who oft with Agathon + Visits evening’s fane of bliss: + Or in Plato’s master tone, + Near the illustrious Parthenon, + Calls the rays of wisdom down + With a voice sublime as his. + Now amidst the darkness walking, + Where old Russia had her birth: + With the Vladimirij talking, + As they ruled o’er half the earth: + Or Sclavonian heroes hoary, + Cradled in a night of glory! + Sweetest of the sylphs above[6], + And the graces’ darling, see! + O how musically he + Tunes his Citra’s melody, + To Dushenka[7] and to love. + Near, Meletzy smiling stands, + Mutual thoughts their souls employ; + Heart in heart, and hands in hands, + Lo! they sing a song of joy; + Next engaged with love in play, + Poets and philosophers, + Close to Phædrus and Pilpay[8], + Lo! Dmitriev appears + Sporting like a happy child, + Midst the forest’s tenants wild, + Garlanded with smiling wreaths; + Truth unveiled beside him breathes. + See two brothers toying there, + Nature’s children--Phœbus’ priests: + Krĭloff leading Khemnitzer! + Teaching poets! ye whose song + Charms the idle moments long, + When the wearied spirit rests. + Heavenly choir! the graces twine + O’er you garlands all divine; + And with you the joys I drink, + Sparkling round Pierian brink, + While I sing in raptured glory, + “_Ed io anche son pittore_.” + Friendly Lares! O conceal + From man’s envious, jealous eye, + Those sweet transports which I feel, + Those blest rays of heart-born joy! + Fortune! hence thy treasures bear, + And thy sparkling vanities: + I can look with careless eyes + On thy flight--my little bark, + Safely led through tempests dark, + Finds a peaceful haven here-- + Those who sported in thy ray + From my thoughts have passed away. + But ye gayer, wiser ones, + Glory’s, pleasure’s cheerful sons! + Ye who with the graces walk, + Ye who with the muses talk; + Hurrying o’er life’s visions gay + In intellectual children’s play; + Careless, joyous sages!--you, + Philosophers and idlers too! + Ye who hate the chains of slavery! + Ye who love the songs of bravery! + In your happiest moments come, + Come, and crowd the muses’ home. + Let the laugh and let the bowl + Banish sorrow from the soul: + Come, Zh******, hither hieing, + Time is like an arrow flying-- + Pleasure like an arrow fleet: + Here let friendship’s smile of gladness + Brighten every cloud of sadness-- + Wreathe with cypress, roses sweet. + Love is life;--thy garlands bring, + V****, while they’re blossoming: + Bind them blooming round our brow-- + Bacchus, friends! is with us now. + Favourite of the muses, fill: + Pledge and drink, and pledge us still! + Aristippus’ grandson--thou! + O thou lov’st the Aonian lasses, + And the harmonious clang of glasses; + But when evening’s silence fills + All the vales and all the hills, + Thou, remote from worldly folly, + Tak’st thy walk with melancholy; + And with that unearthly dame + (Contemplation is her name) + Who conveys the illumined sense + In sublime abstraction hence-- + Up to those high and bright abodes + Where men are angels--angels, gods. + Give me now thy friendly hand; + Leave for me thy spirit-land! + Come, companion of my joy, + We will all time’s power destroy + On our _chazha solotoi_[9]. + See behind, with locks so gray, + How he sweeps life’s gems away; + His remorseless scythe is mowing + All the flowers around us blowing. + Be it ours to drive before us + Bliss--though fate is frowning o’er us! + Time may hurry, if he will; + We will hurry swifter still; + Drink the cup of ecstasy, + Pluck the flow’rets as we fly, + Spite of time and destiny: + Many a star and many a flower + Shine and bloom in life’s short hour, + And their rays and their perfume + For _us_ shall shine--for _us_ shall bloom. + Soon shall we end our pilgrimage; + And at the close of life’s short stage + Sink smiling on our dusty bed: + The careless wind shall o’er us sweep; + Where sleep our sires, their sons shall sleep + With evening’s darkness round our head. + There let no hired mourners weep[10]; + No costly incense fan the sod; + No bell pretend to mourn; no hymn + Be heard midst midnight’s shadows dim-- + Can they delight a clay-cold clod? + No! if love’s tribute ye will pay, + Assemble in the moonlight ray, + And throw fresh flow’rets o’er my clay: + Let my Penates sleep with me-- + Here bring the cup I loved--the flute + I played--and twine its form, though mute, + With branches from the ivy-tree! + No grave-stone need the wanderer tell, + That he who lived, and loved so well, + Is sleeping in serenity. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] The balalaika is a two-sided musical instrument, of which the +Russian peasants are extremely fond. + +[2] The nagaika is a hard thong used by the Cossacks to flog their +horses; but sometimes employed as a weapon of warlike attack. + +[3] Derzhavin. + +[4] In the original _steppe_; a long, mighty, barren, desert; such as +the Siberian river (Suna) flows over. + +[5] Karamsin. + +[6] Bogdanovich. + +[7] Dushenka (the diminutive of Dusha--the Soul), or The Little Psyche, +is the title of the most celebrated poem of Bogdanovich. + +[8] The wise man, who according to the oriental story (current also in +Russia) received _Truth_ when she had been inhospitably driven from +place to place. In Russia I have heard the fable thus:--A Vakir in +his ramble trod where the ground re-echoed his footsteps--“It must be +hollow here,” thought he; “I will dig, and I shall find a treasure.” +He dug, and discovered a spring, from whence a beautiful and naked +female sprung forth--“Who art thou, loveliest daughter of heaven?” +said he. “My name,” she replied, “is Truth; lend me thy mantle.” This +he refused to do; and she hastened to the city, where the poets found +fault with her figure, the courtiers with her manners, the merchants +with her simplicity. She wandered about, and none would give her an +asylum, till she fell in with a poor man, the court news-writer, who +thought she might be a very useful auxiliary: but she blotted out +whatever he composed, so that no news was published for many days; and +the sultan sending for his newsman to inquire the cause of his silence, +was told the history of the intrusive guest, who was in consequence +summoned to court. Here, however, she was so troublesome, turning every +thing upside down, that it was determined to convey her away; and the +sultan ordered her to be buried alive in his garden. His commands were +obeyed by his courtiers; but Truth, who always springs up with renewed +vigour in the open air, rose from her grave; and, after wandering +about for some time, found the door of the public library open, went +in, and amused herself by burning all the books that were there, with +the exception of two or three. Again straying forth in search of an +abode, she met a venerable man, to whom she told her story--and this +was Pilpay. He received her to his house with a cordial welcome, and +requested her company to his museum of stuffed beasts, birds, and +insects. “Thou hast no discreetness,” said he; “in the world thou art +constantly getting into scrapes: now take the counsel of an old man, +make this cabinet thy abode; here thou hast a large choice of society, +and here dwell.” She found the advice so reasonable that she adopted +it; since when her voice is only heard in the language of fable, and +her chosen interpreters are the animal creation. + +Pilpay’s Fables were translated into French by Galland, 2 vols. 8vo. +1714. There are also several English translations. + +[9] The golden cup. + +[10] Plakalschitzii--women hired to mourn round a corpse. + + + + +LOMONOSOV. + + +EVENING REFLECTIONS, ON THE MAJESTY OF GOD, ON SEEING THE GREAT +NORTHERN LIGHTS. + + Now day conceals her face, and darkness fills + The field, the forest, with the shades of night; + The gloomy clouds are gathering round the hills, + Veiling the last ray of the lingering light. + The abyss of heaven appears--the stars are kindling round; + Who, who can count those stars, who that abyss can sound? + + Just as a sand ’whelm’d in the infinite sea; + A ray the frozen iceberg sends to heaven; + A feather in the fierce flame’s majesty; + A mote, by midnight’s maddened whirlwind driven, + Am I, midst this parade: an atom, less than nought, + Lost and o’erpower’d by the gigantic thought. + + And we are told by wisdom’s knowing ones, + That these are multitudes of worlds like _this_; + That yon unnumber’d lamps are glowing suns, + And each a link amidst creation is;-- + There dwells the Godhead too--there shines his wisdom’s essence-- + His everlasting strength--his all-supporting presence. + + Where are thy secret laws, O nature, where? + Thy north-lights dazzle in the wintry zone: + How dost thou light from ice thy torches there? + There has thy sun some sacred, secret throne? + See in yon frozen seas what glories have their birth; + Thence night leads forth the day to illuminate the earth. + + Come then, philosopher! whose privileged eye + Reads nature’s hidden pages and decrees:-- + Come now, and tell us whence, and where, and why, + Earth’s icy regions glow with lights like these, + That fill our souls with awe:--profound inquirer, say, + For thou dost count the stars and trace the planets’ way! + + What fills with dazzling beams the illumined air? + What wakes the flames that light the firmament? + The lightnings flash:--there is no thunder there-- + And earth and heaven with fiery sheets are blent: + The winter night now gleams with brighter, lovelier ray + Than ever yet adorn’d the golden summer’s day. + + Is there some vast, some hidden magazine, + Where the gross darkness flames of fire supplies? + Some phosphorus fabric, which the mountains screen? + Whose clouds of light above those mountains rise? + Where the winds rattle loud around the foaming sea, + And lift the waves to heaven in thundering revelry? + + Thou knowest not! ’tis doubt, ’tis darkness all! + Even here on earth our thoughts benighted stray, + And all is mystery through this worldly ball-- + Who then can reach or read yon milky way? + Creation’s heights and depths are all unknown--untrod-- + Who then shall say how vast, how great creation’s God? + + + + +ZHUKOVSKY. + + +THE MARINER. + + Rudderless my shattered bark, + Driven by wild fatality, + Hurries through the tempest dark, + O’er the immeasurable sea. + Yet one star the clouds shines through; + Little star! shine on, I pray! + O that star is vanished too-- + My last anchor breaks away. + + Gloomy mists the horizon bound, + Furiously the waters roar; + Frightful gulfs are yawning round, + Fearful crags along the shore. + Then I cried in wild despair, + “Earth and heaven abandon me.” + Fool! the heavenly pilot there + May thy silent helmsman be. + + Through the dark, the madden’d waves, + O’er the dangerous craggy bed; + Midst the night-envelop’d graves, + Lo! I was in safety led + By the unseen guardian hand;-- + Darkness gone, and calm the air, + And I stood on Eden’s land; + Three sweet angels hailed me there! + + Everlasting fount of love! + _Now_ will I confide in Thee: + Kneeling midst the joys above, + Thy resplendent face I see: + Who can paint Thee, fair and bright, + Thy soul-gladdening beauty tell? + Midst heaven’s music and heaven’s light, + Purity ineffable! + + O unutterable joy! + In Thy light to breathe, to be; + Strength and heart and soul employ, + O my God, in loving Thee. + Though my path were dark and drear, + Holiest visions round me rise; + Stars of hope are smiling there, + Smiling down from Paradise. + + +ÆOLUS’S HARP[1]. + + In yon mansion of ages + Lives Morven’s famed chieftain, the valiant Ordāl; + Where the wild billow rages, + And scatters its foam on the time-hallowed wall; + Like a mountain in glory, + It towers o’er the wave, + And its oaks, old and hoary, + Come down to the shores which the white waters lave[2]. + + The stag-hound, the beagle, + With voices re-echoed, the wide forest fill; + To the throne of the eagle + They chase the wild boar and the goat up the hill; + And the stag from the heather:-- + The valleys resound; + Horns, shoutings together, + Are mingled in rapid vibrations around. + + All, all are invited-- + And joy is let loose at the board of Ordāl; + The guests are united + Where wide-spreading antlers adorn the rude hall[3]: + Of ages departed + The glories are told; + And memory, full-hearted, + Sends back all its thoughts to the great ones of old[4]. + + Their helmets in order, + Their bucklers, and harness, and hauberks are hung + On the roof’s antique border[5]: + And there, while the deeds and the victories are sung + Of the heroes of story, + Ordāl proudly stands; + And a flash of their glory + Shines out from the cup which he waves in his hands[6]. + + He looks to the armour; + ’Tis all that destruction hath left of their name;-- + His bosom beats warmer, + His spirit is roused with the touch of their fame: + Though the helmets before them + Are broken and dim, + He remembers who wore them-- + And, O, they are splendid and sacred to him[7]. + + Milvana the bright one[8] + The hall of her father resplendently fills; + As, with garments of light on[9], + A morning of summer walks up the fresh hills; + As from nature’s recesses + A free golden stream, + So her fine flowing tresses + O’er her soft-heaving bosom in luxury gleam[10]. + + Far fairer than morning[11]. + She scatters around the soft lustre of soul; + Dark glances adorning + The flashes of fire from her eye-balls that roll; + Like the song of the fountain + Her mild accents fall; + Like the rose of the mountain + Her breath;--but her spirit is sweeter than all[12]. + + Her beauty’s gay splendour + has beamed in its brightness through far-distant lands: + What heroes attend her-- + The castle of Morven is filled with their bands. + Its chieftain delighted + Weaves visions of pride; + But his daughter has plighted + Her hand to a bard with no glory allied. + + Young, lovely, and lonely + As the rose in its freshness, he tuned his soft lays + In the deep valley only: + To him all unheard was the music of praise. + Milvana descended + From luxury’s throne: + Affection had blended + Her heart with a heart as unstained as her own. + + In the black arch of heaven, + Like the shield of a warrior, the pale moon is hung[13]; + Through the gloomy clouds driven, + Its light-streams o’er ocean’s wide surface are flung; + The dark shadows spreading, + From castle and grove, + Their giant forms shedding + Sublimely the waves and the waters above. + + Where the mountain-cocks rally, + Where the waterfall bursts from the storm-cover’d rock + Ere it rush to the valley[14]; + The oak was her witness, her shelter the oak: + Milvana retreating + To solitude there, + Her minstrel awaiting:-- + She breathed not--her breath was suspended by fear. + + His harp sounded lightly-- + He came to the oak-tree--blest moments of love! + The moon glimmered brightly: + All stillness beneath and all beauty above. + What a temple for loving + For bosoms so bland! + And the waves, softly moving, + Convey their low music along the smooth strand. + + They looked on the ocean; + With their soft pensive sadness it seemed to attune; + The waves’ gentle motion + Was silvered and marked by the rays of the moon. + “How brightly, how fleetly + The waters roll on! + So swiftly, so sweetly + Come pleasures and love--they smile and are gone.” + + “Why sigh then, my fair one! + Though the waters may ebb and the years may decay? + My beloved! my dear one! + Can time on its wings bear affection away? + To a bard unbefriended + O say canst thou bow; + Thou, from monarchs descended, + And heroes, whom Morven is honouring now?” + + “What is honour or glory? + What garlands so sacred as love’s holy wreath? + What hero-bright story + Has an utterance so sweet as affection’s young breath? + No fears shall confound us, + No sorrow, no gloom; + Joy is sparkling around us, + And let years follow years till life sinks in the tomb.” + + “Come, joys that smile o’er us, + Ye sweets of a moment, come hither and stay! + For who can assure us + They will not be scattered by morning’s bright ray? + For morn will not linger, + Nor rapture remain; + I, again a poor singer, + And thou, a bright queen in thy splendour again[15].” + + “Let the glance of day brighten, + Let its radiance be shed o’er the mountain and sea[16]; + Thy smiles shall enlighten + All nature, while living, to love and to me; + With hope and with heaven, + With love and with thee, + What joys are not given? + For life has no transports that beam not on me.” + + “The sun is returning; + The orient is pale with the promise of day; + The zephyrs of morning + Awakened, like waves on the mountain-tops play;” + “’Tis the northern light glancing + Across the dark sky, + Not the morning advancing; + Sweet winds! bring no morn from the mountains on high.” + + “But list! to the bustling + Of voices; they wake in the castle ere now.” + “O no! ’tis the rustling + Of half-slumbering birds as they dream on the bough.” + “The orient is lighted, + Milvana! O why + Do my spirits, benighted + In doubt and foreboding, desert me and die?” + + The youth has suspended, + In silence, his harp on the time-hallowed oak:-- + “Unseen, unattended, + Let thy soft music speak, my sweet harp! as it spoke + In the luxury of sadness[17], + The fervour of truth, + The bright tones of gladness, + The songs and the smiles and the sunshine of youth. + + “The bloom of the singer + Shall fade with the grief-blast, like flowers of the grove[18]; + But here there shall linger, + The spirit, the youth and the fervour of love. + An angel here speaking, + Shall often be seen, + All those raptures awaking, + Which in days of our early devotion have been. + + “My spirit shall hover + Like a light airy shade o’er the track of thy way; + Milvana! thy lover + Shall speak through his harp at the close of the day. + The grief that alarmed us, + Uncertainty’s fear, + The tears that disarmed us, + All, all of life’s sorrows shall fly from us here. + + “When his life-term is ended, + Affection immortal shall live in his soul; + Our spirits there blended, + Shall love and be blest while eternities roll. + Thou oak-tree! wide-spreading, + O’ershadow the fair;-- + Ye zephyrs! here shedding + Your fragrance, the freshness of sympathy bear.” + + The big tears were falling:-- + He ceased:--his eye fixed, but within, like a knell, + A low voice was calling[19]-- + “Farewell! my Milvana! for ever farewell.” + His hand, damp and burning, + Had wildly seized hers: + Then hurriedly turning, + Like a phantom of fancy, the youth disappears. + + The moon shone unclouded-- + The maiden was there, but the minstrel was fled: + Like a silent tree shrouded + In darkness, she stood in the wilderness dread[20]. + The chieftain his daughter + Had traced to the grove: + And now o’er the water + To exile, a bark is conveying her love. + + At morn and at even + Milvana retires to the oak-tree to mourn; + And the stream that is driven + Adown the steep hill, seems her sighs to return. + “’Tis all dark and dreary, + Milvana! to thee, + Thy spirit is weary-- + And thy minstrel shall never return to the tree.” + + The evening wind waking, + Called up their soft sounds from the leaves as it roved: + The green branches shaking, + It kisses the harp--but the harp is unmoved. + Spring came, sweetly bringing + Her eloquent train[21], + And nature was ringing + With rapture, enkindling gay smiles through her reign. + + On the emerald meadows, + And hills in the distance, are gold streams of light; + And soft silent shadows + Seem to spread over eve the calm stillness of night. + The stars are in motion + Across the blue deep: + Like a mirror, the ocean: + And the winds, hushed to silence, among the leaves sleep[22]. + + Milvana sat weeping + Beneath the old tree, but her thoughts were not there. + All nature lay sleeping, + When accents unearthly were heard in the air: + The green leaves are shaken-- + It was not the wind[23]-- + The silent strings waken: + Some ghost hurries by and leaves music behind[24]. + + The harp’s secret spirit + Breathed forth a long, sorrowful, heart-rending sound[25]: + She trembled to hear it, + ’Twas softer than zephyrs when whispering around; + ’Twas the voice of her lover;-- + Her soul sunk in night[26]: + “’Tis over--’tis over-- + The earth is a waste--he has taken his flight.” + + In desolate madness + Milvana had fall’n in the dust[27]: but the tone + Still breathed its sweet sadness! + More sad as the soul that inspired it was gone. + Its music she heard not; + She woke faint and chill; + The star-lights appeared not-- + ’Twas morning--’twas morning, damp, dewy, and still. + + From morrow to morrow, + She visited still the old oak of the wood; + There that music of sorrow + Still broke on her ear from the realms of the good. + While thus disunited, + On earth could she stay, + By her minstrel invited + To the heaven where her thoughts and her hopes led the way? + + Thou harp of my bosom, + Be still--let thy voice drown the summons of death; + The delicate blossom, + Unopened, shall fade in the valley beneath: + The wanderer roaming + To-morrow will come-- + “My floweret, where blooming[28]?” + “Thy floweret!--’tis withered--it sleeps in the tomb.” + + She is dead--but whenever + A black, starless mantle is hung o’er the skies; + When from fountain, and river, + And hill, the cold mists like the dark billows rise, + Two shades are seen blending, + United as when + In their youth-tide attending[29];-- + And the oak waves its boughs, and the chords speak again. + + +SONG. + + Say, ye gentle breezes, say, + Round me why so gently breathing? + What impels thee, streamlet! wreathing + Through the rocks thy silver way? + + What awakens new-born joy, + Joy and hope thus sweetly mingled; + Say, has pilgrim-spring enkindled + Rapture with her laughing eye? + + Lo! heaven’s temple, bright, serene, + Where the busy clouds are blending, + Sinking now, and now ascending, + Far behind the forest green! + + Will the High, the Holy One + Veil youth’s soul-enrapturing vision? + Shall I hear in dreams elysian + Childhood’s early, lovely tone? + + See the restless swallow flies + Through the clouds--his own dominion; + Could I reach on hope’s strong pinion, + Where that land of beauty lies! + + O how sweet--how blest to be + Where heaven’s shelter might protect me! + Who can lead me--who direct me + To that bright futurity? + + +ROMANCE. + + Gather’d yon dark forest o’er + Lo! the gloomy clouds are spread: + Bending toward the desert shore, + See the melancholy maid; + Her eyes and her bosom are wet with tears; + All heaven is black, and the storm appears; + And the wild winds lift the billows high, + And her breast is heaving with many a sigh. + + “O my very soul is faded, + Joy and sympathy are fled; + Nature is in darkness shaded, + Love and friendship both are dead. + The hope that brightened my days is gone! + O whither, my angel! art thou flown? + Too blest was I, too wild with bliss, + For I lived and loved, and loved for this! + + “Swell then, burning tears! the deep, + Flow, with yonder billows flow: + And ye lonely forests! weep, + Meet companions of my woe. + My days of pleasure, though short and few, + Are fled for ever--O earth! adieu! + He sleeps--will death restore him? Never! + For the joy that’s lost is lost for ever. + + “Nature’s sad and wintery day + Is of momentary gloom: + Soon in Spring’s reviving ray + All her loveliness shall bloom. + But joy has never a second spring: + And time no ray of light can bring + But from tearful eyes:--there’s no relief + From dark despair’s corroding grief!” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] It will immediately occur to the readers of Ossian, that the +personages, sentiments, and scenery of this poem are derived from him. +The conviction of their high antiquity (notwithstanding what Adelung +has written) is very general in the north of Europe, and I have often +heard that conviction expressed by those who have gone very profoundly +into the history of Runic and Gothic poetry. Whatever be their date, +the inquiry as to their literary merit is very distinct from it. With +the exception of Gray’s Elegy, (of which I have seen a collection +of more than one hundred and fifty versions,) there is nothing, +probably, in our language, which has been more frequently translated. +There are many translations and imitations in Russian besides this of +Zhukovsky,--by Kostrov, Grædich, Visheslavtzev, Oserov, Kapnist, &c. + +To the first edition I added a specimen of Dutch poetry, of which +Ossian was the subject, and ventured to speak of the great excellence +of Vondel, Hooft, Helmers, Tollens, and other poets of Holland. I have +now decided on publishing a little volume of _specimens_, in which I +have made considerable progress. + +[2] High walls rise on the banks of the Duvranna, and see their mossy +towers in the stream; a rock ascends behind them with its bending +pines. Thou may’st behold it far distant.--_Oithona._ + +[3] Many a king of heroes, and hero of iron shields, and youth of +heavy looks came to Rurmar’s echoing hall--they came to woo the +maid.--_Cath-Loda._ + +[4] Now I behold the chiefs in the pride of their former deeds! their +souls are kindled at the battles of old; at the actions of other times; +their eyes are flames of fire.--_Fingal._ + +[5] When a warrior was so far advanced in years as to be unfit for the +field, it was the custom to hang up his arms in the great hall, where +the tribe feasted on joyful or remarkable occasions. + +[6] Is the remembrance of battles pleasant to the soul? Do we not +remember with joy the place where our fathers feasted?--_Temora._ + +[7] Not unmarked by Sul-Malla is the shield of Morven’s king. It hangs +high in my father’s hall in memory of the past.--_Sul-Malla._ + +[8] Her eyes were two stars of light. Her face was heaven’s bow +in showers. Her dark hair flowed around it like the streaming +clouds.--_Cath-Loda._ + +Her soul was like a stream of light.--_Colna-Dona._ + +[9] She was a light on the mountain.--_Temora._ + +[10] Her breast rose slowly to sight, like the ocean’s heaving +wave.--_Colna-Dona._ + +[11] Her face was like the light of the morning.--_Dar-Thula._ + +[12] She appeared lovely as the mountain flower, when the ruddy beams +of the rising sun gleam on its dew-covered sides.--_Prel. Discourse to +Ossian._ + +[13] O thou that travellest above, round as the full-orbed hard shield +of the mighty.--_Prel. Discourse to Ossian._ + +His shield is terrible, like the bloody moon ascending through a +storm.--_Temora._ + +[14] Lead me, O Malvina! to the sound of my woods--to the roar of my +mountain-streams.--_War of Caros._ + +As the falling brook to the ear of the hunter descending from his +storm-covered hill; in a sun-beam rolls the echoing stream.--_Cathlin +of Clutha._ + +It is like the bursting of a stream in the desert, when it comes +between its echoing rocks to the blasted field of the sun.--_Temora._ +Gray streams leap down from the rocks.--_Ibid._ + +[15] The melancholy character of the whole of this passage, may serve +to recall Ossian’s sublimely beautiful and tender song of sorrow. +I shall be excused for introducing it.--“Desolate is the dwelling +of Moina: silence is in the house of her fathers. Raise the song of +mourning, O bards, over the land of strangers. They have but fallen +before us; for one day we must fall. Why dost thou build the hall, son +of the winged days? thou lookest from thy towers to-day; yet a few +years and the blast of the desert comes; it howls in thy empty court, +and whistles round thy half-worn shield. And let the blast of the +desert come! we shall be renowned in our day. The mark of my arm shall +be in battle; my name in the song of bards. Raise the song, send round +the shell; let joy be heard in my hall. When thou, sun of heaven! shalt +fail--if thou shalt fail, thou mighty light! if thy brightness is for a +season, like Fingal,--our fame shall survive thy beams.”--_Carthon._ + +In the same touching spirit is the noble address to the sun.--“O thou +that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! whence are thy +beams, O sun!--thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful +beauty, the stars hide themselves in the sky: the moon cold and pale +sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone: who can be a +companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the mountains +themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows again; the +moon herself is lost in heaven; but thou art for ever the same, +rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. When the world is dark with +tempests, when thunder rolls and lightning flies, thou lookest in thy +beauty from the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian, thou +lookest in vain; for he beholds thy beams no more, whether thy yellow +hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the +west. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a season, and thy years will +have an end. Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of +the morning. Exult then, O sun, in the strength of thy youth! age is +dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it +shines through broken clouds and the mist is on the hills: the blast of +the north is on the plain--the traveller shrinks in the midst of his +journey.”--_Ibid._ + +[16] The mountains are covered with day.--_Temora._ + +[17] Pleasant is the joy of grief.--_Carrie-thura._ + +[18] Thy death came like a blast from the desert and laid my green +head low: the spring returned with its showers, no leaf of mine +arose.--_Croma._ + +[19] Within my bosom is a voice--others hear it not.--_Temora._ + +[20] Night came: the moon from the east looked on the mournful field: +but they stood still like a silent grove that lifts its head on +Gormal.--_Carthon._ + +[21] So hears a tree in the vale the voice of spring around, and pours +its green leaves to the sun.--_Temora._ + +[22] Hast thou left thy blue course in heaven, golden-haired son of the +sky? The west has opened its gates; the bed of thy repose is there. The +waves come to behold thy beauty: they lift their trembling heads; they +see thee lovely in thy sleep; but they shrink away with fear. Rest in +thy shadowy cave, O sun! and let thy return be in joy.--_Carric-thura._ + +[23] Doth the wind touch thee, O harp! or is it some passing +ghost?--_Berrathon._ + +[24] The harps of the bards were believed to emit melancholy and +unwonted sounds prophetic or commemorative of the death of any renowned +and worthy person. This was attributed to the _light touch of ghosts_. +The music was called the warning voice of the dead. + +The harps of the bards untouched, sound mournful over the +hill.--_Temora._ + +The lone blast torched their trembling strings: the sound is sad an +low.--_Ibid._ + +[25] The wind was abroad in the oaks. The spirit of the mountain +shrieked. The blast came rustling through the hall, and gently +touched my harp. The sound was mournful and low, like the song of the +tomb.--_Dar-Thula._ + +[26] Darkness covers my soul.--_Prel. Discourse._ + +Darkness gathered on Utha’s soul.--_Carric-thura._ + +[27] Her dark brown hair is spread on earth.--_Ibid._ + +[28] Why did I not pass away in secret like the flower of the rock, +that lifts its head unseen and shows its withered leaves to the +blast?--_Oithona._ + +They fall away like the flower on which the sun hath looked in his +strength after the mildew has passed over it, when its head is heavy +with the drops of night.--_Croma._ + +[29] It was a current opinion, that the spirits of women hovered over +the earth in all their living beauty, and were often seen gliding along +like a sun beam on a hill. + +She was like a spirit of heaven half folded in the skirt of a +cloud.--_Temora._ + +The sky grew dark: the forms of the dead were blended with the +clouds.--_Ibid._ + +Hereafter shall the traveller meet their dark thick mist on Lena, where +it wanders, with their ghosts, beside the reedy lake. Never shall they +rise without song to the dwelling of winds.--_Ibid._ + +Two spirits of heaven standing each on his gloomy cloud.--_Ibid._ + +The flower hangs its heavy head, waving at times to the gale. “Why dost +thou awake me, O gale!” it seems to say, “I am covered with the drops +of heaven: the time of my fading is near--the blast that shall scatter +my leaves. To-morrow shall the traveller come. He that saw me in beauty +shall come--his eyes will search in the fields, but they will not find +me.”--_Berrathon._ + + + + +KARAMSIN. + + +THE SONG OF BORNHOLM. + + Curses on the world’s decree! + That decree which bid us part: + Who has e’er resisted thee, + Passion-throbbing, maddened heart? + + Is aught holier than the light + Kindled in our souls by heaven? + Is aught stronger than the might + Given to love--to beauty given? + + Yes! I love--shall ever love! + Curse the passion if ye will, + Call down vengeance from above, + Still I love--adore her still! + + Holy Nature! I, thy child, + To thy sheltering bosom flee: + Thou hast fanned this flame so wild, + I am innocent with thee. + + If to yield to passion’s sway, + Be a dark and damning sin; + Why hast thou, O tempter! say, + Lighted passion’s fires within? + + No! thy storm-winds as they rolled, + Gently rocked our secret bed; + And thy thunder, though it growled, + Never burst upon our head. + + Bornholm! Bornholm! to thy home + Memory--wildered memory flies: + Thither would my spirit roam + From its tears--its agonies! + + Vain the wish! an outlaw I, + Followed by a father’s curse; + Doomed in banishment to die, + Or despairing live--as worse! + + Lila! has thy spirit shrunk + From thy woes, and found a grave? + Has thy burthened misery sunk + In oblivion’s silent wave? + + Let thy shadow then appear, + Smile upon me from the tomb; + Give me, love! a welcome there, + Come, though veil’d in darkness,--come! + + +THE CHURCH-YARD. + + FIRST VOICE. + + How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear! + With the howls of the storm-wind--the creaks of the bier, + And the white bones all clattering together! + + SECOND VOICE. + + How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep! + Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep, + And flow’rets perfume it with ether. + + FIRST VOICE. + + There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead, + And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed, + And snakes in its nettle-weeds hiss. + + SECOND VOICE. + + How lovely, how lone the repose of the tomb! + No tempests are there:--but the nightingales come + And sing their sweet chorus of bliss. + + FIRST VOICE. + + The ravens of night flap their wings o’er the grave:-- + ’Tis the vulture’s abode:--’tis the wolf’s dreary cave, + Where they tear up the earth with their fangs + + SECOND VOICE. + + There the coney at evening disports with his love, + Or rests on the sod;--while the turtles above, + Repose on the bough that o’erhangs. + + FIRST VOICE. + + There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath, + And loathsome decay fill the dwelling of death, + The trees are all barren and bare! + + SECOND VOICE. + + O soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, + And sweet with the violet’s wafted perfume, + With lilies and jessamine fair. + + FIRST VOICE. + + The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears, + Would fain hurry by, and with trembling and fears + He is launched on the wreck-covered river! + + SECOND VOICE. + + The traveller outworn with life’s pilgrimage dreary, + Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary, + And sweetly reposes for ever. + + +AUTUMN. + + The dry leaves are falling; + The cold breeze above + Has stript of its glories + The sorrowing grove. + + The hills are all weeping, + The field is a waste, + The songs of the forest + Are silent and past: + + And the songsters are vanished; + In armies they fly + To a clime more benignant, + A friendlier sky. + + The thick mists are veiling + The valley in white; + With the smoke of the village + They blend in their flight. + + And lo! on the mountain + The wanderer stands, + And sees the pale autumn + Pervading the lands. + + Thou sorrowful wanderer. + Sigh not--nor weep! + For nature, though shrouded, + Will wake from her sleep. + + The spring, proudly smiling, + Shall all things revive; + And gay bridal-garments + Of splendor shall give. + + But man’s chilling winter + Is darksome and dim; + For no second spring-tide + E’er dawns upon him. + + The gloom of his evening, + Time dissipates never: + His sun when departed + Is vanisht for ever. + + +LILEA. + + What a lovely flower I see + Bloom in snowy beauty there-- + O how fragrant and how fair! + Can that lily bloom for me? + Thee to pluck, be mine the bliss, + Place upon my breast and kiss! + Why then is that bliss denied? + Why does heaven our fates divide? + + Sorrow now my bosom fills; + Tears run down my cheeks like rills: + Far away that flower must bloom, + And in vain I sigh, “O come!” + Softly zephyr glides between, + Waving boughs of emerald green. + Purest flow’rets bend their head, + Shake their little cups of dew: + Fate unpitying and untrue. + + Fate so desolate and dread + Says, “She blossoms not for thee;-- + In vain thou shedd’st the bitter tear, + Another hand shall gather her:-- + And thou--go mourn thy misery.” + O flower so lovely! Lilea fair! + With thee I fain my fate would share, + But heaven hath said, “It cannot be!” + + +EPIGRAM. + +TO NICANDER. + + You talk of your taste and your talents _to_ me, + And ask my opinion--so don’t be offended: + Your taste is as bad as a taste can well be: + And as for your talents--_you_ think them most splendid. + + + + +DMITRIEV. + + +DURING A THUNDER-STORM. + + It thunders! Sons of dust, in reverence bow! + Ancient of days! Thou speakest from above: + Thy right hand wields the bolt of terror now; + That hand which scatters peace and joy and love. + Almighty! trembling like a timid child, + I hear Thy awful voice--alarmed--afraid-- + I see the flashes of Thy lightning wild, + And in the very grave would hide my head. + + Lord! what is man? Up to the sun he flies-- + Or feebly wanders through earth’s vale of dust: + _There_ is he lost midst heaven’s high mysteries, + And _here_ in error and in darkness lost: + Beneath the storm-clouds, on life’s raging sea, + Like a poor sailor--by the tempest tost + In a frail bark--the sport of destiny, + He sleeps--and dashes on the rocky coast. + + Thou breathest:--and th’ obedient storm is still: + Thou speakest;--silent the submissive wave: + Man’s shatter’d ship the rushing waters fill, + And the husht billows roll across his _grave_. + Sourceless and endless God! compared with Thee, + Life is a shadowy momentary dream: + And Time, when view’d through Thy eternity, + Less than the mote of morning’s golden beam. + + +THE TZAR AND THE TWO SHEPHERDS. + + The tzar has wandered from the city-gate, + To seek seclusion from the cares of state; + And thus he mused; “What troubles equal mine! + _That_ I accomplish when I purpose _this_:-- + In vain I bid the sun of concord shine, + And toil unwearied for my subjects’ bliss; + Its brightness lasts a moment, and the tzar + For the state’s safety is compell’d to war, + God knows I love my subjects--fain would bless them, + But oft mistake--and injure and oppress them. + I seek for truth, but courtiers all deceive me; + They fill their purses and deluded leave me! + My people sigh and groan:--I share their pain, + And struggle to relieve them, but in vain.” + + Thus mused the lord of many nations; then + Looked up, and saw wide scatter’d o’er the glen + The poor lean flocks:--the sheep had lost their lambs, + And the stray’d lambkins bleated for their dams:-- + They fled from place to place, alarm’d, afraid; + The lazy dogs were sleeping in the shade! + How busy is the shepherd!--now he hies + To the grove’s verge:--now to the valley flies:-- + Seeks to assemble here the sheep that stray, + And there a favourite lamb he hurries on: + But lo! the wolf!--he springs upon his prey; + The shepherd hastens, but the thief is gone: + He cries--he beats his breast--he tears his hair, + Invoking death in agonized despair. + + “Behold my picture!” said his majesty, + “Here is another sovereign, just like me:-- + I’m glad to know vexations travel far, + And plague a shepherd as they plague a tzar.” + + And on he moved in more contented mood-- + Whither he knew not;--but beyond the wood + He saw the loveliest flock that ever grazed, + And linger’d, mute with wonder, as he gazed:-- + How strong, how sleek, how satisfied, how fair! + Wool soft as silk, and piled in luxury there, + Its golden burthen seemed too great to bear. + The lambs, as if they ran for wagers playing, + Or near their dams, or far--securely straying-- + The shepherd, ’neath the linden-tree, + Tuned his pipe most joyfully! + + “Ah!” said the tzar, “ye little think + How close ye stand on danger’s brink, + The uncharitable wolf is near:-- + And he for music has no ear.” + + And so it was--as if the wolf had heard, + Advancing in full gallop he appear’d. + + But the dogs, the wily traitor knew, + Sprung up, and at the robber flew:-- + His blood has for his daring paid; + And the lambkin that through fear had stray’d, + Is gather’d into the fold anew; + And the shepherd’s pipe was echoed still, + Down the vale and up the hill. + + The monarch lost all patience now:-- + “What! dost thou sit there like a rock, + While wolves are ravaging thy flock? + A very pretty shepherd thou!” + + “Tzar! here no evil can betide my sheep, + _My dogs are faithful--and they do not sleep_.” + + +THE BROKEN FIDDLE. + + A wretched[1] fiddle fell, in fragments,--these + Though once discordant, by the hand divine + Of music fashioned, breathed sweet harmonies: + + * * * * * + + So is man tuned by sufferings’ discipline. + + +OVER THE GRAVE OF BOGDANOVICH, + +AUTHOR OF THE BEAUTIFUL POEM PSYCHE. + + Here Love unseen, when sinks the evening sun, + Wets the cold urn with tears, and mournful thinks, + While his sad spirit, sorrow-broken, sinks,-- + None now can sing my angel Psyche--none! + + +LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. + + Fair sister! + “Infant brother dear! + On the wing, on the wing?” + Wandering the wide world over + In search of a lover--there _is_ no _lover_: + Lost as if the plague had been there! + + “I’ve been seeking a _friend_!--there’s none below, + The world must soon to ruin go! + Written in sand are the oaths now spoken, + ’Tis all lip-service, and promise broken; + My name is a cloak for _thirst of gain_!” + + And mine for _passion_ impure, profane! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Original, _diuzhenna_--one of a dozen--a frequent expression for +what is very common and useless. + + + + +Krĭlov. + + +THE ASS AND THE NIGHTINGALE[1]. + + An ass a nightingale espied, + And shouted out, “Holla! holla! good friend! + “Thou art a first-rate singer, they pretend:-- + Now let me hear thee, that I may decide; + I really wish to know--the world is partial ever-- + If thou hast this great gift, and art indeed so clever.” + + The nightingale began her heavenly lays; + Through all the regions of sweet music ranging, + Varying her song a thousand different ways; + Rising and falling, lingering, ever changing: + Full of wild rapture now--then sinking oft + To almost silence--melancholy, soft + As distant shepherd’s pipe at evening’s close:-- + Strewing the wood with lovelier music;--there + All nature seems to listen and repose: + No zephyr dares disturb the tranquil air:-- + All other voices of the grove are still, + And the charm’d flocks lie down beside the rill. + + The shepherd like a statue stands--afraid + His breathing may disturb the melody, + His finger pointing to the harmonious tree, + Seems to say, “Listen!” to his favourite maid. + + The singer ended:--and our critic bow’d + His reverend head to earth, and said aloud:-- + + “Now that’s so so;--thou really hast some merit; + Curtail thy song, and critics then might hear it; + Thy voice wants sharpness:--but if Chanticleer + Would give thee a few lessons, doubtless he + Might raise thy voice and modulate thy ear; + And thou in spite of all thy faults mayst be + A very decent singer.”---- + The poor bird + In silent modesty the critic heard, + And winged her peaceful flight into the air, + O’er many and many[2] a field and forest fair. + + There are too many such critics now-a-days. + Merciful heaven! protect us from their praise. + + +THE SWAN, THE PIKE, AND THE CRAB. + + If harmony be wanting to your plans, + Vain are your efforts, yours, or any man’s; + They end in disappointment all alike. + + I once observed a Swan, a Crab, a Pike, + Drawing a treasure; all their power, their will + Exerted, yet it stood unmoved and still. + ’Tis not its weight, its weight was very little; + Three powers at work, it budges not a tittle: + The Swan would fain soar upwards in its pride, + The Crab draws back, the Pike to the water side. + + Who of the three was wrong? and who was right? + It might be all--it might be none--it might! + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Krĭlov gave me this fable in MS. It has been printed in his _Basni_. + +[2] Literally--“three times nine.” + + + + +Khemnitzer. + + +THE HOUSE-BUILDER. + + Whate’er thou purposest to do, + With an unwearied zeal pursue; + To-day is thine--improve to-day, + Nor trust to-morrow’s distant ray. + + A certain man a house would build, + The place is with materials fill’d; + And every thing is ready there-- + Is it a difficult affair? + Yes! till you fix the corner stone; + It won’t erect itself alone. + Day rolls on day, and year on year, + And nothing yet is done-- + There’s always something to delay + The business to another day. + + And thus in silent waiting stood + The piles of stone and piles of wood; + Till Death, who in his vast affairs + Ne’er puts things off--as men in theirs-- + And thus, if I the truth must tell, + Does his work _finally_ and _well_-- + Winked at our hero as he past, + “Your house is finish’d, Sir, at last; + A narrower house--a house of clay-- + Your palace for _another day_!” + + +THE RICH AND THE POOR MAN. + + So goes the world:--if wealthy, you may call + _This_ friend, _that_ brother;--friends and brothers all: + Though you are worthless--witless--never mind it; + You may have been a stable-boy--what then? + ’Tis wealth, good Sir, makes _honourable men_. + You seek respect, no doubt, and _you_ will find it. + + But if you are poor, heaven help you! though your sire + Had royal blood within him, and though you + Possess the intellect of angels too, + ’Tis all in vain;--the world will ne’er inquire + On such a score:--Why should it take the pains? + ’Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains. + + I once saw a poor devil, keen and clever, + Witty and wise:--he paid a man a visit, + And no one noticed him, and no one ever + Gave him a welcome. “Strange,” cried I, “whence is it?” + He walked on this side, then on that, + He tried to introduce a social chat; + Now here, now there,--in vain he tried; + Some formally and freezingly replied, + And some + Said by their silence--“Better stay at home.” + + A rich man burst the door, + As Crœsus rich I’m sure, + He could not pride himself upon his wit + Nor wisdom--for he had not got a bit: + He had what’s better;--he had wealth. + What a confusion!--all stand up erect-- + These crowd around to ask him of his health; + These bow in _honest_ duty and respect; + And these arrange a sofa or a chair, + And these conduct him there. + “Allow me, Sir, the honour;”--then a bow + Down to the earth--Is’t possible to show + Meet gratitude for such kind condescension? + + The poor man hung his head, + And to himself he said, + “This is indeed beyond my comprehension:” + Then looking round + One friendly face he found, + And said--“Pray tell me why is wealth preferr’d + To wisdom?”--“That’s a silly question, friend!” + Replied the other--“Have you never heard, + A man may lend his store + Of gold or silver ore, + But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?” + + +THE LION’S COUNCIL OF STATE. + + A lion held a court for state affairs: + Why? That is not your business, Sir, ’twas theirs! + He called the elephants for counsellors--still + The council-board was incomplete; + And the king deemed it fit + With asses all the vacancies to fill. + Heaven help the state--for lo! the bench of asses + The bench of elephants by far surpasses. + + He was a fool--the foresaid king--you’ll say; + Better have kept those places vacant surely, + Than fill them up so poorly. + O no! that’s not the royal way; + Things have been done for ages thus--and we + Have a deep reverence for antiquity: + Nought worse, Sir, than to be, or to appear + Wiser and better than our fathers were. + + The list must be complete, even though you make it + Complete with asses; for the lion saw + Such had for ages been the law-- + He was no radical to break it! + + “Besides,” he said, “my elephants’ good sense + Will soon my asses’ ignorance diminish, + For wisdom has a mighty influence.” + They made a pretty finish! + The asses’ folly soon obtained the sway; + The elephants became as dull as they! + + +THE WAGGONS. + + I saw a long, long train + Of many a loaded, lumbering wain; + And one there was of most gigantic size, + It look’d an elephant midst a swarm of flies; + It roll’d so proudly that a passenger + Curiously asked--“Now what may _that_ contain?” + “Nothing but bladders, Sir!” + + Such masses (misnamed _men_!) are little rare, + Inflated, bullying, proud, and full of--_air_. + + + + +BOBROV. + + +ADDRESS TO THE DEITY. + +_From the Khersonida, p. 41-3._ + + O thou unutterable Potentate! + Through nature’s vast extent sublimely great! + Thy lovely form the flower-decked field discloses, + Thy smiles are seen in nature’s sunny face: + Milk-coloured lilies and wild-blushing roses + Are bright with Thee:--Thy voice of gentleness + Speaks in the light-winged whispering zephyrs playing + Midst the young boughs, or o’er the meadows straying: + Thy breath gives life to all; below, above, + And all things revel in Thy light and love. + But here, on these gigantic mountains, here + Thy greatness, glory, wisdom, strength and spirit, + In terrible sublimity appear; + Thy awe-imposing voice is heard,--we hear it! + Th’ Almighty’s fearful voice; attend, it breaks + The silence, and in solemn warnings speaks: + His the light tones that whisper midst the trees; + His, his the whistling of the busy breeze; + His, the storm-thunder roaring, rattling round[1], + When element with element makes war + Amidst the echoing mountains: on whose bound, + Whose highest bound he drives his fiery car + Glowing like molten-iron; or enshrin’d + In robes of darkness, riding on the wind + Across the clouded vault of heaven:--What eye + Has not been dazzled by Thy majesty? + Where is the ear that has not heard Thee speak? + Thou breathest!--forest-oaks of centuries + Turn their uprooted trunks towards the skies. + Thou thunderest!--adamantine mountains break, + Tremble, and totter, and apart are riven; + Thou lightenest! and the rocks inflame; Thy power + Of fire to their metallic bosom driven, + Melts and devours them;--Lo! they are no more:-- + They pass away like wax in the fierce flame, + Or the thick mists that frown upon the sun, + Which he but glances at and they are gone; + Or like the sparkling snow upon the hill, + When noon-tide darts its penetrating beam. + What do I say? At GOD’S almighty will, + The affrighted world falls headlong from its sphere, + Planets and suns and systems disappear! + But Thy eternal throne--Thy palace bright, + Zion--stands steadfast in unchanging might; + Zion--Thy own peculiar seat--Thy home! + But here, O GOD! here is Thy temple too: + Heaven’s sapphire arch is its resplendent dome; + Its columns--trees that have for ages stood; + Its incense is the flower-perfumed dew; + Its symphony--the music of the wood; + Its ornaments--the fairest gems of spring; + Its altar is the stony mountain proud! + Lord! from this shrine to Thy abode I bring + Trembling, devotion’s tribute--though not loud. + Nor pomp-accompanied: Thy praise I sing, + And Thou wilt deign to hear the lowly offering. + + +MEDINA. + +_From the Khersonida._ + + Thou wondrous brother of the prophet, sun! + So brightly on Medina’s temple burning; + And scarce less beautiful the crescent moon, + When moving gently o’er the shadows dun + Of evening:--and their verge to silver turning. + O what a lovely, soft tranquillity + Rests on the earth and breathes along the sea! + Here is no cedar bent with misery; + No holy cypress sighs or weeps, as seen + In other lands, where his dark branches green + Mourn in the desert o’er neglected graves: + Here his all-sheltering boughs he calmly waves + In the dim light, the sacred vigils keeping + O’er the blest ashes on earth’s bosom sleeping. + Picture of God! upon the prophet’s shrine + Shine brightly--brightly, beautifully shine + Upon those holy fields where once he trod, + And flowers sprung up beneath his innocent feet, + Tulips and aloes and narcissus’ sweet, + A lovely carpet for the child of God! + There have our privileged, pilgrim footsteps been, + This have we seen--yes, brother! this have seen: + The grave, the life, the ashes, and the dome + Eternal and the heavens: and there have bought + The grace of God and found the joy we sought, + A certain entrance to our final home. + And now, be short our houseward way! + Our fathers’ habitations now appear! + O with what transports shall we hear them say, + With what loud greetings, “Welcome, welcome here!” + The swelling-bosom’d wife, the black-hair’d son + And black-eyed daughter greet our joyous train, + Rushing from our own doors they hither run, + And songs of rapture loudly hail us then. + Their trembling hands the fragrant aloe bear, + Which joyful o’er our wearied limbs they throw; + Home of our fathers! now appear, + Our houseward path be shortened now! + + +SHEIK-HUIABIS CREED, + +AS DESCRIBED BY THE CHERIF. + +_From the Khersonida._ + + ’Tis Allah governs this terrestrial ball, + To all gives laws, as he gave life to all! + He rules the unnumbered circles bright with bliss, + That from the ends of heaven send forth their beams: + He rules the space, the infinite abyss, + The undefined and wandering ether-streams, + Where thousand, thousand stars and planets play-- + What are the laws that guide them on their way? + They are no perishable records--laws + Written with pen and ink:--No! Allah spreads + The golden roll of nature: o’er our heads + Opens his glorious volume, and withdraws + The veil of ignorance: read the letters _there_, + That is the blazing, burning record, where + The letters are not idle _lines_, but _things_: + Read there the name of Allah, dazzling bright, + In _works_ of eloquence and _words_ of light! + Shut, shut all other books; and if thy soul, + Borne upward on devotion’s angel-wings, + Soar to the heaven, from earth and earth’s control, + Thou shalt perceive--shalt know the Deity. + His splendours then shall burst upon thy eye, + An effluence of noon-tide round thee roll, + Thy spirit glad with light and love;--a sun + Of pure philosophy to lead thee on. + + +THE GOLDEN PALACE. + +CHERTOG TVOI VIZHDU. + +SUNG AT MIDNIGHT IN THE GREEK CHURCHES THE LAST WEEK BEFORE EASTER. + +_From the Sclavonic._ + + The golden palace of my God + Tow’ring above the clouds I see: + Beyond the cherubs’ bright abode, + Higher than angels’ thoughts can be: + How can I in those courts appear + Without a wedding garment on? + Conduct me, Thou life-giver, there, + Conduct me to Thy glorious throne! + And clothe me with Thy robes of light, + And lead me through sin’s darksome night, + My Saviour and my God! + + +MIDNIGHT HYMN + +OF THE RUSSIAN CHURCHES, SUNG AT EASTER. + + _Vskuiu mia esi oostavil?_ + Why hast thou forsaken me? + + Why, thou never-setting light, + Is Thy brightness veiled from me? + Why does this unusual night + Cloud Thy blest benignity? + I am lost without Thy ray, + Guide my wandering footsteps, Lord! + Light my dark and erring way + To the noon-tide of Thy word! + + +IZHE KHERUVIMIJ, + +OR SONG OF CHERUBIM. + +THE HYMN CHANTED IN THE RUSSIAN CHURCHES DURING THE PROCESSION OF THE +CUP. + + See the glorious cherubim + Thronging round the Eternal’s throne; + Hark! they sing their holy hymn: + To the unknown Three in One. + ‘All-supporting Deity-- + ‘Living spirit--praise to Thee!’ + + Rest, ye worldly tumults, rest! + Here let all be peace and joy: + Grief no more shall rend our breast, + Tears no more shall dew our eye. + + Heaven-directed spirits rise + To the temple of the skies! + Join the ranks of angels bright, + Near th’ Eternal’s dazzling light. + Khvalim Boga[2]. + + +CHILDREN’S OFFERING ON A PARENT’S BIRTH-DAY. + + Not the first tribute of our lyre, + Not the first fruits of infant spring, + But flames from love’s long kindled fire, + And oft-repeated prayers we bring + To crown thy natal day. + + ’Tis not to-day that first we tell + (When was affection’s spirit mute?) + How long our hearts have loved--how well-- + Nor tune our soft and votive flute, + Nor light the altar’s ray. + + That altar is our household shrine-- + Its flame--the bosom’s kindly heat: + Its offering, sympathy divine; + Its incense, as the may-dew sweet! + Accept thy children’s lay. + + +RULES FOR THE HEART AND THE UNDERSTANDING. + + +1. + + O son of nature! let self-culture be + The object of thy earliest toils: as yet + Thy lamp burns bright--thy day shines gloriously-- + Thou canst not labour when thy sun is set! + + +2. + + Wouldst thou The Unseen Spirit see: + First learn to know thyself; and He + Will then be shadowed forth in thee! + + +3. + + God is a spirit through creation’s whole, + As in this mortal tenement--the soul. + + +4. + + The sun that gives the world its fairest light + Is not yon orb welcomed by the morning hour, + And by the eve expelled;--it is the power + Of an enlightening conscience pure and bright. + + +5. + + Mark where thou standest first; and whence thou art come, + And whither goest, and straight speed thee home. + + +6. + + The woe _to come_, the woe that’s _gone_, + Philosophy thinks calmly on: + But show me the philosopher + Who calmly bears the woes that _are_. + + +7. + + How wise is he who marks the fleeting day + By acts of virtue as it rolls away! + + +8. + + Be all thy views right forward, clear, and even: + The straightest line the soonest leads to heaven. + + +9. + + Thou wouldst count all things, proud philosophy; + Now measure space and weigh eternity! + + +10. + + Light first thy heart with virtue; then thy soul + With wisdom--purest joy shall o’er thee roll. + + +11. + + The most perverted spirit has greatness in it, + The very savage bears a heart that’s noble. + + +12. + + Virtue, though loveliest of all lovely things, + From modesty apart no more is fair; + And when her graceful veil aside she flings, + (Like ether opened to th’ intrusive air) + Loses her sweetest charms and stands a cypher there. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] I have endeavoured to imitate the singular adaptation of words to +sound, of which the Russian language affords so many striking examples: + +Original-- + + Tvoi dukh vsĭvaet vse boriushchii + V sikh--sikh svistjeshchikh vikhrei silakh + Srazhaiushchikhsa mezhdu Gor! + + +[2] Hallelujah. + + + + +BOGDANOVICH. + + +FROM THE DUSHENKA.--p. 8. + + ’Twere but vain daring thro’ dark time to range, + Chasing the shadowy forms of words, which change, + For ever restless, gave to beauty’s power: + All lived an hour, and perished with that hour: + The subject of the aspiring poet’s lay + Is that fair royal maiden, youngest child + Of the eastern monarch, whom with passion wild + Crowds honoured, loved and sigh’d for night and day, + She by the Greeks called Psyche--meaning + (According to our learned ones’ explaining) + A soul, or spirit:--our philosophers + Thinking that all that’s tender, fair and bright, + Must needs be hers, + Named her Dushenka[1];--thus + A word so sweet, so musical to us, + With all the charm of novelty, + O loveliest Psyche, was conferred on thee! + Conveyed from tongue to tongue, its throne it found + In memory’s archives:--its melodious sound + Now breathes the angel-harmony of love, + A music and a radiance from above. + + +FROM THE DUSHENKA.--p. 49. + + Dushenka! Dushenka! the robes that thou wearest + Seem ever most lovely and fitting: + Whether clad like a queen of the east thou appearest, + Or plain as a shepherdess sitting + By the door of her cottage at evening’s calm tide, + Thou still art the charm of the world and its pride! + Thou fairest of saints that devotion has sainted, + Divinest of all the divine:-- + All the pictures of beauty that art ever painted + Can give no idea of thine! + + +THE INEXPERIENCED SHEPHERDESS. + +A POPULAR SONG. + + I’m fourteen summers old, I trow, + ’Tis time to look about me now: + ’Twas only yesterday they said, + I was a silly, silly maid;-- + ’Tis time to look about me now. + + The shepherd-swains so rudely stare, + I must reprove them, I declare; + This talks of beauty--_that_ of love-- + I’m such a fool I can’t reprove-- + I _must_ reprove them, I declare. + + ’Tis strange--but yet I hope no sin; + Something unwonted speaks within: + Love’s language is a mystery, + And yet I feel, and yet I see,-- + O what is this that speaks within? + + The shepherd cries, “I love thee, sweet;” + “And I love _thee_,” my lips repeat: + Kind words, they sound as sweet to me + As music’s fairest melody; + “I love thee,” oft my lips repeat. + + His pledge he brings,--I’ll _not_ reprove; + O no! I’ll take that pledge of love; + To thee my guardian dog I’d give, + Could I without that guardian live: + But still I’ll take thy pledge of love. + + My shepherd’s crook I’ll give to thee;-- + O no! my father gave it me-- + And treasures by a parent given, + From a fond child should ne’er be riven-- + O no! my father gave it me. + + But thou shalt have yon lambkin fair-- + Nay! ’tis my mother’s fondest care; + For every day she joys to count + Each snowy lambkin on the mount;-- + I’ll give thee then no lambkin fair. + + But stay, my shepherd! wilt thou be + For ever faithful--fond to me? + A sweeter gift I’ll then impart, + And thou shalt have--a maiden’s heart, + If thou wilt give thy heart to me. + + +SONG FROM THE OLD RUSSIAN. + + Hark! those tones of music stealing + Through yon wood at even: + Sweetest songs that breathe a feeling + Pure and bright as heaven. + + Nightingales in chorus near thee, + All their notes are blending; + Then they stop their songs to hear thee, + Silent--unpretending. + + +SONG FROM THE OLD RUSSIAN. + + What to the maiden has happened? + What to the gem of the village? + Ah! to the gem of the village. + + Seated alone in her cottage. + Tremblingly turned to the window; + Ah! ever turned to the window. + + Like the sweet bird in its prison, + Pining and panting for freedom; + Ah! how ’tis pining for freedom! + + Crowds of her youthful companions + Come to console the lov’d maiden; + Ah! to console the lov’d maiden. + + “Smile then, our sister! be joyful, + Clouds of dust cover the valley; + Oh! see, they cover the valley. + + “Smile then, our sister! be joyful, + List to the hoof-beat of horses; + O! to the hoof-beat of horses.” + + Then the maid looked through the window, + Saw the dust-clouds in the valley; + O! the dust-clouds in the valley: + + Heard the hoof-beat of the horses, + Hurried away from the cottage; + O! to the valley she hurries. + + “Welcome! welcome! thou lov’d one:” + See, she has sunk on his bosom; + O! she has sunk on his bosom. + + Now all her grief is departed: + She has forsaken the window: + O! quite forsaken the window. + + Now her eye looks on her lov’d one, + Beaming with brightness and beauty; + O! ’tis all brightness and beauty. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Dusha--Dushenka its diminutive, a word expressing great tenderness +and fondness. + + + + +DAVĬDOV. + + +WISDOM. + + While honouring the grape’s ruby nectar, + All sportingly, laughingly gay; + We determined--I, Silvia, and Hector, + To drive old dame Wisdom away. + + “O my children, take care,” said the beldame, + “Attend to these counsels of mine: + Get not tipsy! for danger is seldom + Remote from the goblet of wine.” + + “With thee in his company, no man + Can err,” said our wag with a wink; + “But come, thou good-natured old woman, + There’s a drop in the goblet--and drink!” + + She frown’d--but her scruples soon twisting, + Consented:--and smilingly said: + “So polite--there’s indeed no resisting, + For Wisdom was never ill-bred.” + + She drank, but continued her teaching: + “Let the wise from indulgence refrain;” + And never gave over her preaching, + But to say “Fill the goblet again.” + + And she drank, and she totter’d, but still she + Was talking and shaking her head: + Mutter’d “temperance”--“prudence”--until she + Was carried by Folly[1] to bed. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] The original has _Love_. + + + + +KOSTROV. + + +THE VOW. + + The rose is my favourite flower: + On its tablets of crimson I swore, + That up to my last living hour + I never would think of thee more. + + I scarcely the record had made, + Ere Zephyr, in frolicsome play, + On his light, airy pinions convey’d + Both tablet and promise away. + + +HISTORY OF MAN. + +ANONYMOUS. + + What is man’s history? Born--living--dying-- + Leaving the still shore for the troubled wave-- + Struggling with storm-winds, over shipwrecks flying, + And casting anchor in the silent grave. + + B. + + + + +NELEDINSKY MELETZKY. + + +SONG. + + Under the oak-tree; near the rill, + Sits my fair maiden at evening still, + Singing her song, her song of love, + Sweetly it warbles through the grove. + + The nightingale heard the heavenly tone, + And blended the music with his own: + My ears drink in the wondrous strain, + And my spirit re-echoes the song again. + + How oft the zephyrs have brought to me + Delighted, those accents of harmony! + How oft have I blamed the jealous breeze + That scatter’d the music amidst the trees! + + Listen awhile, thou nightingale! + Echo the song from hill to vale: + Though hill and vale enraptured be, + Sweeter the music sounds to _me_! + + +SONG. + + To the streamlet I’ll repair, + Look upon its flight, and say: + “Bear, O fleeting streamlet! bear + All my griefs with thine away.” + + Ah! I breathe the wish in vain! + In this silent solitude + Counted is each throb of pain;-- + Rest is melancholy’s food. + + Waves with waves unceasing blend, + Hurrying to their destiny: + Even so, thoughts with thoughts, and tend + All alike to misery. + + And what grief so dark, so deep + As the grief interred within? + By the friend, for whom I weep, + All unnoticed, all unseen. + + Yet, could I subdue my pain, + Soothe affection’s rankling smart, + Ne’er would I resume again + The lost empire of my heart. + + Thou, my love! art sovereign there, + There thou hast a living shrine: + Let my portion be despair, + If the light of bliss be thine. + + Loved by thee, O might I live, + ’Neath the darkest, stormiest sky: + ’Twere a blest alternative! + Grief is joy, if thou be nigh. + + Every wish and every pray’r + Is a tribute paid to thee: + Every heart-beat--there, O there, + Thou hast mightiest sovereignty. + + To thee, nameless one! to thee + Still my thoughts, my passions turn; + ’Tis through thee alone I see, + Think, and feel, and breathe and burn. + + If the woe in which I live, + Ever reach thy generous ear; + Pity not--but O forgive + Thy devoted worshipper! + + In some hour of careless bliss, + Deign my bosom’s fire to prove; + Prove it with an icy kiss-- + Thou shalt know how much I love! + + +SONG. + + He whom misery, dark and dreary, + Robs of all his spirit’s strength; + Hopeless--but that wasted, weary, + Nature shall repose at length: + Not a joy to sparkle o’er him, + Not a ray of promised light; + Till the deep grave yawns before him, + Till his eye is closed in night. + + Such am I;--time’s changes borrow + All their interest from thee: + Life is but a midnight sorrow, + Thou, life’s sun-shine, veiled from me. + But those hopes, with angels seated, + Life and death can ne’er subdue; + And the heart to thee related, + Needs must be immortal too. + + Can that spirit ever perish, + Which divine emotions fill? + Thee on earth I loved to cherish, + Thee in heaven must cherish still; + Like a shadow to thee clinging, + Ever following--ever nigh; + Up to thee each look is springing, + Every word, and thought, and sigh. + + Up to thee, my saint, my lover! + Up to thee my soul is led: + Spirit, wilt thou deign to hover + O’er my green and grassy bed? + Wilt thou from thy throne descending, + Catch thy fond one’s dying breath? + Wilt thou, near his tomb attending, + Consecrate the dreams of death? + + + + +NATIONAL SONGS. + + +I. + + Upon its little turfy hill, the desert’s charm and pride, + The tall oak in his majesty extends his branches wide: + His shadow covers half the waste, and there he stands alone, + Like a poor soldier on the watch, a sad abandoned one! + And who, when wakes the glowing sun, thy friendly shade shall seek? + Or shield thee when the thunder rolls, and when the lightnings break? + No graceful pine protects thee now, no willow waves its head, + No sheltering ivy’s dark green leaves are midst thy branches spread! + Alas! ’tis sad to stand alone, thus banished from the grove; + But bitterer far for youth to mourn divided from his love! + Though gold and silver, wealth and fame, and honours he possess, + With none t’ enjoy them, none to share, they are but nothingness. + Cold is the converse of the world--a greeting, and no more! + And beauty’s converse colder still--a word, and all is o’er: + Some shun my presence, and from some scorn bids my spirit fly: + Though all are lovers, all are friends, till tempests veil the sky. + But where’s the breast where I may sleep, when those dark moments come? + For he who loved me cannot hear, he slumbers in the tomb! + Alas! I long have lost the joys of friend and family, + And the fair maid that I adore looks carelessly on me: + No aged parents on our heads their benedictions pour: + No children to our bosoms creep, or play upon our floor; + O take away your wealth, your fame, your honours, treasures vile, + And give me in their stead, a home--a love--and love’s sweet smile. + + +II. + +ABSENCE. + + Why wilt thou think that thy heart’s distress + May find relief in tear or sigh? + Thou art abandoned to loneliness-- + To loneliness and to misery. + Severing oceans between you roll, + And frowning mountain-barriers rise; + She may not read thy faithful soul-- + She may not witness tears or sighs. + + Weak and wayward spirit to deem + That the wing of the zephyr will bear to her + Soft as the flight of childhood’s dream + The orisons of her worshipper! + That the gale’s light fragrant breath will bring + Music of thine to thy maiden’s ear, + What time the day-star triumphing + Looks from his throne on the waking sphere. + + Yet cherish the hope--tho’ weak and wild, + Its promise of joy thy bosom may bless-- + But thou--thou, sorrow’s devoted child! + Soon wilt be left to thy loneliness, + To thy loneliness and thy misery-- + Oceans and mountains divide you far; + Never her smile shall light on thee, + Ne’er shalt thou welcome that heavenly star. + + +III. + + Thou field of my own, thou field so fair! + So wide, extensive, fertile there! + Adorned with gems so gay and bright-- + With flowers, and butterflies, and bees, + And plants, and shrubs, and leafy trees-- + Thou hast but one ungrateful sight! + + See there upon the broom-tree’s bough, + The young gray eagle flapping now, + O’er the raven black, that he tears asunder, + Whose warm red blood is dropping under, + And sprinkles the moistened ground below: + The raven black--a wild one he! + And the eagle gray--his enemy! + + No swallow, gliding round and round + His homely happy nest, is found;-- + But a mother is seen in the darksome vale, + Or sad by the raging ocean’s tide; + A sister sighs on the fountain’s side, + A lover weeps in the night-dews pale-- + The sun shines forth--the dews are dried[1]. + + +IV.[2] + + A young maid sat upon the streamlet’s side, + And thought most tearfully on her bitter fate; + Her bitter fate, and on departed time-- + Departed time--the glad, exulting time; + And there the lovely maiden robed herself, + She robed herself, with many adornings robed, + And waited anxious for her trusted friend-- + Waited for her trusted friend:--a ruffian he! + He played the ruffian with the maid and fled:-- + Alas! love’s flower of hope is withered! + + Well may that lonely flower decay and die! + She calls in vain--she wipes her tears away: + Thee, rapid streamlet! they may fill, and roll + Over thy bosom--make thy bed of tears: + “I had adorned me for that faithless friend, + That faithless friend is fled:--he hath stolen all, + All my possessions but my grief:--that grief + He left in mercy, if that grief can kill. + Come, death! I veil me in thy shadows dim-- + To thee I fly, as once I flew to him!” + + +V. + + Upon that brow, so soft, so fair, + Why sit those frowns?-- O why should I + Plant bitter flowers of anger there? + O tell me, more than angel, why? + + I have been wretched--did I e’er + Trouble thy peace with my distress? + Did I invite thee, say, to hear + The story of my wretchedness? + + O no! I sigh’d midst rocks and groves, + That thou might’st never know I sigh’d: + I wept where stillest water roves:-- + The tear but swell’d the silent tide. + + Forget me--for my love shall be + Enough for both:--undying, bright-- + Winged for an immortality, + And filling all the tomb with light. + + +VI. + +DIRGE. + + Not to-day he the young rose sought, + For she was fairer than the rose: + Hers be the cypress, dark as thought; + Yew that over the still grave grows. + Can ye remember her sigh, her tear + O’er a departed one, fair as she? + Such were a tribute meet for her, + Meet for us, and our misery. + + O forget her sweet smiles--forget + All that she was:--she is nothing now. + Scatter the purple violet; + O’er her green pillow the snow-drop throw! + Come with the eve; let your requiem + Mount on the breeze o’er the grassy heap: + Thousand spirits shall join the hymn, + Watching over her slumbers deep. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] This composition refers, no doubt, to some historical or +traditionary tale, without the knowledge of which it would seem +unintelligible. I translate it as rather a striking specimen of popular +Russian songs. + +[2] The peculiarities of the original are preserved in this song; such +repetitions as here occur are quite characteristic of the national +poetry of Russia. + + + + +BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL NOTICES. + + +LOMONOSOV. + +Michael Vassiljevich Lomonosov was born in Cholmognie in 1711. He +was the son of a sailor. He studied Latin and Greek, rhetoric and +poetry, in Sakonospaskoe Uchilishchœ. In 1734 he entered the imperial +academy, and two years afterwards was sent to Germany as a student. +On his return to Petersburg he was appointed to the professorship of +Chemistry; in 1751 he was made associate of the academy, and in 1760 +called to the directorship of the academical gymnasium and of the +university. He died in 1765. + +The Petersburg Academy of Sciences published a complete collection +of his works, in sixteen volumes, which reached a third edition in +1804. They comprise the following remarkable list, exhibiting a rare +diversity of subjects: among them his prose productions are: _Kratkii +Lœtopisetz_, Short Russian Annals; _Drevnjeje Rossiiskaje Istorije_, +Oldest Russian History, from the beginning of the Russian people to +the death of the great prince Jaropolk the First, _i. e._ down to +the year 1054; _Rossiiskaje Grammatika_, Russian Grammar; _Kratkoe +Rukovodetvo k Krasnorœchiiu_, Short Introduction to Rhetoric; _Pismo o +pravilakh Rossiiskago Stikhomvorstva_, Letter on the Rules of Russian +Poetry; _Predislovie o polzœ Knig Tzerkovnĭkh_, Remarks on the Uses of +Church-Books; _Slovo Pokhvalnoe Imperatritzœ Elisavetœ I._, Eulogium on +the Empress Elizabeth (which he himself translated into Latin); _Slovo +pokhvalnoe Imperatoru Petru Velikomu_, Eulogium on Peter the Great; +_Slovo o polzœ Khimii_, On the Use of Chemistry; _Slovo o jevlenijekh +vosdushnĭkh ot Elektricheskoi silĭ proizkhodjeshchikh_, On Electrical +Phenomena; _Slovo o proizkhozhdenii sœta novuiu teriiu o tzvœtakh +predstavljeiushchee_, On the Origin of Light, exhibiting the new theory +of Colours; _Slovo o pozhdenii Metallov ot trjesenije zemli_, On the +Changes produced on Metals by earthquakes; _Rosuzhdenie o bolshei +tochnosti Morskago puti_, On the means of obtaining the greatest +correctness in Sea Voyages; _Jevlenie Venerĭ na solntzœ_, Appearance of +Venus on the Sun’s Disk; _Programma sochinennaje tri nachalæ chenije +is jesnenije Phisiki_, Programma, introductory to Lectures on Physic; +_Opisanie v nachalœ 1744 goda jevivshijesje Kometĭ_, Description of +the Comet of 1744; _Pervĭje osnovanije Metallurgii_, Introduction to +Metallurgy; _Shestnadtzat’ piset k J. J. Shuvalovu_, Sixteen Letters to +J. J. Shuvalov. + +His poems are--two books of an Heroic Epic entitled _Peter Velikii_, +Peter the Great; _Tamira i Selim_, a Tragedy; _Demophont_, a Tragedy; +_Pismo o Pol’sœ Stekla_, A Poetical Epistle on the Merits of Glass, +addressed to Shuvalov, of which a French prose translation was +published in Paris in 1800; _Oda na Shchastiee_, Ode to Happiness, +from the French of J. B. Rousseau; _Vanchannaje nadezhda Rossiiskoi +Imperii_, The Garlanded Hope of the Russian Empire, from the German of +Professor Junker; eleven spiritual odes; encomiastic odes; forty-nine +laudatory inscriptions; poem on a firework; _Polydore_, an Idyl, and +sundry smaller pieces; imitations of Anacreon, poetical epistles, +translations, &c. &c. + +Besides his philosophical prose writings, he published _Rasgovor v +tzarstvœ Mertvĭkh_, Dialogue in the Realms of Death, between Alexander +the Great, Hannibal, and Scipio, from the Greek of Lucian; and +_Rasgavor utro_, A Discourse on Morning, from Erasmus. + + +DERZHAVIN. + +Gabriel Romanovich Derzhavin was born at Kasan on the 3d of July, 1736. +The elements of instruction were given to him in the house of his +parents; he then studied in private academies, and afterwards completed +his education in the imperial gymnasium. In 1760 he was inscribed in +the engineer military service; and in the following year, as a reward +for his great progress in the mathematics, and for his excellent +description of the Bulgarian ruins on the banks of the Wolga, he was +placed in the ranks of the Preobrashenshe regiment. From the year 1762 +he was promoted through the different gradations to the rank of ensign, +which he held in 1772, and he obtained great credit for his prudence +and ability while engaged as lieutenant in the corps sent to reduce +Pugachev in 1774. He advanced uninterruptedly in his military career +till in 1784 he was made a counsellor of state, and appointed to the +government first of Oloretz and afterwards of Tambov. In 1791 the +Empress Catherine the Second gave him the office of secretary of state; +in 1793 he was called to the senate, and the next year he was made +president of the college of Commerce. In the year 1800 he was appointed +to the post of public cashier, and in 1802 to that of minister of +justice. His official career was soon after closed by his retiring on +his full allowance, in the evening of his days, to the enjoyment of the +fruits of his long and active labours. + +Such a life would appear little calculated for the pursuit of +intellectual pleasures, or for the cultivation of poetical talents; but +the energies of these seem to be alike uninfluenced by the burthens of +pomp or the privations of poverty. None is too high to bend down to the +attractive voice of song--none too low to be raised by the awakening +call of the lyre. + +The most celebrated compositions of Derzhavin are, his Ode to God; +Felitza; On the Birth of Alexander; The First Neighbour; On the +Death of Count Meshchersky; On the Swedish Peace; The Fountain; The +Waterfall; Autumn; and the Anacreontic Songs. His Poems were printed in +four volumes in 1808. + +Of his prose works (his official ones of course excepted) the most +celebrated are: _Rœch ot litza Kazanskago Dvorjenstva Imperatritzœ +Ekaterinœ II._, Address of the Kasan Eagle to the Empress Catherine +the Second; _Topographicheskoe Opshanie Tambovskoi Gubernii_, +Topographical Description of the Tambov Government; _Rœch na otkrĭtie +v Tambovœ Narodnago Ichilishcha_, Address on the opening of the Tambov +Public School, republished in Petersburg, and translated into several +languages; _Razsuzhdenie o Liricheskom Stikhotvorstvœ_, On Lyric +Poetry, published by a Society of Amateurs of Russian Literature in +1811. + + +BOGDANOVICH. + +TRANSLATED FROM KARAMSIN’S VŒSTNIK[1]. + +Hippolïtus Bogdanovich was born under the beautiful heaven of Little +Russia, in the village of Perevolotchno, in the year 1743. His father +was a respectable physician, to whose affectionate care and to that +of an excellent mother he owed the first rudiments of knowledge. +The talents which often require long years to ripen and to perfect, +sometimes exhibit their blossoms in very early youth, and Bogdanovich +while quite a child showed a passionate fondness for reading and +writing, for music and poetry. + +He was brought to Moscow in 1754, and placed in the college of justice. +The President Sheljebushsky noticed the active and inquiring spirit +of the boy, and allowed him to attend the mathematical school, which +was at that time in the neighbourhood of the senate. But mathematics +were nothing to him;--the sweet poetry of Lomonosov, who now began +to captivate his countrymen, was dearer to his mind than all the +transpositions of lines or figures. Nothing, perhaps, is so likely +to produce a strong and permanent impression on the heart of a young +enthusiast, as the pomp, parade, and poetry of the Drama. What wonder +then that a fiery boy, introduced for the first time to its witcheries, +should be led to some act of giddy imprudence! A youth of fifteen once +presented himself to the director of the Moskow theatre, modestly and +almost unwillingly owning--he was a nobleman--he would be an actor. +The director had some conversation with him, and soon ascertained his +love of knowledge and his poetical ardour. He painted in strong colours +the incompatibility of an actor’s character with that of nobility,--he +urged him to inscribe himself in the university, and to visit him at +his house. This young man was no other than our Bogdanovich,--that +director was no other than Michael Matveevich Kheraskov, the poet +of the Russiad. Thus did a lucky accident bring this scholar of the +muses to their favourite bard; one who, possessed of extraordinary +talent himself, was not slow to discover and to honour it in others. +From him did Bogdanovich learn the rules and the ornaments of poetry; +he studied foreign languages, and acquired whatever else might give +strength and encouragement to his natural powers. Study, it is true, +is no _creator_ of genius, but it serves to exhibit it in all its most +beautiful and mighty influence. Kheraskov gave him examples, precepts, +encouragements; and in the university-journal of this period, _Polesnoe +Uveselenie_, we find many specimens of the powers of the young bard. +These, though yet far removed from perfection, are striking proofs of +his ability to reach it. + +Besides Kheraskov, our young poet possessed, while he remained at the +university, another invaluable protector in Count Michael Ivanovich +Dashkov. The favours conferred by rank and influence on talents just +developing themselves, create a grateful and well-rewarding return; +while, on the other hand, the fair and delicate flowers of youthful +genius are but too often and too early blasted by the cold winds of +neglect. But let it be said in Russia’s honour, that talent has never +wanted patronage there, especially if accompanied by moral worth. +This was eminently the case with Bogdanovich. Like La Fontaine, in +whose poetical steps he seems to have trodden, he was distinguished +by the most attractive ingenuousness. Ere he was eighteen he held his +station in the great and busy world, but held it with the simplicity +of a child. Whatever he felt he uttered, whatever pleased him he did; +he listened willingly to the wisdom of others, and fell asleep during +the tiresome lessons of folly. It was our young bard’s good fortune to +live with a poet who exacted the productions of his muse as the price +of his protection and his counsels, leaving every thing else to his own +waywardness. His open heartedness often led him into perplexities, but +no sooner did he perceive that his conversation had inflicted on any +a feeling or thought of sorrow than he lamented his inconsiderateness +with tears. He determined again and again to talk more warily; the +resolution was, however, soon forgotten, and succeeded by regret and +repentance and renewed vows. + +He was not rich; he often had nothing to give the poor but sympathy. +Is not this often more grateful to the receiver, and always more +honourable to the giver, than the pieces of gold extorted by misery +from the coldness of pride and of affluence? Towards his friends and +acquaintances he was kindness and urbanity itself. On one occasion +a fire broke out in the neighbourhood of one of his connexions. +Bogdanovich sprung from his bed, and, in spite of the bad weather and +the distance, hurried to the assistance of his friend, clad only in his +night garment. + +His dwelling was with an estimable family, who treated him as a near +and dear relative, and he returned their kindness with ever-active +affection. + +We must here linger a little on one mark of character, common indeed +to all genuine poets;--a lively sensibility to female charms, a +sensibility which has been the creator of some of the sweetest songs +of the choir of bards. In one who, like Bogdanovich, was born to be +the poet of the graces, this mighty sympathy could not but be early +developed among the sensibilities of his character. In its origin it is +timid and unpretending--in him it was peculiarly so. He saw, he felt, +he supplicated, he blushed--and uttered his emotions in his harmonious +songs. Stern indeed must have been the beauty that could not be moved +by that melodious lyre! + +In 1761 Bogdanovich was appointed inspector of the Moscow university, +with the rank of officer. Soon after he was joined to the commission +appointed to make the arrangements for celebrating the coronation of +Catherine the Second, in Moscow. He was fixed on for preparing the +inscriptions on the triumphal gates and arches. In 1763, through the +recommendation of the Countess Dashkov, he was employed by Panin as +a translator; and at this period he published a journal entitled, +_Nevinnoe Uprashnenie_, Innocent Recreation, to which his protectress, +and the protectress of literature, of native literature especially, +most generously contributed. And now our poet soared in loftier +flights: he translated most felicitously many of Voltaire’s poems, +especially that on the Destruction of Lisbon, in which his version has +added greatly to the beauty and the strength of the original. A number +of pieces, distinguished for the exquisiteness of the feeling and the +peculiar harmony of the expression, directed the public attention to +him. Among these is that beautiful song to Climene: + + Yes! since bliss is now my lot, + I will live to love thee, fairest: + Thou, that _I_ may live, wilt not + Now refuse to love me, dearest! + +In 1765 he published a poem with the title, The Doubled Bliss. It is +divided into three parts, the first of which is a description of the +golden age; the second, a history of the progress of civilization and +of knowledge, with pictures of the misdirection and misuse of the human +passions; the last, on the salutary influence of laws and governments. +This undertaking was too vast for the youthful strength of the poet. +The work had some redeeming beauties, but it made little impression +upon society in general. At this period, notwithstanding, the laurels +were rapidly growing that were to crown the brow of Bogdanovich;--but +those laurels were then unnoticed. + +In 1766 he went with Count Beloselsky as secretary of legation to +Dresden. The amiable character of this ambassador, the brilliant +society which he took with him and gathered round him, the attractive +and picturesque neighbourhood of his dwelling, and his high +appreciation of the arts, made the poet’s abode so delightful to him +that it left the fairest record on his memory, and produced a happy +influence on the character of his writings. While he wandered enchanted +on the flowery borders of the Elbe, whose nymphs, worthy of that +magnificent stream, excited all the strength of his glowing fancy; +while the works of Correggio, Rubens, and Paul Veronese charmed his eye +and guided his mind in the beautiful creation of his _Dushenka_, which +now engaged it; he was at the same time busied in writing a Description +of Germany, and in all the duties of his office he united the charms of +a man of the world, a friend of science, and a poet. + +He left Dresden in 1768 and hastened back to his own country, devoting +himself wholly to the cultivation of knowledge and the charms of +song. He translated many articles from the _Encyclopédie_, Vertot’s +History of the Changes of the Roman Republic, St. Pierre’s Treatise +on Permanent Peace, and the Poem of an Italian writer, Michael Angelo +Gignetti, then settled at Petersburg. The subject was Catherine +the Great, which led to his introduction to that empress. He next +published a periodical, of which sixteen numbers appeared (_Vœstnik +Petersburgsky_); and at last, in 1775, he laid his beautiful poem +_Dushenka_ on the altar of the Graces. He ever afterwards spoke +with enthusiastic delight of that part of his life which had been +employed in this work. His abode was then at Petersburg, on the +_Vassiliostrov_, in a silent solitary dwelling, wholly rapt in poetry +and music, enjoying an enviable and care-divested liberty. He had +agreeable acquaintances;--he sometimes went out, but always to return +with keener pleasure to a home where the muses welcomed him with +renewed fondness, with hope and fancy’s fairest flowers. The tranquil, +unuttered, unutterable joy of the poet is perhaps the sweetest and +brightest that this world can witness. How triumphantly do the favoured +sons of song scatter the misty shades of vanity and the more palpable +array of earth-born passion! Who that ever tasted the charm of such +enviable moments, does not turn away from the sparkling follies of the +substantial world to the memory of those holy hours of rapture? One +energetic and harmonious line--one well-conveyed emotion--a gentle, +graceful transit from one thought to another--can fill the soul of +the poet with innocent and natural delight, leaving behind it a soft +and placid gladsomeness which will be doubly grateful if it can be +participated by some sympathizing and sensible friend, who can enter +into its enthusiasm and forgive its excess. It is indeed a guiltless +and a spiritual joy, created by an effort, which effort is in itself +enjoyment: and then it brings the prospect of the approbation, the +encouragement of the wise and good!--But envy! envy!--the pitiful +efforts of envy itself only make its triumphs the more splendid--they +dash and murmur like the little waves against the firm foot of the +mountain, on which true merit raises itself in its own majesty, for the +glory of its country and of mankind. + +The story of Psyche is one of the most attractive which has been handed +down to us by classic mythology. It originally conveyed a beautiful and +impressive allegory, whose charm has been obscured and whose interest +almost lost in the many embellishments with which a series of poets +have crowded the simple tale; a tale in fact only intended to describe +the nuptials of the god of love with Psyche, and the consequent birth +of the goddess of enjoyment: the obvious sense of which is, that when +the soul is filled with love, it enjoys the highest possible portion +of pleasure. From this unadorned fable Apuleius drew a charming story, +more indeed like the fairy-tales of modern days than the μυθοι of the +old Grecian age. On this production of Apuleius La Fontaine founded +his fascinating Psyche, adding numberless beauties to his original, +and delightfully mingling verse and prose--the strikingly impressive +with the playfully good-humoured. To the Psyche of France we owe the +Russian Dushenka; but our poet, though he never loses sight of his +exemplar, goes onwards in his own path of flowers, and gathers many a +one which the French poet overlooked or disregarded. La Fontaine has +more of art--Bogdanovich of nature;--and the current of the latter +flows in consequence more refreshingly. Besides, Dushenka is wholly +in verse, and good verse is certainly greatly better than good prose, +and rarer too. The most laborious efforts of art are also the most +valued[2]; and thus it is that the purest and most harmonious prose can +never give to a representation the energy or the interest which it may +derive from the power of verse, to which indeed whatever is mysterious +and supernatural more especially belongs. This La Fontaine constantly +felt, and sought shelter for his highest efforts and sweetest fancies +in the regions of song. How much better had he done, if he had made his +Psyche a continuous poem! Bogdanovich’s Dushenka is so. Where exists +the Russian who has not read Dushenka? + +This production must not be weighed in the scales of Aristotle. It is a +display of the powers of a gay and joyous imagination, directed by good +taste. It is sportive, excursive, ingenuous, faithful:--Why must rules +of art be intruded here? + +[Karamsin then goes on to compare the French with the Russian fabulist, +giving the most striking passages from the Dushenka, and “strewing,” as +he says, “the grave of the poet with his own flowers.”] + +Is it surprising that such a poem produced so great an impression? Six +or seven sheets thrown uncalled for into the world, wholly changed the +fate of the author. Catherine was then reigning in Russia. She saw, she +admired the Dushenka--sent for the poet, and inquired of him how she +could gratify him.--It was enough--who doubts the taste of a sovereign? +Nobles and courtiers learnt Dushenka by heart, each rivalling the +rest in the attentions showered upon the author. Epistles, odes, and +madrigals in his honour were scattered profusely. He was mounted above +the clouds.--Alas! that the destructive influence of such distinctions +should have overshadowed him in the brightest epoch of his poetic +talents. He was thirty years old--he abandoned the muses--and the +garland woven for him by his Dushenka was the only one that encircled +his brow in his listless lethargy. It is an imperishable wreath, no +doubt, but the friends of poetry mourn that it should have satisfied +him. Even the thirst for fame may be quenched. Our poet afterwards +wrote much, but against his own will and against the will of his +inspiring genius. Perhaps he would set up no rival to his beloved +Dushenka. + +From 1775 to 1789 he published the following works: Historical +Description of Russia--an imperfect essay, which however is very well +written; only the first volume appeared. A Comedy in verse--The Joy of +Dushenka;--The Sclavonian Woman, and two dramatised proverbs. Catherine +encouraged him to write for the stage, and sent him _brilliant_ +presents on the production of these pieces. The Sclavonian piece made +a strong impression. It represents the festivities with which the old +Sclavonians welcomed the return of the twenty-fifth year of the reign +of their “Great Princes,” and it was produced just at the period when +Catherine had swayed the Russian sceptre for a quarter of a century. + +At the request of the Empress he also published a collection of +Russian proverbs, and wrote some small poems in the _Sobesœdnik_, The +Companion, a weekly periodical, which appeared at Petersburg in 1788 +and 9. Many of these graceful trifles are full of wit and gaiety, and +the song “I’m fourteen summers old,” &c. (p. 168) has become one of +the most popular national songs in Russia. He also translated at this +time the best eulogiums, such as Voltaire’s and Marmontel’s, on the +Empress, and the compositions lost nothing of their effect in being +thus transferred to our language. + +In the poet let us not forget the man. He was made associate of the +Archives at Petersburg in 1780, and in 1788 was elected president. +In 1795 he was dismissed from service, in which he had been engaged +forty-one years. The salary was continued to him in the form of a +pension. He left Petersburg the following year. The then unfortunate +state of Europe--those dreadful revolutions which shook individuals +as well as nations, added to many personal sorrows, excited in +his sensitive mind the ardent longing after a peaceful solitude. A +beautiful climate--the sweet recollections of youth--the bonds of +early friendship and of brotherhood--invited him to the fair fields +of Little Russia. He went to Sumii, intending to glide calmly and +silently through the evening of life, in the circle of his connections, +and reposing on the bosom of nature. The first weeks and months he +passed in those retreats were ineffably happy. His spirits had never +been so free and so tranquil. No phantoms disturbed his peace. A pure +conscience, the recollections of fifty years passed in unbroken but +serene activity--a poetical but strong mind--an active strength of +fancy--an excellent library--the friendliest union with good men and +beloved relatives--and the uniformity of an ingenuous and happy life, a +life which had been so full of allurements--these were the sources of +that happiness which he here enjoyed--a real enviable happiness, such +as is sought by all, who amidst the world’s tumultuousness strive after +their own fame, and their fellow-creatures’ well-being;--that happiness +_he_ had sighed after to decorate the peaceful though sometimes gloomy +days of eventide:--but “In this world where shall peace be found?” + +And Bogdanovich did not enjoy it long:--An unfortunate attachment drove +him from the haven where he deemed himself to be safely anchored from +all the storms of life. He abandoned friends, relatives, the silent +abodes of peace and happiness, that he might fly from this ever-ruling +passion. In the years when the sun of life sinks rapidly towards its +setting, and the calm of nature seems to invite to closer communion +with what is left of earthly pleasure, it is then the passions are most +terrible.--Youth is supported by hope--but age has no such stay. It +hears alone the strong voice of reason, which will not approve of the +useless murmurs against destiny. Every heart that can feel will look +with sorrow on this period of our poet’s existence. + +In the year 1798 he again returned to Kursk, in whose neighbourhood he +had long been wandering. Alexander mounted the Russian throne. And when +every eye of patriotism, bright with hope and joy, was turned upon the +young monarch, Bogdanovich again seized his long neglected lyre, and +received from the Emperor a ring as the token of his approval. The +poet of Dushenka had had the honour of gratifying Catherine the Great; +should not her illustrious grandson deign also to honour him? + +The health of Bogdanovich had been always indifferent; in the beginning +of December, 1802, it began visibly to decay, and on the 6th of +January, 1803, he died, mourned by his acquaintances and friends, and +by every friend of the literature of his country; for he had not yet +attained those venerable years when the last and only blessing which +heaven can confer on the son of mortality is to soothe and brighten his +passage to the realms of eternity. + +It is said that the character of an author is best painted in his +works; but it is surely safer to take into account the opinions and +observations of those who knew him best. And here then we must listen +to the unvarying voice of praise. All speak of his meekness, his +feeling heart, his unselfishness, and that innocent gaiety which played +around him to the end of his days, and gave a peculiar charm to his +society. He had no pride of authorship. He seldom spoke of literature +or of poetry, and always with an unaffected modesty, which seemed to +have been born with him. He loved not criticism, which often destroys +even the honestest self-complacency, and he often confessed that its +severity would have driven him wholly away from the exercises of his +pen. + +His memory will be cherished by his friends and the friends of Russian +genius; and the sweet--the feeling--the acute--the joyous poet of +Dushenka will be honoured by the future age. + + +KHEMNITZER. + +Ivan Ivanovich Khemnitzer was born of German parents at Petersburg, +in the year 1744. His father was of Saxon origin, and was attached as +physician to the country hospital of the Russian capital. From parents +of distinguished excellence our poet received the elements of a careful +education. It was his father’s wish that his son should succeed him in +his profession, but the unconquerable aversion of the latter to the +study of anatomy could never be subdued. He was enrolled in consequence +when thirteen years old in the regiment of guards, as sub-officer, and +made two campaigns against the Prussians and the Turks. This, however, +as he was wont to say, was “out of the rain into the river”--from the +theatre of anatomy to the martyr-chamber of surgery. He became in +consequence an engineer in the Berg cadet corps, having obtained the +rank of lieutenant in the Russian service. He won the love and the +confidence of all his superiors by his activity and uprightness. In +the year 1776, he accompanied one of his superior officers through +Germany, Holland, and France; and after his return to his country +applied himself ardently to his literary labours. In 1778 he published +the first volume of his fables; and on its reaching a second edition +about three years afterwards, he added to it another volume. One of +his particular friends and protectors quitting the service at this +period, he determined to do the same. He had no means of living +independently of his salary, and being compelled to look round him for +another engagement, he soon obtained the consul-generalship of Smirna. +The emoluments attached to this office led him to hope that in the +progress of a few years he should be enabled to retire comfortably +from active life, and this hope induced him to accept an office which +banished him from his country. That country he abandoned with a +heavy heart; and on separating from his friends, whom he loved with +indescribable affection, he seemed to sink under the thought that he +was bidding them a final farewell. In the autumn of 1782 he reached +Smirna;--indisposition greeted him on his arrival. The climate was +perhaps unfriendly; but his mind was more keenly affected by his exile +from that society in which he had so long breathed and lived, and which +had become a necessary element of his existence. He struggled long +against his illness:--it subdued him in the spring of 1784. + +This is a short outline of the serene and unpretending career of an +excellent man and an admirable poet, whose manners were as ingenuous +and unobtrusive as his life. In many respects he may be compared to +La Fontaine, his pattern and forerunner. The same goodness of heart, +the same blind confidence in his friends, the same carelessness and +inoffensiveness, and the same absence of mind, which formed the +prominent features of La Fontaine’s character, were developed with +singular fidelity in that of Khemnitzer. Of the last trait we will give +an example or two. When in Paris he once went to see the representation +of Tancred. On Le Cain’s appearance, he was so struck with the noble +and majestic presence of that renowned actor, that he rose from his +seat and bowed with lowly reverence. An universal roar of laughter +brought him back to himself. One morning a friend, for whom he had the +highest regard, related to him an interesting piece of news. Khemnitzer +dined with him afterwards, and as a piece of remarkable intelligence +narrated to his host that which his host had before communicated to +him. His friend reminded him of his forgetfulness. Khemnitzer was +greatly distressed, and in his perplexity, instead of his handkerchief, +he put his host’s napkin into his pocket. On rising from table +Khemnitzer endeavoured to slip away unobserved; his friend saw him, +followed him, and tried to detain him. Khemnitzer reproached him for +unveiling his weaknesses, and would not listen to any entreaties. +“Leave my napkin then, at least, which you pocketed at table,” said +the other. Khemnitzer drew it forth, and stood like a statue. The loud +laugh of the company recovered him from his trance, and with the utmost +good nature he joined in the general mirth. + +A very handsome edition of his fables was published in Petersburg, +1799, under the title _Basni i Skaski I. I. Khemnitzera v Trekh +Chastœkh_, Khemnitzer’s Fables and Tales. The third part consists of +posthumous fables, printed for the first time in this edition. + +In Germany the works of Khemnitzer have been often spoken of as models +and master-pieces[3]. Some of them are imitations of La Fontaine, some +of Gellert[4], but they are principally original. They are remarkable +for their purity of style--genuine Russian character--their _naïveté_ +and descriptive charms--their poetical smoothness--their singular +simplicity--and an original epigrammatic wit, most felicitously applied. + + +KOSTROV. + +Ermil Ivanovich Kostrov was born in the Vjetskish province. His father +was a vassal of the crown. He received the first part of his education +in the common school of his neighbourhood, and, in consequence of +his display of talent, was sent to the Moscow university, where he +obtained the rank of bachelor of arts, and was advanced to the post of +provincial secretary in 1782. He died on the 9th of December, 1796. +A collection of his poetry, which had been scattered in different +publications, was made in 1802 in two volumes. His translations, which +are much admired, are Homer’s Iliad, of which the seventh, eighth, +and ninth books were first printed in the European Herald, _Vœstnik +Evropĭ_. It is said he offered the last six books to a bookseller, and +the liberal tradesman offering him only one hundred and fifty rubles +(about 7_l._ 10_s._ sterling) for his labours, the offended poet threw +the translation into the fire. The first six books are the only ones +which have been collected. _Apuleev Solotoi Osel_, Apuleius’s Golden +Ass; Ossian, from a French version, on which he has greatly improved; +_Elvir i Zenotemsh_, a Poem of Ardouro; and Voltaire’s Tactique in +verse. + + +KARAMSIN. + +Nicolai Michaelovich Karamsin was born in the province of Limbersk +on the 1st of December, 1765. His earliest instructor was Professor +Schaden, of Moscow, from whose care he was removed to the university +of that place. In 1789-91 he travelled through central Europe, and +published in 1791 and 1801 his _Pi’sma Russkago Puteshestvennika_, +Letters of a Russian Traveller, which have been translated into +English. He took up his abode at Moscow on his return, and was +appointed the imperial historiographer in 1803. From his earliest youth +he exhibited a striking fondness for literary pursuits, and a great +number of his translations were printed in the Journal _Dœtskoechenie_, +Children’s Reading Book. The Idyl _Derevannaje_, The Wooden Foot, +was published in 1787. In the years 1792 and 1793 he published the +_Moskovskij Zhurnal_, Moscow Journal, in eight volumes. In 1794, two +parts of _Aglaia_, In 1797-8 and 9, a Collection of Poems, entitled +_Lonidĭ_. In 1798, his _Panteon Inostrannoi Slovesnosti_, Pantheon +of Foreign Literature, in three parts. In 1802-3, _Vœstnik Evropĭ_, +European Herald, in twelve volumes. His compositions which were printed +in the newspapers at Moscow, he published in 1794 with the title _Moi +Besdœlki_, My Trifles. Besides these, have been published his _Rosgavor +o Shchastii_, Discourse on Happiness; 1798, _Julia_, a Tale; and +_Pokhval’noe slovo Ekaterinœ Velikoi_, Eulogium on Catherine the Great. +In 1804 a collection of his works was printed in eight volumes. His +great work, The History of Russia, has been mentioned elsewhere in this +volume. + + +ZHUKOVSKY. + +Vassilj Andrejevich Zhukovsky was born in 1783. He was educated in the +public school at Tula and in the Moscow University, which he left in +1803. He held afterwards an appointment from the Russian government. +In 1808 and 1809 he edited the _Vœstnik Evropĭ_, European Herald, +in which he was afterwards joined by Kachenovsky. He has translated +Florian’s Don Quixote into Russian, and published in 1810-11, the best +collection of Russian poetry I am acquainted with, _Sobranie Rushkikh +Stikhotvorenii_, in 5 vols. Most of his productions were originally +printed in the above periodical. Of his poetical compositions, the most +esteemed are _Marina Roshcha_, Mary’s Goat, a tale; The _Moje Boginje_, +My Goddess, from Göthe: _Liudmilla_, and _Dvenadtzat Spjeshchikh Dœv_, +The twelve sleeping Virgins. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] A Periodical Journal.--See p. 238. + +[2] This is a maxim of the French school, and a very untenable one. The +characteristic of eminent genius is, that it produces the same and even +greater effect without laborious effort, which inferior merit requires +intense application to accomplish. + +[3] In No. 22 of the “_Freimüthigen_,” Kluschin speaks very approvingly +of the fables of Khemnitzer, and gives as an example “The Lion’s +mandate.” In a following number an anonymous writer claims this fable +for La Fontaine. It is singular enough that the Russian copy was +never written by Khemnitzer, though it was published in a volume of +his fables, but under the title of _Chuzhiiæ Basni_, Fables by other +Authors. + +[4] The imitations are always distinguished in the index from the +originals. + + + LONDON: + PRINTED BY R. AND A. TAYLOR, + SHOE LANE. + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + + + ‣ Italics represented by surrounding _underscores_. + + ‣ Small caps converted to ALL CAPS. + + ‣ Footnotes renumbered consecutively within each chapter and moved + to the end of those respective chapters. + + ‣ Obvious typographic errors silently corrected. + + ‣ Variations in hypenation and spelling kept as in the original. + + ‣ Duplicate chapter titles omitted. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78744 *** diff --git a/78744-h/78744-h.htm b/78744-h/78744-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..92387f6 --- /dev/null +++ b/78744-h/78744-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7085 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="format-detection" content="telephone=no,date=no,address=no,email=no,url=no"> + <title> + Specimens of the Russian poets, vol. 1 (of 2) | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; 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} +.fs150 { font-size: 150%; } +.fs120 { font-size: 120%; } +.fs200 { font-size: 200%; } + +.bold { font-weight: bold; } + + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp50 {width: 50%;} + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78744 ***</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp50" id="cover" style="max-width: 126.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover"> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_i">[i]</span></p> +</div> + +<p class='center fs150'> + РОССІЙСКАЯ АНТОЛОГІЯ. +</p> + +<hr class='r15'> + +<h1>SPECIMENS<br> +OF<br> +<i>THE RUSSIAN POETS</i>:</h1> + + +<p class="center allsmcap">TRANSLATED BY</p> + +<p class="center fs120 mth">JOHN BOWRING, F.L.S.</p> + +<div class='poetry-container'> +<div class='poetry'> +<div class='poetry stanza'> +<div class='verse indent0'><i>Вамъ, вамъ плетутъ Хариты</i></div> +<div class='verse indent0'><i>Безамертные вѣнцы!</i></div> +<div class='verse indent0'><i>Я вами здѣсь вкушаю</i></div> +<div class='verse indent0'><i>Восторги Піеридъ,</i></div> +<div class='verse indent0'><i>И въ радости взываю:</i></div> +<div class='verse indent0'><i>О Музы! я Піитъ!</i></div> +<p class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Батюшковъ</span></p> +</div></div></div> + + +<p class="center">WITH PRELIMINARY REMARKS AND +BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.</p> + +<p class="center mt1">SECOND EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS.</p> + +<p class="center fs120 blackletter mt1">London:</p> +<p class='center allsmcap'>PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR:</p> +<p class='center fs120 allsmcap'>SOLD BY R. HUNTER, ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD;</p> +<p class='center fs120 allsmcap'>AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO., EDINBURGH.</p> + +<p class="center">1821.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">[ii]</span></p> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="i_publisher" style="width: 100px;"> + <img src="images/i_publisher.jpg" width="100" height="95" alt="ALBRE FLAMMAN printer’s mark."> +</figure> + +<p class='center allsmcap'>PRINTED BY R. AND A. TAYLOR,</p> + +<p class='center allsmcap'>SHOE-LANE, LONDON.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[iii]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="ADVERTISEMENT"> + ADVERTISEMENT<br> + TO<br> + THE SECOND EDITION. + </h2> +</div> + +<p>The first edition of this work was published +without any strong expectations that it +would excite attention. It has been received +with singular indulgence, nay with +flattering encouragement, and I trust it +will be followed, at no distant period, by +Specimens of the Poetry of other nations, +which is as yet a stranger to our literature +and language.</p> + +<p>The objects of this publication have been +in a great degree answered. Many of the +Poets of Russia, whom I have ventured to +introduce to my countrymen, have met with +a cordial welcome, and their claims have +been cheerfully admitted by the mighty +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">[iv]</span> +arbiters of fame. For myself I own, that +my hopes of the future progress of that +vast empire in civilization and virtue and +liberty have been greatly flattered, greatly +increased by the observations which this +little volume has served to elicit.</p> + +<p>It must not, however, be forgotten, that +this is a representation of nothing but the +unformed and infant poetical literature of +Russia. That literature had its birth but +yesterday, and certainly its present strength +and beauty give fair hope for to-morrow. +In it are elements of improvement, and +buds and blossoms of future expectation. +They are scattered over “half a world,” +and in due time will ripen, to encourage, to +console, and to stimulate myriads and millions. +It will then be an interesting task, +to compare the maturer charms of Sclavonic +song, with these its earliest gems.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[v]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="TABLE_OF_CONTENTS"> + TABLE OF CONTENTS. + </h2> +</div> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#INTRODUCTION'><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +vii +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Derzhavin'>Derzhavin</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +1 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Batiushkov'>Batiushkov</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +45 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Lomonosov'>Lomonosov</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +65 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Zhukovsky'>Zhukovsky</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +71 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Karamsin'>Karamsin</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +103 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Dmitriev'>Dmitriev</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +117 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Krilov'>Krĭlov</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +129 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Khemnitzer'>Khemnitzer</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +135 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Bobrov'>Bobrov</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +145 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Bogdanovich'>Bogdanovich</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +163 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Davidov'>Davĭdov</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +175 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Kostrov'>Kostrov</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +179 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#Neledinsky_Meletzky'>Neledinsky Meletzky</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +183 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#NATIONAL_SONGS'>National Songs</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +192 +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +<a href='#BIOGRAPHICAL_AND_CRITICAL'>Biographical and Critical Notices</a> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +203 +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a><a id="Page_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="INTRODUCTION"> + INTRODUCTION. + </h2> +</div> + + +<p>Few subjects can be more complacent to the +philanthropist than to trace the forward march +of mind; peculiarly complacent where its progress +is neither slow nor doubtful; where the +stream of light spreads widening more and +more over the whole surface of society; and +more delightful yet, where the first rays of twilight +break out of the thick darkness of long +and dreary barbarism, and the day advances +with sure and steady steps. Such were the circumstances +under which Russia presented itself +to my contemplation. It had emerged, as +it were instantaneously, from a night of ignorance, +to occupy a situation in the world of +intellect, not contemptible, even when compared +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span> +with that of southern nations; but singularly +striking as contrasted with the almost +universal ignorance which pervaded the immense +empire of the Tzars, before Peter the +Great, the Russian Colossus, as one of their +poets calls him, gave it the first impulse towards +civilization⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_1" href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>⁠. The foundation is now +laid, on which the proud edifice of civilization +will be raised. The moral <i>vis inertiæ</i> is in action: +and the immense political influence which +Russia has acquired, and seems likely to maintain, +will be less appalling, at all events, to the +moralist, if not to the statesman, than if wholly +unaccompanied by a spirit of literature; while, +on the other hand, it is consolatory to remember, +that every instance which Russia affords +of the advance of knowledge, is a pledge that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[ix]</span> +the blessings of freedom and good government, +which follow in the train of intellectual distinction, +cannot be for ever shut out.</p> + +<p>Lomonosov⁠<a id="FNanchor_2_2" href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> is the father of Russian poetry. +It did not advance from step to step through +various gradations of improvement, but received +from his extraordinary genius an elevation +and a purity which are singularly opposed +to the barbarous compositions which preceded +him. He did more than any other writer to +fix the standard of language, and wielded a +then uncouth and unformed idiom with singular +address and power. A natural sense of harmony +and beauty, made sublimer by early contemplation +of the prophetic and the poetical +compositions of the Old Testament, did more +for his own fame, and for the future literary +reputation of his country, than could have resulted +from the closest acquaintance with the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[x]</span> +great names of Greece or Rome. His style is +singularly vigorous, and his works are distinguished +throughout for their bold and impressive +character. They have been collected into +six volumes; and his name, as well as that of his +rival Sumarokov, has already found its way, +with some particulars of his life and writings, +into our biographical dictionaries⁠<a id="FNanchor_3_3" href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>⁠.</p> + +<p>Sumarokov, whose productions are very +voluminous, and were once considered models +of grace, beauty, and harmony, has been much +neglected of late years. His dramatic compositions +are, for the most part, gross and indecent; +his contemptuous jealousy of Lomonosov, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[xi]</span> +though so greatly his superior, is often +most ridiculously intruding itself; but in one +point of view, at least, he is entitled to respect +and gratitude. He is the eldest of the Russian +fabulists; the introducer of a species of composition, +in which Russian poetry possesses +treasures more varied and more valuable than +that of any other nation. It is no mean praise +to say, and it may be said truly, that Russia +can produce more than one rival of the delightful +La Fontaine. Of the dramatic writings +of Sumarokov, the best is the tragedy <i>Demitrĭj +Samosvanelz</i>, or The False Demetrius⁠<a id="FNanchor_4_4" href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>⁠, +which has been translated into English.</p> + +<p>Von Visin, who seems to have made Moliere +his model, improved greatly upon Sumarokov. +His two most celebrated comedies +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[xii]</span> +are <i>Nedorosl</i>, The Spoilt Youth, and <i>Brigadir</i>, +The Brigadier⁠<a id="FNanchor_5_5" href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>⁠.</p> + +<p>Kheraskov holds a high rank among the +lyric poets of Russia. He died a few years ago. +He was curator of the Moscow University. +He published a collection of his poems, which +he entitled <i>Bakhariana, ili Neisviëstnĭj</i>; Bachariana, +or The Unknown; but his great work +is <i>Rossiada, ili Rasrushchenie Kasanij</i>; The +Russiad, or The Destruction of Kasan.</p> + +<p>But of all the poets of Russia, Derzhavin +is in my conception entitled to the very first +place. His compositions breathe a high and +sublime spirit; they are full of inspiration. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</span> +His versification is sonorous, original, characteristic; +his subjects generally such as allowed +him to give full scope to his ardent imagination +and lofty conceptions. Of modern poets, +he most resembles Klopstock: his <i>Oda Bog</i>, +Ode on God, with the exception of some of +the wonderful passages of the Old Testament, +“written with a pen of fire,” and glowing with +the brightness of heaven, passages of which +Derzhavin has frequently availed himself, is +one of the most impressive and sublime addresses +I am acquainted with, on a subject so +pre-eminently impressive and sublime. The +first poem which excited the public attention +to him was his <i>Felitza</i>.</p> + +<p>Bogdanovich has obtained the title of the +Russian Anacreon. His <i>Dushenka</i> (Psyche) +is a graceful and lovely poem. I mean at +some future time to give some extracts from +this poem, with specimens of the Russian +epics, and longer poetical compositions, which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</span> +I hope to collect into one volume. He has +also written several dramatic pieces.</p> + +<p>Bobrov was well acquainted with the literature +of the South of Europe, and has transfused +many of its beauties into his native +tongue. Our English writers especially have +given great assistance to his honest plagiarism. +His <i>Khersonida</i>, an oriental epic poem, is not +so good as <i>Lalla Rookh</i>, but it is very good +notwithstanding.</p> + +<p>Kapnist has written on a variety of subjects—odes, +songs, romances and translations.</p> + +<p>The name of Kostrov closes the list of the +most eminent among the deceased poets of +Russia. He died, not long ago, in the meridian +of his days. He had made an admirable +translation of Homer, and was engaged in a +version of Ossian, which he left unfinished: the +conclusion has since been added by Gnœdich.</p> + +<p>Of all the living writers of Russia, or rather +of all the writers Russia ever produced, the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xv">[xv]</span> +most successful and the most popular is Karamsin. +Derzhavin called him long ago “the +nightingale of poetry,” but it is not to his +poetry alone that he owes his fame. Standing +on the summit of modern literature in +Russia, he has been loaded with honours and +distinctions, which, however, have not served +to check his wonted urbanity, or to chill his +natural goodness of heart. When a young +writer, he was fond of imitating Sterne⁠<a id="FNanchor_6_6" href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a>⁠; a +very bad model, it may be added, since the +peculiarities which characterize him are only +tolerable because they are original. Karamsin’s +style was then usually abrupt and unnatural, +and its sentimentality wearisome and +affected. But he has outlived his errors, and +established his reputation on their subjection. +His great undertaking, the <i>Rossijskaje Istorije</i> +(History of Russia), is, without comparison, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</span> +the first and best literary work which has +been produced in the country it celebrates. It +was received with loud eulogiums throughout +the Russian empire; it has been translated +into several European languages; and will +probably long maintain a pre-eminent rank +among Russian classics, and become one of +the standard authorities of history⁠<a id="FNanchor_7_7" href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>⁠.</p> + +<p>The peculiar excellence of the Russian fabulists +has been mentioned. Sumarokov and +Khemnitzer, Dmitriev and Krĭlov, are the +most distinguished among them. Dmitriev, +who is still living at Moscow, has published a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</span> +great number of fables and ballads, besides +translations from the Latin and other languages. +His style is easy, harmonious, and +energetic: some of his compositions have a +sublimer character; his religious poetry is dignified +and solemn; his elegies are tender and +affecting.</p> + +<p>Krĭlov holds an office in the Imperial library +at Petersburg. He is well known to the +<i>bons vivans</i> of the English club. His heavy +and unwieldy appearance is singularly contrasted +with the shrewdness and the grace of +his writings. He stings like a wasp, and flies +laughingly away, but always leaves his sting +behind him. He has published one volume of +fables, remarkable for their spirit and originality. +He now employs himself in translating +Herodotus, having, at an advanced period +of life, first entered on the study of the languages +of ancient Greece and Rome.</p> + +<p>Zhukovskij has printed some poetical translations +of distinguished merit from the German, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</span> +French and English. Among these, his +version of Gray’s elegy is entitled to particular +praise. For the sake of comparison I give +the epitaph.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Sdœs’ pepel iunoshi besvremenno sokrĭli;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Chto slava, shchastie, ne snal on v mirœ sem!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No Musĭ ot nego litza ne otvratili,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I melankholii pechat’ bĭla na nem.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">On krotok serdtzem bĭl, chuvstvitelen dushoiu</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Chuvstvitel’nĭm Tvoretz nagradu polozhil!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Daril neshchastnĭkh on—chœm tolko mog—slesoiu!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">V nagradu ot Tvortza on druga poluchil!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Prokhozhii, udalis’! vo grobœ son svjeshchennĭi!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sud’ba pochivshikh v nem pokrĭta grosnoimgloi</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nadezha robkaje zhivit ikh pepel tlœnnĭi!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kto snaet, kto nas zhdet sa grobovoi doskoi!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>This piece is one among very many translations +from the English. The following verse +from Goldsmith’s Edwin and Angelina will be +perhaps recognised from its cadence alone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xix">[xix]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Voidikh v moi dom—sabot tam chuzhdĭ</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Nœt blaga v suetœ!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nam malĭje denĭ sdœs’ nuzhdĭ!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Na malĭi mig i nœ!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='no-indent'>His <i>Liudmilla</i> (an imitation of Leonora) is +deemed more beautiful and forcible than the +original itself. He has written on a variety of +subjects, and is now engaged as a companion +to the Grand Dukes.</p> + +<p>I believe Batiushkov is now in Italy. He +has published translations from Tibullus and +other classics. His most celebrated composition +is his Address to his Penates, which will +be found in the present volume. As it introduces +in a very agreeable manner the most +eminent of the Russian poets, and contains +some allusion to Russian manners, it will not, +I hope, be without interest to the English +reader.</p> + +<p>There are many other names which the narrow +limits of this volume will not allow to be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xx">[xx]</span> +introduced at length. Mersljekov’s translations +from the Greek and Latin classics: those +of Gnœdich, Knjezhnin, Milonov, Volkov and +Bunina from different sources: Rodsjenkai +from Addison, and many others, have produced +an admirable effect upon the taste of the nation, +and given noble examples for the imitation +of Russian bards.</p> + +<p>I can scarcely hope to satisfy those who are +masters of Russian literature. I have not always +satisfied myself; for, far from any feelings +of self-complacency, to do full justice to +some of the poets of Russia has been beyond +the compass of my powers. In the instance of +Bogdanovich, especially, the charm I have +felt, I have not been able to convey.</p> + +<p>No one can be more alive than I am to the +extreme difficulty of communicating to a foreign +version the peculiar characters of the +original. The grace, the harmony, the happy +arrangement, the striking adaptation of words +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxi">[xxi]</span> +to ideas; every thing, in fact, except the primary +and naked thought, requires for its perfect +communication a genius equal to its first +conception: and, in truth, there are but few +instances of enduring and deserved reputation +dependent only on successful poetical translations, +unaided by the merits of distinguished +original works.</p> + +<p>One thing, however, is certain; I have intended +no wrong,—I hope I have done no +wrong, to the names and to the works I now +introduce to my countrymen; I mean only to +be an honest, conscientious interpreter. Many +of the charms of their compositions have probably +escaped me: their faults, I am afraid, +are but too faithfully rendered; I have discovered +many, but I dared not meddle with +them.</p> + +<p>The measure of the original has been generally +preserved. This adhesion to one of the +distinguishing characters of poetical composition +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxii">[xxii]</span> +has been made of late quite a point of conscience +in Germany (a country which possesses +a greater number of excellent and faithful +translations than all the united world besides); +and as far as the genius of the language will +admit, I hope it will become so in England⁠<a id="FNanchor_8_8" href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>⁠. +It would have been well if our early translators +had been more honest and correct in this +particular—their aberrations have given a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxiii">[xxiii]</span> +sort of sanction to the wanderings of others. +The future poets of Russia have excellent precursors +to study, especially as regards the fidelity +of their early versions.</p> + +<p>A few words on the peculiarities of the Russian +language will not, perhaps, be misplaced⁠<a id="FNanchor_9_9" href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>⁠.</p> + +<p>The mother-tongue of nearly forty millions +of human beings, and which in the course of +thirteen centuries has undergone no radical +change, is indeed entitled to some attention. +All Russian grammarians claim for it an antiquity +at least equal to that of the city of Novogorod. +The oldest written documents that exist +are two treaties with the Greek emperors, +made by Oleg, A.D. 912, and Igor, A.D. 943. +Christianity, introduced into Russia at the beginning +of the eleventh century by Vladimir +the Great, brought with it many words of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxiv">[xxiv]</span> +Greek origin. The Tartars added considerably +to the vocabulary during the two centuries +of their domination. The intercourse which +Peter the Great established with foreign nations, +increased it still more; and of late years +a great number of words have been amalgamated +with it from the French, German, and +English. It is now one of the richest, if not +the richest, of all the European languages, and +contains a multitude of words which can only +be expressed by compounds and redundant definitions +in any northern tongues. Schlözer +calculates, that of the five hundred roots on +which the modern Russ is raised, three-fourths +of the number are derived from Greek, Latin, +and German. Many are of Sans-crit origin, +of which Adelung published a list in 1811⁠<a id="FNanchor_10_10" href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a>⁠.</p> + +<p>Printing was introduced into Russia about +the middle of the sixteenth century. The +oldest printed book which has been discovered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxv">[xxv]</span> +is a Sclavonic Psalter, bearing the date Kiev, +1551; two years after, a press was established +in Moscow. The Sclavonic alphabet, said to +have been introduced by Cyrillus in the ninth +century, consists of forty-two letters. The +modern Russ has only thirty-five: those unknown +to the English are as follows:</p> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<th class="tdl"> +Letters. +</th> +<th class="tdl"> +Sounds and Orthography adopted.<br> +</th> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Ж⁠<a id="FNanchor_11_11" href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +zh.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Ф +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +ph.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Х⁠<a id="FNanchor_12_12" href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +kh (guttural).<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Ц +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +tz.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Ч +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +ch (as in chance).<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Ш +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +sh.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Щ⁠<a id="FNanchor_13_13" href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +shtsh, or shch.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxvi">[xxvi]</span> +Ы⁠<a id="FNanchor_14_14" href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +ĭ (dull i).<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Ъ⁠<a id="FNanchor_15_15" href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +terminal.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Ь⁠<a id="FNanchor_16_16" href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +ditto.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Ѣ⁠<a id="FNanchor_17_17" href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +œ.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Ю⁠<a id="FNanchor_18_18" href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +iu.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Я +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +je. +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxvii">[xxvii]</span></p> + +<p>Besides these, there are several letters which +seem almost identical as to sound.</p> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Е and Э⁠<a id="FNanchor_19_19" href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +for e.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +И  —  І⁠<a id="FNanchor_20_20" href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +—  i.<br> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +С  —  З⁠<a id="FNanchor_21_21" href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +—  s. +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class='no-indent'>Of the above,</p> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Щ appears a compound of +</td> +<td class='tdl'>Ш and Ч. +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Ю ——————————</td> +<td class='tdl'> +І  —  +У. +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Я —————————— +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +І  —  +Е. +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>Ѳ (<i>theta</i>) and Ѵ (<i>upsilon</i>) form a part of the +Russian alphabet, but are seldom used. <i>h</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_22_22" href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a>⁠, + <i>c</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_23_23" href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a>⁠, +<i>x</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_24_24" href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a>⁠, <i>f</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_25_25" href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a>⁠, + <i>w</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_26_26" href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a>⁠, are wanting altogether.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxviii">[xxviii]</span></p> + +<p>The Russian language may be adapted to +almost every species of versification. It is +flexible, harmonious, full of rhythmus, rich in +compounds, and possesses all the elements of +poetry. From the following examples in different +measures, some idea may be formed of +its natural music.</p> + + +<p class='example-head mt1' id="ADONICS_OF_FIVE_SYLLABLES"> + ADONICS OF FIVE SYLLABLES. +</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ti dusha moje</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Krasna dævitza,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Moje prezhnjeje</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Poliu bovnitza⁠<a id="FNanchor_27_27" href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxix">[xxix]</span></p> + + +<p class='example-head' id="TROCHAICS_OF_SEVEN_AND_EIGHT_SYLLABLES"> + TROCHAICS OF SEVEN AND EIGHT SYLLABLES. +</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Stónet sísoi gólu bóchik</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stónet ón i dén’ i nóch’;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Égo mílen’kói druzhéchik,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Otletœ’l daléko próch’⁠<a id="FNanchor_28_28" href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a>⁠.</div> +<p class="right"> + <i>Derzhavin.</i> +</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + + +<p class='example-head' id="IAMBICS_OF_SIX_AND_SEVEN_SYLLABLES"> + IAMBICS OF SIX AND SEVEN SYLLABLES. +</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Sakónĭ ó suzhdáiut,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Predmét moéi liubví:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No któ, o sérdtze! mózhet,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Protiv’it’sjé tebǽ⁠<a id="FNanchor_29_29" href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a>⁠.</div> +<p class="right"> + <i>Karamsin.</i> +</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + + +<p class='example-head' id="DACTYLICS_OF_SEVEN_AND_EIGHT_SYLLABLES"> + DACTYLICS OF SEVEN AND EIGHT SYLLABLES. +</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Svǽri rabótĭ ne snaíut,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ptítzĭ zhivút bes trudá;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxx">[xxx]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Liúdi ne svǽri ne ptítzĭ,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Liúdi rabótoi zhiv`út⁠<a id="FNanchor_30_30" href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a>⁠.</div> +<p class="right"> + <i>Karamsin.</i> +</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + + +<p class='example-head' id="ALEXANDRINES"> + ALEXANDRINES. +</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Bozhéstvennĭí metáll! krasjéshchíi ístukánov,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Zhivótvorjéshchajé dushá pustĭ´kh karmánov⁠<a id="FNanchor_31_31" href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a>⁠.</div> +<p class="right"> + <i>Von Visin.</i> +</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + + +<p class='example-head' id="HEXAMETERS_AND_PENTAMETERS"> + HEXAMETERS AND PENTAMETERS. +</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Tám, tam sætóvat’ mnæ vés’væk moi! górestnii mráchnii</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kázhdĭi medlénnii den’, kázhduíus úzhasom nóch’⁠<a id="FNanchor_32_32" href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>Rimes are either masculine or feminine; +the former have the accent on the last syllable, +the latter on the penultimate:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxxi">[xxxi]</span></p> + + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<th class="tdc"> +Masculine. +</th> +<th class="tdc"> +Feminine. +</th> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc"> +iskál +</td> +<td class="tdc"> +lobóiu +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc"> +stál +</td> +<td class="tdc"> +krasóiu +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc"> +tzár +</td> +<td class="tdc"> +póru +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdc"> +tvár +</td> +<td class="tdc"> +góru⁠<a id="FNanchor_33_33" href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a>⁠ +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>The productions of the Russian press are no +index to the national cultivation. The great +majority of that extensive empire are yet little +removed from the uncivilized and brutish state +in which they were left by the Ruriks and the +Vladimirs of other times. Unfortunately, +society has few gradations; and there is no +influence so unfriendly to improvement, no +state of things so hopeless, as that produced +by a domestic slavery built upon the habits +of ages. In Russia, the next step from absolute +dependence is nobility; at least, the intermediate +classes are very inconsiderable. The +strength, the intelligence, the public and the +private virtue, of our middling ranks, which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxxii">[xxxii]</span> +serve so admirably to cement the social edifice, +are there wanting. All sympathy is partial and +exclusive. In <i>this</i> country, the spirit of information, +wherever elicited, rapidly spreads +over and glows in every link of the electrical +chain of society. It mounts aspiringly, if it +have its origin among the less privileged orders; +and it descends through all the beautiful +gradations of rank, when it has its birth in the +higher circles: it is diffusive—it is all-enlightening. +But in Russia, however bright the +flame, it is pent up, it cannot spread. The +noble associates with the noble: the slave +herds with the slave; but man has no communion +with man. No spot is there, whether +sacred to science or to virtue, in which the +“rich and poor” may “meet together,” equalized +though but for a moment, as if the common +Father were indeed “the Maker of all;” +and assuredly the Russian nation can make no +striking progress in civilization till the terrible +barriers which so completely separate the different +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxxiii">[xxxiii]</span> +ranks are destroyed. The million, uninstructed +and unambitious, will, it is to be +feared, be long held in the fetters of vassalage. +The personal interests of the ruling few are +too clearly, too fatally opposed to the melioration +of the subject many, to allow any +thing to be hoped for from these Lords of the +soil. There are, it must be confessed, active +minds, generous energies, at work; but where +is their influence seen? To lead such an immense +nation through the different stages of +improvement, to rational and permanent liberty, +were indeed an object worthy of the +most aspiring, the most glorious ambition. It +were an achievement not to be hailed by the +blast of trumpet, nor the roar of artillery; (the +world, recovering from its drunken infatuation, +is well nigh weary of the unholy triumphs +which have been thus celebrated;) it were an +achievement which would hand down the name +of him who should effect it to future ages, +linked with the gratitude, the virtue, the happiness, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxxiv">[xxxiv]</span> +of successive and long enduring generations.</p> + +<p>I must not, however, be misunderstood. +The language of despondency, as to the progressive +improvement and ultimate civilization +of Russia, would be unwarrantable and insincere. +If, in the vassalage which depresses and +degrades the most numerous class in that country, +we look in vain for any redeeming circumstance, +to create or to encourage the expectation +of a speedy and considerable change; still +there is little fear of active opposition to the +progress of truth and knowledge, among the +immense majority of the people; that is, among +the hereditary slaves. They are an inert, unintellectual +mass, who, though they will not +probably make sufficient advances, under the +present system, to bring about any very perceptible +improvement themselves, will certainly +be little disposed to take any measures in +support of an arbitrary system, or to offer any +resistance to those changes whose benign +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxxv">[xxxv]</span> +effects they would so speedily feel. But, as far +as <i>they</i> are concerned, improvement must follow, +rather than lead to, any important melioration. +A middle class, as yet neither numerous +nor powerful, is withal growing up in +Russia; by and by, they will form the link between +the oppressor and the oppressed. The +pride of the first will be brought down; the +ambition of the last will be excited. Bosoms +will begin to glow with hope and ardor, which +are now frozen beneath the wintry touch of +bondage; and Russia, full as she is of the materials +out of which great minds are formed, +may yet perhaps take her stand in intellectual +eminence among the nations of Europe, at no +distant period.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>For the interesting notices at the close of +this volume I am indebted to my illustrious +friend Von Adelung. Thus to thank him is +the least return I can make.</p> + +<p class="right pr-sig"> + J. B. +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xxxvi">[xxxvi]</span></p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I bore you from the regions of the north,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where ye first blossom’d, flowers of poetry!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now light your smiles and pour your incense forth</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath our Albion’s more benignant sky.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I cull’d your garlands ’neath the polar star,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From the vast fields of everlasting snow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Adventurous I transplant your beauties far:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Still breathe in fragrance, still in beauty glow.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Within <i>our</i> temple many a holy wreath,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hallowed by genius and by time, is hung:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">At our old altar many a bard has sung,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose music vibrates from the realms of death.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I may not link your lowlier names with theirs—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The giants of past ages:—but to bring</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To our Parnassus one delightful thing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Would gild my hopes and answer all my prayers.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_1" href="#FNanchor_1_1" class="label">[1]</a> So an anonymous Russian poet:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Russia and Russia’s strength lay hid in dreary night;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">God said “Let Peter be!” and then they burst to light.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2_2" href="#FNanchor_2_2" class="label">[2]</a> or Broken Nose.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_3_3" href="#FNanchor_3_3" class="label">[3]</a> Under the engravings of Lomonosov an eulogium is sometimes +found, of which the following is a translation:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Where Winter sits upon his throne of snow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus spoke the bright Parnassian Deity:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Another Pindar is created now,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The king of bards, the lord of music, he.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Russia’s bosom heaved with holy glow—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“My Lomonosov! Pindar lives in thee!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_4_4" href="#FNanchor_4_4" class="label">[4]</a> The history of this extraordinary man may be found at +length in Coxe’s Travels, ii. 366-393.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_5_5" href="#FNanchor_5_5" class="label">[5]</a> I do not feel myself qualified to give an opinion on the +present state of the Russian Stage: but the translations represented +there from the French and German drama are of acknowledged +merit; and many original pieces have been of late +produced, of which their literary men speak with great delight +and even enthusiasm. Ozerov is, I imagine, the most eminent +of their tragic poets.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_6_6" href="#FNanchor_6_6" class="label">[6]</a> Especially in his <i>Puteshestvennik</i> (or Traveller).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_7_7" href="#FNanchor_7_7" class="label">[7]</a> The German translation is faithful, but heavy and ill-written. +The French, tolerably written, perhaps, but miserably +incorrect; Karamsin told me he had discovered two hundred +errors in the first volume alone. The Italian is a rendering from +the French. As a proof of the estimation in which Karamsin +is held, I may mention that I learned at Petersburg, that several +thousand copies of this voluminous work were distributed +in a few weeks; and it was said, the author received fifty +thousand rubles for the copy-right of the second edition.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_8_8" href="#FNanchor_8_8" class="label">[8]</a> The merits of Shakespeare were never fully recognised +till he was clad in garments something like his own. There is +generally no idea in this country of the sublime and imposing +character of the writings of Klopstock, for they have never +been presented to us in any thing like their original form. If +any one wish to study the freezing effect of a translation +made in conformity to what are called the prejudices, or the +habits of a people, let him read the Hamlet of Moratin; a +man confessedly of extraordinary talent; an original dramatic +writer of most distinguished success; and who has preserved a +general faithfulness to the sense of his author, even in this +translation: let him compare this, or any of the plays of Le +Tourneur, or the choicest passages of Ducis, with ten lines +taken at random from Voss, or Schlegel, and the argument +will be fully understood.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_9_9" href="#FNanchor_9_9" class="label">[9]</a> It is a remarkable fact, that the first Russian Grammar +ever published was published in England. It was entitled +H. W. Ludolfi <i>Grammatica Russica, quæ continet et manuductionem +quandam ad Grammaticam Sclavonicam</i>. Oxon. 1696.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_10_10" href="#FNanchor_10_10" class="label">[10]</a> <i>Rapports entre les Langues Russe et Sans-crite.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_11_11" href="#FNanchor_11_11" class="label">[11]</a> I have adopted <i>zh</i> to convey the sound of this letter, though +it is sometimes rendered by j; it is nearly equivalent to the +French <i>j</i>, as in <i>jardin</i>, <i>jaune</i>; or to s and z in the English +words, measure, vision, azure.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_12_12" href="#FNanchor_12_12" class="label">[12]</a> A strong guttural; the Greek χ.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_13_13" href="#FNanchor_13_13" class="label">[13]</a> This is the letter which disfigures Russian words so much +when written in Roman characters. “I defend,” which has +but seven letters in the original, is thus conveyed by fourteen—<i>sashchishchaju</i>; +and much more awkwardly in the German +system of orthography by twenty—<i>saschtschischtschaju</i>. Its +exact sound may be produced by connecting together the two +last syllables of the words establi<i>sht-ch</i>urch.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_14_14" href="#FNanchor_14_14" class="label">[14]</a> The <i>shibboleth</i> of the Russian alphabet. It is hardly ever +well pronounced by foreigners. It is a deep, indistinct articulation, +something like <i>i</i> in <i>bill</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_15_15" href="#FNanchor_15_15" class="label">[15]</a> A mere expletive; and yet so common that Schlözer says, +to abandon it would diminish the trouble and expense of writing +and printing five <i>per cent.</i> It occurs, on an average, fifty +times among a thousand letters. It can only be used as the +termination of a syllable or a word.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_16_16" href="#FNanchor_16_16" class="label">[16]</a> This letter, which is also a terminal, gives to the consonant +that precedes it the sound which the French call <i>mouillé</i>, +as in <i>ai</i>ll<i>e</i>, <i>a</i>gn<i>eau</i>; like <i>gn</i> or <i>gl</i> in Italian; in Spanish the +<i>ñ</i> or <i>ll</i>. I have adopted an apostrophe ’ when it is introduced.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_17_17" href="#FNanchor_17_17" class="label">[17]</a> The close <i>e</i> of the French.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_18_18" href="#FNanchor_18_18" class="label">[18]</a> The English <i>u</i>, as in union, universe, always pronounced <i>iu</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_19_19" href="#FNanchor_19_19" class="label">[19]</a> Is of modern introduction, and is used principally in the beginning +of words of foreign origin, as Edinburgh, Etymology.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_20_20" href="#FNanchor_20_20" class="label">[20]</a> The first of these is used before a consonant, the latter before +a vowel.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_21_21" href="#FNanchor_21_21" class="label">[21]</a> С is the sharp s or ss, as in lass: З the soft single s, as usually +pronounced in the middle of words; <i>e.g.</i> muse.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_22_22" href="#FNanchor_22_22" class="label">[22]</a> H, where it occurs in foreign words, is rendered by Г, <i>g</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_23_23" href="#FNanchor_23_23" class="label">[23]</a> C, is in fact an expletive in all languages.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_24_24" href="#FNanchor_24_24" class="label">[24]</a> X, is always written ks, <i>v. g.</i> Aleksandr (Alexander).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_25_25" href="#FNanchor_25_25" class="label">[25]</a> F, is conveyed usually by the Ф (ph), sometimes by the В (v).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_26_26" href="#FNanchor_26_26" class="label">[26]</a> The Germans use their W for the Russian В, which latter +is in fact the English <i>v</i>. This letter might in English, as in +Russian, conveniently stand in the alphabet next to B. It is a +second B, a letter which in all times has been constantly confounded +with it. In Spanish the two letters are used almost +indifferently.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_27_27" href="#FNanchor_27_27" class="label">[27]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou my sweet spirit,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beautiful maiden!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou my fair empress,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Queen of my bosom!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_28_28" href="#FNanchor_28_28" class="label">[28]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Deeply sighs the little wood-dove,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Deeply sighs he day and night;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His beloved heart-companion</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far away has wing’d her flight.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_29_29" href="#FNanchor_29_29" class="label">[29]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But law’s imposing fetters</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My burning love restrain:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet who, O heart! could ever</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er thee a victory gain?</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_30_30" href="#FNanchor_30_30" class="label">[30]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Beasts of the field never labour,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Birds of the forest repose;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Man, neither one nor the other,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Man is appointed to toil.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_31_31" href="#FNanchor_31_31" class="label">[31]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou godlike metal gold! that mov’st the very statues,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And to an empty purse canst give a living spirit.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_32_32" href="#FNanchor_32_32" class="label">[32]</a></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">There, there do I wear out life’s pilgrimage, sorrowing and dreary,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While the day in its misery rolls, and the terrible night.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_33_33" href="#FNanchor_33_33" class="label">[33]</a> The best Russian Grammar I have met with is Tappe’s +<i>Theoretisch-praktische Russische Sprachlehre</i>. I have availed +myself of it for many of the preceding observations.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p> +</div> +<div class='poetry-container'> + <p class="nobreak center fs200 mt2 mb2 bold bb" id="RUSSIAN_ANTHOLOGY"> + <i>RUSSIAN ANTHOLOGY.</i><br><br> + </p> +</div> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Derzhavin"> + Derzhavin. + </h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p> + + +<h3 id="GOD"> + GOD⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_34" href="#Footnote_1_34" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>⁠. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O Thou eternal One! whose presence bright</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All space doth occupy, all motion guide;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Unchanged through time’s all-devastating flight;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou only God! There is no God beside!</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Being above all beings! Three in One!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whom none can comprehend and none explore;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who fill’st existence with <i>Thyself</i> alone:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Embracing all,—supporting,—ruling o’er,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Being whom we call <span class="smcap">God</span>—and know no more⁠<a id="FNanchor_2_35" href="#Footnote_2_35" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>⁠!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">In its sublime research, philosophy</div> + <div class="verse indent0">May measure out the ocean-deep—may count</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sands or the sun’s rays—but, God! for Thee</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There is no weight nor measure:—none can mount</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Up to Thy mysteries; Reason’s brightest spark,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even like past moments in eternity.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou from primeval nothingness didst call</div> + <div class="verse indent0">First chaos, then existence;—Lord! on Thee</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Eternity had its foundation:—all</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sprung forth from Thee:—of light, joy, harmony,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sole origin:—all life, all beauty Thine.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy word created all, and doth create;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou art, and wert, and shalt be! Glorious! Great!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And beautifully mingled life and death!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And as the spangles in the sunny rays</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of heaven’s bright army glitters in Thy praise⁠<a id="FNanchor_3_36" href="#Footnote_3_36" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>⁠.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A million torches lighted by Thy hand</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wander unwearied through the blue abyss:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A glorious company of golden streams—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lamps of celestial ether burning bright—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But Thou to these art as the noon to night.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All this magnificence in Thee is lost:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And what am <i>I</i> then? Heaven’s unnumber’d host,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though multiplied by myriads, and array’d</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">In all the glory of sublimest thought;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is but an atom in the balance weigh’d</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Against Thy greatness; is a cypher brought</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Against infinity! What am I then? Nought!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Nought! But the effluence of Thy light divine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pervading worlds, hath reach’d my bosom too;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yes! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nought! but I live, and on hope’s pinions fly</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Eager towards Thy presence; for in Thee</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even to the throne of Thy divinity.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I am, O God! and surely <i>Thou</i> must be!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou art! directing, guiding all, Thou art!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Direct my understanding then to Thee;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though but an atom midst immensity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Still I am something, fashion’d by Thy hand!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I hold a middle rank ’twixt heaven and earth,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On the last verge of mortal being stand,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Close to the realms where angels have their birth,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The chain of being is complete in me;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In me is matter’s last gradation lost,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the next step is spirit—Deity!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I can command the lightning, and am dust!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A monarch, and a slave; a worm, a god!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Constructed and conceived? unknown! this clod</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lives surely through some higher energy;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For from itself alone it could not be!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Created <i>me</i>! Thou source of life and good!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fill’d me with an immortal soul, to spring</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The garments of eternal day, and wing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even to its source—to Thee—its Author there.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O thoughts ineffable! O visions blest!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And waft its homage to Thy Deity.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus seek Thy presence—Being wise and good!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And when the tongue is eloquent no more,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="ON_THE_DEATH_OF_MESHCHERSKY"> + ON THE DEATH OF MESHCHERSKY. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah! that funereal toll! loud tongue of time!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What woes are centred in that frightful sound!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It calls! it calls me with a voice sublime,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To the lone chambers of the burial ground.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My life’s first footsteps are midst yawning graves;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A pale, teeth-clattering spectre passes nigh;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A scythe of lightning that pale spectre waves,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mows down man’s days like grass, and hurries by.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Nought his untired rapacity can cloy:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Monarchs and slaves are all the earth-worm’s food;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the wild-raging elements destroy</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even the recording tomb. Vicissitude</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Devours the pride of glory; as the sea</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Insatiate drinks the waters, so our days</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And years are lost in deep eternity;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cities and empires vandal death decays.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">We tremble on the borders of the abyss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And giddy totter headlong from on high;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For death with life our common portion is,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And man is only born that he may die.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Death knows no sympathy; he tramples on</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All tenderness—extinguishes the stars—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tears from the firmament the glowing sun,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And blots out worlds in his gigantic wars.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But mortal man forgets mortality!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His dreams crowd ages into life’s short day;—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While, like a midnight robber stealing by,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Death plunders time by hour and hour away.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When least we fear, then is the traitor nigh;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where most secure we seem, he loves to come:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Less swift than he, the bolts of thunder fly,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Less sure than he, the lightning strikes the dome.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou son of luxury! child of dance and song,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O whither, whither is thy spirit fled?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On life’s dull sea thy bark delayed not long,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But sought the silent haven of the dead.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Here is thy dust! Thy spirit is not here!</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Where</i> is it? There. <i>Where</i> there? ’tis all unknown:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We weep and sigh—alas! we know not <i>where</i>!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For man is doubt and darkness’ eldest son.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Where love and joy and health and worldly good,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And all life’s pleasures in their splendor glow;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He dries the nerves up, he congeals the blood,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And shakes the very soul with mighty woe.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The songs of joy are funeral cries become—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And luxury’s board is cover’d with a pall—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The chamber of the banquet is a tomb:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Death, the pale autocrat, he rules o’er all.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">He rules o’er all—and him must kings obey,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose will no counsel knows and no control;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The proud and gilded great ones are his prey,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who stand like pillars in a tyrant’s hall.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beauty and beauty’s charms are nought to him,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Man’s intellect is crush’d by his decrees;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Man’s brightest light his dreadful frown can dim—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He whets his scythe with trophies such as these.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Death makes all nature tremble! What are we?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To-morrow dust, though almost gods to-day!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A mixture strange of pride and poverty:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now basking in hope’s fair and gladdening ray;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To-morrow—what is man to-morrow? Nought!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How swiftly rolls the never-tarrying stream,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hour after hour to gloomy chaos brought;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While ages dawn and vanish like a dream!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Even like an infant’s sweet imagining,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My early, lovely spring-tide hurried on:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beauty just smiled and sported—then took wing;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Joy laugh’d a moment and then joy was gone.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now less susceptible of bliss, less blest,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wiser and worldlier, panting for a name;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With a vain thirst of honour, pain’d, opprest,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I labour wearied up the hill of fame.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But manhood too and manhood’s care will pass,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And glory’s struggles be ere long forgot;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For fame, like wealth, has busy wings, alas!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And joy’s and sorrow’s sound will move us not.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Begone, ye vain pursuits, ye dreams of bliss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Changing and false, no longer flatter me!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I stand upon the sepulchre’s abyss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the dark portal of eternity.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To-day, my friend! <i>may</i> bring our final doom;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If not to-day, to-morrow surely <i>will</i>:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Why look we sadly on Meshchersky’s tomb?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here he was happy—he is happy still!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Life was not given for ages to endure,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But virtue on death’s bosom finds her rest;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And know—a spirit order’d well and pure,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">May make life’s sorrows and life’s changes blest.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_WATERFALL"> + THE WATERFALL. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Lo! like a glorious pile of diamonds bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Built on the steadfast cliffs, the waterfall</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pours forth its gems of pearl and silver light:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They sink, they rise, and sparkling cover all</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With infinite refulgence; while its song,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sublime as thunder, rolls the woods along—</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Rolls through the woods—they send its accents back,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose last vibration in the desert dies:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its radiance glances o’er the watery track,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till the soft wave, as wrapt in slumber, lies</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath the forest-shade; then sweetly flows</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A milky stream, all silent, as it goes.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Its foam is scattered on the margent bound,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Skirting the darksome grove. But list! the hum</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of industry, the rattling hammer’s sound,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Files whizzing, creaking sluices, echoed come</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">On the fast-travelling breeze! O no! no voice</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is heard around, but thy majestic noise!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">When the mad storm-wind tears the oak asunder,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In thee its shivered fragments find their tomb;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When rocks are riven by the bolt of thunder,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As sands they sink into thy mighty womb:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The ice that would imprison thy proud tide,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like bits of broken glass is scattered wide.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The fierce wolf prowls around thee—there he stands</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Listening—not fearful, for he nothing fears:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His red eyes burn like fury-kindled brands,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like bristles o’er him his course fur he rears;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Howling, thy dreadful roar he oft repeats,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And, more ferocious, hastes to bloodier feats.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The wild stag hears thy falling waters’ sound,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And tremblingly flies forward—o’er her back</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She bends her stately horns—the noiseless ground</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her hurried feet impress not—and her track</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Is lost amidst the tumult of the breeze,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the leaves falling from the rustling trees.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The wild horse thee approaches in his turn:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He changes not his proudly rapid stride;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His mane stands up erect—his nostrils burn—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He snorts—he pricks his ears—and starts aside;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then rushing madly forward to thy steep,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He dashes down into thy torrents deep.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath the cedar, in abstraction sunk,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Close to thine awful pile of majesty,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On yonder old and mouldering moss-bound trunk,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That hangs upon the cliff’s rude edge, I see</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An old man, on whose forehead winter’s snow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is scattered, and his hand supports his brow.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The lance, the sword, the ample shield beneath</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lie at his feet obscured by spreading rust;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His casque is circled by an ivy wreath—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Those arms were once his country’s pride and trust:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And yet upon his golden breast-plate plays</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The gentle brightness of the sunset rays.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">He sits, and muses on the rapid stream,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While deep thoughts struggling from his bosom rise:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Emblem of man! here brightly pictured seem</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The world’s gay scenery and its pageantries,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which, as delusive as thy shining wave,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Glow for the proud, the coward and the slave.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">So is our little stream of life poured out,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the wild turbulence of passion: so,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst glory’s glance and victory’s thunder-shout,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The joys of life in hurried exile go—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till hope’s fair smile and beauty’s ray of light</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are shrouded in the griefs and storms of night.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Day after day prepares the funeral shroud;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The world is gray with age:—the striking hour</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is but an echo of death’s summons loud—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The jarring of the dark grave’s prison door:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Into its deep abyss—devouring all—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kings and the friends of kings alike must fall.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Aye! they must fall! see that unconquered one</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst Rome’s high senate—hark! his deeds they tell:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He stretch’d his hand to seize the proffered crown;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His mantle veiled his countenance—he fell.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where are the schemes, the hopes that dazzled him?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Those eyes, aspiring to a throne, are dim⁠<a id="FNanchor_4_37" href="#Footnote_4_37" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Aye! they must fall! another hero see,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From triumph’s golden chariot fortune flings:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The proudest son of magnanimity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who scorned the purple robe:—ev’n he whom kings</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Looked to with reverence: he in prison dies,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Heaven’s light extinguished in his vacant eyes⁠<a id="FNanchor_5_38" href="#Footnote_5_38" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Aye! they must fall! as I have fallen—I,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whom late with flowery wreaths the cities crown’d;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And dazzling phantoms played so smilingly</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst laurels, olive-branches waving round;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis past—’tis past—for in the battle now</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My hand no lightnings at the foe can throw.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">My strength abandons me; the tempest’s roar</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hath in its fury borne my lance away:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My spirit rises proudly as before,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But triumph hides her false and treacherous ray.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He spake—he slumbered, wearied and opprest;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Morpheus o’er him waved his wings of rest.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A wintry darkness visited the world,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Borne on the raven-pinions of the night;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nothing is heard but thy loud torrents, hurled</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Down in their fierceness from the o’erhanging height;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They dash in fury ’gainst the echoing rock,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even with an Alpine avalanche’s shock.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The desert is as gloomy as the grave;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The mountains seem all wrapt in solemn sleep;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">The clouds are rolling by, like wave on wave,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In silent majesty across heaven’s deep.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But see, the pale-faced melancholy moon</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Looks tremblingly from her exalted throne:</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">She look’d out tremblingly, and soon withdrew</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her terror-stricken horns: the old man lay</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sleeping in sweet tranquillity: she knew</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her mighty foe—she knew, and slunk away:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She dared not look on that old man, for he</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Was the world’s glory and her enemy⁠<a id="FNanchor_6_39" href="#Footnote_6_39" class="fnanchor">[6]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">He slumber’d; glorious were his hero-dreams!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And wondrous visions floated round his eye:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">While near, the sleeping bolt of thunder seems</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To wait from him its awful destiny.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ten thousand warriors armed around him stand,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And silently attend his high command.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">His finger points! the loud artillery’s fire</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Follows! a sudden trembling shakes the ground;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Army on army, in their proud attire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cover the vales, the hills, the plains around;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They rise like mountains o’er the distant sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When from the sunny ray the vapours flee.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">His footsteps now imprint the dewy grass;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There early morning opens on his view,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Amidst the dust, th’ innumerable mass</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of enemies: he looks their squadrons through,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And reads the secrets of their vast array,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even as an eagle soaring o’er his prey.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Then like a Magus in his dark retreat</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He calls his spirits round him; gathering those</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And scattering these, with prudence infinite,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thro’ valleys, plains, and mountains; then he throws</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er all a mantle of omnipotence,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While the storm bursts with furious vehemence.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The eagle’s daring, and the crescent’s pride,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There, by the ebony and the amber sea⁠<a id="FNanchor_7_40" href="#Footnote_7_40" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>⁠,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He humbles; and, by the evening’s golden side⁠<a id="FNanchor_8_41" href="#Footnote_8_41" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>⁠,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Subdues the golden fleece and Kolkhidi.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">A thousand trophies of victorious war</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Redeem the losses of the snowy tzar⁠<a id="FNanchor_9_42" href="#Footnote_9_42" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>⁠:</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Like the vermilion ray on morning’s wings,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His triumphs o’er admiring nations beam:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Emperors and empires, heroes, kingdoms, kings,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Unite to praise, unite to honour him,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And raise above his glory-circled head</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A laurelled, time-enduring pyramid.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">His name, his deeds through hurrying years appear</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bright as the sun-beams on the mountain’s brow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dazzling the world with splendor: waving there</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Garlands of radiance-giving laurels glow;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Their rays shall animate the future fight,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And fill the brave one’s breast with hope and light.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Envy, disarmed before his piercing glance,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bends down her head to earth, and hurries by;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Crawls trembling to her vile retreat askance—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She cannot bear the lightnings of his eye.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Go, envy, to thy dark and deep abyss!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What deeds, what fame can be compared to his?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">He slumbers midst these images; but now</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He hears the howling dogs—the trembling trees;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The vulture’s cries, the screech-owl’s voice of woe,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the fierce raging of the turbulent breeze;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The wild beasts’ roaring from their distant lair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And shadowy spirits fill the troubled air.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The oaks are shivered by the maddened storm;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Armies of ravens flap their funeral wings;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The stony mountain shakes its giant form,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And bursts, with terrible re-echoings:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From rock to rock ’tis vibrated around,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thunders thunder back the thundering sound⁠<a id="FNanchor_10_43" href="#Footnote_10_43" class="fnanchor">[10]</a>⁠.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A winged woman, clad in sable weeds,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her long hair scattered by the winds, was there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like one with dreadful, deathful news that speeds:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She waved a scythe-like weapon in the air,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And held a golden trump; she called “Arise,”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And her loud voice was echoed through the skies.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">See on her casque the frowning eagle rest,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Grasping the fearful thunderbolt: he bears</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His country’s shield upon his noble breast.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The old man waked; he shed a shower of tears;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He sighed, and bent his venerable head,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Uttering—“Some hero surely must be dead.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Happy if always combating for right</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When combating with glory: happy he</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose sword knew mercy in the bloodiest fight,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His shield an Ægis for an enemy.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Centuries to come shall celebrate his fame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And ‘Friend of Man’ shall be his noblest name.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Dear let his memory be, and proud his grave,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And this his epitaph!—‘He lived, he fought</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For truth and wisdom: foremost of the brave,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Him glory’s idle glances dazzled not;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twas his ambition, generous and great,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A life to life’s great end to consecrate!’</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O glory! glory! mighty one on earth!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How justly imaged in this waterfall!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So wild and furious in thy sparkling birth,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dashing thy torrents down, and dazzling all,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While hurrying thus sublimely from thy height,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Majestic, thundering, beautiful and bright.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">How many a wondering eye is turned to thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In admiration lost;—short-sighted men!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy furious wave gives no fertility;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy waters, rolling fiercely through the plain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bring nought but devastation and distress,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And leave the flowery vale a wilderness.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O fairer, lovelier is the modest rill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Watering with steps serene the field, the grove;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Its gentle voice as sweet and soft and still</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As shepherd’s pipe, or song of youthful love.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It has no <i>thundering</i> torrent, but it flows</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Unwearied, scattering blessings as it goes.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To the wild mountain let the wanderer come,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And, resting on the turf, look round and see,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With sadden’d eye, the green and grassy tomb,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And hear its monitory language: he—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He sleeps below, not famed in war alone;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The great, the good, the generous-minded one.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O be immortal, warlike hero! Thou</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hast done thy duty—all thy duty here.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So said the old man crowned with locks of snow:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He looked to heaven, then stood in silence there,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In silence, but the echoes caught the sound,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And filled the listening scenery around.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Who glances there along the mountain’s side,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Just like the moon upon the darkest wave?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What shadow flits across the midnight tide,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gleaming as if from heaven? The pitchy grave</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Is brighter than that gloomy brow, ’tis clad</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In deep and desolate abstraction sad!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What wondrous spirit from the north descends?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The winds are swift, but cannot follow him:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nation on nation struck with terror bends;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His voice is thunder; starry glories gleam</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Around him, and his glancing footsteps bright</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Scatter a thousand thousand rays of light.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">His body, like a dark and gloomy shade,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On midnight’s melancholy bosom lies:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A coarse and heavy garment round him laid,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thickening films are gathering round his eyes:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His icy fingers press his bosom chill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His lips are opened wide, but all is still.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">His bed, the earth: his roof, the azure sky:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His palace, yonder desert stretching wide.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Art <i>thou</i> the son of fame and luxury?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The prince of Tavrid? from thy height of pride</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Fallen so low and lonely? and is this</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But one dark step from glory and from bliss?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Wert thou the favourite of the northern throne,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Minerva’s⁠<a id="FNanchor_11_44" href="#Footnote_11_44" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> favourite? Wert thou he that trod</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Muse’s temple—thou, Apollo’s son,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The pride of Mars—thou, on whose mighty nod</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Both peace and war stood waiting; nobly great,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not clad in purple, but a potentate?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What! art thou he that cradled and uprear’d</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Russian’s prowess—Catherine’s energy?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sustain’d by her, thy thunderbolt was heard</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rolling through distant lands its majesty;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And to the everlasting heights was hurl’d,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whence Rome sent forth her mandates to the world.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Art thou not he who bade the robber yield;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Scatter’d the pirate herds the desert o’er,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And bade the city flourish and the field,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where all was waste and barrenness before;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sprinkled with ships the Euxine—while the shore</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even of the tropics heard thy cannons’ roar?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Wert thou the great, the glorious one, who knew</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With martial fire the hero Russ to fill;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Taught him the very elements to subdue,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In burning Ochakov and Ismahil:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With eagle-daring, eagle-strength inspired;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While valour looked and wondered and admired?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis he, the hardiest of mortals; he,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sublimely soaring, takes his flight alone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Creator of his own proud destiny:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No footstep near him—that bright path his own.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy fame, Potemkin, shall in glory glow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While everlasting ages lingering flow.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Beauty and art and knowledge raised to him</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Triumphal arches: smiling fortune wove</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Myrtle and laurel-wreaths, and victory’s beam</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lighted them up with brightness: joy and love</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Play’d round thy flow’ry footsteps: pleasure, pride</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Walk’d in majestic glory at thy side.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis he, ’tis he to whom the poet brought</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His offerings lighted with the Muse’s fire:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thundering with Pindar’s majesty of thought,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And breathing all the sweetness of the lyre,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I sang the victories of Ismahil;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But thou wert gone—the poet’s lyre was still.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Alas! ’twas then a vain and voiceless shell:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or, if it spoke, its tone was but despair;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From my weak hands it fell, in dust it fell,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My eye was dimmed by the fast-falling tear:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I stood the stars of paradise beneath⁠<a id="FNanchor_12_45" href="#Footnote_12_45" class="fnanchor">[12]</a>⁠,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But all was darkness, desolation, death!</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis still, where all was eloquent with thee:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The thunders of thy fame have rolled away;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy orphan’d armies wail their misery;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The ear is wearied with their plaintive lay.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twas brightness all, with joy and beauty bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But now ’tis night, ’tis desolation’s night.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy laurel crown is faded in its pride:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy sparkling <i>Bulava</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_13_46" href="#Footnote_13_46" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> is broken now;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy half-sheathed sword hangs useless at thy side;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Catherine mourns her woe, her more than woe:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He fell; his mighty, unexpected fall</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shook, like an earthquake, the terrestrial ball.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Peace brought her fresh green laurel branches; saw</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His fall, and from her hands the garland fell.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She heard the voice of wretchedness and woe;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Muses joined to sing a funeral knell</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Around the tomb of Pericles:—the strain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of Maro wept Macænas’ fate again⁠<a id="FNanchor_14_47" href="#Footnote_14_47" class="fnanchor">[14]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">His was a kingdom full of light: a throne</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of more than regal glory was his seat:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A rosy-silver steed convey’d him on—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A splendour-glancing phaeton at his feet:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Proudest of all the proud equestrians he—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He fell:—in death’s dull, dark obscurity.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O! what is human glory, human pride?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What are man’s triumphs when they brightest seem?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What art thou, mighty one! though deified?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Methusalem’s long pilgrimage, a dream;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our age is but a shade, our life a tale,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A vacant fancy, or a passing gale,</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Or nothing! ’Tis a heavy hollow ball,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Suspended on a slender, subtle hair,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And filled with storm-winds, thunders, passions, all</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Struggling within in furious tumult there.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Strange mystery! man’s gentlest breath can shake it,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the light zephyrs are enough to break it.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But a few hours, or moments, and beneath</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Empires are buried in a night of gloom:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The very elements are leagued with death,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A breath sends giants to their lonely tomb.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where is the mighty one? He is not found,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His dust lies trampled in the noiseless ground!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The dust of heroes? No! their glories rise</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Triumphant upwards, spreading living light</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And pure imperishable memories</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through ages of forgetfulness and night:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Flowers shining on time’s wintry mountain side;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Potemkin could not die—he has not died!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">His theatre was th’ Euxine’s distant shore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His temple, thankful hearts: the glorious hand</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">That crowns him, Catherine’s: glancing, dazzling o’er</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Was fame’s all-eloquent, triumphant band.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Life was a list of triumphs, and his head</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath a tomb-stone, reared by love, was laid.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">When the red morn breaks trembling o’er the dew,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And through the woods the wild winds whistle shrill;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When the dark Danube wears a bloody hue—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then is the name oft heard of Ismahil,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And oft a gloomy voice is echoed then,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through twilight, “Say what means the Saracen?”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">He trembles, and his eye is dimmed with fear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The arms he dreads are sparkling in the sun;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And forty thousand Moslems dying there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are the proud trophies of the northern one.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Their shades, like frighted spectres, glide before,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the Russ stands in streams of human gore.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">He trembles, and looks upwards, but the skies</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are covered with portentous omens dire;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Dark visions from the sea of Tavrid rise,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the land shakes with heaven’s excited ire:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ochakov pours anew her sanguine flood,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And terror seems to freeze that tide of blood.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">As through the fluid brightness of the sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath the welkin’s sunny canopy,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The tenants of the waves glide joyfully;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So o’er the Leman’s face our squadrons fly,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Their swell’d sails bursting with the winds, they tell</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How proud the ambition of the Russ can swell.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ours is unutterable triumph now,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Theirs fears and apprehensions: on the tomb</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That shields <i>their</i> heroes, thorns and mosses grow;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Laurels and roses o’er <i>our</i> heroes bloom.</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Our</i> glory-girded mausoleums stand</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er conquerors of the ocean and the land.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">When the sun sinks at evening’s calmest close,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Love sorrowfully sits: the breeze of spring</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Across the melancholy harp-strings blows,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And spreads around its deep notes sorrowing:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Sighs from his bosom burst, and tears are shed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Upon the sleeping hero’s sculptured bed.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And ere the morning gilds the distant hill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And o’er the golden tomb the sunbeams play;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While yet the wild deer sleeps; and night winds shrill</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wind round the mountain’s side; the old man gray</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hangs o’er the monument in secret gloom,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And reads, “Potemkin’s consecrated tomb!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Manes of Alcibiades! so low,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That even the earth-worm joys in their decay:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There lies the casque that bound Achilles’ brow;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The shepherd finds it—bears that casque away</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On his base forehead! Does it matter? Nay!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The victor sleeps—his glory? wrapt in clay!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But gratitude still lives and loves to cherish</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The patriot’s virtues, while the soul of song</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In sacred tones, that never never perish,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fame’s everlasting thunder bears along;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The lyre has an eternal voice—of all</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That’s holy, holiest is the good man’s pall.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">List then, ye worldly waterfalls! Vain men,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose brains are dizzy with ambition; bright</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Your swords—your garments flow’ry like a plain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the spring time—if truth be your delight</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And virtue your devotion, let your sword</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Be bared alone at wisdom’s sacred word.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Roar, roar, thou waterfall! lift up thy voice</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even to the clouded regions of the skies:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy brightness and thy beauty may rejoice,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy music charms the ears, thy light the eyes;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Joy-giving torrent! sweetest memory</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Receives a freshness and a strength from thee.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Roll on! no clouds shall on thy waters lie</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Darkling: no gloomy thunder-tempest break</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Over thy face: let the black night-dews fly</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy smiles, and sweetly let thy murmurs speak</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In distance and in nearness: be it thine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To bless with usefulness, with beauty shine.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou parent of the waterfall! proud river!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou northern thunderer, Suna! hurrying on</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">In mighty torrent from the heights, and ever</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sparkling with glory in the gladdened sun,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now dashing from the mountain to the plain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And scattering purple fire and sapphire rain.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis momentary vehemence: thy course</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is calm and soft and silent; clear and deep</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy stately waters roll: in the proud force</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of unpretending majesty, they sweep</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sideless marge, and brightly, tranquilly,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bear their rich tributes to the grateful sea.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy stream, by baser waters unalloyed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Washes the golden banks that o’er thee smile;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Until the clear Onega drinks its tide,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And swells while welcoming the glorious spoil:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O what a sweet and soul-composing scene,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Clear as the cloudless heavens, and as serene!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_LORD_AND_THE_JUDGE"> + THE LORD AND THE JUDGE⁠<a id="FNanchor_15_48" href="#Footnote_15_48" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>⁠. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The God of heaven stood up, and loudly</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus to the gods of earth he spoke:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“How long shall folly triumph proudly,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And virtue wear its heavy yoke?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis yours, however high the wronger,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The wrongs of misery to redress;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Defend the weaker from the stronger,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Widow and orphan shield and bless.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To guard the naked head of sorrow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To make the path of wisdom light;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To free the prisoner; and to borrow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My attributes for <i>truth</i> and <i>right</i>.”</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">They <i>will</i> not hear, see, know—O never;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dark mists are on their vision thrown.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And shall the sick earth groan for ever?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wilt Thou not tire, long-suffering one?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Kings! gods of earth! no earthly being</div> + <div class="verse indent0">May bid you at his bar appear;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet there is <i>One</i> all-knowing—seeing—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who sits in sternest judgement there.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Proud as ye are, your gems imperial</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall fall like leaves:—your kingdoms—graves;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Your martial pomp—a pall funereal;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Your throne—looked down on by your slaves.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">God of the righteous! God, arise Thee!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hear the faint prayers Thy children bring!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Judge, scatter all who dare despise Thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And be the earth’s unrivalled King!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="ON_THE_DEATH_OF_COUNT_ORLOV"> + ON THE DEATH OF COUNT ORLOV. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What do I hear? An eagle from heaven’s cloudy sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst the high-towering hosts that swam</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Before Minerva’s steps, when she</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To earth from proud Olympus came:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That eagle, sailing in its state,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Heralding Russia’s naval might,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pierced by the fatal spear of fate,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Falls rustling from the glorious height!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Alas! alas! whither his flight through heaven’s blue vault?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where is his path on ocean’s deep?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where is his fearful thunderbolt?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where do his forked lightnings sleep?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where is the bosom nought could fright,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The piercing, penetrating mind;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis all, ’tis all enshrined in night;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He left us but his fame behind!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="SONG"> + SONG. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Golden bee! for ever sighing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Round and round my Delia flying;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ever in attendance near her:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dost thou really love her, fear her,</div> + <div class="verse indent26">Dost thou love her,</div> + <div class="verse indent26">Golden bee?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Erring insect! he supposes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That her lips are morning roses:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Breathing sweets from Delia’s tresses,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He would probe their fair recesses.</div> + <div class="verse indent26">Purest sugar</div> + <div class="verse indent26">Is her breast!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Golden bee! for ever sighing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ever round my Delia flying;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is it thou so softly speaking?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thine the gentle accents breaking,</div> + <div class="verse indent26">“Drink I dare not,</div> + <div class="verse indent26">Lest I die!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES_1"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_34" href="#FNanchor_1_34" class="label">[1]</a> This is the poem of which Golovnin says in his narrative, +that it has been rendered into Japanese, by order of the emperor, +and is hung up, embroidered with gold, in the Temple +of Jeddo. I learn from the periodicals, that an honour something +similar has been done in China to the same poem. It has +been translated into the Chinese and Tartar languages, written +on a piece of rich silk, and suspended in the imperial palace +at Pekin.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2_35" href="#FNanchor_2_35" class="label">[2]</a> In the first edition there was a deviation from the original +in this verse. A translator is bound not to alter the sense of +his author, and I had certainly exceeded the limits which are +in any case allowed. I have been reproved for the variation +I had introduced. The reproof was just, and might have been +more severe.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_3_36" href="#FNanchor_3_36" class="label">[3]</a> The force of this simile can hardly be imagined by those +who have never witnessed the sun shining, with unclouded +splendor, in a cold of twenty or thirty degrees of Reaumur. +A thousand and ten thousand sparkling stars of ice, brighter +than the brightest diamond, play on the surface of the frozen +snow; while the slightest breeze sets myriads of icy atoms in +motion, whose glancing light and beautiful rainbow-hues dazzle +and weary the eye.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_4_37" href="#FNanchor_4_37" class="label">[4]</a> Julius Cæsar.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_5_38" href="#FNanchor_5_38" class="label">[5]</a> Belisarius, who, by the way, is the subject of many Russian +Poems.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_6_39" href="#FNanchor_6_39" class="label">[6]</a> It is scarcely necessary to explain, that Romanzov is the +old hero whom the poet means to depicture, and that these +stanzas refer to his victories over the Turks. To Romanzov a +long and laudatory poem was addressed from London by Petrov +in celebration of these successes.</p> + +<p>I must here disclaim all sympathies with the poet in the admiration +he expresses of the warlike character. The victims +of the executioner are at all events doomed to death by the +forms and with the solemnities of justice. Those of the conqueror +hurry into another world under the influence of crimes +and passions which, while indeed they unfit them for this, will +serve but as a fearful passport for eternity. I should as soon +think of celebrating the carousals of a horde of cannibals, as +of giving the attractions and decorations of song to those +dreadful scenes of sin and misery which men call victories: +and I blush for my country and for my race when I reflect, +that in the very proportion of the wickedness implied, and +the wretchedness produced, are they made the subjects of pride +and congratulation, and honoured with the designations +“great” and “glorious!” Man was surely born to nobler and +better things than these.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_7_40" href="#FNanchor_7_40" class="label">[7]</a> “The ebony and amber sea”—the Euxine and the Caspian.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_8_41" href="#FNanchor_8_41" class="label">[8]</a> “Evening’s side”—the west.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_9_42" href="#FNanchor_9_42" class="label">[9]</a> The white czar (bæloi tzar), a common appellation of the +Russian emperor.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_10_43" href="#FNanchor_10_43" class="label">[10]</a> Original:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Grokhochet ekho po goram</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kak grom gremjeshchij po gromam.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_11_44" href="#FNanchor_11_44" class="label">[11]</a> Catherine.—This was one of her favourite titles; and in +the character and dress of Minerva she is often represented on +her medals.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_12_45" href="#FNanchor_12_45" class="label">[12]</a> The roofs of many of the apartments of the Tavrid palace +were decorated with golden stars.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_13_46" href="#FNanchor_13_46" class="label">[13]</a> <i>Bulava</i>—the Hetman’s staff.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_14_47" href="#FNanchor_14_47" class="label">[14]</a> This is somewhat of an anachronism, as the Poet died before +his patron.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_15_48" href="#FNanchor_15_48" class="label">[15]</a> In the former edition this poem was printed in another +shape, and was then attributed to Lomonosov. It belongs, +however, to Derzhavin, and is here restored to its proper author +and to its original measure.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Batiushkov"> + Batiushkov. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span></p> +</div> + + +<h3 id="TO_MY_PENATES"> + TO MY PENATES. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Fatherland Penates! come,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kind protectors of my home!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not in gold or jewels rich—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Can ye love your simple shrine?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Smile, then, sweetly from your niche</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On this lowly hut of mine.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus removed from worldly care,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I, a wearied wanderer,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In this silent corner here,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Offer no ambitious prayer.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here if ye consent to dwell,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Happiness shall court my cell.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kind and courteous ever prove,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beaming on me light and love!</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Not with streams of fragrant wine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not with incense smoking high,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Does the poet seek your shrine—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His is mild devotion’s sigh,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Grateful tears, the still soft fire</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of feeling heart: and sweetest strains,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Inspired by the Aonian quire.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O Lares! in my dwelling rest,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Smile on the poet where he reigns,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And sure the poet shall be blest.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Come, survey my dwelling over;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’ll describe it if I’m able:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the window stands a table,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Three-legged, tott’ring, with a cover,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gay some centuries ago,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ragged, bare and faded now.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In a corner, lost to fame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To honour lost, the blunted sword</div> + <div class="verse indent0">(That relic of my fathers’ name)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Harmless hangs, by rust devoured.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here are pillaged authors laid—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There, a hard and creaking bed:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Broken, crumbling, argile-ware;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Furniture strewed here and there.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And these in higher love I hold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Than sofas rich with silk and gold,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or china vases gay and fair.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Kind Penates! thus I pray—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O may wealth and vanity</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Never hither find their way,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Never here admitted be!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let the vile, the slavish soul,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let the sons of pomp and pride,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fortune’s spoilt ones, turn aside;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not on them nor theirs I call!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tottering beggar! hither come,</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Thou</i> art bidden to my home;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Throw thy useless crutch away;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come—be welcome and be gay!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Warmth and rest thy limbs require,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stretch thee by my cheerful fire:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Reverend teacher! old and hoary,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou whom years and toils have taught,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who with many a storm hast fought,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Storms of time and storms of glory!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Take thy merry balalaika⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_49" href="#Footnote_1_49" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>⁠,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sing thy struggles o’er again;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the battle’s bloody plain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where thou swungst the rude nagaika⁠<a id="FNanchor_2_50" href="#Footnote_2_50" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>⁠;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst the cannon’s thunder-roar,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst the sabres clashing o’er;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Trumpets sounding, banners flying</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er the dead and o’er the dying;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While thy never-wearied blade</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Foes on foes in darkness laid.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And thou, Lisette! at evening steal,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through the shadow-cover’d vale,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To this soft and sweet retreat;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Steal, my nymph, on silent feet.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let a brother’s hat disguise</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy golden locks, thy azure eyes;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er thee be my mantle thrown,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bind my warlike sabre on:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When the treacherous day is o’er,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Knock, fair maiden, at my door;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Enter then, thou soldier sweet!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Throw thy mantle at my feet;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let thy curls, so brightly glowing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On thy ivory shoulders flowing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Be unbound: thy lily breast</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Heave, no more with robes opprest!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Thou enchantress! is it so?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweetest, softest shepherdess!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Art thou come indeed to bless</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With thy smiles my cottage now?”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O her snowy hands are pressing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Warmly, wildly pressing mine!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mine her rosy lips are blessing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweet as incense from the shrine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweet as zephyr’s breath divine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gently murmuring through the bough;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even so she whispers now:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“O my heart’s friend, I am thine;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Mine, beloved one! art thou.”</div> + <div class="verse indent2">What a privileged being he,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who in life’s obscurity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Underneath a roof of thatch,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till the morning dawns above,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweetly sleeps, while angels watch,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the arms of holy love!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But the stars are now retreating</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From the brightening eye of day,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the little birds are greeting,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Round their nests, the dewy ray.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hark! the very heaven is ringing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With the matin song of peace:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hark! a thousand warblers singing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Waft their music on the breeze:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All to life, to love are waking,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From their wings their slumbers shaking;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But my Lila still is sleeping</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In her fair and flowery nest;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the zephyr, round her creeping,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fondly fans her breathing breast;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er her cheeks of roses straying,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">With her golden ringlets playing:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From her lips I steal a kiss;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Drink her breath: but roses fairest,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Richest nectar, rapture dearest,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweetest, brightest rays of bliss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Never were as sweet as this.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sleep, thou loved one! sweetly sleep;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Angels here their vigils keep!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Blest, in innocence arrayed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I from fortune’s favours flee;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shrouded in the forest-shade,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">More than blest by love and thee.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Time on dove-like wing glides by:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O! has gold a ray so bright</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As thy seraph-smile of light</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Throws o’er happy poverty?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thou good genius! in thy view</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wealth is vile and worthless too:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Riches never brought thee down</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From thy splendour-girded throne;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But beneath the shadowy tree</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou hast deigned to smile on <i>me</i>.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> + <div class="verse indent2">Fancy, daughter of the skies,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thoughts, on wings of light that rise,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Waft my spirit gay and free,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When the storm of passion slumbers,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far above humanity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To the Aonian land of numbers,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the choirs of music stray;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rapture, like a feather’d arrow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bursting life’s dark prison narrow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bears me to the heavens away.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Sovereigns of Parnassus! stay</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till the morning’s rosy ray</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Throws its brightness o’er your hill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stay with nature’s poet still.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O reveal the shadowy band,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Minstrels of my fatherland!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let them pass the Stygian shore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From the ethereal courts descending:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yonder airy spirits o’er,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O! I hear their voices blending:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">List! the heavenly echoes come</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wafted to my privileged home;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Music hovers round my head,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From the living and the dead.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Our Parnassian giant⁠<a id="FNanchor_3_51" href="#Footnote_3_51" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>⁠, proud,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tow’ring o’er the rest I see;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And, like storm or thunder loud,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hear his voice of majesty.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sons and deeds of glory singing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A majestic swan of light;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now the harp of angels stringing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now he sounds the trump of fight;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst the muses’, graces’ throng,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sailing through the heaven along;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Horace’ strength, and Pindar’s fire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Blended in his mighty lyre.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now he thunders, swift and strong,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even like Suna o’er the waste⁠<a id="FNanchor_4_52" href="#Footnote_4_52" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>⁠;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now, like Philomela’s song,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Soft and spring-like, sweet and chaste,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Gently breathing through the wild,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Heavenly fancy’s best loved child!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Gladdening and enchanting one⁠<a id="FNanchor_5_53" href="#Footnote_5_53" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>⁠!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">History’s gayest, fairest son!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He who oft with Agathon</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Visits evening’s fane of bliss:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or in Plato’s master tone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Near the illustrious Parthenon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Calls the rays of wisdom down</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With a voice sublime as his.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now amidst the darkness walking,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where old Russia had her birth:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With the Vladimirij talking,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As they ruled o’er half the earth:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or Sclavonian heroes hoary,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cradled in a night of glory!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Sweetest of the sylphs above⁠<a id="FNanchor_6_54" href="#Footnote_6_54" class="fnanchor">[6]</a>⁠,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the graces’ darling, see!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O how musically he</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Tunes his Citra’s melody,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To Dushenka⁠<a id="FNanchor_7_55" href="#Footnote_7_55" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> and to love.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Near, Meletzy smiling stands,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mutual thoughts their souls employ;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Heart in heart, and hands in hands,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lo! they sing a song of joy;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Next engaged with love in play,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Poets and philosophers,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Close to Phædrus and Pilpay⁠<a id="FNanchor_8_56" href="#Footnote_8_56" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>⁠,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lo! Dmitriev appears</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Sporting like a happy child,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst the forest’s tenants wild,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Garlanded with smiling wreaths;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Truth unveiled beside him breathes.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">See two brothers toying there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nature’s children—Phœbus’ priests:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Krĭloff leading Khemnitzer!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Teaching poets! ye whose song</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Charms the idle moments long,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When the wearied spirit rests.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Heavenly choir! the graces twine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er you garlands all divine;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And with you the joys I drink,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sparkling round Pierian brink,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While I sing in raptured glory,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“<i>Ed io anche son pittore</i>.”</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Friendly Lares! O conceal</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From man’s envious, jealous eye,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Those sweet transports which I feel,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Those blest rays of heart-born joy!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fortune! hence thy treasures bear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thy sparkling vanities:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I can look with careless eyes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On thy flight—my little bark,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Safely led through tempests dark,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Finds a peaceful haven here—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Those who sported in thy ray</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From my thoughts have passed away.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But ye gayer, wiser ones,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Glory’s, pleasure’s cheerful sons!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ye who with the graces walk,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ye who with the muses talk;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hurrying o’er life’s visions gay</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In intellectual children’s play;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Careless, joyous sages!—you,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Philosophers and idlers too!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ye who hate the chains of slavery!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ye who love the songs of bravery!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In your happiest moments come,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come, and crowd the muses’ home.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Let the laugh and let the bowl</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Banish sorrow from the soul:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come, Zh******, hither hieing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Time is like an arrow flying—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pleasure like an arrow fleet:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here let friendship’s smile of gladness</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Brighten every cloud of sadness—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wreathe with cypress, roses sweet.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Love is life;—thy garlands bring,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">V****, while they’re blossoming:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bind them blooming round our brow—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bacchus, friends! is with us now.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Favourite of the muses, fill:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pledge and drink, and pledge us still!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Aristippus’ grandson—thou!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O thou lov’st the Aonian lasses,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the harmonious clang of glasses;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But when evening’s silence fills</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All the vales and all the hills,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou, remote from worldly folly,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tak’st thy walk with melancholy;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And with that unearthly dame</div> + <div class="verse indent0">(Contemplation is her name)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who conveys the illumined sense</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In sublime abstraction hence—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Up to those high and bright abodes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where men are angels—angels, gods.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Give me now thy friendly hand;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Leave for me thy spirit-land!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come, companion of my joy,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We will all time’s power destroy</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On our <i>chazha solotoi</i>⁠<a id="FNanchor_9_57" href="#Footnote_9_57" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>⁠.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">See behind, with locks so gray,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How he sweeps life’s gems away;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His remorseless scythe is mowing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All the flowers around us blowing.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Be it ours to drive before us</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bliss—though fate is frowning o’er us!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Time may hurry, if he will;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We will hurry swifter still;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Drink the cup of ecstasy,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pluck the flow’rets as we fly,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Spite of time and destiny:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Many a star and many a flower</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shine and bloom in life’s short hour,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And their rays and their perfume</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For <i>us</i> shall shine—for <i>us</i> shall bloom.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Soon shall we end our pilgrimage;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And at the close of life’s short stage</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sink smiling on our dusty bed:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The careless wind shall o’er us sweep;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where sleep our sires, their sons shall sleep</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With evening’s darkness round our head.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There let no hired mourners weep⁠<a id="FNanchor_10_58" href="#Footnote_10_58" class="fnanchor">[10]</a>⁠;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No costly incense fan the sod;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No bell pretend to mourn; no hymn</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Be heard midst midnight’s shadows dim—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Can they delight a clay-cold clod?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No! if love’s tribute ye will pay,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Assemble in the moonlight ray,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And throw fresh flow’rets o’er my clay:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let my Penates sleep with me—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here bring the cup I loved—the flute</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I played—and twine its form, though mute,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With branches from the ivy-tree!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No grave-stone need the wanderer tell,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That he who lived, and loved so well,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is sleeping in serenity.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES_2"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_49" href="#FNanchor_1_49" class="label">[1]</a> The balalaika is a two-sided musical instrument, of which +the Russian peasants are extremely fond.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2_50" href="#FNanchor_2_50" class="label">[2]</a> The nagaika is a hard thong used by the Cossacks to flog +their horses; but sometimes employed as a weapon of warlike +attack.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_3_51" href="#FNanchor_3_51" class="label">[3]</a> Derzhavin.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_4_52" href="#FNanchor_4_52" class="label">[4]</a> In the original <i>steppe</i>; a long, mighty, barren, desert; +such as the Siberian river (Suna) flows over.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_5_53" href="#FNanchor_5_53" class="label">[5]</a> Karamsin.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_6_54" href="#FNanchor_6_54" class="label">[6]</a> Bogdanovich.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_7_55" href="#FNanchor_7_55" class="label">[7]</a> Dushenka (the diminutive of Dusha—the Soul), or The +Little Psyche, is the title of the most celebrated poem of Bogdanovich.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_8_56" href="#FNanchor_8_56" class="label">[8]</a> The wise man, who according to the oriental story (current +also in Russia) received <i>Truth</i> when she had been inhospitably +driven from place to place. In Russia I have heard +the fable thus:—A Vakir in his ramble trod where the ground +re-echoed his footsteps—“It must be hollow here,” thought +he; “I will dig, and I shall find a treasure.” He dug, and +discovered a spring, from whence a beautiful and naked female +sprung forth—“Who art thou, loveliest daughter of heaven?” +said he. “My name,” she replied, “is Truth; lend me thy +mantle.” This he refused to do; and she hastened to the city, +where the poets found fault with her figure, the courtiers with +her manners, the merchants with her simplicity. She wandered +about, and none would give her an asylum, till she fell in +with a poor man, the court news-writer, who thought she might +be a very useful auxiliary: but she blotted out whatever he +composed, so that no news was published for many days; and +the sultan sending for his newsman to inquire the cause of his +silence, was told the history of the intrusive guest, who was in +consequence summoned to court. Here, however, she was so +troublesome, turning every thing upside down, that it was determined +to convey her away; and the sultan ordered her to +be buried alive in his garden. His commands were obeyed +by his courtiers; but Truth, who always springs up with renewed +vigour in the open air, rose from her grave; and, after +wandering about for some time, found the door of the public +library open, went in, and amused herself by burning all the +books that were there, with the exception of two or three. +Again straying forth in search of an abode, she met a venerable +man, to whom she told her story—and this was Pilpay. +He received her to his house with a cordial welcome, and requested +her company to his museum of stuffed beasts, birds, +and insects. “Thou hast no discreetness,” said he; “in the +world thou art constantly getting into scrapes: now take the +counsel of an old man, make this cabinet thy abode; here +thou hast a large choice of society, and here dwell.” She +found the advice so reasonable that she adopted it; since +when her voice is only heard in the language of fable, and +her chosen interpreters are the animal creation.</p> + +<p>Pilpay’s Fables were translated into French by Galland, +2 vols. 8vo. 1714. There are also several English translations.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_9_57" href="#FNanchor_9_57" class="label">[9]</a> The golden cup.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_10_58" href="#FNanchor_10_58" class="label">[10]</a> Plakalschitzii—women hired to mourn round a corpse.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Lomonosov"> + Lomonosov. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span></p> +</div> + + +<h3>EVENING REFLECTIONS, ON THE MAJESTY +OF GOD, ON SEEING THE +GREAT NORTHERN LIGHTS.</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Now day conceals her face, and darkness fills</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The field, the forest, with the shades of night;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The gloomy clouds are gathering round the hills,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Veiling the last ray of the lingering light.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The abyss of heaven appears—the stars are kindling round;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who, who can count those stars, who that abyss can sound?</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Just as a sand ’whelm’d in the infinite sea;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A ray the frozen iceberg sends to heaven;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A feather in the fierce flame’s majesty;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A mote, by midnight’s maddened whirlwind driven,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Am I, midst this parade: an atom, less than nought,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lost and o’erpower’d by the gigantic thought.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And we are told by wisdom’s knowing ones,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That these are multitudes of worlds like <i>this</i>;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That yon unnumber’d lamps are glowing suns,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And each a link amidst creation is;—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There dwells the Godhead too—there shines his wisdom’s essence—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His everlasting strength—his all-supporting presence.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Where are thy secret laws, O nature, where?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy north-lights dazzle in the wintry zone:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How dost thou light from ice thy torches there?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There has thy sun some sacred, secret throne?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">See in yon frozen seas what glories have their birth;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thence night leads forth the day to illuminate the earth.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Come then, philosopher! whose privileged eye</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Reads nature’s hidden pages and decrees:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come now, and tell us whence, and where, and why,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Earth’s icy regions glow with lights like these,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That fill our souls with awe:—profound inquirer, say,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For thou dost count the stars and trace the planets’ way!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What fills with dazzling beams the illumined air?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What wakes the flames that light the firmament?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The lightnings flash:—there is no thunder there—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And earth and heaven with fiery sheets are blent:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The winter night now gleams with brighter, lovelier ray</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Than ever yet adorn’d the golden summer’s day.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Is there some vast, some hidden magazine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the gross darkness flames of fire supplies?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Some phosphorus fabric, which the mountains screen?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose clouds of light above those mountains rise?</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the winds rattle loud around the foaming sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And lift the waves to heaven in thundering revelry?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou knowest not! ’tis doubt, ’tis darkness all!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even here on earth our thoughts benighted stray,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And all is mystery through this worldly ball—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who then can reach or read yon milky way?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Creation’s heights and depths are all unknown—untrod—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who then shall say how vast, how great creation’s God?</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Zhukovsky"> + Zhukovsky. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span></p> +</div> + + +<h3 id="THE_MARINER"> + THE MARINER. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Rudderless my shattered bark,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Driven by wild fatality,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hurries through the tempest dark,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er the immeasurable sea.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet one star the clouds shines through;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Little star! shine on, I pray!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O that star is vanished too—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My last anchor breaks away.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Gloomy mists the horizon bound,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Furiously the waters roar;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Frightful gulfs are yawning round,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fearful crags along the shore.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Then I cried in wild despair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Earth and heaven abandon me.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fool! the heavenly pilot there</div> + <div class="verse indent0">May thy silent helmsman be.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Through the dark, the madden’d waves,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er the dangerous craggy bed;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst the night-envelop’d graves,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lo! I was in safety led</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By the unseen guardian hand;—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Darkness gone, and calm the air,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And I stood on Eden’s land;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Three sweet angels hailed me there!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Everlasting fount of love!</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Now</i> will I confide in Thee:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kneeling midst the joys above,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy resplendent face I see:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who can paint Thee, fair and bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy soul-gladdening beauty tell?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst heaven’s music and heaven’s light,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Purity ineffable!</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O unutterable joy!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In Thy light to breathe, to be;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Strength and heart and soul employ,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O my God, in loving Thee.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though my path were dark and drear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Holiest visions round me rise;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Stars of hope are smiling there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Smiling down from Paradise.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="AEOLUSS_HARP1"> + ÆOLUS’S HARP⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_59" href="#Footnote_1_59" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>⁠. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">In yon mansion of ages</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lives Morven’s famed chieftain, the valiant Ordāl;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Where the wild billow rages,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And scatters its foam on the time-hallowed wall;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">Like a mountain in glory,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">It towers o’er the wave,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And its oaks, old and hoary,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come down to the shores which the white waters lave⁠<a id="FNanchor_2_60" href="#Footnote_2_60" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">The stag-hound, the beagle,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With voices re-echoed, the wide forest fill;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">To the throne of the eagle</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They chase the wild boar and the goat up the hill;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And the stag from the heather:—</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The valleys resound;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Horns, shoutings together,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are mingled in rapid vibrations around.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">All, all are invited—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And joy is let loose at the board of Ordāl;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The guests are united</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where wide-spreading antlers adorn the rude hall⁠<a id="FNanchor_3_61" href="#Footnote_3_61" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>⁠:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Of ages departed</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The glories are told;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And memory, full-hearted,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sends back all its thoughts to the great ones of old⁠<a id="FNanchor_4_62" href="#Footnote_4_62" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Their helmets in order,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Their bucklers, and harness, and hauberks are hung</div> + <div class="verse indent6">On the roof’s antique border⁠<a id="FNanchor_5_63" href="#Footnote_5_63" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>⁠:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And there, while the deeds and the victories are sung</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">Of the heroes of story,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ordāl proudly stands;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And a flash of their glory</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shines out from the cup which he waves in his hands⁠<a id="FNanchor_6_64" href="#Footnote_6_64" class="fnanchor">[6]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">He looks to the armour;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis all that destruction hath left of their name;—</div> + <div class="verse indent6">His bosom beats warmer,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His spirit is roused with the touch of their fame:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Though the helmets before them</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Are broken and dim,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">He remembers who wore them—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And, O, they are splendid and sacred to him⁠<a id="FNanchor_7_65" href="#Footnote_7_65" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>⁠.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Milvana the bright one⁠<a id="FNanchor_8_66" href="#Footnote_8_66" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>⁠</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The hall of her father resplendently fills;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">As, with garments of light on⁠<a id="FNanchor_9_67" href="#Footnote_9_67" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>⁠,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A morning of summer walks up the fresh hills;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">As from nature’s recesses</div> + <div class="verse indent6">A free golden stream,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">So her fine flowing tresses</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er her soft-heaving bosom in luxury gleam⁠<a id="FNanchor_10_68" href="#Footnote_10_68" class="fnanchor">[10]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Far fairer than morning⁠<a id="FNanchor_11_69" href="#Footnote_11_69" class="fnanchor">[11]</a>⁠.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She scatters around the soft lustre of soul;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Dark glances adorning</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The flashes of fire from her eye-balls that roll;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">Like the song of the fountain</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Her mild accents fall;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Like the rose of the mountain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her breath;—but her spirit is sweeter than all⁠<a id="FNanchor_12_70" href="#Footnote_12_70" class="fnanchor">[12]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Her beauty’s gay splendour</div> + <div class="verse indent0">has beamed in its brightness through far-distant lands:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">What heroes attend her—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The castle of Morven is filled with their bands.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Its chieftain delighted</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Weaves visions of pride;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">But his daughter has plighted</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her hand to a bard with no glory allied.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Young, lovely, and lonely</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As the rose in its freshness, he tuned his soft lays</div> + <div class="verse indent6">In the deep valley only:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To him all unheard was the music of praise.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">Milvana descended</div> + <div class="verse indent6">From luxury’s throne:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Affection had blended</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her heart with a heart as unstained as her own.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">In the black arch of heaven,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like the shield of a warrior, the pale moon is hung⁠<a id="FNanchor_13_71" href="#Footnote_13_71" class="fnanchor">[13]</a>⁠;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Through the gloomy clouds driven,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its light-streams o’er ocean’s wide surface are flung;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The dark shadows spreading,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">From castle and grove,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Their giant forms shedding</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sublimely the waves and the waters above.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Where the mountain-cocks rally,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the waterfall bursts from the storm-cover’d rock</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">Ere it rush to the valley⁠<a id="FNanchor_14_72" href="#Footnote_14_72" class="fnanchor">[14]</a>⁠;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The oak was her witness, her shelter the oak:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Milvana retreating</div> + <div class="verse indent6">To solitude there,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Her minstrel awaiting:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She breathed not—her breath was suspended by fear.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">His harp sounded lightly—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He came to the oak-tree—blest moments of love!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The moon glimmered brightly:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All stillness beneath and all beauty above.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">What a temple for loving</div> + <div class="verse indent6">For bosoms so bland!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And the waves, softly moving,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Convey their low music along the smooth strand.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">They looked on the ocean;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With their soft pensive sadness it seemed to attune;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The waves’ gentle motion</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Was silvered and marked by the rays of the moon.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">“How brightly, how fleetly</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The waters roll on!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">So swiftly, so sweetly</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come pleasures and love—they smile and are gone.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“Why sigh then, my fair one!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though the waters may ebb and the years may decay?</div> + <div class="verse indent6">My beloved! my dear one!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Can time on its wings bear affection away?</div> + <div class="verse indent6">To a bard unbefriended</div> + <div class="verse indent6">O say canst thou bow;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Thou, from monarchs descended,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And heroes, whom Morven is honouring now?”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“What is honour or glory?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What garlands so sacred as love’s holy wreath?</div> + <div class="verse indent6">What hero-bright story</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Has an utterance so sweet as affection’s young breath?</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">No fears shall confound us,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">No sorrow, no gloom;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Joy is sparkling around us,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And let years follow years till life sinks in the tomb.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“Come, joys that smile o’er us,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ye sweets of a moment, come hither and stay!</div> + <div class="verse indent6">For who can assure us</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They will not be scattered by morning’s bright ray?</div> + <div class="verse indent6">For morn will not linger,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Nor rapture remain;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">I, again a poor singer,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thou, a bright queen in thy splendour again⁠<a id="FNanchor_15_73" href="#Footnote_15_73" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>⁠.”</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“Let the glance of day brighten,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let its radiance be shed o’er the mountain and sea⁠<a id="FNanchor_16_74" href="#Footnote_16_74" class="fnanchor">[16]</a>⁠;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Thy smiles shall enlighten</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All nature, while living, to love and to me;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">With hope and with heaven,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">With love and with thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">What joys are not given?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For life has no transports that beam not on me.”</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“The sun is returning;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The orient is pale with the promise of day;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The zephyrs of morning</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Awakened, like waves on the mountain-tops play;”</div> + <div class="verse indent6">“’Tis the northern light glancing</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Across the dark sky,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Not the morning advancing;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweet winds! bring no morn from the mountains on high.”</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“But list! to the bustling</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of voices; they wake in the castle ere now.”</div> + <div class="verse indent6">“O no! ’tis the rustling</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of half-slumbering birds as they dream on the bough.”</div> + <div class="verse indent6">“The orient is lighted,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Milvana! O why</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Do my spirits, benighted</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In doubt and foreboding, desert me and die?”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">The youth has suspended,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In silence, his harp on the time-hallowed oak:—</div> + <div class="verse indent6">“Unseen, unattended,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let thy soft music speak, my sweet harp! as it spoke</div> + <div class="verse indent6">In the luxury of sadness⁠<a id="FNanchor_17_75" href="#Footnote_17_75" class="fnanchor">[17]</a>⁠,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The fervour of truth,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The bright tones of gladness,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The songs and the smiles and the sunshine of youth.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“The bloom of the singer</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall fade with the grief-blast, like flowers of the grove⁠<a id="FNanchor_18_76" href="#Footnote_18_76" class="fnanchor">[18]</a>⁠;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">But here there shall linger,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The spirit, the youth and the fervour of love.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">An angel here speaking,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Shall often be seen,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">All those raptures awaking,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which in days of our early devotion have been.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“My spirit shall hover</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like a light airy shade o’er the track of thy way;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Milvana! thy lover</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall speak through his harp at the close of the day.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The grief that alarmed us,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Uncertainty’s fear,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The tears that disarmed us,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All, all of life’s sorrows shall fly from us here.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“When his life-term is ended,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Affection immortal shall live in his soul;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Our spirits there blended,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall love and be blest while eternities roll.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Thou oak-tree! wide-spreading,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">O’ershadow the fair;—</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Ye zephyrs! here shedding</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Your fragrance, the freshness of sympathy bear.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">The big tears were falling:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He ceased:—his eye fixed, but within, like a knell,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">A low voice was calling⁠<a id="FNanchor_19_77" href="#Footnote_19_77" class="fnanchor">[19]</a>⁠—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Farewell! my Milvana! for ever farewell.”</div> + <div class="verse indent6">His hand, damp and burning,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Had wildly seized hers:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Then hurriedly turning,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like a phantom of fancy, the youth disappears.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">The moon shone unclouded—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The maiden was there, but the minstrel was fled:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">Like a silent tree shrouded</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In darkness, she stood in the wilderness dread⁠<a id="FNanchor_20_78" href="#Footnote_20_78" class="fnanchor">[20]</a>⁠.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The chieftain his daughter</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Had traced to the grove:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And now o’er the water</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To exile, a bark is conveying her love.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">At morn and at even</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Milvana retires to the oak-tree to mourn;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And the stream that is driven</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Adown the steep hill, seems her sighs to return.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">“’Tis all dark and dreary,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Milvana! to thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Thy spirit is weary—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thy minstrel shall never return to the tree.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">The evening wind waking,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Called up their soft sounds from the leaves as it roved:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">The green branches shaking,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It kisses the harp—but the harp is unmoved.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Spring came, sweetly bringing</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Her eloquent train⁠<a id="FNanchor_21_79" href="#Footnote_21_79" class="fnanchor">[21]</a>⁠,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And nature was ringing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With rapture, enkindling gay smiles through her reign.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">On the emerald meadows,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And hills in the distance, are gold streams of light;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And soft silent shadows</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Seem to spread over eve the calm stillness of night.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The stars are in motion</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Across the blue deep:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Like a mirror, the ocean:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the winds, hushed to silence, among the leaves sleep⁠<a id="FNanchor_22_80" href="#Footnote_22_80" class="fnanchor">[22]</a>⁠.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Milvana sat weeping</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath the old tree, but her thoughts were not there.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">All nature lay sleeping,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When accents unearthly were heard in the air:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The green leaves are shaken—</div> + <div class="verse indent6">It was not the wind⁠<a id="FNanchor_23_81" href="#Footnote_23_81" class="fnanchor">[23]</a>⁠—</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The silent strings waken:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Some ghost hurries by and leaves music behind⁠<a id="FNanchor_24_82" href="#Footnote_24_82" class="fnanchor">[24]</a>⁠.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">The harp’s secret spirit</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Breathed forth a long, sorrowful, heart-rending sound⁠<a id="FNanchor_25_83" href="#Footnote_25_83" class="fnanchor">[25]</a>⁠:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">She trembled to hear it,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twas softer than zephyrs when whispering around;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">’Twas the voice of her lover;—</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Her soul sunk in night⁠<a id="FNanchor_26_84" href="#Footnote_26_84" class="fnanchor">[26]</a>⁠:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">“’Tis over—’tis over—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The earth is a waste—he has taken his flight.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">In desolate madness</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Milvana had fall’n in the dust⁠<a id="FNanchor_27_85" href="#Footnote_27_85" class="fnanchor">[27]</a>⁠: but the tone</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Still breathed its sweet sadness!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">More sad as the soul that inspired it was gone.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">Its music she heard not;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">She woke faint and chill;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The star-lights appeared not—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twas morning—’twas morning, damp, dewy, and still.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">From morrow to morrow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She visited still the old oak of the wood;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">There that music of sorrow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Still broke on her ear from the realms of the good.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">While thus disunited,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">On earth could she stay,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">By her minstrel invited</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To the heaven where her thoughts and her hopes led the way?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Thou harp of my bosom,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Be still—let thy voice drown the summons of death;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">The delicate blossom,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Unopened, shall fade in the valley beneath:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">The wanderer roaming</div> + <div class="verse indent6">To-morrow will come—</div> + <div class="verse indent6">“My floweret, where blooming⁠<a id="FNanchor_28_86" href="#Footnote_28_86" class="fnanchor">[28]</a>⁠?”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Thy floweret!—’tis withered—it sleeps in the tomb.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">She is dead—but whenever</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A black, starless mantle is hung o’er the skies;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">When from fountain, and river,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And hill, the cold mists like the dark billows rise,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> + <div class="verse indent6">Two shades are seen blending,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">United as when</div> + <div class="verse indent6">In their youth-tide attending⁠<a id="FNanchor_29_87" href="#Footnote_29_87" class="fnanchor">[29]</a>⁠;—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the oak waves its boughs, and the chords speak again.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="SONG_1"> + SONG. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Say, ye gentle breezes, say,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Round me why so gently breathing?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What impels thee, streamlet! wreathing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through the rocks thy silver way?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What awakens new-born joy,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Joy and hope thus sweetly mingled;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Say, has pilgrim-spring enkindled</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rapture with her laughing eye?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Lo! heaven’s temple, bright, serene,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where the busy clouds are blending,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sinking now, and now ascending,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far behind the forest green!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Will the High, the Holy One</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Veil youth’s soul-enrapturing vision?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall I hear in dreams elysian</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Childhood’s early, lovely tone?</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">See the restless swallow flies</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through the clouds—his own dominion;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Could I reach on hope’s strong pinion,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where that land of beauty lies!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O how sweet—how blest to be</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where heaven’s shelter might protect me!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who can lead me—who direct me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To that bright futurity?</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="ROMANCE"> + ROMANCE. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">Gather’d yon dark forest o’er</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Lo! the gloomy clouds are spread:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Bending toward the desert shore,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">See the melancholy maid;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her eyes and her bosom are wet with tears;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All heaven is black, and the storm appears;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the wild winds lift the billows high,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And her breast is heaving with many a sigh.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“O my very soul is faded,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Joy and sympathy are fled;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Nature is in darkness shaded,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Love and friendship both are dead.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The hope that brightened my days is gone!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O whither, my angel! art thou flown?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Too blest was I, too wild with bliss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For I lived and loved, and loved for this!</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“Swell then, burning tears! the deep,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Flow, with yonder billows flow:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And ye lonely forests! weep,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Meet companions of my woe.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My days of pleasure, though short and few,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are fled for ever—O earth! adieu!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He sleeps—will death restore him? Never!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For the joy that’s lost is lost for ever.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent6">“Nature’s sad and wintery day</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Is of momentary gloom:</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Soon in Spring’s reviving ray</div> + <div class="verse indent6">All her loveliness shall bloom.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">But joy has never a second spring:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And time no ray of light can bring</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But from tearful eyes:—there’s no relief</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From dark despair’s corroding grief!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES_3"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_59" href="#FNanchor_1_59" class="label">[1]</a> It will immediately occur to the readers of Ossian, that +the personages, sentiments, and scenery of this poem are derived +from him. The conviction of their high antiquity (notwithstanding +what Adelung has written) is very general in +the north of Europe, and I have often heard that conviction +expressed by those who have gone very profoundly into the +history of Runic and Gothic poetry. Whatever be their date, +the inquiry as to their literary merit is very distinct from it. +With the exception of Gray’s Elegy, (of which I have seen a +collection of more than one hundred and fifty versions,) there +is nothing, probably, in our language, which has been more +frequently translated. There are many translations and imitations +in Russian besides this of Zhukovsky,—by Kostrov, +Grædich, Visheslavtzev, Oserov, Kapnist, &c.</p> + +<p>To the first edition I added a specimen of Dutch poetry, +of which Ossian was the subject, and ventured to speak of +the great excellence of Vondel, Hooft, Helmers, Tollens, and +other poets of Holland. I have now decided on publishing +a little volume of <i>specimens</i>, in which I have made considerable +progress.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2_60" href="#FNanchor_2_60" class="label">[2]</a> High walls rise on the banks of the Duvranna, and see +their mossy towers in the stream; a rock ascends behind them +with its bending pines. Thou may’st behold it far distant.—<i>Oithona.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_3_61" href="#FNanchor_3_61" class="label">[3]</a> Many a king of heroes, and hero of iron shields, and +youth of heavy looks came to Rurmar’s echoing hall—they +came to woo the maid.—<i>Cath-Loda.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_4_62" href="#FNanchor_4_62" class="label">[4]</a> Now I behold the chiefs in the pride of their former +deeds! their souls are kindled at the battles of old; at the actions +of other times; their eyes are flames of fire.—<i>Fingal.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_5_63" href="#FNanchor_5_63" class="label">[5]</a> When a warrior was so far advanced in years as to be +unfit for the field, it was the custom to hang up his arms in the +great hall, where the tribe feasted on joyful or remarkable +occasions.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_6_64" href="#FNanchor_6_64" class="label">[6]</a> Is the remembrance of battles pleasant to the soul? Do +we not remember with joy the place where our fathers feasted?—<i>Temora.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_7_65" href="#FNanchor_7_65" class="label">[7]</a> Not unmarked by Sul-Malla is the shield of Morven’s king. +It hangs high in my father’s hall in memory of the past.—<i>Sul-Malla.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_8_66" href="#FNanchor_8_66" class="label">[8]</a> Her eyes were two stars of light. Her face was heaven’s +bow in showers. Her dark hair flowed around it like the +streaming clouds.—<i>Cath-Loda.</i></p> + +<p>Her soul was like a stream of light.—<i>Colna-Dona.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_9_67" href="#FNanchor_9_67" class="label">[9]</a> She was a light on the mountain.—<i>Temora.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_10_68" href="#FNanchor_10_68" class="label">[10]</a> Her breast rose slowly to sight, like the ocean’s heaving +wave.—<i>Colna-Dona.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_11_69" href="#FNanchor_11_69" class="label">[11]</a> Her face was like the light of the morning.—<i>Dar-Thula.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_12_70" href="#FNanchor_12_70" class="label">[12]</a> She appeared lovely as the mountain flower, when the +ruddy beams of the rising sun gleam on its dew-covered +sides.—<i>Prel. Discourse to Ossian.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_13_71" href="#FNanchor_13_71" class="label">[13]</a> O thou that travellest above, round as the full-orbed hard +shield of the mighty.—<i>Prel. Discourse to Ossian.</i></p> + +<p>His shield is terrible, like the bloody moon ascending +through a storm.—<i>Temora.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_14_72" href="#FNanchor_14_72" class="label">[14]</a> Lead me, O Malvina! to the sound of my woods—to the +roar of my mountain-streams.—<i>War of Caros.</i></p> + +<p>As the falling brook to the ear of the hunter descending +from his storm-covered hill; in a sun-beam rolls the echoing +stream.—<i>Cathlin of Clutha.</i></p> + +<p>It is like the bursting of a stream in the desert, when it +comes between its echoing rocks to the blasted field of the sun.—<i>Temora.</i> +Gray streams leap down from the rocks.—<i>Ibid.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_15_73" href="#FNanchor_15_73" class="label">[15]</a> The melancholy character of the whole of this passage, +may serve to recall Ossian’s sublimely beautiful and tender +song of sorrow. I shall be excused for introducing it.—“Desolate +is the dwelling of Moina: silence is in the house +of her fathers. Raise the song of mourning, O bards, over +the land of strangers. They have but fallen before us; for +one day we must fall. Why dost thou build the hall, son of +the winged days? thou lookest from thy towers to-day; yet +a few years and the blast of the desert comes; it howls in thy +empty court, and whistles round thy half-worn shield. And +let the blast of the desert come! we shall be renowned in our +day. The mark of my arm shall be in battle; my name in the +song of bards. Raise the song, send round the shell; let +joy be heard in my hall. When thou, sun of heaven! shalt +fail—if thou shalt fail, thou mighty light! if thy brightness is +for a season, like Fingal,—our fame shall survive thy beams.”—<i>Carthon.</i></p> + +<p>In the same touching spirit is the noble address to the sun.—“O +thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! +whence are thy beams, O sun!—thy everlasting light? +Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty, the stars hide themselves +in the sky: the moon cold and pale sinks in the western +wave. But thou thyself movest alone: who can be a companion +of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the +mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks +and grows again; the moon herself is lost in heaven; but thou +art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. +When the world is dark with tempests, when thunder rolls +and lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, +and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian, thou lookest in vain; +for he beholds thy beams no more, whether thy yellow hair +flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of +the west. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a season, and thy +years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless +of the voice of the morning. Exult then, O sun, in the +strength of thy youth! age is dark and unlovely; it is like the +glimmering light of the moon, when it shines through broken +clouds and the mist is on the hills: the blast of the north is +on the plain—the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey.”—<i>Ibid.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_16_74" href="#FNanchor_16_74" class="label">[16]</a> The mountains are covered with day.—<i>Temora.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_17_75" href="#FNanchor_17_75" class="label">[17]</a> Pleasant is the joy of grief.—<i>Carrie-thura.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_18_76" href="#FNanchor_18_76" class="label">[18]</a> Thy death came like a blast from the desert and laid my +green head low: the spring returned with its showers, no leaf +of mine arose.—<i>Croma.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_19_77" href="#FNanchor_19_77" class="label">[19]</a> Within my bosom is a voice—others hear it not.—<i>Temora.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_20_78" href="#FNanchor_20_78" class="label">[20]</a> Night came: the moon from the east looked on the mournful +field: but they stood still like a silent grove that lifts its +head on Gormal.—<i>Carthon.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_21_79" href="#FNanchor_21_79" class="label">[21]</a> So hears a tree in the vale the voice of spring around, and +pours its green leaves to the sun.—<i>Temora.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_22_80" href="#FNanchor_22_80" class="label">[22]</a> Hast thou left thy blue course in heaven, golden-haired +son of the sky? The west has opened its gates; the bed of thy +repose is there. The waves come to behold thy beauty: they +lift their trembling heads; they see thee lovely in thy sleep; +but they shrink away with fear. Rest in thy shadowy cave, +O sun! and let thy return be in joy.—<i>Carric-thura.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_23_81" href="#FNanchor_23_81" class="label">[23]</a> Doth the wind touch thee, O harp! or is it some passing +ghost?—<i>Berrathon.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_24_82" href="#FNanchor_24_82" class="label">[24]</a> The harps of the bards were believed to emit melancholy +and unwonted sounds prophetic or commemorative of the death +of any renowned and worthy person. This was attributed to +the <i>light touch of ghosts</i>. The music was called the warning +voice of the dead.</p> + +<p>The harps of the bards untouched, sound mournful over the +hill.—<i>Temora.</i></p> + +<p>The lone blast torched their trembling strings: the sound is +sad an low.—<i>Ibid.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_25_83" href="#FNanchor_25_83" class="label">[25]</a> The wind was abroad in the oaks. The spirit of the +mountain shrieked. The blast came rustling through the hall, +and gently touched my harp. The sound was mournful and +low, like the song of the tomb.—<i>Dar-Thula.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_26_84" href="#FNanchor_26_84" class="label">[26]</a> Darkness covers my soul.—<i>Prel. Discourse.</i></p> + +<p>Darkness gathered on Utha’s soul.—<i>Carric-thura.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_27_85" href="#FNanchor_27_85" class="label">[27]</a> Her dark brown hair is spread on earth.—<i>Ibid.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_28_86" href="#FNanchor_28_86" class="label">[28]</a> Why did I not pass away in secret like the flower of the +rock, that lifts its head unseen and shows its withered leaves +to the blast?—<i>Oithona.</i></p> + +<p>They fall away like the flower on which the sun hath looked +in his strength after the mildew has passed over it, when its +head is heavy with the drops of night.—<i>Croma.</i></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_29_87" href="#FNanchor_29_87" class="label">[29]</a> It was a current opinion, that the spirits of women hovered +over the earth in all their living beauty, and were often +seen gliding along like a sun beam on a hill.</p> + +<p>She was like a spirit of heaven half folded in the skirt of a +cloud.—<i>Temora.</i></p> + +<p>The sky grew dark: the forms of the dead were blended +with the clouds.—<i>Ibid.</i></p> + +<p>Hereafter shall the traveller meet their dark thick mist on +Lena, where it wanders, with their ghosts, beside the reedy +lake. Never shall they rise without song to the dwelling of +winds.—<i>Ibid.</i></p> + +<p>Two spirits of heaven standing each on his gloomy cloud.—<i>Ibid.</i></p> + +<p>The flower hangs its heavy head, waving at times to the +gale. “Why dost thou awake me, O gale!” it seems to say, +“I am covered with the drops of heaven: the time of my +fading is near—the blast that shall scatter my leaves. To-morrow +shall the traveller come. He that saw me in beauty +shall come—his eyes will search in the fields, but they will not +find me.”—<i>Berrathon.</i></p></div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Karamsin"> + Karamsin. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> + +</div> + + +<h3 id="THE_SONG_OF_BORNHOLM"> + THE SONG OF BORNHOLM. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Curses on the world’s decree!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That decree which bid us part:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who has e’er resisted thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Passion-throbbing, maddened heart?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Is aught holier than the light</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Kindled in our souls by heaven?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is aught stronger than the might</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Given to love—to beauty given?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yes! I love—shall ever love!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Curse the passion if ye will,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Call down vengeance from above,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Still I love—adore her still!</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Holy Nature! I, thy child,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To thy sheltering bosom flee:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou hast fanned this flame so wild,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">I am innocent with thee.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">If to yield to passion’s sway,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Be a dark and damning sin;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Why hast thou, O tempter! say,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Lighted passion’s fires within?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">No! thy storm-winds as they rolled,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Gently rocked our secret bed;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thy thunder, though it growled,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Never burst upon our head.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Bornholm! Bornholm! to thy home</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Memory—wildered memory flies:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thither would my spirit roam</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From its tears—its agonies!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Vain the wish! an outlaw I,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Followed by a father’s curse;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Doomed in banishment to die,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Or despairing live—as worse!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Lila! has thy spirit shrunk</div> + <div class="verse indent2">From thy woes, and found a grave?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Has thy burthened misery sunk</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In oblivion’s silent wave?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Let thy shadow then appear,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Smile upon me from the tomb;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Give me, love! a welcome there,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Come, though veil’d in darkness,—come!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_CHURCH-YARD"> + THE CHURCH-YARD. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class='center allsmcap'>FIRST VOICE.</p> + <div class="verse indent0">How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With the howls of the storm-wind—the creaks of the bier,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And the white bones all clattering together!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class='center allsmcap'>SECOND VOICE.</p> + <div class="verse indent0">How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And flow’rets perfume it with ether.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class='center allsmcap'>FIRST VOICE.</p> + <div class="verse indent0">There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And snakes in its nettle-weeds hiss.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class='center allsmcap'>SECOND VOICE.</p> + <div class="verse indent0">How lovely, how lone the repose of the tomb!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No tempests are there:—but the nightingales come</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And sing their sweet chorus of bliss.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class='center allsmcap'>FIRST VOICE.</p> + <div class="verse indent0">The ravens of night flap their wings o’er the grave:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis the vulture’s abode:—’tis the wolf’s dreary cave,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Where they tear up the earth with their fangs</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class='center allsmcap'>SECOND VOICE.</p> + <div class="verse indent0">There the coney at evening disports with his love,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or rests on the sod;—while the turtles above,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Repose on the bough that o’erhangs.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class='center allsmcap'>FIRST VOICE.</p> + <div class="verse indent0">There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And loathsome decay fill the dwelling of death,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The trees are all barren and bare!</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class='center allsmcap'>SECOND VOICE.</p> + <div class="verse indent0">O soft are the breezes that play round the tomb,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And sweet with the violet’s wafted perfume,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">With lilies and jessamine fair.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class='center allsmcap'>FIRST VOICE.</p> + <div class="verse indent0">The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Would fain hurry by, and with trembling and fears</div> + <div class="verse indent2">He is launched on the wreck-covered river!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <p class='center allsmcap'>SECOND VOICE.</p> + <div class="verse indent0">The traveller outworn with life’s pilgrimage dreary,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And sweetly reposes for ever.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="AUTUMN"> + AUTUMN. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The dry leaves are falling;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The cold breeze above</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Has stript of its glories</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sorrowing grove.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The hills are all weeping,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The field is a waste,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The songs of the forest</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are silent and past:</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And the songsters are vanished;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In armies they fly</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To a clime more benignant,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A friendlier sky.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The thick mists are veiling</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The valley in white;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">With the smoke of the village</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They blend in their flight.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And lo! on the mountain</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The wanderer stands,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And sees the pale autumn</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pervading the lands.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou sorrowful wanderer.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sigh not—nor weep!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For nature, though shrouded,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Will wake from her sleep.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The spring, proudly smiling,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall all things revive;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And gay bridal-garments</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of splendor shall give.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But man’s chilling winter</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is darksome and dim;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For no second spring-tide</div> + <div class="verse indent0">E’er dawns upon him.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The gloom of his evening,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Time dissipates never:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His sun when departed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is vanisht for ever.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="LILEA"> + LILEA. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What a lovely flower I see</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bloom in snowy beauty there—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O how fragrant and how fair!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Can that lily bloom for me?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thee to pluck, be mine the bliss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Place upon my breast and kiss!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Why then is that bliss denied?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Why does heaven our fates divide?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Sorrow now my bosom fills;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tears run down my cheeks like rills:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Far away that flower must bloom,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in vain I sigh, “O come!”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Softly zephyr glides between,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Waving boughs of emerald green.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Purest flow’rets bend their head,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shake their little cups of dew:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Fate unpitying and untrue.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent8">Fate so desolate and dread</div> + <div class="verse indent8">Says, “She blossoms not for thee;—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In vain thou shedd’st the bitter tear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Another hand shall gather her:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thou—go mourn thy misery.”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O flower so lovely! Lilea fair!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With thee I fain my fate would share,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But heaven hath said, “It cannot be!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="EPIGRAM"> + EPIGRAM. +</h3> + +<p class='center mt1 ls2'>TO NICANDER.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">You talk of your taste and your talents <i>to</i> me,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And ask my opinion—so don’t be offended:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Your taste is as bad as a taste can well be:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And as for your talents—<i>you</i> think them most splendid.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Dmitriev"> + Dmitriev. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p> + +</div> + + +<h3 id="DURING_A_THUNDER-STORM"> + DURING A THUNDER-STORM. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">It thunders! Sons of dust, in reverence bow!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ancient of days! Thou speakest from above:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy right hand wields the bolt of terror now;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That hand which scatters peace and joy and love.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Almighty! trembling like a timid child,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I hear Thy awful voice—alarmed—afraid—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I see the flashes of Thy lightning wild,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And in the very grave would hide my head.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Lord! what is man? Up to the sun he flies—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or feebly wanders through earth’s vale of dust:</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>There</i> is he lost midst heaven’s high mysteries,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And <i>here</i> in error and in darkness lost:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Beneath the storm-clouds, on life’s raging sea,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like a poor sailor—by the tempest tost</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In a frail bark—the sport of destiny,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He sleeps—and dashes on the rocky coast.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou breathest:—and th’ obedient storm is still:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou speakest;—silent the submissive wave:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Man’s shatter’d ship the rushing waters fill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the husht billows roll across his <i>grave</i>.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sourceless and endless God! compared with Thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Life is a shadowy momentary dream:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Time, when view’d through Thy eternity,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Less than the mote of morning’s golden beam.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_TZAR_AND_THE_TWO_SHEPHERDS"> + THE TZAR AND THE TWO SHEPHERDS. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The tzar has wandered from the city-gate,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To seek seclusion from the cares of state;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thus he mused; “What troubles equal mine!</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>That</i> I accomplish when I purpose <i>this</i>:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In vain I bid the sun of concord shine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And toil unwearied for my subjects’ bliss;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its brightness lasts a moment, and the tzar</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For the state’s safety is compell’d to war,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">God knows I love my subjects—fain would bless them,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But oft mistake—and injure and oppress them.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I seek for truth, but courtiers all deceive me;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They fill their purses and deluded leave me!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My people sigh and groan:—I share their pain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And struggle to relieve them, but in vain.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus mused the lord of many nations; then</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Looked up, and saw wide scatter’d o’er the glen</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">The poor lean flocks:—the sheep had lost their lambs,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the stray’d lambkins bleated for their dams:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They fled from place to place, alarm’d, afraid;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The lazy dogs were sleeping in the shade!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How busy is the shepherd!—now he hies</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To the grove’s verge:—now to the valley flies:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Seeks to assemble here the sheep that stray,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And there a favourite lamb he hurries on:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But lo! the wolf!—he springs upon his prey;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The shepherd hastens, but the thief is gone:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He cries—he beats his breast—he tears his hair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Invoking death in agonized despair.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Behold my picture!” said his majesty,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Here is another sovereign, just like me:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’m glad to know vexations travel far,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And plague a shepherd as they plague a tzar.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And on he moved in more contented mood—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whither he knew not;—but beyond the wood</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He saw the loveliest flock that ever grazed,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And linger’d, mute with wonder, as he gazed:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How strong, how sleek, how satisfied, how fair!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wool soft as silk, and piled in luxury there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its golden burthen seemed too great to bear.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The lambs, as if they ran for wagers playing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or near their dams, or far—securely straying—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The shepherd, ’neath the linden-tree,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tuned his pipe most joyfully!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Ah!” said the tzar, “ye little think</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How close ye stand on danger’s brink,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The uncharitable wolf is near:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And he for music has no ear.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And so it was—as if the wolf had heard,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Advancing in full gallop he appear’d.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But the dogs, the wily traitor knew,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sprung up, and at the robber flew:—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">His blood has for his daring paid;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And the lambkin that through fear had stray’d,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Is gather’d into the fold anew;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And the shepherd’s pipe was echoed still,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Down the vale and up the hill.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The monarch lost all patience now:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“What! dost thou sit there like a rock,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While wolves are ravaging thy flock?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A very pretty shepherd thou!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Tzar! here no evil can betide my sheep,</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>My dogs are faithful—and they do not sleep</i>.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_BROKEN_FIDDLE"> + THE BROKEN FIDDLE. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A wretched⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_88" href="#Footnote_1_88" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> fiddle fell, in fragments,—these</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though once discordant, by the hand divine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of music fashioned, breathed sweet harmonies:</div> + </div> +<hr class="tb"> + + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">So is man tuned by sufferings’ discipline.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="OVER_THE_GRAVE_OF_BOGDANOVICH"> + OVER THE GRAVE OF BOGDANOVICH,<br> +<span class='fs80 mt1'>AUTHOR OF THE BEAUTIFUL POEM PSYCHE.</span> +</h3> + + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Here Love unseen, when sinks the evening sun,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wets the cold urn with tears, and mournful thinks,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While his sad spirit, sorrow-broken, sinks,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">None now can sing my angel Psyche—none!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="LOVE_AND_FRIENDSHIP"> + LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Fair sister!</div> + <div class="verse indent10">“Infant brother dear!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On the wing, on the wing?”</div> + <div class="verse indent20">Wandering the wide world over</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In search of a lover—there <i>is</i> no <i>lover</i>:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lost as if the plague had been there!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2">“I’ve been seeking a <i>friend</i>!—there’s none below,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The world must soon to ruin go!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Written in sand are the oaths now spoken,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis all lip-service, and promise broken;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My name is a cloak for <i>thirst of gain</i>!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2">And mine for <i>passion</i> impure, profane!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES_4"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_88" href="#FNanchor_1_88" class="label">[1]</a> Original, <i>diuzhenna</i>—one of a dozen—a frequent expression +for what is very common and useless.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Krilov"> + Krĭlov. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span></p> + +</div> + + +<h3 id="THE_ASS_AND_THE_NIGHTINGALE1"> + THE ASS AND THE NIGHTINGALE⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_89" href="#Footnote_1_89" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>⁠. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">An ass a nightingale espied,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And shouted out, “Holla! holla! good friend!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Thou art a first-rate singer, they pretend:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now let me hear thee, that I may decide;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I really wish to know—the world is partial ever—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If thou hast this great gift, and art indeed so clever.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The nightingale began her heavenly lays;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through all the regions of sweet music ranging,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Varying her song a thousand different ways;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rising and falling, lingering, ever changing:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Full of wild rapture now—then sinking oft</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To almost silence—melancholy, soft</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As distant shepherd’s pipe at evening’s close:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Strewing the wood with lovelier music;—there</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All nature seems to listen and repose:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No zephyr dares disturb the tranquil air:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All other voices of the grove are still,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the charm’d flocks lie down beside the rill.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2">The shepherd like a statue stands—afraid</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His breathing may disturb the melody,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His finger pointing to the harmonious tree,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Seems to say, “Listen!” to his favourite maid.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2">The singer ended:—and our critic bow’d</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His reverend head to earth, and said aloud:—</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Now that’s so so;—thou really hast some merit;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Curtail thy song, and critics then might hear it;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy voice wants sharpness:—but if Chanticleer</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Would give thee a few lessons, doubtless he</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Might raise thy voice and modulate thy ear;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And thou in spite of all thy faults mayst be</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A very decent singer.”——</div> + <div class="verse indent26">The poor bird</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In silent modesty the critic heard,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And winged her peaceful flight into the air,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er many and many⁠<a id="FNanchor_2_90" href="#Footnote_2_90" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> a field and forest fair.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">There are too many such critics now-a-days.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Merciful heaven! protect us from their praise.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_SWAN_THE_PIKE_AND_THE_CRAB"> + THE SWAN, THE PIKE, AND THE CRAB. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">If harmony be wanting to your plans,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Vain are your efforts, yours, or any man’s;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They end in disappointment all alike.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I once observed a Swan, a Crab, a Pike,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Drawing a treasure; all their power, their will</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Exerted, yet it stood unmoved and still.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis not its weight, its weight was very little;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Three powers at work, it budges not a tittle:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Swan would fain soar upwards in its pride,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Crab draws back, the Pike to the water side.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Who of the three was wrong? and who was right?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It might be all—it might be none—it might!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES_5"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_89" href="#FNanchor_1_89" class="label">[1]</a> Krĭlov gave me this fable in MS. It has been printed in +his <i>Basni</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2_90" href="#FNanchor_2_90" class="label">[2]</a> Literally—“three times nine.”</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Khemnitzer"> + Khemnitzer. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span></p> + +</div> + + +<h3 id="THE_HOUSE-BUILDER"> + THE HOUSE-BUILDER. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Whate’er thou purposest to do,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With an unwearied zeal pursue;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To-day is thine—improve to-day,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor trust to-morrow’s distant ray.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A certain man a house would build,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The place is with materials fill’d;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And every thing is ready there—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is it a difficult affair?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yes! till you fix the corner stone;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It won’t erect itself alone.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Day rolls on day, and year on year,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And nothing yet is done—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There’s always something to delay</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The business to another day.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2">And thus in silent waiting stood</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The piles of stone and piles of wood;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till Death, who in his vast affairs</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ne’er puts things off—as men in theirs—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thus, if I the truth must tell,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Does his work <i>finally</i> and <i>well</i>—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Winked at our hero as he past,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Your house is finish’d, Sir, at last;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A narrower house—a house of clay—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Your palace for <i>another day</i>!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_RICH_AND_THE_POOR_MAN"> + THE RICH AND THE POOR MAN. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">So goes the world:—if wealthy, you may call</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>This</i> friend, <i>that</i> brother;—friends and brothers all:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though you are worthless—witless—never mind it;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You may have been a stable-boy—what then?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis wealth, good Sir, makes <i>honourable men</i>.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You seek respect, no doubt, and <i>you</i> will find it.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But if you are poor, heaven help you! though your sire</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Had royal blood within him, and though you</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Possess the intellect of angels too,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis all in vain;—the world will ne’er inquire</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On such a score:—Why should it take the pains?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I once saw a poor devil, keen and clever,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Witty and wise:—he paid a man a visit,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And no one noticed him, and no one ever</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gave him a welcome. “Strange,” cried I, “whence is it?”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">He walked on this side, then on that,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">He tried to introduce a social chat;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now here, now there,—in vain he tried;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Some formally and freezingly replied,</div> + <div class="verse indent14">And some</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Said by their silence—“Better stay at home.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">A rich man burst the door,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">As Crœsus rich I’m sure,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He could not pride himself upon his wit</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor wisdom—for he had not got a bit:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He had what’s better;—he had wealth.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">What a confusion!—all stand up erect—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">These crowd around to ask him of his health;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">These bow in <i>honest</i> duty and respect;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And these arrange a sofa or a chair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And these conduct him there.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">“Allow me, Sir, the honour;”—then a bow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Down to the earth—Is’t possible to show</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Meet gratitude for such kind condescension?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">The poor man hung his head,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">And to himself he said,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“This is indeed beyond my comprehension:”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Then looking round</div> + <div class="verse indent4">One friendly face he found,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And said—“Pray tell me why is wealth preferr’d</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To wisdom?”—“That’s a silly question, friend!”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Replied the other—“Have you never heard,</div> + <div class="verse indent4">A man may lend his store</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Of gold or silver ore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend?”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_LIONS_COUNCIL_OF_STATE"> + THE LION’S COUNCIL OF STATE. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A lion held a court for state affairs:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Why? That is not your business, Sir, ’twas theirs!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He called the elephants for counsellors—still</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The council-board was incomplete;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the king deemed it fit</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With asses all the vacancies to fill.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Heaven help the state—for lo! the bench of asses</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The bench of elephants by far surpasses.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">He was a fool—the foresaid king—you’ll say;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Better have kept those places vacant surely,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Than fill them up so poorly.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O no! that’s not the royal way;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Things have been done for ages thus—and we</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Have a deep reverence for antiquity:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nought worse, Sir, than to be, or to appear</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wiser and better than our fathers were.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The list must be complete, even though you make it</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Complete with asses; for the lion saw</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Such had for ages been the law—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He was no radical to break it!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Besides,” he said, “my elephants’ good sense</div> + <div class="verse indent4">Will soon my asses’ ignorance diminish,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For wisdom has a mighty influence.”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">They made a pretty finish!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The asses’ folly soon obtained the sway;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The elephants became as dull as they!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_WAGGONS"> + THE WAGGONS. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent4">I saw a long, long train</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of many a loaded, lumbering wain;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And one there was of most gigantic size,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It look’d an elephant midst a swarm of flies;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It roll’d so proudly that a passenger</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Curiously asked—“Now what may <i>that</i> contain?”</div> + <div class="verse indent4">“Nothing but bladders, Sir!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Such masses (misnamed <i>men</i>!) are little rare,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Inflated, bullying, proud, and full of—<i>air</i>.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Bobrov"> + Bobrov. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span></p> + +</div> + + +<h3 id="ADDRESS_TO_THE_DEITY"> + ADDRESS TO THE DEITY. +</h3> + +<p class='center mt1'><i>From the Khersonida, p. 41-3.</i></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O thou unutterable Potentate!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Through nature’s vast extent sublimely great!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy lovely form the flower-decked field discloses,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy smiles are seen in nature’s sunny face:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Milk-coloured lilies and wild-blushing roses</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Are bright with Thee:—Thy voice of gentleness</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Speaks in the light-winged whispering zephyrs playing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Midst the young boughs, or o’er the meadows straying:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy breath gives life to all; below, above,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And all things revel in Thy light and love.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">But here, on these gigantic mountains, here</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy greatness, glory, wisdom, strength and spirit,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In terrible sublimity appear;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy awe-imposing voice is heard,—we hear it!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Th’ Almighty’s fearful voice; attend, it breaks</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The silence, and in solemn warnings speaks:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His the light tones that whisper midst the trees;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His, his the whistling of the busy breeze;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His, the storm-thunder roaring, rattling round⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_91" href="#Footnote_1_91" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>⁠,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When element with element makes war</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Amidst the echoing mountains: on whose bound,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose highest bound he drives his fiery car</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Glowing like molten-iron; or enshrin’d</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In robes of darkness, riding on the wind</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Across the clouded vault of heaven:—What eye</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Has not been dazzled by Thy majesty?</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Where is the ear that has not heard Thee speak?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou breathest!—forest-oaks of centuries</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Turn their uprooted trunks towards the skies.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou thunderest!—adamantine mountains break,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tremble, and totter, and apart are riven;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou lightenest! and the rocks inflame; Thy power</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of fire to their metallic bosom driven,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Melts and devours them;—Lo! they are no more:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They pass away like wax in the fierce flame,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or the thick mists that frown upon the sun,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which he but glances at and they are gone;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or like the sparkling snow upon the hill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When noon-tide darts its penetrating beam.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What do I say? At <span class="smcap">God’s</span> almighty will,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The affrighted world falls headlong from its sphere,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Planets and suns and systems disappear!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But Thy eternal throne—Thy palace bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Zion—stands steadfast in unchanging might;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Zion—Thy own peculiar seat—Thy home!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But here, O <span class="smcap">God</span>! here is Thy temple too:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Heaven’s sapphire arch is its resplendent dome;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its columns—trees that have for ages stood;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Its incense is the flower-perfumed dew;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its symphony—the music of the wood;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its ornaments—the fairest gems of spring;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its altar is the stony mountain proud!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lord! from this shrine to Thy abode I bring</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Trembling, devotion’s tribute—though not loud.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor pomp-accompanied: Thy praise I sing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And Thou wilt deign to hear the lowly offering.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="MEDINA"> + MEDINA. +</h3> + +<p class='center mt1'><i>From the Khersonida.</i></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou wondrous brother of the prophet, sun!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So brightly on Medina’s temple burning;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And scarce less beautiful the crescent moon,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When moving gently o’er the shadows dun</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of evening:—and their verge to silver turning.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O what a lovely, soft tranquillity</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rests on the earth and breathes along the sea!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here is no cedar bent with misery;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No holy cypress sighs or weeps, as seen</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In other lands, where his dark branches green</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mourn in the desert o’er neglected graves:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Here his all-sheltering boughs he calmly waves</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the dim light, the sacred vigils keeping</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er the blest ashes on earth’s bosom sleeping.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Picture of God! upon the prophet’s shrine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shine brightly—brightly, beautifully shine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Upon those holy fields where once he trod,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And flowers sprung up beneath his innocent feet,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tulips and aloes and narcissus’ sweet,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A lovely carpet for the child of God!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There have our privileged, pilgrim footsteps been,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This have we seen—yes, brother! this have seen:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The grave, the life, the ashes, and the dome</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Eternal and the heavens: and there have bought</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The grace of God and found the joy we sought,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A certain entrance to our final home.</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And now, be short our houseward way!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Our fathers’ habitations now appear!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O with what transports shall we hear them say,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With what loud greetings, “Welcome, welcome here!”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The swelling-bosom’d wife, the black-hair’d son</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And black-eyed daughter greet our joyous train,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rushing from our own doors they hither run,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And songs of rapture loudly hail us then.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Their trembling hands the fragrant aloe bear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which joyful o’er our wearied limbs they throw;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Home of our fathers! now appear,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Our houseward path be shortened now!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="SHEIK-HUIABIS_CREED"> + SHEIK-HUIABIS CREED, +</h3> + +<p class='allsmcap center mt1 ls2'>AS DESCRIBED BY THE CHERIF.</p> + +<p class='center mt1'><i>From the Khersonida.</i></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis Allah governs this terrestrial ball,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To all gives laws, as he gave life to all!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He rules the unnumbered circles bright with bliss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That from the ends of heaven send forth their beams:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He rules the space, the infinite abyss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The undefined and wandering ether-streams,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where thousand, thousand stars and planets play—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What are the laws that guide them on their way?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They are no perishable records—laws</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Written with pen and ink:—No! Allah spreads</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The golden roll of nature: o’er our heads</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Opens his glorious volume, and withdraws</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The veil of ignorance: read the letters <i>there</i>,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That is the blazing, burning record, where</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The letters are not idle <i>lines</i>, but <i>things</i>:</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Read there the name of Allah, dazzling bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In <i>works</i> of eloquence and <i>words</i> of light!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shut, shut all other books; and if thy soul,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Borne upward on devotion’s angel-wings,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Soar to the heaven, from earth and earth’s control,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou shalt perceive—shalt know the Deity.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His splendours then shall burst upon thy eye,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An effluence of noon-tide round thee roll,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy spirit glad with light and love;—a sun</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of pure philosophy to lead thee on.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_GOLDEN_PALACE"> + THE GOLDEN PALACE. +</h3> + +<p class='allsmcap center mt1'>CHERTOG TVOI VIZHDU.</p> + +<hr class='r5'> + +<p class='allsmcap center mt1'>SUNG AT MIDNIGHT IN THE GREEK CHURCHES THE +LAST WEEK BEFORE EASTER.</p> + +<p class='center mt1'><i>From the Sclavonic.</i></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The golden palace of my God</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tow’ring above the clouds I see:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beyond the cherubs’ bright abode,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Higher than angels’ thoughts can be:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How can I in those courts appear</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Without a wedding garment on?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Conduct me, Thou life-giver, there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Conduct me to Thy glorious throne!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And clothe me with Thy robes of light,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And lead me through sin’s darksome night,</div> + <div class="verse indent14">My Saviour and my God!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="MIDNIGHT_HYMN"> + MIDNIGHT HYMN +</h3> + +<p class='allsmcap center mt1'>OF THE RUSSIAN CHURCHES, SUNG AT EASTER.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Vskuiu mia esi oostavil?</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0">Why hast thou forsaken me?</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Why, thou never-setting light,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is Thy brightness veiled from me?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Why does this unusual night</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cloud Thy blest benignity?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I am lost without Thy ray,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Guide my wandering footsteps, Lord!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Light my dark and erring way</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To the noon-tide of Thy word!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="IZHE_KHERUVIMIJ"> + IZHE KHERUVIMIJ,<br> +<span class='allsmcap'>OR SONG OF CHERUBIM.</span> +</h3> + +<hr class='r5'> + +<p class='mt1 center allsmcap'>THE HYMN CHANTED IN THE RUSSIAN CHURCHES +DURING THE PROCESSION OF THE CUP.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">See the glorious cherubim</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Thronging round the Eternal’s throne;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hark! they sing their holy hymn:</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To the unknown Three in One.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">‘All-supporting Deity—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">‘Living spirit—praise to Thee!’</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Rest, ye worldly tumults, rest!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Here let all be peace and joy:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Grief no more shall rend our breast,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Tears no more shall dew our eye.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Heaven-directed spirits rise</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To the temple of the skies!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Join the ranks of angels bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Near th’ Eternal’s dazzling light.</div> + <div class="verse indent30">Khvalim Boga⁠<a id="FNanchor_2_92" href="#Footnote_2_92" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section'>CHILDREN’S OFFERING ON A +PARENT’S BIRTH-DAY.</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Not the first tribute of our lyre,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not the first fruits of infant spring,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But flames from love’s long kindled fire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And oft-repeated prayers we bring</div> + <div class="verse indent20">To crown thy natal day.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis not to-day that first we tell</div> + <div class="verse indent0">(When was affection’s spirit mute?)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How long our hearts have loved—how well—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor tune our soft and votive flute,</div> + <div class="verse indent20">Nor light the altar’s ray.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">That altar is our household shrine—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its flame—the bosom’s kindly heat:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its offering, sympathy divine;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Its incense, as the may-dew sweet!</div> + <div class="verse indent20">Accept thy children’s lay.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section'>RULES FOR THE HEART AND THE +UNDERSTANDING.</h3> + + +<h4 id="1"> + 1. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O son of nature! let self-culture be</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The object of thy earliest toils: as yet</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy lamp burns bright—thy day shines gloriously—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou canst not labour when thy sun is set!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<h4 id="2"> + 2. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Wouldst thou The Unseen Spirit see:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">First learn to know thyself; and He</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Will then be shadowed forth in thee!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<h4 id="3"> + 3. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">God is a spirit through creation’s whole,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As in this mortal tenement—the soul.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<h4 id="4"> + 4. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The sun that gives the world its fairest light</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is not yon orb welcomed by the morning hour,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And by the eve expelled;—it is the power</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of an enlightening conscience pure and bright.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span></p> + + +<h4 id="5"> + 5. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Mark where thou standest first; and whence thou art come,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And whither goest, and straight speed thee home.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<h4 id="6"> + 6. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The woe <i>to come</i>, the woe that’s <i>gone</i>,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Philosophy thinks calmly on:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But show me the philosopher</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who calmly bears the woes that <i>are</i>.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<h4 id="7"> + 7. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">How wise is he who marks the fleeting day</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By acts of virtue as it rolls away!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<h4 id="8"> + 8. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Be all thy views right forward, clear, and even:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The straightest line the soonest leads to heaven.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<h4 id="9"> + 9. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou wouldst count all things, proud philosophy;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now measure space and weigh eternity!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<h4 id="10"> + 10. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Light first thy heart with virtue; then thy soul</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With wisdom—purest joy shall o’er thee roll.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span></p> + + +<h4 id="11"> + 11. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The most perverted spirit has greatness in it,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The very savage bears a heart that’s noble.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<h4 id="12"> + 12. +</h4> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Virtue, though loveliest of all lovely things,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From modesty apart no more is fair;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And when her graceful veil aside she flings,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">(Like ether opened to th’ intrusive air)</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Loses her sweetest charms and stands a cypher there.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES_6"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_91" href="#FNanchor_1_91" class="label">[1]</a> I have endeavoured to imitate the singular adaptation of +words to sound, of which the Russian language affords so many +striking examples:</p> + +<p>Original—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Tvoi dukh vsĭvaet vse boriushchii</div> + <div class="verse indent0">V sikh—sikh svistjeshchikh vikhrei silakh</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Srazhaiushchikhsa mezhdu Gor!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2_92" href="#FNanchor_2_92" class="label">[2]</a> Hallelujah.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Bogdanovich"> + Bogdanovich. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span></p> + +</div> + + +<h3 id="FROM_THE_DUSHENKA-p_8"> + FROM THE DUSHENKA.—p. 8. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twere but vain daring thro’ dark time to range,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Chasing the shadowy forms of words, which change,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For ever restless, gave to beauty’s power:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All lived an hour, and perished with that hour:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The subject of the aspiring poet’s lay</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is that fair royal maiden, youngest child</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the eastern monarch, whom with passion wild</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Crowds honoured, loved and sigh’d for night and day,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She by the Greeks called Psyche—meaning</div> + <div class="verse indent0">(According to our learned ones’ explaining)</div> + <div class="verse indent2">A soul, or spirit:—our philosophers</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thinking that all that’s tender, fair and bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Must needs be hers,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Named her Dushenka⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_93" href="#Footnote_1_93" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>⁠;—thus</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A word so sweet, so musical to us,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With all the charm of novelty,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O loveliest Psyche, was conferred on thee!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Conveyed from tongue to tongue, its throne it found</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In memory’s archives:—its melodious sound</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now breathes the angel-harmony of love,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A music and a radiance from above.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="FROM_THE_DUSHENKA-p_49"> + FROM THE DUSHENKA.—p. 49. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Dushenka! Dushenka! the robes that thou wearest</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Seem ever most lovely and fitting:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whether clad like a queen of the east thou appearest,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Or plain as a shepherdess sitting</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By the door of her cottage at evening’s calm tide,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou still art the charm of the world and its pride!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou fairest of saints that devotion has sainted,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Divinest of all the divine:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All the pictures of beauty that art ever painted</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Can give no idea of thine!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="THE_INEXPERIENCED_SHEPHERDESS"> + THE INEXPERIENCED SHEPHERDESS. +</h3> + +<p class='center mt1 allsmcap'>A POPULAR SONG.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I’m fourteen summers old, I trow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis time to look about me now:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twas only yesterday they said,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I was a silly, silly maid;—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">’Tis time to look about me now.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The shepherd-swains so rudely stare,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I must reprove them, I declare;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This talks of beauty—<i>that</i> of love—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I’m such a fool I can’t reprove—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">I <i>must</i> reprove them, I declare.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis strange—but yet I hope no sin;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Something unwonted speaks within:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Love’s language is a mystery,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And yet I feel, and yet I see,—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">O what is this that speaks within?</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The shepherd cries, “I love thee, sweet;”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“And I love <i>thee</i>,” my lips repeat:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Kind words, they sound as sweet to me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As music’s fairest melody;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">“I love thee,” oft my lips repeat.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">His pledge he brings,—I’ll <i>not</i> reprove;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O no! I’ll take that pledge of love;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To thee my guardian dog I’d give,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Could I without that guardian live:</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But still I’ll take thy pledge of love.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">My shepherd’s crook I’ll give to thee;—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O no! my father gave it me—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And treasures by a parent given,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">From a fond child should ne’er be riven—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">O no! my father gave it me.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But thou shalt have yon lambkin fair—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nay! ’tis my mother’s fondest care;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For every day she joys to count</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Each snowy lambkin on the mount;—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">I’ll give thee then no lambkin fair.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">But stay, my shepherd! wilt thou be</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For ever faithful—fond to me?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A sweeter gift I’ll then impart,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thou shalt have—a maiden’s heart,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">If thou wilt give thy heart to me.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="SONG_FROM_THE_OLD_RUSSIAN"> + SONG FROM THE OLD RUSSIAN. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Hark! those tones of music stealing</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Through yon wood at even:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweetest songs that breathe a feeling</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Pure and bright as heaven.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Nightingales in chorus near thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">All their notes are blending;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then they stop their songs to hear thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Silent—unpretending.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="SONG_FROM_THE_OLD_RUSSIAN_1"> + SONG FROM THE OLD RUSSIAN. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What to the maiden has happened?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What to the gem of the village?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Ah! to the gem of the village.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Seated alone in her cottage.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tremblingly turned to the window;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Ah! ever turned to the window.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Like the sweet bird in its prison,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pining and panting for freedom;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Ah! how ’tis pining for freedom!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Crowds of her youthful companions</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come to console the lov’d maiden;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Ah! to console the lov’d maiden.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Smile then, our sister! be joyful,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Clouds of dust cover the valley;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Oh! see, they cover the valley.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Smile then, our sister! be joyful,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">List to the hoof-beat of horses;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">O! to the hoof-beat of horses.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Then the maid looked through the window,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Saw the dust-clouds in the valley;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">O! the dust-clouds in the valley:</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Heard the hoof-beat of the horses,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hurried away from the cottage;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">O! to the valley she hurries.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Welcome! welcome! thou lov’d one:”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">See, she has sunk on his bosom;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">O! she has sunk on his bosom.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Now all her grief is departed:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She has forsaken the window:</div> + <div class="verse indent2">O! quite forsaken the window.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Now her eye looks on her lov’d one,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Beaming with brightness and beauty;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">O! ’tis all brightness and beauty.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES_7"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_93" href="#FNanchor_1_93" class="label">[1]</a> Dusha—Dushenka its diminutive, a word expressing great +tenderness and fondness.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Davidov"> + Davĭdov. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span></p> + +</div> + + +<h3 id="WISDOM"> + WISDOM. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">While honouring the grape’s ruby nectar,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">All sportingly, laughingly gay;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We determined—I, Silvia, and Hector,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To drive old dame Wisdom away.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“O my children, take care,” said the beldame,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">“Attend to these counsels of mine:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Get not tipsy! for danger is seldom</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Remote from the goblet of wine.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“With thee in his company, no man</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Can err,” said our wag with a wink;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“But come, thou good-natured old woman,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">There’s a drop in the goblet—and drink!”</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">She frown’d—but her scruples soon twisting,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Consented:—and smilingly said:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“So polite—there’s indeed no resisting,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For Wisdom was never ill-bred.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">She drank, but continued her teaching:</div> + <div class="verse indent2">“Let the wise from indulgence refrain;”</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And never gave over her preaching,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But to say “Fill the goblet again.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And she drank, and she totter’d, but still she</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Was talking and shaking her head:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mutter’d “temperance”—“prudence”—until she</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Was carried by Folly⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_94" href="#Footnote_1_94" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> to bed.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES_8"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_94" href="#FNanchor_1_94" class="label">[1]</a> The original has <i>Love</i>.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Kostrov"> + Kostrov. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span></p> + +</div> + + +<h3 id="THE_VOW"> + THE VOW. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The rose is my favourite flower:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On its tablets of crimson I swore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That up to my last living hour</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I never would think of thee more.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I scarcely the record had made,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ere Zephyr, in frolicsome play,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On his light, airy pinions convey’d</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Both tablet and promise away.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="HISTORY_OF_MAN"> + HISTORY OF MAN. +</h3> + +<p class='center allsmcap mt1'>ANONYMOUS.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What is man’s history? Born—living—dying—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Leaving the still shore for the troubled wave—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Struggling with storm-winds, over shipwrecks flying,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And casting anchor in the silent grave.</div> +<p class="right pr2"> + B. +</p> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak blackletter" id="Neledinsky_Meletzky"> + Neledinsky Meletzky. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span></p> + +</div> + + +<h3 id="SONG_2"> + SONG. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Under the oak-tree; near the rill,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sits my fair maiden at evening still,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Singing her song, her song of love,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweetly it warbles through the grove.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">The nightingale heard the heavenly tone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And blended the music with his own:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My ears drink in the wondrous strain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And my spirit re-echoes the song again.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">How oft the zephyrs have brought to me</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Delighted, those accents of harmony!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How oft have I blamed the jealous breeze</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That scatter’d the music amidst the trees!</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Listen awhile, thou nightingale!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Echo the song from hill to vale:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though hill and vale enraptured be,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweeter the music sounds to <i>me</i>!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="SONG_3"> + SONG. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To the streamlet I’ll repair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Look upon its flight, and say:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“Bear, O fleeting streamlet! bear</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All my griefs with thine away.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah! I breathe the wish in vain!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In this silent solitude</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Counted is each throb of pain;—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rest is melancholy’s food.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Waves with waves unceasing blend,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hurrying to their destiny:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Even so, thoughts with thoughts, and tend</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All alike to misery.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And what grief so dark, so deep</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As the grief interred within?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By the friend, for whom I weep,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All unnoticed, all unseen.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet, could I subdue my pain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Soothe affection’s rankling smart,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ne’er would I resume again</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The lost empire of my heart.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou, my love! art sovereign there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There thou hast a living shrine:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Let my portion be despair,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If the light of bliss be thine.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Loved by thee, O might I live,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Neath the darkest, stormiest sky:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Twere a blest alternative!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Grief is joy, if thou be nigh.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Every wish and every pray’r</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is a tribute paid to thee:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Every heart-beat—there, O there,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou hast mightiest sovereignty.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">To thee, nameless one! to thee</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Still my thoughts, my passions turn;</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis through thee alone I see,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Think, and feel, and breathe and burn.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">If the woe in which I live,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ever reach thy generous ear;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pity not—but O forgive</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thy devoted worshipper!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">In some hour of careless bliss,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Deign my bosom’s fire to prove;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Prove it with an icy kiss—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou shalt know how much I love!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="SONG_4"> + SONG. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">He whom misery, dark and dreary,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Robs of all his spirit’s strength;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hopeless—but that wasted, weary,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nature shall repose at length:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not a joy to sparkle o’er him,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not a ray of promised light;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till the deep grave yawns before him,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Till his eye is closed in night.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Such am I;—time’s changes borrow</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All their interest from thee:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Life is but a midnight sorrow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou, life’s sun-shine, veiled from me.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But those hopes, with angels seated,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Life and death can ne’er subdue;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the heart to thee related,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Needs must be immortal too.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Can that spirit ever perish,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which divine emotions fill?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thee on earth I loved to cherish,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thee in heaven must cherish still;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like a shadow to thee clinging,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ever following—ever nigh;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Up to thee each look is springing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Every word, and thought, and sigh.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Up to thee, my saint, my lover!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Up to thee my soul is led:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Spirit, wilt thou deign to hover</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er my green and grassy bed?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wilt thou from thy throne descending,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Catch thy fond one’s dying breath?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Wilt thou, near his tomb attending,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Consecrate the dreams of death?</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="NATIONAL_SONGS"> + NATIONAL SONGS. + </h2> +</div> + + +<h3 id="I"> + I. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Upon its little turfy hill, the desert’s charm and pride,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The tall oak in his majesty extends his branches wide:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His shadow covers half the waste, and there he stands alone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like a poor soldier on the watch, a sad abandoned one!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And who, when wakes the glowing sun, thy friendly shade shall seek?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or shield thee when the thunder rolls, and when the lightnings break?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No graceful pine protects thee now, no willow waves its head,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No sheltering ivy’s dark green leaves are midst thy branches spread!</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Alas! ’tis sad to stand alone, thus banished from the grove;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But bitterer far for youth to mourn divided from his love!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though gold and silver, wealth and fame, and honours he possess,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With none t’ enjoy them, none to share, they are but nothingness.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Cold is the converse of the world—a greeting, and no more!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And beauty’s converse colder still—a word, and all is o’er:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Some shun my presence, and from some scorn bids my spirit fly:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Though all are lovers, all are friends, till tempests veil the sky.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But where’s the breast where I may sleep, when those dark moments come?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For he who loved me cannot hear, he slumbers in the tomb!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Alas! I long have lost the joys of friend and family,</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">And the fair maid that I adore looks carelessly on me:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No aged parents on our heads their benedictions pour:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No children to our bosoms creep, or play upon our floor;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O take away your wealth, your fame, your honours, treasures vile,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And give me in their stead, a home—a love—and love’s sweet smile.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="II"> + II. +</h3> + +<p class='center'>ABSENCE.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Why wilt thou think that thy heart’s distress</div> + <div class="verse indent2">May find relief in tear or sigh?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou art abandoned to loneliness—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To loneliness and to misery.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Severing oceans between you roll,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And frowning mountain-barriers rise;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She may not read thy faithful soul—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">She may not witness tears or sighs.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Weak and wayward spirit to deem</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That the wing of the zephyr will bear to her</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Soft as the flight of childhood’s dream</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The orisons of her worshipper!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That the gale’s light fragrant breath will bring</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Music of thine to thy maiden’s ear,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What time the day-star triumphing</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Looks from his throne on the waking sphere.</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet cherish the hope—tho’ weak and wild,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Its promise of joy thy bosom may bless—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But thou—thou, sorrow’s devoted child!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Soon wilt be left to thy loneliness,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To thy loneliness and thy misery—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Oceans and mountains divide you far;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Never her smile shall light on thee,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Ne’er shalt thou welcome that heavenly star.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="III"> + III. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou field of my own, thou field so fair!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So wide, extensive, fertile there!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Adorned with gems so gay and bright—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With flowers, and butterflies, and bees,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And plants, and shrubs, and leafy trees—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou hast but one ungrateful sight!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">See there upon the broom-tree’s bough,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The young gray eagle flapping now,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er the raven black, that he tears asunder,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose warm red blood is dropping under,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And sprinkles the moistened ground below:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The raven black—a wild one he!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And the eagle gray—his enemy!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">No swallow, gliding round and round</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His homely happy nest, is found;—</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">But a mother is seen in the darksome vale,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Or sad by the raging ocean’s tide;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A sister sighs on the fountain’s side,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A lover weeps in the night-dews pale—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sun shines forth—the dews are dried⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_95" href="#Footnote_1_95" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>⁠.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="IV2"> + IV.⁠<a id="FNanchor_2_96" href="#Footnote_2_96" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A young maid sat upon the streamlet’s side,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And thought most tearfully on her bitter fate;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her bitter fate, and on departed time—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Departed time—the glad, exulting time;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And there the lovely maiden robed herself,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She robed herself, with many adornings robed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And waited anxious for her trusted friend—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Waited for her trusted friend:—a ruffian he!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He played the ruffian with the maid and fled:—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Alas! love’s flower of hope is withered!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Well may that lonely flower decay and die!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">She calls in vain—she wipes her tears away:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thee, rapid streamlet! they may fill, and roll</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> + <div class="verse indent0">Over thy bosom—make thy bed of tears:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">“I had adorned me for that faithless friend,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That faithless friend is fled:—he hath stolen all,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All my possessions but my grief:—that grief</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He left in mercy, if that grief can kill.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come, death! I veil me in thy shadows dim—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To thee I fly, as once I flew to him!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="V"> + V. +</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Upon that brow, so soft, so fair,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Why sit those frowns?— O why should I</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Plant bitter flowers of anger there?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">O tell me, more than angel, why?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I have been wretched—did I e’er</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Trouble thy peace with my distress?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Did I invite thee, say, to hear</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The story of my wretchedness?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O no! I sigh’d midst rocks and groves,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That thou might’st never know I sigh’d:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I wept where stillest water roves:—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The tear but swell’d the silent tide.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Forget me—for my love shall be</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Enough for both:—undying, bright—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Winged for an immortality,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And filling all the tomb with light.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="VI"> + VI. +</h3> + +<p class='center mt1'>DIRGE.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Not to-day he the young rose sought,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For she was fairer than the rose:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hers be the cypress, dark as thought;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yew that over the still grave grows.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Can ye remember her sigh, her tear</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er a departed one, fair as she?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Such were a tribute meet for her,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Meet for us, and our misery.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">O forget her sweet smiles—forget</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All that she was:—she is nothing now.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Scatter the purple violet;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er her green pillow the snow-drop throw!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Come with the eve; let your requiem</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Mount on the breeze o’er the grassy heap:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thousand spirits shall join the hymn,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Watching over her slumbers deep.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES_9"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_95" href="#FNanchor_1_95" class="label">[1]</a> This composition refers, no doubt, to some historical or +traditionary tale, without the knowledge of which it would +seem unintelligible. I translate it as rather a striking specimen +of popular Russian songs.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2_96" href="#FNanchor_2_96" class="label">[2]</a> The peculiarities of the original are preserved in this song; +such repetitions as here occur are quite characteristic of the +national poetry of Russia.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="BIOGRAPHICAL_AND_CRITICAL"> + BIOGRAPHICAL <span class="allsmcap">AND</span> CRITICAL + NOTICES. + </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span></p> + +</div> + + +<h3 id="LOMONOSOV"> + LOMONOSOV. +</h3> + +<p>Michael Vassiljevich Lomonosov was born +in Cholmognie in 1711. He was the son of a sailor. +He studied Latin and Greek, rhetoric and poetry, +in Sakonospaskoe Uchilishchœ. In 1734 he entered +the imperial academy, and two years afterwards was +sent to Germany as a student. On his return to +Petersburg he was appointed to the professorship of +Chemistry; in 1751 he was made associate of the +academy, and in 1760 called to the directorship of +the academical gymnasium and of the university. He +died in 1765.</p> + +<p>The Petersburg Academy of Sciences published a +complete collection of his works, in sixteen volumes, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> +which reached a third edition in 1804. They comprise +the following remarkable list, exhibiting a rare +diversity of subjects: among them his prose productions +are: <i>Kratkii Lœtopisetz</i>, Short Russian Annals; +<i>Drevnjeje Rossiiskaje Istorije</i>, Oldest Russian +History, from the beginning of the Russian +people to the death of the great prince Jaropolk +the First, <i>i. e.</i> down to the year 1054; <i>Rossiiskaje +Grammatika</i>, Russian Grammar; <i>Kratkoe Rukovodetvo +k Krasnorœchiiu</i>, Short Introduction to +Rhetoric; <i>Pismo o pravilakh Rossiiskago Stikhomvorstva</i>, +Letter on the Rules of Russian Poetry; +<i>Predislovie o polzœ Knig Tzerkovnĭkh</i>, Remarks +on the Uses of Church-Books; <i>Slovo Pokhvalnoe +Imperatritzœ Elisavetœ I.</i>, Eulogium on the Empress +Elizabeth (which he himself translated into +Latin); <i>Slovo pokhvalnoe Imperatoru Petru Velikomu</i>, +Eulogium on Peter the Great; <i>Slovo o polzœ +Khimii</i>, On the Use of Chemistry; <i>Slovo o jevlenijekh +vosdushnĭkh ot Elektricheskoi silĭ proizkhodjeshchikh</i>, +On Electrical Phenomena; <i>Slovo +o proizkhozhdenii sœta novuiu teriiu o tzvœtakh +predstavljeiushchee</i>, On the Origin of Light, exhibiting +the new theory of Colours; <i>Slovo o pozhdenii +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span> +Metallov ot trjesenije zemli</i>, On the Changes +produced on Metals by earthquakes; <i>Rosuzhdenie +o bolshei tochnosti Morskago puti</i>, On the means +of obtaining the greatest correctness in Sea Voyages; +<i>Jevlenie Venerĭ na solntzœ</i>, Appearance of +Venus on the Sun’s Disk; <i>Programma sochinennaje +tri nachalæ chenije is jesnenije Phisiki</i>, Programma, +introductory to Lectures on Physic; <i>Opisanie +v nachalœ 1744 goda jevivshijesje Kometĭ</i>, +Description of the Comet of 1744; <i>Pervĭje osnovanije +Metallurgii</i>, Introduction to Metallurgy; +<i>Shestnadtzat’ piset k J. J. Shuvalovu</i>, Sixteen +Letters to J. J. Shuvalov.</p> + +<p>His poems are—two books of an Heroic Epic entitled +<i>Peter Velikii</i>, Peter the Great; <i>Tamira i +Selim</i>, a Tragedy; <i>Demophont</i>, a Tragedy; <i>Pismo +o Pol’sœ Stekla</i>, A Poetical Epistle on the Merits +of Glass, addressed to Shuvalov, of which a French +prose translation was published in Paris in 1800; +<i>Oda na Shchastiee</i>, Ode to Happiness, from the +French of J. B. Rousseau; <i>Vanchannaje nadezhda +Rossiiskoi Imperii</i>, The Garlanded Hope of the +Russian Empire, from the German of Professor +Junker; eleven spiritual odes; encomiastic odes; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> +forty-nine laudatory inscriptions; poem on a firework; +<i>Polydore</i>, an Idyl, and sundry smaller +pieces; imitations of Anacreon, poetical epistles, +translations, &c. &c.</p> + +<p>Besides his philosophical prose writings, he published +<i>Rasgovor v tzarstvœ Mertvĭkh</i>, Dialogue in +the Realms of Death, between Alexander the Great, +Hannibal, and Scipio, from the Greek of Lucian; +and <i>Rasgavor utro</i>, A Discourse on Morning, from +Erasmus.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="DERZHAVIN"> + DERZHAVIN. +</h3> + +<p>Gabriel Romanovich Derzhavin was born +at Kasan on the 3d of July, 1736. The elements of +instruction were given to him in the house of his +parents; he then studied in private academies, and +afterwards completed his education in the imperial +gymnasium. In 1760 he was inscribed in the engineer +military service; and in the following year, as +a reward for his great progress in the mathematics, +and for his excellent description of the Bulgarian +ruins on the banks of the Wolga, he was placed in +the ranks of the Preobrashenshe regiment. From +the year 1762 he was promoted through the different +gradations to the rank of ensign, which he held in +1772, and he obtained great credit for his prudence +and ability while engaged as lieutenant in the corps +sent to reduce Pugachev in 1774. He advanced uninterruptedly +in his military career till in 1784 he +was made a counsellor of state, and appointed to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> +government first of Oloretz and afterwards of Tambov. +In 1791 the Empress Catherine the Second gave +him the office of secretary of state; in 1793 he was +called to the senate, and the next year he was made +president of the college of Commerce. In the year +1800 he was appointed to the post of public cashier, +and in 1802 to that of minister of justice. His official +career was soon after closed by his retiring on +his full allowance, in the evening of his days, to the +enjoyment of the fruits of his long and active labours.</p> + +<p>Such a life would appear little calculated for the +pursuit of intellectual pleasures, or for the cultivation +of poetical talents; but the energies of these seem +to be alike uninfluenced by the burthens of pomp +or the privations of poverty. None is too high to +bend down to the attractive voice of song—none too +low to be raised by the awakening call of the lyre.</p> + +<p>The most celebrated compositions of Derzhavin +are, his Ode to God; Felitza; On the Birth of +Alexander; The First Neighbour; On the Death +of Count Meshchersky; On the Swedish Peace; +The Fountain; The Waterfall; Autumn; and the +Anacreontic Songs. His Poems were printed in +four volumes in 1808.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span></p> + +<p>Of his prose works (his official ones of course excepted) +the most celebrated are: <i>Rœch ot litza Kazanskago +Dvorjenstva Imperatritzœ Ekaterinœ II.</i>, +Address of the Kasan Eagle to the Empress Catherine +the Second; <i>Topographicheskoe Opshanie Tambovskoi +Gubernii</i>, Topographical Description of the +Tambov Government; <i>Rœch na otkrĭtie v Tambovœ +Narodnago Ichilishcha</i>, Address on the opening +of the Tambov Public School, republished in Petersburg, +and translated into several languages; +<i>Razsuzhdenie o Liricheskom Stikhotvorstvœ</i>, On +Lyric Poetry, published by a Society of Amateurs +of Russian Literature in 1811.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="BOGDANOVICH"> + BOGDANOVICH. +</h3> + +<p class='center allsmcap mt1'>TRANSLATED FROM KARAMSIN’S VŒSTNIK⁠<a id="FNanchor_1_97" href="#Footnote_1_97" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>⁠.</p> + +<p class='mt1'>Hippolïtus Bogdanovich was born under the +beautiful heaven of Little Russia, in the village of +Perevolotchno, in the year 1743. His father was a +respectable physician, to whose affectionate care and +to that of an excellent mother he owed the first rudiments +of knowledge. The talents which often require +long years to ripen and to perfect, sometimes +exhibit their blossoms in very early youth, and Bogdanovich +while quite a child showed a passionate fondness +for reading and writing, for music and poetry.</p> + +<p>He was brought to Moscow in 1754, and placed +in the college of justice. The President Sheljebushsky +noticed the active and inquiring spirit of the +boy, and allowed him to attend the mathematical +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span> +school, which was at that time in the neighbourhood +of the senate. But mathematics were nothing to +him;—the sweet poetry of Lomonosov, who now began +to captivate his countrymen, was dearer to his +mind than all the transpositions of lines or figures. +Nothing, perhaps, is so likely to produce a strong and +permanent impression on the heart of a young enthusiast, +as the pomp, parade, and poetry of the +Drama. What wonder then that a fiery boy, introduced +for the first time to its witcheries, should be +led to some act of giddy imprudence! A youth of +fifteen once presented himself to the director of the +Moskow theatre, modestly and almost unwillingly +owning—he was a nobleman—he would be an actor. +The director had some conversation with him, and +soon ascertained his love of knowledge and his poetical +ardour. He painted in strong colours the incompatibility +of an actor’s character with that of +nobility,—he urged him to inscribe himself in the +university, and to visit him at his house. This young +man was no other than our Bogdanovich,—that director +was no other than Michael Matveevich Kheraskov, +the poet of the Russiad. Thus did a lucky +accident bring this scholar of the muses to their favourite +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> +bard; one who, possessed of extraordinary +talent himself, was not slow to discover and to honour +it in others. From him did Bogdanovich learn +the rules and the ornaments of poetry; he studied foreign +languages, and acquired whatever else might give +strength and encouragement to his natural powers. +Study, it is true, is no <i>creator</i> of genius, but it serves +to exhibit it in all its most beautiful and mighty influence. +Kheraskov gave him examples, precepts, +encouragements; and in the university-journal of +this period, <i>Polesnoe Uveselenie</i>, we find many +specimens of the powers of the young bard. These, +though yet far removed from perfection, are striking +proofs of his ability to reach it.</p> + +<p>Besides Kheraskov, our young poet possessed, +while he remained at the university, another invaluable +protector in Count Michael Ivanovich Dashkov. +The favours conferred by rank and influence on talents +just developing themselves, create a grateful +and well-rewarding return; while, on the other +hand, the fair and delicate flowers of youthful genius +are but too often and too early blasted by the cold +winds of neglect. But let it be said in Russia’s honour, +that talent has never wanted patronage there, especially +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> +if accompanied by moral worth. This was +eminently the case with Bogdanovich. Like La +Fontaine, in whose poetical steps he seems to have +trodden, he was distinguished by the most attractive +ingenuousness. Ere he was eighteen he held his station +in the great and busy world, but held it with +the simplicity of a child. Whatever he felt he uttered, +whatever pleased him he did; he listened +willingly to the wisdom of others, and fell asleep +during the tiresome lessons of folly. It was our +young bard’s good fortune to live with a poet who +exacted the productions of his muse as the price of +his protection and his counsels, leaving every thing +else to his own waywardness. His open heartedness +often led him into perplexities, but no sooner did he +perceive that his conversation had inflicted on any a +feeling or thought of sorrow than he lamented his +inconsiderateness with tears. He determined again +and again to talk more warily; the resolution was, +however, soon forgotten, and succeeded by regret +and repentance and renewed vows.</p> + +<p>He was not rich; he often had nothing to give the +poor but sympathy. Is not this often more grateful +to the receiver, and always more honourable to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span> +giver, than the pieces of gold extorted by misery +from the coldness of pride and of affluence? Towards +his friends and acquaintances he was kindness +and urbanity itself. On one occasion a fire broke +out in the neighbourhood of one of his connexions. +Bogdanovich sprung from his bed, and, in spite of the +bad weather and the distance, hurried to the assistance +of his friend, clad only in his night garment.</p> + +<p>His dwelling was with an estimable family, who +treated him as a near and dear relative, and he returned +their kindness with ever-active affection.</p> + +<p>We must here linger a little on one mark of character, +common indeed to all genuine poets;—a +lively sensibility to female charms, a sensibility which +has been the creator of some of the sweetest songs +of the choir of bards. In one who, like Bogdanovich, +was born to be the poet of the graces, this +mighty sympathy could not but be early developed +among the sensibilities of his character. In its origin +it is timid and unpretending—in him it was peculiarly +so. He saw, he felt, he supplicated, he blushed—and +uttered his emotions in his harmonious songs. +Stern indeed must have been the beauty that could +not be moved by that melodious lyre!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span></p> + +<p>In 1761 Bogdanovich was appointed inspector of +the Moscow university, with the rank of officer. +Soon after he was joined to the commission appointed +to make the arrangements for celebrating the +coronation of Catherine the Second, in Moscow. He +was fixed on for preparing the inscriptions on the +triumphal gates and arches. In 1763, through the +recommendation of the Countess Dashkov, he was +employed by Panin as a translator; and at this period +he published a journal entitled, <i>Nevinnoe Uprashnenie</i>, +Innocent Recreation, to which his protectress, +and the protectress of literature, of native +literature especially, most generously contributed. +And now our poet soared in loftier flights: he +translated most felicitously many of Voltaire’s poems, +especially that on the Destruction of Lisbon, in +which his version has added greatly to the beauty and +the strength of the original. A number of pieces, +distinguished for the exquisiteness of the feeling +and the peculiar harmony of the expression, directed +the public attention to him. Among these is that +beautiful song to Climene:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Yes! since bliss is now my lot,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I will live to love thee, fairest:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou, that <i>I</i> may live, wilt not</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now refuse to love me, dearest!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span></p> + +<p>In 1765 he published a poem with the title, The +Doubled Bliss. It is divided into three parts, the +first of which is a description of the golden age; +the second, a history of the progress of civilization +and of knowledge, with pictures of the misdirection +and misuse of the human passions; the +last, on the salutary influence of laws and governments. +This undertaking was too vast for the +youthful strength of the poet. The work had some +redeeming beauties, but it made little impression +upon society in general. At this period, notwithstanding, +the laurels were rapidly growing that were to +crown the brow of Bogdanovich;—but those laurels +were then unnoticed.</p> + +<p>In 1766 he went with Count Beloselsky as secretary +of legation to Dresden. The amiable character +of this ambassador, the brilliant society which he +took with him and gathered round him, the attractive +and picturesque neighbourhood of his dwelling, and +his high appreciation of the arts, made the poet’s +abode so delightful to him that it left the fairest record +on his memory, and produced a happy influence +on the character of his writings. While he +wandered enchanted on the flowery borders of the +Elbe, whose nymphs, worthy of that magnificent +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> +stream, excited all the strength of his glowing fancy; +while the works of Correggio, Rubens, and Paul +Veronese charmed his eye and guided his mind in +the beautiful creation of his <i>Dushenka</i>, which now +engaged it; he was at the same time busied in writing +a Description of Germany, and in all the duties +of his office he united the charms of a man of the +world, a friend of science, and a poet.</p> + +<p>He left Dresden in 1768 and hastened back to his +own country, devoting himself wholly to the cultivation +of knowledge and the charms of song. He +translated many articles from the <i>Encyclopédie</i>, +Vertot’s History of the Changes of the Roman Republic, +St. Pierre’s Treatise on Permanent Peace, +and the Poem of an Italian writer, Michael Angelo +Gignetti, then settled at Petersburg. The +subject was Catherine the Great, which led to his +introduction to that empress. He next published +a periodical, of which sixteen numbers appeared +(<i>Vœstnik Petersburgsky</i>); and at last, in 1775, +he laid his beautiful poem <i>Dushenka</i> on the altar of +the Graces. He ever afterwards spoke with enthusiastic +delight of that part of his life which had been +employed in this work. His abode was then at Petersburg, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> +on the <i>Vassiliostrov</i>, in a silent solitary +dwelling, wholly rapt in poetry and music, enjoying +an enviable and care-divested liberty. He +had agreeable acquaintances;—he sometimes went +out, but always to return with keener pleasure to a +home where the muses welcomed him with renewed +fondness, with hope and fancy’s fairest flowers. The +tranquil, unuttered, unutterable joy of the poet is +perhaps the sweetest and brightest that this world +can witness. How triumphantly do the favoured +sons of song scatter the misty shades of vanity and +the more palpable array of earth-born passion! Who +that ever tasted the charm of such enviable moments, +does not turn away from the sparkling follies of the +substantial world to the memory of those holy hours +of rapture? One energetic and harmonious line—one +well-conveyed emotion—a gentle, graceful +transit from one thought to another—can fill the soul +of the poet with innocent and natural delight, leaving +behind it a soft and placid gladsomeness which +will be doubly grateful if it can be participated by +some sympathizing and sensible friend, who can +enter into its enthusiasm and forgive its excess. It +is indeed a guiltless and a spiritual joy, created by +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> +an effort, which effort is in itself enjoyment: and +then it brings the prospect of the approbation, the +encouragement of the wise and good!—But envy! +envy!—the pitiful efforts of envy itself only make +its triumphs the more splendid—they dash and murmur +like the little waves against the firm foot of the +mountain, on which true merit raises itself in its own +majesty, for the glory of its country and of mankind.</p> + +<p>The story of Psyche is one of the most attractive +which has been handed down to us by classic mythology. +It originally conveyed a beautiful and impressive +allegory, whose charm has been obscured and +whose interest almost lost in the many embellishments +with which a series of poets have crowded the simple +tale; a tale in fact only intended to describe the nuptials +of the god of love with Psyche, and the consequent +birth of the goddess of enjoyment: the obvious +sense of which is, that when the soul is filled with +love, it enjoys the highest possible portion of pleasure. +From this unadorned fable Apuleius drew a charming +story, more indeed like the fairy-tales of modern +days than the μυθοι of the old Grecian age. On +this production of Apuleius La Fontaine founded his +fascinating Psyche, adding numberless beauties to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span> +his original, and delightfully mingling verse and +prose—the strikingly impressive with the playfully +good-humoured. To the Psyche of France we owe +the Russian Dushenka; but our poet, though he +never loses sight of his exemplar, goes onwards in his +own path of flowers, and gathers many a one which +the French poet overlooked or disregarded. La +Fontaine has more of art—Bogdanovich of nature;—and +the current of the latter flows in consequence +more refreshingly. Besides, Dushenka is wholly in +verse, and good verse is certainly greatly better than +good prose, and rarer too. The most laborious +efforts of art are also the most valued⁠<a id="FNanchor_2_98" href="#Footnote_2_98" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>⁠; and thus it +is that the purest and most harmonious prose can +never give to a representation the energy or the interest +which it may derive from the power of verse, +to which indeed whatever is mysterious and supernatural +more especially belongs. This La Fontaine +constantly felt, and sought shelter for his highest +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> +efforts and sweetest fancies in the regions of song. +How much better had he done, if he had made his +Psyche a continuous poem! Bogdanovich’s Dushenka +is so. Where exists the Russian who has not read +Dushenka?</p> + +<p>This production must not be weighed in the scales +of Aristotle. It is a display of the powers of a +gay and joyous imagination, directed by good taste. +It is sportive, excursive, ingenuous, faithful:—Why +must rules of art be intruded here?</p> + +<p>[Karamsin then goes on to compare the French +with the Russian fabulist, giving the most striking +passages from the Dushenka, and “strewing,” as he +says, “the grave of the poet with his own flowers.”]</p> + +<p>Is it surprising that such a poem produced so great +an impression? Six or seven sheets thrown uncalled +for into the world, wholly changed the fate of the +author. Catherine was then reigning in Russia. She +saw, she admired the Dushenka—sent for the poet, +and inquired of him how she could gratify him.—It +was enough—who doubts the taste of a sovereign? +Nobles and courtiers learnt Dushenka by heart, +each rivalling the rest in the attentions showered +upon the author. Epistles, odes, and madrigals in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> +his honour were scattered profusely. He was +mounted above the clouds.—Alas! that the destructive +influence of such distinctions should have overshadowed +him in the brightest epoch of his poetic +talents. He was thirty years old—he abandoned the +muses—and the garland woven for him by his Dushenka +was the only one that encircled his brow in his +listless lethargy. It is an imperishable wreath, no +doubt, but the friends of poetry mourn that it should +have satisfied him. Even the thirst for fame may be +quenched. Our poet afterwards wrote much, but +against his own will and against the will of his inspiring +genius. Perhaps he would set up no rival +to his beloved Dushenka.</p> + +<p>From 1775 to 1789 he published the following +works: Historical Description of Russia—an imperfect +essay, which however is very well written; only +the first volume appeared. A Comedy in verse—The +Joy of Dushenka;—The Sclavonian Woman, +and two dramatised proverbs. Catherine encouraged +him to write for the stage, and sent him <i>brilliant</i> +presents on the production of these pieces. The +Sclavonian piece made a strong impression. It represents +the festivities with which the old Sclavonians +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span> +welcomed the return of the twenty-fifth year of +the reign of their “Great Princes,” and it was produced +just at the period when Catherine had swayed +the Russian sceptre for a quarter of a century.</p> + +<p>At the request of the Empress he also published +a collection of Russian proverbs, and wrote some +small poems in the <i>Sobesœdnik</i>, The Companion, +a weekly periodical, which appeared at Petersburg +in 1788 and 9. Many of these graceful trifles are +full of wit and gaiety, and the song “I’m fourteen +summers old,” &c. (p. 168) has become one of the +most popular national songs in Russia. He also translated +at this time the best eulogiums, such as Voltaire’s +and Marmontel’s, on the Empress, and the +compositions lost nothing of their effect in being thus +transferred to our language.</p> + +<p>In the poet let us not forget the man. He was +made associate of the Archives at Petersburg in 1780, +and in 1788 was elected president. In 1795 he was +dismissed from service, in which he had been engaged +forty-one years. The salary was continued to him +in the form of a pension. He left Petersburg the +following year. The then unfortunate state of Europe—those +dreadful revolutions which shook individuals +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span> +as well as nations, added to many personal +sorrows, excited in his sensitive mind the ardent longing +after a peaceful solitude. A beautiful climate—the +sweet recollections of youth—the bonds of early +friendship and of brotherhood—invited him to the +fair fields of Little Russia. He went to Sumii, intending +to glide calmly and silently through the +evening of life, in the circle of his connections, and +reposing on the bosom of nature. The first weeks +and months he passed in those retreats were ineffably +happy. His spirits had never been so free and +so tranquil. No phantoms disturbed his peace. A +pure conscience, the recollections of fifty years +passed in unbroken but serene activity—a poetical +but strong mind—an active strength of fancy—an +excellent library—the friendliest union with good +men and beloved relatives—and the uniformity of an +ingenuous and happy life, a life which had been so +full of allurements—these were the sources of that +happiness which he here enjoyed—a real enviable +happiness, such as is sought by all, who amidst the +world’s tumultuousness strive after their own fame, +and their fellow-creatures’ well-being;—that happiness +<i>he</i> had sighed after to decorate the peaceful +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> +though sometimes gloomy days of eventide:—but +“In this world where shall peace be found?”</p> + +<p>And Bogdanovich did not enjoy it long:—An unfortunate +attachment drove him from the haven where +he deemed himself to be safely anchored from all +the storms of life. He abandoned friends, relatives, +the silent abodes of peace and happiness, that he +might fly from this ever-ruling passion. In the years +when the sun of life sinks rapidly towards its setting, +and the calm of nature seems to invite to closer +communion with what is left of earthly pleasure, it +is then the passions are most terrible.—Youth is +supported by hope—but age has no such stay. It +hears alone the strong voice of reason, which will +not approve of the useless murmurs against destiny. +Every heart that can feel will look with sorrow on +this period of our poet’s existence.</p> + +<p>In the year 1798 he again returned to Kursk, in +whose neighbourhood he had long been wandering. +Alexander mounted the Russian throne. And when +every eye of patriotism, bright with hope and joy, +was turned upon the young monarch, Bogdanovich +again seized his long neglected lyre, and received +from the Emperor a ring as the token of his approval. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> +The poet of Dushenka had had the honour of gratifying +Catherine the Great; should not her illustrious +grandson deign also to honour him?</p> + +<p>The health of Bogdanovich had been always indifferent; +in the beginning of December, 1802, it +began visibly to decay, and on the 6th of January, +1803, he died, mourned by his acquaintances and +friends, and by every friend of the literature of his +country; for he had not yet attained those venerable +years when the last and only blessing which heaven +can confer on the son of mortality is to soothe +and brighten his passage to the realms of eternity.</p> + +<p>It is said that the character of an author is best +painted in his works; but it is surely safer to take into +account the opinions and observations of those who +knew him best. And here then we must listen to +the unvarying voice of praise. All speak of his +meekness, his feeling heart, his unselfishness, and +that innocent gaiety which played around him to +the end of his days, and gave a peculiar charm to +his society. He had no pride of authorship. He +seldom spoke of literature or of poetry, and always +with an unaffected modesty, which seemed to have +been born with him. He loved not criticism, which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> +often destroys even the honestest self-complacency, +and he often confessed that its severity would have +driven him wholly away from the exercises of his +pen.</p> + +<p>His memory will be cherished by his friends and +the friends of Russian genius; and the sweet—the +feeling—the acute—the joyous poet of Dushenka +will be honoured by the future age.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="KHEMNITZER"> + KHEMNITZER. +</h3> + +<p>Ivan Ivanovich Khemnitzer was born of German +parents at Petersburg, in the year 1744. His +father was of Saxon origin, and was attached as physician +to the country hospital of the Russian capital. +From parents of distinguished excellence our poet +received the elements of a careful education. It was +his father’s wish that his son should succeed him in +his profession, but the unconquerable aversion of the +latter to the study of anatomy could never be subdued. +He was enrolled in consequence when thirteen +years old in the regiment of guards, as sub-officer, +and made two campaigns against the Prussians +and the Turks. This, however, as he was +wont to say, was “out of the rain into the river”—from +the theatre of anatomy to the martyr-chamber +of surgery. He became in consequence an engineer +in the Berg cadet corps, having obtained the +rank of lieutenant in the Russian service. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> +won the love and the confidence of all his superiors +by his activity and uprightness. In the year 1776, +he accompanied one of his superior officers through +Germany, Holland, and France; and after his return +to his country applied himself ardently to his +literary labours. In 1778 he published the first +volume of his fables; and on its reaching a second +edition about three years afterwards, he added to it +another volume. One of his particular friends and +protectors quitting the service at this period, he determined +to do the same. He had no means of living +independently of his salary, and being compelled +to look round him for another engagement, he soon +obtained the consul-generalship of Smirna. The +emoluments attached to this office led him to hope +that in the progress of a few years he should be enabled +to retire comfortably from active life, and +this hope induced him to accept an office which banished +him from his country. That country he +abandoned with a heavy heart; and on separating +from his friends, whom he loved with indescribable +affection, he seemed to sink under the thought that +he was bidding them a final farewell. In the autumn +of 1782 he reached Smirna;—indisposition greeted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span> +him on his arrival. The climate was perhaps unfriendly; +but his mind was more keenly affected by +his exile from that society in which he had so long +breathed and lived, and which had become a necessary +element of his existence. He struggled long +against his illness:—it subdued him in the spring of +1784.</p> + +<p>This is a short outline of the serene and unpretending +career of an excellent man and an admirable +poet, whose manners were as ingenuous and +unobtrusive as his life. In many respects he may be +compared to La Fontaine, his pattern and forerunner. +The same goodness of heart, the same blind +confidence in his friends, the same carelessness and +inoffensiveness, and the same absence of mind, which +formed the prominent features of La Fontaine’s character, +were developed with singular fidelity in that +of Khemnitzer. Of the last trait we will give an +example or two. When in Paris he once went to see +the representation of Tancred. On Le Cain’s appearance, +he was so struck with the noble and majestic +presence of that renowned actor, that he rose from +his seat and bowed with lowly reverence. An universal +roar of laughter brought him back to himself. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> +One morning a friend, for whom he had the highest +regard, related to him an interesting piece of news. +Khemnitzer dined with him afterwards, and as a piece +of remarkable intelligence narrated to his host that +which his host had before communicated to him. His +friend reminded him of his forgetfulness. Khemnitzer +was greatly distressed, and in his perplexity, instead +of his handkerchief, he put his host’s napkin +into his pocket. On rising from table Khemnitzer +endeavoured to slip away unobserved; his friend saw +him, followed him, and tried to detain him. Khemnitzer +reproached him for unveiling his weaknesses, +and would not listen to any entreaties. “Leave my +napkin then, at least, which you pocketed at table,” +said the other. Khemnitzer drew it forth, and stood +like a statue. The loud laugh of the company recovered +him from his trance, and with the utmost good +nature he joined in the general mirth.</p> + +<p>A very handsome edition of his fables was published +in Petersburg, 1799, under the title <i>Basni +i Skaski I. I. Khemnitzera v Trekh Chastœkh</i>, +Khemnitzer’s Fables and Tales. The third part +consists of posthumous fables, printed for the first +time in this edition.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span></p> + +<p>In Germany the works of Khemnitzer have been +often spoken of as models and master-pieces⁠<a id="FNanchor_3_99" href="#Footnote_3_99" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>⁠. Some +of them are imitations of La Fontaine, some of Gellert⁠<a id="FNanchor_4_100" href="#Footnote_4_100" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>⁠, +but they are principally original. They are +remarkable for their purity of style—genuine Russian +character—their <i>naïveté</i> and descriptive charms—their +poetical smoothness—their singular simplicity—and +an original epigrammatic wit, most felicitously +applied.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="KOSTROV"> + KOSTROV. +</h3> + +<p>Ermil Ivanovich Kostrov was born in the +Vjetskish province. His father was a vassal of the +crown. He received the first part of his education +in the common school of his neighbourhood, and, in +consequence of his display of talent, was sent to the +Moscow university, where he obtained the rank of +bachelor of arts, and was advanced to the post of +provincial secretary in 1782. He died on the 9th +of December, 1796. A collection of his poetry, +which had been scattered in different publications, +was made in 1802 in two volumes. His translations, +which are much admired, are Homer’s Iliad, of which +the seventh, eighth, and ninth books were first printed +in the European Herald, <i>Vœstnik Evropĭ</i>. It +is said he offered the last six books to a bookseller, +and the liberal tradesman offering him only one hundred +and fifty rubles (about 7<i>l.</i> 10<i>s.</i> sterling) for his +labours, the offended poet threw the translation into +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span> +the fire. The first six books are the only ones which +have been collected. <i>Apuleev Solotoi Osel</i>, Apuleius’s +Golden Ass; Ossian, from a French version, +on which he has greatly improved; <i>Elvir i Zenotemsh</i>, +a Poem of Ardouro; and Voltaire’s Tactique +in verse.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="KARAMSIN"> + KARAMSIN. +</h3> + +<p>Nicolai Michaelovich Karamsin was born +in the province of Limbersk on the 1st of December, +1765. His earliest instructor was Professor Schaden, +of Moscow, from whose care he was removed +to the university of that place. In 1789-91 he +travelled through central Europe, and published in +1791 and 1801 his <i>Pi’sma Russkago Puteshestvennika</i>, +Letters of a Russian Traveller, which have +been translated into English. He took up his abode +at Moscow on his return, and was appointed the +imperial historiographer in 1803. From his earliest +youth he exhibited a striking fondness for literary +pursuits, and a great number of his translations were +printed in the Journal <i>Dœtskoechenie</i>, Children’s +Reading Book. The Idyl <i>Derevannaje</i>, The Wooden +Foot, was published in 1787. In the years 1792 +and 1793 he published the <i>Moskovskij Zhurnal</i>, +Moscow Journal, in eight volumes. In 1794, two +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> +parts of <i>Aglaia</i>, In 1797-8 and 9, a Collection of +Poems, entitled <i>Lonidĭ</i>. In 1798, his <i>Panteon Inostrannoi +Slovesnosti</i>, Pantheon of Foreign Literature, +in three parts. In 1802-3, <i>Vœstnik Evropĭ</i>, +European Herald, in twelve volumes. His compositions +which were printed in the newspapers at +Moscow, he published in 1794 with the title <i>Moi +Besdœlki</i>, My Trifles. Besides these, have been +published his <i>Rosgavor o Shchastii</i>, Discourse on +Happiness; 1798, <i>Julia</i>, a Tale; and <i>Pokhval’noe +slovo Ekaterinœ Velikoi</i>, Eulogium on Catherine +the Great. In 1804 a collection of his works was +printed in eight volumes. His great work, The +History of Russia, has been mentioned elsewhere +in this volume.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span></p> + + +<h3 class='section' id="ZHUKOVSKY"> + ZHUKOVSKY. +</h3> + +<p>Vassilj Andrejevich Zhukovsky was born in +1783. He was educated in the public school at +Tula and in the Moscow University, which he left in +1803. He held afterwards an appointment from the +Russian government. In 1808 and 1809 he edited +the <i>Vœstnik Evropĭ</i>, European Herald, in which +he was afterwards joined by Kachenovsky. He has +translated Florian’s Don Quixote into Russian, and +published in 1810-11, the best collection of Russian +poetry I am acquainted with, <i>Sobranie Rushkikh +Stikhotvorenii</i>, in 5 vols. Most of his productions +were originally printed in the above periodical. +Of his poetical compositions, the most esteemed +are <i>Marina Roshcha</i>, Mary’s Goat, a tale; +The <i>Moje Boginje</i>, My Goddess, from Göthe: +<i>Liudmilla</i>, and <i>Dvenadtzat Spjeshchikh Dœv</i>, +The twelve sleeping Virgins.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h3 id="FOOTNOTES_10"> + FOOTNOTES: +</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_97" href="#FNanchor_1_97" class="label">[1]</a> A Periodical Journal.—See p. 238.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2_98" href="#FNanchor_2_98" class="label">[2]</a> This is a maxim of the French school, and a very untenable +one. The characteristic of eminent genius is, that it produces +the same and even greater effect without laborious effort, which +inferior merit requires intense application to accomplish.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_3_99" href="#FNanchor_3_99" class="label">[3]</a> In No. 22 of the “<i>Freimüthigen</i>,” Kluschin speaks very +approvingly of the fables of Khemnitzer, and gives as an example +“The Lion’s mandate.” In a following number an +anonymous writer claims this fable for La Fontaine. It is +singular enough that the Russian copy was never written by +Khemnitzer, though it was published in a volume of his fables, +but under the title of <i>Chuzhiiæ Basni</i>, Fables by other +Authors.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_4_100" href="#FNanchor_4_100" class="label">[4]</a> The imitations are always distinguished in the index from +the originals.</p></div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter mt4 mb4"> +<p class='center'> + LONDON:<br> + <span class='allsmcap'>PRINTED BY R. AND A. TAYLOR,<br> + SHOE LANE.</span> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter transnote"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes"> + Transcriber’s Notes + </h2> + + +<ul> +<li>Footnotes renumbered consecutively within each chapter and moved to +the end of those respective chapters.</li> + +<li>Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.</li> + +<li>Variations in hypenation and spelling kept as in the original.</li> + +<li>Duplicate chapter titles omitted.</li> + +<li>New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to +the public domain.</li> +</ul> +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78744 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78744-h/images/cover.jpg b/78744-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d841c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/78744-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78744-h/images/i_publisher.jpg b/78744-h/images/i_publisher.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7a5968 --- /dev/null +++ b/78744-h/images/i_publisher.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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