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Specimens of the Russian poets, vol. 1 (of 2) | Project Gutenberg
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<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>
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<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">
Transcriber’s Notes
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