Poets jijd Poeto: OE POLTOD. p& 1445 E3 S&7 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY THIS BOOK IS THE GIFT OF The Rockefeller Foundation Cornell University Library PG 7445.E3S67 poetry of Poland •oets and 3 1924 026 858 245 The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://archive.org/details/cu31924026858245 GENIUS OF POLISH HISTORY. Wygnaficy, co tak dlugp Madzicie po Swieoie, Kiedyz znuzonym stopom spoczynek znajdziecie? Dziki golab ma gniazdo, robak ziemi brylg, Kazdy czlowiek ojczyzng, a Polak mogilg. Translation on Nibmobwioz'b page. (*) POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. A COLLECTION OF POLISH VERSE, INCLUDING A SHORT ACCOUNT OF THE HISTORY OF POLISH POETRY, WITH SIXTY BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF POLAND'S POETS AND SPECIMENS OF THEIR COMPOSITION, TRANSLATED INTO THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. EDITED BY PAUL SOBOLESEX . CHICAGO: KNIGHT & LEONARD, PRINTERS. 1881. •NfVEfc.fch I \ Copyright, 1881, . By PAUL SOBOLESKI. ILLUSTEATTONS. 1. Genius of Polish History. 2. Polish and American Coat-op- Arms. 3. Three Greatest Polish Poets. 4. Kochanowski. 5. Druzbacka. 6. Karpinski's Monument. 7. Krasicki. 8. Niemcewicz. 9. Mickiewicz. 10. StowACKi's Monument. 11. Zaleski. 12. Deottma. 13. Goszczynski. 14. Pol. 15. Kondratowicz. 16. Kraszewski. POLISH ACCENTED LETTERS. Besides the common alphabet, the Poles have the following accented letters — and as they may occa- sionally occur in this work, it is deemed proper to explain their sounds and pronunciation as far as it was possible so to do. Q, (nasal), has the sound of the French on as in son, pardon, etc. C, is pronounced tsie. § (nasal), has the sound like the French «», as in chacun, or like in as in main. ±j 1, very nearly as the English I, as in log, long, etc. D., is pronounced like the English n in need, or in French, gagne. O, is pronounced like the English oo. S, like the English s, followed by e, as in sea, seize. Z, like the English z, in Zealand. . Z, is pronounced like French g or j, as in genon, jambe, jardin. j, is always pronounced like y. i, like ee. w, like English v. u, like oo cz, like the English ch, as in child, chip, etc. sz, like sh, as in shall, shield, etc. rz, very like the French^', as in jardin. szcz, like stch. ch, very nearly like h, or like the Gel-man c/i, as in machen. brechen, etc. PRONUNCIATION OF POETS' NAMES. BALINSKI, BERWINSKI, - BRODZINSKI, BOGUSEAWSKI, DRUZBACKA, - DMUCHOWSKI, DEOTYMA, FELINSKI, - GAWINSKI, GARCZYNSKI, GASZYliSKI, GORECKI, GOSBAWSKI, GOSZCZYfrSKI, HOfiOWINSKI, - JAOHOWICZ, - JAKUBOWSKI, - JASKOWSKI, - KARPINSKI, KLONOWICZ, pkonounce Bah-un-skee. Bee-vin-skee. Beo-dzin-skee. Bogoo-slav-skee. Droosh-batz-kah. Dmoo-hov-skee. Deo-te-ma. Feh-lin-skee. Gah-vin-skee. Gae-tschyn-skee, Gah-shin-skee. Go-retz-kee. Gos-lav-skee. Gosh-tchin-skee. holo-vin-skee. Yah-ho-vitch. Ya-koo-bov-skee. Yas-kov-skee. Kar-pin-skee. Klo-no-vitch PRONUNCIATION OB 1 POETS NAMES. KOCHANOWSKI, KNIAZNIN, KONAKSKI, KONDRATOWICZ, KORSAK (RAY), KORSAK (JUL), KORZEMOWSKI, KRASICKI, KRASINSKI, KRASZEWSKI, KROPINSKI, . - LENARTOWICZ, MALCZEWSKI, MIASKOWSKI, MINASOWICZ, MICKIEWICZ, MORAWSKI, NARUSZEWICZ, NIEMOEWICZ, ODYNIEC, OLIZAROWSKI, - OSlftSKI, POL, - REY, SARBIEWSKI, - PRONOUNCE Ko-HA-NOV-SKEE. KlN-AZ-NIN. Ko-NAE-SKEE. KoN-DEAH-TO-VITCH. KOB-SAK. KOE-SAK. KoB-ZHEN-OV-SKEE. Keah-sitz-kee. Keah-sin-skee. Keah-shev-skee. Keo-pin-skee. Leh-nae-to-vitch. Mal-tchev-skee. Mias-kov-skee. Me-nah-so-vitch. MlTZ-KEH-VITCH. mo-eav-skee. Na-eush-eh-vitch. NlEM-TZE-VITCH O-DEE-NETZ. O-LEEZAH-EOV-SKEE. O-SEEN-SKEE. POHL. Rey. Sab-biev-skee. PRONUNCIATION OF POETS NAMES. SIENKIEWICZ, SEOWACKI, SZYMONOWICZ, TREMBECKI, UJEJSKI, WASILEWSKI, WENGIERSKI, WITWICKI, WOROtflCZ, - WYBICKI, ZALESKI, ZAN, ZIMOROWICZ, ZMIECHOWSKA, ZMORSKI, PRONOUNCE Sein-keh-vitch. Slo-vatz-kee. She-mo-no-vitch. Teem-betz-kee. Ooy-ey-skee. Vah-see-lehv-skee. Ven-ghee-skee. VlT-VITZ-KEE. Vo-EO-NITCH. Ve-bitz-kee. ZaH-IES-KEE.- Zahn. Ze-mo-eo-vitch. Zmee-hov-skah. Zmok-skee. INTEODUOTIOK It has been said that the most interesting phenome- non in the history of a people is the rise and progress of its literature. As in an individual man, so it is likewise in a nation, life manifests itself in a twofold manner: in action and in word. A wise man of an- tiquity once said to an individual unknown to him: " Speak, that I may know you." Thus we can address ourselves to every civilized people — "show us your literature, that we may judge of the actual state of your civilization, your character and your, general qualifi- cations. " 11 12 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. It is not enough that a nation has a literature of its own, and that she sets it in sight of the progression of humanity. It is not enough that she has actors appearing on the scene of learning and knowledge; a nation which has a desire to live and to advance with proper dignity to her destiny must also have specta- tors, hearers and learners in the grand school' of social vitality. In these lies her hope that she will not fall, and that she will develop. People are but collective units arising from individ- ual or single beings united by force of nationality, laws, inherent powers and actions. They grow and flourish in accordance with their natural elements and its development — and this development is the flower and the most beautiful crown of its existence. As every nation is but a part of the grand division of the human society which it influences by it's own characteristics, so is the literature of each nationality a part of the general enlightenment — which, circulating around according to its strength and spirit, tends in the same direction, and contributes toward making the whole human kind more enlightened and more happy. The literature of such people is a record of their spiritual existence, and hence it becomes their duty — a duty which k they owe to themselves and the country of their birth — to disseminate it, though it be in an humble way, among the nations of the earth. Placed in an apotheotic light on the heights of time, encom- passing the past and the future, it points out the direction, the mind and the feelings of the people from whose hearts it sprung — at the same time erecting im- perishable monuments for them which neither passing misfortunes nor the relentless hand of time can ever obliterate. INTRODUCTION. 13 Years ago there existed a great nation — great in achievements — noble in her bearing toward her neigh- bors — a warlike and chivalrous people, who once commanded the respect and admiration of the world. That nation was Poland. Since she began to play an important role in the history of nations she could count over 1,500 literary names, many of which were at the time , and are now, illustrious in the annals not only of Poland, but of the world. Prostrate, parti- tioned, suffering, and blotted out as it were from existence, she awaits the .fulfillment of her destiny. Fate sometimes strikes nations as it does individuals, but hope in her case, though it may seem futile to other nationalities, never forsakes the sorrowing hearts of her children. Scattered though they are through- out the confines of the habitable globe, they have never' ceased to wait, to hope, and to trust, that she will once more be resuscitated, resurrected, regen- erated, and once more counted among the nations of the earth! And we think that we are not mistaken when we say that there are many noble hearts in all nationalities who would respond to this heartfelt long- ing with an Amen! It is not the intent of the compiler and editor of this Work to go into a diffuse history of Polish litera- ture; his resources being rather limited, he must do as best he can. The purpose of this volume is only to take a cursory glance, and to present to the American public the names of some of the most, distinguished Polish poets, with short biographical sketches and some specimens of their productions translated into the English language — some of which may not be ecpaal to the originals in the easy flow of language and the beauty of expression. The Polish tongue may seem to 14 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. other nationalities as somewhat harsh and discordant, but in reality it is one of the most flowery, expressive, and harmonious languages extant. No language can excel it in heroic verse, nor claim preeminence over it in the expression of sentiment. Although the editor has written and translated a goodly part of The * Poets and Poetey of Poland, he availed himself of some translations of Dr. John Bowring, a distinguished English litterateur, and of Dr. Thomas D. English, an American gentleman of eminent poetical talent. He also cheerfully acknowl- edges assistance and advice of friends well experienced in literary matters. In presenting this work to the public the editor can truthfully state that he has been patiently waiting for thirty years for some of his learned and able coun- trymen to come to the front with a work on "the Poets and Poetry of Poland," but up to this period no one has yet appeared, so this important task has fallen to his lot. He cheerfully accepts the situation, and in offering this to the American People and to his countrymen, he regrets that the collection is not more complete and not more satisfactory to himself — for he can proclaim to the world, without any egotistical feel- ing of nationality, but in all the sincerity of his heart, that Polish literature is a deep mine of precious treas- ure, although outside of its own people it has been known but little heretofore. There may have been impediments to cause this delay, but as the world advances in knowledge and general enlightenment these hidden treasures will be unearthed and brought to light. This volume only points out the place where it lies inert, and fortunate will be the hand that will in. INTRODUCTION. 15 the future unearth these untold poetical treasures that have for so many years lain hidden from the sight of one of most enlightened people, the Anglo-Americans; but the way having once been opened, there will. be found in the future stronger and abler hands, who can add to this work a great deal of valuable matter which would be interesting, not only to the American people and the Poles, but to the world. PAUL SOBOLESKI. THREE GREATEST POLISH POETS. POETRY OF POLAND. The rise and progress of Polish Poetry and general liter- ature may be divided in five distinct epochs, to-wit : First Epoch — Called Piast- Jagellon Epoch, from the year 1000 to 1500. Second Epoch — - That of King Sigismund, and extending from 1500 to 1620. Third Epoch — The Jesuit Epoch, from 1620 to 1750. Fourth Epoch — Known as the Classic Epoch (or Kon- arski's Epoch), from 1750 "to 1822. Fifth Epoch — The Romantic Epoch, commencing with the appearance of Adam Mickiewicz and extending up to the present time. FIEST EPOCH. Piast- Jagellon. Which mat be considered as the Morning Star of Polish Literature. It dates from the intro- duction of Christianity to the time when printing came into general use — 1000-1500. Before the tenth century the history of Polish Poetry is rather dim and uncertain. It is only since the intro- duction of Christianity into Poland, during the reign of Mieczyslas I, that the Polish literature assumed a per- ceptible shape. With the advance, of civilization the idols created in bygone days, before which the people bowed, were one by one demolished, and the prejudices 17 18 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. of the past so thoroughly subverted that in a short time scarcely a vestige of them was left; We have, indeed, old reminiscences of songs, fables, and tradi- tions, but we find them all pervaded in exaggeration and superstition. In this interesting period we had poems, secular songs, and other kinds of rhythmical compositions, be- cause circumstances surrounding our people — such as wars, victories, and defeats ; weddings, funerals, and national ceremonies — naturally called into existence the feeling of poetical inspiration ; hence bards appeared who were the creators of these compositions. We had also religious poetry, because from time immemorial our people sung in churches in the Polish language; but the relics of the original sacred poetry are very scarce, since in the progression and refinement of the Polish language these compositions were, so to speak, made over, and hence many of them lost the stamp of their originality. In the fifteenth century Polish Poetry made but little progress ; indeed, we may say it stood as it was in the age of Piast — in its infancy. Scholastic philosophy and the Latin tongue stifled, as it were, the native vein of the Polish songs, — scarcely the traces of a few were pre- served. Toward the end of the fifteenth century, when our people became more numerous and stronger, our poets also began to assume more distinct and promi- nent places. We no longer rest on conjectures and in- ferences, but upon monumental evidences. Sacred poetry was founded upon several renditions of the Psalms, as also upon sacred songs translated from the Bohemian, and the secular rested upon a wider range and continual improvement on the Piast period. Hence the rhythmical compositions of that period not being POETRY OF POLAND. 19 characterized by any especial shading of poetry, we will only classify the remaining traces and monuments. 1. Relics of sacred poetry. 2. Of secular rhyth- mical creations. In fact we could mention some dra- matic souvenirs of those ages, but as they are of no great significance, we leave that part to the pen of a special inquirer. RELICS OF SACRED POETRY. After the introduction of Christianity, the Polish Poetry, being under the influence of the civilization of Western Europe, began to flourish very early in sacred or church songs ; although these songs were chiefly translations from the Bohemian tongue, or, we should rather remark, they were sort of made over. Of the earliest poetic compositions nothing has yet been found. Whether they had been wholly lost, or were defaced by continual use in handling and tran- scribing, is uncertain ; but as no religion has ever done without songs and chants, we may natiirally presume that such had existed. Songs and chants of that kind form the nucleus of every nation's poetry and music, and it was in such rhythmical composition that the Polish language began to put forth its shoots, to refine and improve. Pious simplicity especially characterizes these compositions; intrinsically they have no poetical worth, being as it were only, prose unskillfully versified. From the most important of these compositions which came down to our times, and which deserve notice, is : 1. " Boga Rodzica" (the Mother of God), origi- nally composed by St. Adelbert. This celebrated chant was composed in the Bohemian language, and was sung by the Poles before the commencement of every battle* 20 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. and is to this day sung during the divine services in the Cathedral of Gniezno. The author of this celebrated chant was born in 950 in Bohemia, and was the Bishop of Prague. Being persecuted by the Bohemians, he removed at first to Hungary, and then to Poland. That was during the reign of Mieczyslas I, where he was instrumental in spreading the newly introduced doctrines of Christianity. In the year 995, with the advice of Boleslas the Great, King of Poland, he went to Prussia to instruct, the pagans of that country in Christianity, and suffered the death of a martyr at Fishhausen. Bole.-las the Great bought his body from the Prussians and had it buried with great ceremony at Gniezno. Otto III, the Emperor of Germany, visited his grave. 2. Fiftieth Psalm from thirteenth century. 3. Sorrows of the Mother of God under the Cross of the Redeemer. 4. Psalter of Margaret, the Princess of the Mora- vians, from fourteenth century ; but it is not certain whether the production belongs to Margaret, the wife of Louis, King of Hungary, or to Maria, tlie King's eldest daughter. From certain passages there are traces giving us to understand that it was the first trial — the first translation of the psalter. 5. The Psalter of Queen Hedwige, from fifteenth century — the two first psalms. 6. Be Praised the Queen (Salve Regina), from the year 1406. Of the names of the authors of religious songs of those days the following are known to us : John Witowski, the companion of Ladislaus Lokietek, who composed a song on the sufferings of our Lord, which was sung in Poland during Lent. POETRY OF POLAND. 21 John Opalinski, the bishop of Posen, a great lover of music and good cheer. He wrote a song about the Ascension ; the Immaculate Virgin Mary ; a song about St. Adelbert ; five songs about St. Peter, and six about St. Paul. These songs were sung by the religious Motherhood of Posen. John Peewoeszczyk, from fifteenth century, who collected a small volume of " Anthems " (1435). This collection contains originals and translations from the Latin, and the title is also Latin. Andrew from SIupia, a Benedictine monk, wrote songs of the Queen of Heaven ; also hymns to Jesus Christ and others. These compositions are superior to any previously written. At that period the Poles had not come to full civili- zation, and yielded to the influences of Western Europe. Their poetry began at once to assume a higher grade, and became more assimilated with music, full of sweet harmony. Between 965-1040, however, they still sang the old songs. The boors guarding the bordering Castles during the reign of Boleslas the Romantic, about King Popiel, were commonly sung by young girls, and were not given up until the death of Boleslas the Great. There were also many dumas about the Tartars, who, in the thirteenth century, about every twenty years made incursions into Poland ; but after a while these songs fell into disuse. There were also many ritual songs. The fragments of these compositions attest their antiquity. Many of these were made over into Christian songs, leaving, however, the traces of some primitive words originally used, which plainly identify them as the relics of old times. The wedding songs were preserved the best of any 22 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. during almost eight centuries. These songs seem to possess an idyllic tendency, and have come down even to the present time in their primitiveness. From these remnants the following deserve mention : 1. Congratulatory song to King Casimir I, begin- ning with the words " Welcome, welcome, our dear host." 2. Plaintive songs of Boleslas the Great, which Martin Gallus translated into Latin. 3. Song in honor of Boleslas, surnamed "The Crooked-Mouthed. " 4. Song describing the assassination of Ludgarda by her husband Przemyslas. 5. Song about Albert, the Justice of the City of Cracow. 6. Song about Yitold. 7. Song concerning the calamity of Bukowina. The most distinguished authors of those times are : Andrew GaIka, the Professor in the Academy of Cracow, and. Canon of St. Thomas' Church, lived in fifteenth century. He composed a song about Wick- liffe, who encouraged Huss's religious views among the Poles. Adam Swinka, the Cathedral Canon of Cracow, and Secretary of Jagello, lived in fifteenth century. He wrote beautiful elegiac verses in the Latin tongue ; epitaph on the death of Queen Hedwige ; composition on the death of Zawisza* surnamed "The Black." Besides these he wrote a heroic poem— "De rebus gestis ac dictus memorabilibus Casimiri Secundi Polo- niae Kegis inclitissimi." These songs were translated into Polish by Louis Kondratowicz. Conrad Celtes wrote " Carmen ad Vistulam," de- * A celebrated Polish hero. POETRY OF POLAND. 23 scribing the channel of the river Vistula ; "Salinaria ad Janum Teririum," describing the salt mines of Wieliczka. His influence fired the Polish youth to the Eoman Classic literature. Celtes was born in Germany in 1459, and was crowned with a wreath by the Emperor of Germany for his Latin poetry. "While visiting for scientific pur- poses Kome, Venice, lllyria, and Panonia, he came to Cracow to hear Albert, from Brudziewa, lecture on Astronomy. He remained in Cracow, two years, divid- ing his time in the study of astronomy, reading the classics, and writing poetry in Latin, breathing his love to Hasilina, a Cracovian maiden, — as also enjoy- ing the literary society of the young academicians. He died in 1508. SECOND EPOCH. Called " The Sigismund Epoch." Golden Advent of Polish Poetkt— 1500-1620. In the Second Epoch we see another, a wider, and a more beautiful field opening before us. What was only in the bud is in this epoch in full bloom. For- merly it was only the light of the moon struggling to penetrate through the darkness of ages. Now the golden rays of the sun throw a new halo and form enchantingly mingled colors of the rainbow. In those days the historian was anxiously looking for the small- est possible traces, but now in the abundance of pro- ductions his task is only to select what is the best. Weary of traveling amidst the woodless and track- less prairies, we begin with pleasure, and hope to see the accounts of true literature springing up from the 24 POETS AND POETBY OF POLAND. inner life of a developing people and multiplying in the production of poets, orators, and historians. It was still more singular that the advance was made in two different languages — the Polish and the Latin — equally well cultivated. It seemed as if two litera- tures began to bloom all at once in one and the same people. Thus we begin the sixteenth century. The characteristic signs of this age were great dis- coveries and inventions. At no previous time was there so much anxiety and lively desire to study and ascertain the inherent qualities of Nature ; never be- fore the spirit of inquiry and searching after was wider than in this epoch of Columbus, Gama, Raphael, Copernicus, Galileo, and Guttenberg ; the world be- came broader and more expansive by bold conception of one man ; received a new world from the hands of another, and if in accordance with the system of the Creator himself, it was built over anew as if by the en- chanter's hand ; the times of chivalry disappeared ; Art thrusts the barbaric weapon out of the , hands of the stronger ; knowledge subverts the idols of scholas- tics ; and, finally, that the ideal should not be lost, Ariosto, Camoens, Cervantes, and their compeers, ap- pear upon the stage. Perhaps at no period so many eminent men made their appearance at the helm: Leo X, Charles V, Francis I, Sigismund the Old, Henry VIII, Soliman, Shah Ismael, and Shah Akbar. Amidst the turbulence of those days, there was one country beyond the confines of "Western Europe occu- pying the common sphere of knowledge shed by the light of Christianity, which quietly progressed in the general improvement, in the science of government, literature, and general enlightenment. In their active life the Poles nursed their own ideas, POETRY OF POLAND. 25 in shaping and by degrees unfolding their natural char- acter, and thus the Polish Nation, by uninterrupted pro- gression, was nearing to her maturity. At this epoch Polish Poetry and Polish Music kept even pace with other branches of natural advancement. Poets of great distinction appeared, their compositions shedding a great luster over the national literature — Nicholas Key, JohnKochanowski,Klonowicz, Miaskow- ski, and others. Besides these there were Polish poets who wrote in the Latin tongue, as for instance : Dantyszek, who is the author of ' ' De virtutis et honore differentia Somnium "; " Carmen Extempora- rum de victoria insigni Sigismundi Regis " ; " De nos- trorum temporum Calamitatibus ";" Jonas propheta de interitu civitatis Gedanensis"; "Epigramata varia," etc. etc. Paul Krosnianin also sung for posterity many memorable things : ' ' Jureditum Sigismundi I, Regis Poloniae"; "De nuptiis Sigismundi Regis Poloniae et Bonae Ducis Mediolani filiae," etc. etc. Clemens Janioki. All of his poetry belongs to lyric compositions. Their smoothness reminds the scholar of Ovid, and on account of the outpouring of a great feeling he can be justly compared to Catullus and Tibullus. This epoch comes down to the year 1620. • THIRD EPOCH. Called the Jesuit Period — 1620-1750. .A distracted state of the country in consequence of internal quarrels and wars caused also the decadence in Polish literature. It is with much regret and reluctance that this fact is stated. The deviation from the right way of a single age caused the retrogression of Poland ; 26 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. and while all countries surrounding us were advancing in light, we were thrown into darkness and became, as it were, the sport of a relentless fate. Sad, indeed, is the lesson received from our forefathers, that retro- gression from light is far more detrimental to the hap- piness of a nation than the simplicity of ignorance. After the death of Jagellons and Stephen'Batory, many misfortunes came over our people. Incursions of enemies and internal dissensions caused many suf- ferings to the Eepublic. As if to compensate for this retrogression, immortal heroes appeared on the stage of action. Zoikiewski, Czarnecki, . Chodkiewicz, and John Sobieski shed upon their country a true, heroic luster,, as they not only fought for their own country, but for entire Christendom. "We should not very much transgress if we said that in this perigd we show but few distinguished names in poetry. Zimorowicz, Gawinski, Mortszyn, Koehowski, Elizabeth Druzbacka, and Prince Jablonowski belong to this period, and we have every reason to be proud of them. , This period extends from Sigismund III to Stanislaus Augustus. FOURTH EPOCH. Pseudo-Classic, or Konarski's Epoch, or Eevival of Gen- eral Knowledge and Literature in Poland. The unpropitious times of Sigismunds under the blasts of which the flowers of Polish Poesy began to wither had passed away. The circumstances, how- ever, and elements of this new period were very favor- able toward reviving, regenerating, and improving the almost neglected branches of literature. The languish- ing powers of the Polish Muse were all of a sudden POETRY OF POLAND. 27 strengthened and exalted as if by the enchanter's wand. Poets like Karpinski, Tfembecki, "Woronicz, Kniaznin, Krasicki,Wengierski, Szymonowicz, Dmuch- owski, and others appeared in the galaxy. Authors of great distinction in other branches of literature began to multiply with astonishing. rapidity. The King him- self, being a learned man, encouraged men of genius with great magnanimity. The beginning of this desirable revival was chiefly owing to Konarski and his companions, who, being educated in France under the protection of Stanislaus Leszczynski, on their return to their native land brought fresh ideas with them regarding social science and liter- ature, and hence it was that a French classic literature was inducted into Poland similar to the French liter- ature existing during the reign of Louis XIV. Konar- ski compelled the Jesuits to adopt these reforms, and having obtained the powerful assistance of Joseph and Andrew Zaiuski, — bishops of great learning and influence — was able to thus effect the salvation of their countrymen who through former wars and inter- nal dissension had so unfortunately retrograded from their former greatness. During the last years of the reign of Augustus III the Polish literature was enriched by works of great worth on history, bibliography, theology, etc. Minas- owicz wrote good poetry and translated into the Polish language ancient classics. Nagurczewski translated the works of Homer, Yirgil, and Cicero. Jabionowski rendered into Polish the fables of JEsop and Telem- achus. As the nineteenth century was rapidly approaching, . learned men and poets found protection and assistance in the houses of great magnates; and Pulawy, the resi- 28 POETS AND POETKY OP POLAKD. dence of princes Czartoryiski, became the dwelling- place of the Polish muse. In the year 1800 there sprung up at Warsaw ' ' The Society of the Friends of Learning." Its members were men of great learning, and vigorous writers; many of the poets enlisted under that auspicious banner. The object of that society was to preserve from oblivion, and enrich, the wealth of the Polish literature. This National Society gave a great impetus to strenuous endeavors by men of genius to write. Such men as Woroniez, Memcewicz, Albertrandy, Lelewel, Bandt- kie, Sniadecki, Czacki, Linde, Ossolift'ski, and others appeared upon the stage of literary fame. Each of these celebrated men not only contributed much to the general literature of their country, but exerted great influence over the tenor and literary taste of those days. Every one of them had a direct bearing on the progression of literature, and for that reason there was an uncommon advance in poetry, history, and natural sciences. Although the compositions of at least a part of this period were somewhat affected by French idioms and inflation, yet the strength of the national current pre- vailed and preserved the native purity of language and ideas unharmed. FIFTH EPOCH, Pseudo-Romantic ok Mickiewicz's Epoch — Extending fbom the Year 1822 to the Present Day. Amidst the many violent political shocks in Europe, which only ended with the downfall of Napoleon the Great and the Congress of "Vienna in 1815, there also POETKY OF POLAND. 29 came changes in the intellectual world. Europe got rid of mediaeval excrescences and conceits ! Thinking men must admit that there are moments in the lives of nations as well as of individuals when the mind, rocked by the storms of adversity, longs for quietness and rest. When we see that the happiness which we had been seeking, the great aims for which we have been striving with so much faith and devoted- ness, have come to nothing, that all our troubles and endeavors have been of no avail, then it is that we turn our languishing eyes into the past when we thought we were happy, though in reality we were only compara- tively so, not knowing that it might and should be better. We look as if into the mirror, into the luster of sweet and pleasing remembrances of departed years, since now they seem to be more beautiful and more poetic, just because they will never return. Such time is pro- pitious to the unfolding and developing into bloom of historical poetry. Such an epoch in modern Europe was the beginning of the nineteenth century. The political and intellectual storms of the last hun- dred years left after them banished hopes, a void, and a faintness. From the smoldering ashes and moss-over- grown ruins the mental powers, rent by doubts and a wounded heart which the present could not satisfy, the yearning voice spoke forth for the feeling and faith, for the greatness and poetry of olden times. This was in consequence of a reaction of the past. As it always happens that when there is a new change to take place in the kingdom of imagination immediately there is born a new generation willing and ready to second and support it, so it was at this period. Classicism began to show every day more and more plainly that its time was about over. In the 30 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. minds of the highest cultivation it began to lose, gradu- ally, its prestige, and although no one could see at the time what should take its place, everyone felt that its decadence was at hand, when lo ! a single bard ap- peared on a newly erected stage, and pronounced the word Momanticism. Literary men gave him a willing ear. The apostles of a new poetic faith began to in- crease and multiply and with much enthusiasm spread the new doctrine of poetic inspiration, and thus the new Phoenix was born. The originator of the Eoman- tic School was Adam Miokiewicz. It will ever be a memorable time in the history not only of the Polish but of European poetic literature. Witwicki, Gos- czyftski, Zaleski, Goslawski, and others, propelled by the current of their genius, joined the new camp, and having sanctioned the new doctrine, upheld it with the force of their poetic powers. They struck the strings which up to this period were not only untouched but unknown. The self-created spirit broke the shackles of former days — shackles that so strictly bound the free- dom and spirit of poetic inspiration to certain laid down poetic rules in composition. Then it was that the poetic flow began to gush out from the eternal spring of love and phantasy. The Polish nationality received this- new outgrowth with great approbation and delight, which is still in popular favor, and we think will con- tinue so for generations to come. The creations of our poets of this period are almost in every instance breathing with a peculiarly happy, heartfelt, and lively serenity of the spirit. Although sadness and tearfulness preponderate in their strains, yet it can be plainly seen that they are pervaded with a strong belief in the guardianship of Providence over the affairs of this world, which in its nature is hopeful POETRY OF POLAND. 31 and noble, for it assures sooner or later the additional triumph over the power of falsehood and evil, contend- ing against them and temporarily restraining their in- fluence over the world. Unlike the literatures of other nationalities, breath- ing doubts, grief, or repulsive flattery, or replete with metaphysical mysticism, which loses itself in the un- fathomable, our ideals had something in them of re- ality, and in almost all poetic creations of our bards there is an undercurrent of religiously patriotic love of country, deeper, and yet more purely understood, than in any other literature. As to the introduction of this pseudo-romantic style of writing, its votaries could not precisely define what they wished and where they were tending, because no one precisely understood upon what system this Ro- manticism was founded. It must be remembered that heretofore the French system stood preeminent in the Polish literature, but now the time had come to cut loose from it, and Polish litterateurs began to consider the poetic elements governing the middle ages and also giving much weight to the German style. Happily for the Poles that the deliberations of these men served as a protec- tion in the incubation of the style purely national. After the ebullition of the first youthful enthusiasm was over, our poets began to examine their strength, but finding it as yet very undefined they turned their attention to different but inexhaustible sources — the treasures of popular poetry, which led to the love of the supernatural and miraculous, and to the fresh tra- ditions of the great past, which they wished to preserve and to perpetuate by their songs. But what was the aim of these poets ? It was to 32 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. bring nearer to the sight the local phenomena of exist- ence, to increase the light, to make the home history more interesting, and to preserve in the mirror of poetic art the hereditary thoughts and feelings, as also the remembrances upon which is founded, and from which emanates, the individuality of national existence. All the above mentioned poets, albeit different in the tendencies of their genius, meet at the same point, that is, in the texture and concatenation of thought, the national feeling. During the existence of the Duchy of "Warsaw, and subsequently the Kingdom of Poland, and especially until the year 1825; the whole of our literature flowed as it were in one and the same channel ; but since the advent of Bkodzinski different tendencies began to spread over the country. Civilization had extended its blessings all over the Polish nation, and at the same time had awakened great poetic talent. Small poetical circles were formed in the Kingdom of Poland, in Lithuania and that part of Poland called Little Eussia, comprising Podolia, Yolhynia and Ukraine, forming as it were so many different and distinct pleiads, but shining in the same heavens and constituting our whole literature. Padura, ZalesM, Goszczynski, Olizarowski, Groza, and others, but they were all outstripped by Brodzinski' 's ' ' Wieslaw " and MalczewsWs "Marya." The first was well under- stood, but the other seemed incomprehensible at first, but now he is reckoned among the first poets of Poland. But the grand center of poetic power was Adam Miokiewioz, the creator of a new and splendid epoch in Polish Poetry, the man who accomplished a twofold task, that of gathering in his own personality the spirit of the whole nation and raising up the Polish Poetry POETRY OF POLAND. 33 to the rank of the European muse. This he accom- plished most successfully. In Germany the Goethe epoch was passing way. The era of English poetry was beginning to change by the appearance of Lord Byron and Walter Scott. In Prance there were Lamartine and Yictor Hugo. Between these poets and Mickiewicz there was that kindred relationship which can only exist among men of great genius at the same time and without any re- gard to nationality. The imitators of Mickiewicz did not exactly equal his genius. Among the most prominent of these could be counted Odyniec, Alexandeb, Ohodzko, "Witwioki, Massalski and Julian Koesak. With the year 1831 a new inspiration seemed to have taken hold of the whole Polish nation, and the Polish literature also took a new turn, that of a moral and a warm patriotic tendency. From this time Polish poetry assumes the highest possible significance, and becomes the leading and reigning spirit of the whole Polish nationality. It was about this time that Keasinski and SIowacki unfolded the great power of their poetic genius. Then again we have something from what we may term Siberian poetry, from Chaeles Balinski, and from the literature of Caucasus of Gustave Zielinski, and from one of the foremost, Maueice GosJawski, who, during the prostration of the nation raised his voice to the highest and sung the heroic songs, which from this time began to characterize the literature of Poland. Vincent Pol began also to sing of the past glory and loveliness of the Polish land, and thus was formed a new pleiad of a young generation of Polish poets, the most distinguished of whom were Bielowski, Siemien- 34 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. ski, "Wasilewski, Geoza, Kondeatowicz (Syrokomla), Beewinski, Zmoeski, Gaszyxski, Lenabtowioz and Hedwige Luszczewska (Deotyma). We come now to a period when the Polish imise takes another decided turn. Kbasixski, shuddering at the premonitions of death's alarms, reveals to the world in his " Psalms " the mystery of Resurrection, and U.iejski, following in his wake, proclaims his "Lamentations." The heroic poetry, too, inscribes upon the pages of immortality the names of Iasinski, GoDEBSKI, KoESAK, SuCHODOLSKI and FvOMANOWSKI. If the poetry of to-day does not now in any other channel than heretofore, it certainly adds to it the great play upon the feelings, and beautifies it by variegated shadings of the picturesque ; keeping always in the wake of national traditions, it also keeps pace with the inward fitness of national spirit, thereby awakening constant admiration and furnishing material for the tuneful lyre of the Polish bards. Polish Poetry during the reign of Sigismunds is characterized by classic conciseness and pleasing sim- plicity. During the time of Stanislaus Augustus, it is marked by accuracy and branching out in the richness of the language. In our times it is distinguished by still greater purity, taste, and general inrpi-ovement, which may be considered as a remarkable augury of eminent progression, especially so when we consider that the writers, after having regained the original purity of the vernacular tongue^ will in future do away with all foreign words which have a tendency to weaken the expression and dignity of poetic compositions in the Polish language. And the object will be fully ac- complished if they will avoid imitating the manner of foreign style of composition. POETRY OF POLAST). 35 As regards the present spirit of the Polish Poetry. we see the lore of country pervades everywhere. Zealous admiration of noble deeds, tempered ecstasy. free imagination untainted by fantastic conceits, mild in tenderness, simplicity, morality of poetical philoso- phy, and beautiful pictures of rural life and family in- tercourse. In this, as it were improvised, literature, the course of which has been lively and rapid, are expressed the feelings of a great people's national records, and the spirit of Poland long ago, but these have not yet reached their journey's end, — not to their final destination. It still goes Oswaed axd Upwaed. 36 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. REY. Nicholas Key may be considered as the father of Polish poetry. Following in the train of the age he lived in, which was theological Polemics, he partici- pated in all its delusions and its errors. As a poet he was only mediocre, lacking in what is termed the poet- ical inspiration ; and yet although the reader cannot recognize Rey as a genius, he will discover in his writings sober and substantial thought, healthy and forcible manner, and fresh expressions, somewhat colored but invariably pithy. If his poetical compositions are devoid of high imagery, they show, nevertheless, and pointedly too, that he wished to demonstrate to the book-learned teachers and professional poets the exist- ence of a people's literature, and thereby awaken in them the spirit of inquiry in regard to plebeian or popu- lar poetry, — that important link — writing for the first time the plebeian literature and the literature of the learned. Rey was indeed a true bard, and did much toward the elevation of the Polish Muse. King Sigismund Augustus held Rey in the highest esteem, and not only patronized and enriched him, but conferred uppn him many marks of distinction. Rey was born in 1505, and passed his youth in frolic and pleasure. He went to school for about five years, but it seems he did not learn there much of anything — not till the twentieth year of his life, when through the influence of his uncle he obtained a place with a very wealthy family of Tenczyfiski, who generally spent their time in Italy, and associating with the mem- bers of the Imperial family, knew how to prize learn- REY. 37 ing and learned people, and understood how to assimi- late the customs of their country with European civili- zation. Rey being connected with a family of such high standing, began to acquire facility in the writing of Polish letters and learned a little Latin. He amused himself with study and music and began to compose verses, but he never could stay in one place ; chiefly spending his time in hunting he cast his lot with Hetman Sieniawski and traveled in different parts of Poland, frequenting political assemblies, courts of jus- tice and meetings of all sorts, being everywhere received with much eclat as a man of good cheer and ready wit, fond of good wine and a sumptuous table. Not mixing in any quarrels or contentions of any kind, he was welcome and received hospitality no matter where he turned. Being liked by all except by strict Roman Catholics, he passed his time at the courts of both Sigismunds, who bestowed upon him good pay and munificent gifts. Although he was present at every assembly and almost at every political and religious meeting, he never would accept of any office. Amidst all the allurements of social circles he did not neglect his calling as a poet, and kept improving as he grew older. He died in 1569. VIETUE. Virtue is the earth's gem of gems, Rich and poor the diadems. Though all emeralds formed one star, Virtue's light is brighter far ! For earth's marts man has not made Balance which this gem hath weighed, All other blessings pass or fade — Virtue till death is undismayed. 38 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. VICE. Vice is a serpent, lying through all weather, Coiled up unseen beside life's wayside stone. When knave and fool carousing come together, With warning hiss it makes its venom known. The following is Rey's description of what Poland was three hundred and forty years ago : Cast your eyes around you and behold our glorious king- dom ! Strong within itself, Poland needs no assistance from other nations. • It is one of the most powerful nations in Europe, and in martial character is preSminent. The Lord of all has placed it here, and endowed her people with many rare qualities. Is there a nation on earth equal to ours in bravery and endurance? The intrepidity, .the unyielding per- severance and daring heroism of Polish soldiers surpasses anything in the annals of history. In knowledge and progress Poland stands equal if not superior to other nations. In her most brilliant eras she has produced many men eminent in science, among whom we can count at this present time Copernicus, the discoverer cf the true system of the universe. Other nations may possess more gold and silver, spices, silks, etc., but can they compete with us in virtue and excellence, in valor and prowess ? What nation can stand against the indomitable courage of our valiant soldiers? Many nations now in our memory have called upon us to assist them in time of war, and when they saw our soldiers in their ranks they felt assured of victory. A Polish soldier fights to win, and wherever he shows his open face and brave heart the enemy is forced to yield. A THOUGHT. For the improvement of his mind it is necessary that a man should read. ANECDOTES. Rey was very witty, and one day while he was fishing a neighbor sent a boy to him with his compliments, and an REY. 39 empty dish for some fish. Key understood the drift and remarked : " I will return compliments for compliments, but for the fish I must have money, not compliments." It so happened that the poet was outwitted by an ignorant peasant. While traveling Eey came to a certain village, and meeting a peasant the following dialogue took place : Bey. Who holds possession of this village? Peasant. The earth and fences. Bey. Who is master here? Peasant. He who has the most money. Bey. Who is the elder of this place? Peasant. The oldest person in the place is a man who is one hundred years old, if that is what you mean. Bey. I mean who occupies the highest place? Peasant. Oh ! yonder linden tree by the church. Bey. How far is it to noon? Peasant. It. has not passed here yet, so I couldn't tell you. Bey. It seems to me, fellow, that you are rather impu- dent, and deserve a slap in your mouth. Peasant. I wouldn't like that, as I am no dog ; but if you would slap something into my hand it would be all right. Bey. " As I live," said the poet," I have never met so pert a peasant before." Useless the yield of well worked fields If but to waste the housewife yields. The poet tells us that the above has a twofold meaning. One is: no matter how many victories we gain over our ene- mies in the field, they will be productive of no good if there is discord and misrule at home. And another is : no matter how hard a farmer works in the field if his wife is wasteful, idle and improvident, the farming operations must come to ruin. Which is proven by another proverb: A wasteful housewife can carry out with her apron more than the farmer can haul in with a wagon. The light of Holy Truth can never be extinguished. KOCHANOWSKI. Wszystko sig dziwnie pleoie Na tym tu biednym Swiecie. A. ktoby chcial wszystkiego rozumem dochodzid, I zginie, a nie bgdzie umiai w to ugrdzid. Translation on the last page of Kochanowski (*). 40 KOCHANOWSKI. 41 KOCHANOWSKI. John Kochanowski, who attained great celebrity as a poet, is the type and true representative of the Polish muse of the sixteenth century, for in him were united all the rhythmical elements of that epoch. From the many of his lyrical creations could he mentioned'" So- botka," or the song of St. John's Eve, "Threns (or Laments) on Ursula's Death," " Reconciliation, " "Epi- taphs," "Inscriptions," "Psalms," "Translations from the Songs of Anacreon," and "Chess." Kochanowski having had no specimens of Polish literature before him, had himself to break through the first difficulties of rhythmical art. He had himself to invent the form, language, and poetical style. In his compositions as well as his life, two separate and characteristic epochs are perceptible: one of frenzy, frivolity, loye matters and pleasure, the other presents peace of the soul, resignation, and a serene, religious feeling. He was born in Siczyn, in 1530, in Great Poland. Desiring more information he traveled in the south of Europe, in order to get a better knowledge of classical antiquity, and after his return was advanced to many high offices, of the state, but he resigned them all for the sake of retirement and peace. Kochanowski wrote also in Latin, and his poetry in that language was considered superior to that of any of his contemporaries. His poems are full of beauty, and the melodious flow of his verse is truly delightful. Although his writings are various, his reputation is prin- cipally founded upon his ' ' Laments " (Treny), in which he mourns the loss of his little daughter Ursula, whom 42 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. he represents as gifted, intelligent and lovely; his com- positions overflow with expressions of passionate grief. Other gems, like the song on ' ' St. John's Eve, " " Nothing Sure in this "World," etc., are admired to the present day. He also wrote songs from Horace and from Greek anthology, translated Virgil's "JEneid," and Tasso's ' ' Jerusalem Delivered. " His poem on John Tarnowski, the celebrated Polish hero, is an epic which entitles him to the highest rank as an author of heroic poetry. Kochanowski also printed a drama, "The Greek Ambassadors," in hexameter measure. His prose works are scarcely less numerous than his poetical*, and are equally distinguished for their grace and purity of style. He died in 1584. THE GREATNESS OF GOD. God! What wilt Thou for Thy gifts from us For Thy unmeasured goodness bounteous ? No church contains Thee, for Thou fillest space — Ocean and Earth, and Heaven Thy dwelling place. We cannot give Thee gold, for gold is Thine, All earthly treasures bear Thy seal divine. Praise we can give Thee from a grateful heart, Thou who above us and beyond us art! Thou art the master of the world — hast reared The heavens with all its starry orbs ensphered. And Earth's foundations, at Thy word straightway Arose from nothingness in green array. The sea, at Thy commands, despite its fret, Remains within the bounds Thy hand has set. The countless rivers at Thy mandate flow, Thou bid'st the night and day to come and go. For Thee the Spring with flowers her brow adorn, For Thee the Summer binds her ears of corn- KOCHANOWSKI. 43 To Thee the Autumn yields both fruit and vine, And winter wreathes red holly for Thy shrine. The withered herbage 'neath Thy dew revives, Beneath Thy rain the parched up grain-field thrives. From out Thy hand all creatures take their food, And through Thy bounty all things are renewed. everlasting God! be praised therefor — Grant us Thy grace and bounty evermore; Shield us while here from every evil thing, And fold us close beneath a Father's wing. THKEN I. Come gather 'round my dwelling, tears and sighs, Eloquent woes, and loud-voiced miseries ; All tones of sorrow, anguish, and regret, Hand- wringing grie'f, and pangs the cheeks that wet, — Yes! gather 'round my dwelling all, and join Your plaint, your passion, with these plaints of mine, O'er that sweet child whom most unholy death Hath smitten, and in one outrageous breath Dispers'd all joy! — as when a dragon springs On Philomela's nest, who sits and sings Heedless, till roused by cries she flaps her wings, Flutters around her home, and shrieking tries To arrest the spoiler, — idle strife ! She flies On wearied wing ; in vain — the abandoned one Becomes in turn a prey — I'll weep alone, "Weep bitterest tears. Vain too, 'tis vain I know, — All is irreparably vain below; — We only grasp delusions, life's a cheat Of new deceit, but link'd to old deceit. . 1 know not which is vainer, — if to bear And struggle with our grief in mute despair, Or give the anguish passionate vent, as here. 44 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. THREN VII. • Thou angel child ! thy mournful dress before me Throws bitter sorrow o'er me ; Thy little ornaments of joy and gladness Awake a deeper sadness. Never again to wear your splendors, — never ; All hope is fled forever ! A sleep, a hard and iron sleep, hath bound thee, Dark night has gather'd round thee. Thy golden belt is dim ; thy flower-wreathed tresses Scattered. Thy summer dresses Which thy poor mother wrought ; she had array'd thee For love, and we have laid thee In the tomb's bridal bed ; and now thy dower Is a funeral flower, — A little shroud, — a grave. Swe^t child ! thy father Some odorous hay shall gather, To pillow thy cold head. Death's dormitory Holds thee, and all thy glory. THREN IX. My gentle child! and art thou vanished? Thou Hast left a dreary blank of sadness now ; Our house though full is desolate and lone Since thy gay spirit and its smiles are gone ! We heard thy tongue's sweet prattle, and thy song Echoed in every corner all day long. Thy mother never grieved, and anxious care Ne'er rack'd thy father's thoughts while thou wert there; Now hers — now mine — thy childish, fond caress — The overflow of youth and tenderness. But all is vacant now, — all dull and dead ; All peace, and hope, and laughing joy are fled; Our home po'ssess'd by ever present grief, And the tired spirit vainly seeks relief. KOCHANOWSKI. 45 THREN X. Whither, whither fled! in what bright sphere Art thou, my Ursula, a wanderer ? Say, has thou wing'd above yon heavens thy flightj A cherub midst the cherubim of light? Dwell' st thou in Eden's garden? — or at rest Eeposing midst the islands of the blest? Doth Charon waft thee o'er the gloomy lake, And bid thee waters of oblivion take? I know not ; but I know my misery Is all unknown, is all a blank to thee — Thy gentle form, thy angel thoughts, where now? A nightingale of paradise art thou ; Thy moral taints all purified — if taint Could stain the spirit of so fair a saint; Thou art returned to that same hallow'd spot Thou didst make holy when earth knew thee not. But wheresoe'er thou be, compassionate My misery. If this terrestrial state Be closed upon thee — pity still — and be A dream, a shadow, something yet to me ! THREN XIII. Would thou hadst ne'er been born — or being born Hadst left me not, sweet infant ! thus forlorn ; I have paid lasting woe for fleeting bliss — A dark farewell, a speechless pang like this; Thou wert the brightest, fairest dream of sleep; And as the miser cherishes his heap Of gold, I held thee ; soon 'twas fled, and nought Left but the dreary vacancies of thought, That once was blessedness. And thou are fled, Whose fairy vision floated in my head And play'd around my heart. And thou art gone, Gone with my joys; and I am left alone; 46 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Half of my soul took flight with thee, the rest Clings to thy broken shadow in my breast. Come raise her tombstone, sculptor. Let there be This simple offer to her memory. " Her father's love, — his Ursula lies here, • His love, alas ! his tears, his- misery. Thine was a barbarous mandate, death ! The tear I drop for her, she should have shed for me." The following epitaph was written on his elder daughter, who soon followed Ursula to the tomh: Thou Anna! too, thy sister's track has trod, And prematurely sought death's dark abode ; Grief soon shall call your father to his God, To brighter worlds beyond life's dismal road. FROM CANTO XIII.. Sweet sleep! sure man might learn to die from thee, Who dost unravel all death's mystery; Come, spread thy balmy influence o'er my soul, And let it soar, beyond the world's control, Up to the realms where morning has its birth, Down to the abyss whence darkness wraps the earth, Where time has piled its everlasting snows, Where parch'd by sunbeams not a fountain flows ; Oh, let it count each bright and wandering star, Or trace its mazy pilgrimage afar; Sit in the center, while each circling sphere Pours its aerial music on the ear ; Drink of the o'erflowing cup of joy and peace, While the tired body sleeps in weariness ; No dreams to hang upon its mortal breath ; And so — undying — let it taste of death. KOCHANOWSKI 47 TALES OP ST. JOHN'S EVE; OR, SOBOTKA. FIRE.* When the first sunbeams Cancer fill And tuneful nightingale is still, In Czamy las-f from older days Sobotka's fire is wont to blaze. The neighboring swain, the distant guest, Around the sacred fire have prest; The orchards with the joyous sound Of three gay fiddlers laugh around. On the green turf they take their seat, Where twice six maidens fair and neat, Their ornaments and dress as one, And girdled with the same bright zone, And skill'd in dance, are all the throng; And all are skill'd in gentle song ; To all the call - of music rings, And thus the foremost maiden sings: First Maiden. Sisters! the fire is blazing high, And all proclaims festivity; Now join your friendly hands to mine, And let our mirthful voices join. * In Poland, as in most Catholic countries, St. John's Day is a time of great festivity, and in the evening the Poles are accustomed in their meadows, and particularly by the side of rivers, to light large fires, and to dance round them singing ancient songs. Koch- anowski, to whom the Black Forest belonged as an hereditary pos- session, used to gather the youths and maidens together in order to celebrate the festival in the very manner in which he has described it. Niemcewiz has published a drama called " Kochanowski," and there introduced the old poet with the nymphs singing around him. f Czarny las— the Black Forest. 48 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Sweet night! be fair and tranquil now, No rain-storm rage, no tempest blow; — Sweet night ! where we may watch and wake Until the dawn of morning break, We learnt it from our mothers — they From theirs, — for centuries far awp.y; Upon St. John's joy-rousing night Sobotka's festal fire to light. Youths, reverence now, while ye behold Mementoes of the days of old ; Let gleeful hours breathe joy again, And gladness revel now and then. Their festal moments they enjoy'd, Yet wisely all their time employ'd ; Each bore its fruits and gratitude, Pour'd forth its praise to heaven all-good. But now both late and hard we toil, Our festivals are but turmoil: Our gains are neither much nor sure, And though not pious we are poor. Come sister ! then, this holy night Is with old time's resplendence brjght; Blaze! blaze anew, Sobotka's lire! Till lull'd by song the night retire. Second Maiden. This is my fault; I'll guilty plead. I love to dance, — I love indeed. Come, tell me, neighbors, does the love Of dancing all your spirits move? I see your smiles, — your smiles betray Your sympathy in what I say; K0CHAN0W8KL 49 Come, join the round; why sit ye still? And dance and leap with hearty wilL I spring, I leap, I cannot be A statue; and 'tis sweet to me To hear the beating tambourine; No mortal could keep still, I ween. Oh, thou art mighty, graceful one, That wakest music's thrilling tone; The village listens to thy lay, It calls, we hear, and swift obey. Here, midst the crowd, each maid may start, Who is the empress of thy heart: — Say, is she here? Oh, why inquire? She is not here, — thy heart's desire. No! join our song; thy twinkling feet Some other twinkling one's may meet; And here, amidst our joyous band, Some maid may yet invite thy hand. To man, to man alone, has heaven The privilege of laughter given; And this, and this alone, has he In proof of noble ancestry. Oh, it were foolish, — it were vain, So high a privilege to disdain; And let the wretch go whine and weep Who mirth 's gay revel dares rot keep. Laugh on ! laugh on ! and though at nought, Still laughter is a pleasant thought: Laugh at my folly, or my sense; Laugh on ! laugh on ! on some pretense. .50 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. I am not sad ; I can't be sad. Be, maidens all, like me, — be glad; For sorrow wrinkles o'er the brow Ere time tells when, or thought knows how. But health and youth delight to stay Where youth is glad and age is gay; Where years may hasten as they will, And eld is in its boyhood still. Come follow, circle — all around, Let the light song of joy rebound; And maiden sing! be ready, — thine The task to waken notes like mine. Fourth Maiden. The fairest flow'rets of the mead I wreathe in garlands for thy head: For thee, for none but thee, who art The very empress of my heart. Oh, place upon thy graceful brow The blooming wreath I offer now ; So let me in thy bosom rest As thou dost well within my breast. There's not a moment but doth bring Thy memory upon its wing ; Sleep cannot drive thy thoughts from me, For when I sleep I dream of thee. And may I hope thou dost not deem Me worthless of thy heart's esteem ; That thou wilt hear my passion's tone And recompense it with thine own? KOCHANOWSKI. 51 But oh, my tongue cannot conceal The thoughts, the fears, the doubts I feel, That other longing eyes may stray O'er charms so beautiful, so gay. maiden ! if those charms are mine, Veil, veil, from all those charms of thine; For it were madness should they move Other impassioned youths to love. All other ills I'll calmly share, — Injury and insult I can bear; But not to see another dwell In thine eyes' sunshine, — that were hell. Twelfth Maiden. Sweet village! peace and joy's retreat! Oh, who shall tune thy praise of song? Oh, who shall wake a music meet Thy smiles, thy pleasures to prolong! Bliss dwells within thy solitude, Which selfish avarice never stains;* Where thought and habit make us good, And sweet contentment gilds our gains. Let others seek a dazzling court, Where treachery poisons eye and ear; Or to the troubled sea resort, With death and danger ever near. Let others sell their tongues for hire, With falsehood and with trick delude; Or fame or victory's wreath acquire By deeds of darkness and of blood. * Usury was considered a most degrading vice among the old Slavonians. 52 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. The ploughman tills the fertile field, His children bless his daily care ; While the rich fruits his labors yield, His well-contented household share. For him the bee its honey stocks, For him its gifts the orchard holds ; For him are shorn the fleecy flocks ; For him the lambkins fill the folds. He gathers from the generous meads Their offering to his annual store, And winter with her snow-storms leads Eepose and pleasure to his door. Around the fire they tell their tales, The songs are sung with smiles and glee; The lively dance * again prevails, The cenar and the goniony. f At twilight's hour the swains repair To where the crafty foxes hie ; The hare, the thoughtless fowls they snare, And aye ! return with full supply. Or in the stream the baited hook, The light and treacherous net they fling; While near the gently echoing brook The warblers of the forest sing. The cattle seek the watery mead, The shepherd sits in solitude, While to his gay and rustic reed Dance all the nymphs that grace the wood. * Bowing dance. The old Polonaise, something like a minuet. f Amusements of the Poles. The Genar perhaps may be trans- lated Blind Harry, which is now called in-Poland Slepa Babka, and in Lithuania Zmurki. Goniony may be rendered Hide and Seek. The whole of this poem is popular throughout Poland. KOCHANOWSKI. 53 At home the housewife's busy hands The evening's frugal meal provide: 'Tis all the produce of her lands; No wish is breathed for aught beside. She counts the herds ; she knows the sheep When from the pasture meads they come; Her busy eyes can never sleep ; Abroad they watch, — direct at home. The little children reverent bow And ask an aged grandsire's love, Who tenderly instructs them how In peace and virtue's path to move. So rolls the day, — but many a sun Would sink his chariot in the sea, Were I to end the tale begun Of rural joy and revely. EXCERPTS. However poor and scanty be your fare, Forsake not smiling hope for deep despair. That sets to-day the last sun do not fear, A brighter day to-morrow may appear. The nightingale sings on the tree, although Her heart is aching, — full of tender woe ; 'Tis often thus with man, Lord! he cheers His sinking heart with hope and sings through tears. (*) All things in this poor world of ours, 'tis true, Are tangled mysteries without a clue ; And he, however wise, who attempts to solve them will Encounter darker, deeper, stranger mysteries still. * Translation of the four lines under the portrait of Kochanowski. 54 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. KLONOWICZ. Fabian Sebastian Klonowicz (Acernus) was per- haps the greatest Polish satirist of the sixteenth cen- tury. He united Kochanowski's feeling with Key's satiric spirit, but was superior to both in the arrange- ment of subject-matter. The most noted of his literary productions are "Memoirs of Polish Kings and Princes in Epigrams," " Judas's Bags; or, The Acquisition of "Wealth Dishonestly," " Sepulchral Complaints on the Death of John Kochanowski," "Flis; or, The Floating of Vessels Down the Eiver Vistula," " The Conflagra- tion, and the Exhortation To Quench the Same; or, the Prophecy as to the Downfall of the Turkish Power." A disinterested lover of truth, Klonowicz boldly at- tacked misdeeds without regard to persons or their social connections. Persecution did not affect his moral powers nor stifle his inclination to satirize, on the contrary, it only incited him the more and strength- ened his spirit of criticism. Strong in didactic poetry, he possessed no great talent for the lyrics. In his didactics he exhibits superiority of reason over imagi- nation and feeling; with him thought was superior to the manner of expression. In his "Flis," that is, watermen floating boats down the Vistula, we perceive altogether a different phase of this poet's writing. The subject being out of the com- mon track of his former experiences, his mind becomes more easy and lively, and his poetical figures more pict- uresque. He describes his impressions and his feelings caused by witnessing this novel sight, and unlike his former compositions there is not a shadow of satire in KLONOWICZ. 55 the whole poem. It is supposed that there is not a poem in the Polish language, written during the reign of Sigismunds, which preserves the national features and the coloring stronger than the ' ' Flis. " " The Bags of Judases " is a peculiar satire, paint- ing with an artistic brush different sorts of people, who by usurious and dishonest practices, their power, artfulness, flattery and stratagems, and by assumed magnanimity deceive and cheat the weaker part of humanity. Zealous and ardent in the defense of what was good and noble, he boldly attacked misrule and abuse of power of the officials, bribery and avaricious cupidity of the high dignitaries ; in fact he pursued with his sat- ires all who were defrauding the republic. His ' ' Complaints " are only imitations of Kocha- nowski's Threns on the death of his daughter Ursula, with this difference, Kochanowski's complaints flowed from an aching heart overflowing with grief that only a father can feel, but Klonowicz wrote them straight along, preserving the apparent coolness; for that rea- son his complaints do not touch the feeling nor call forth even a sigh — because sighs did not produce them, nor were they bedewed with tears. Klonowicz was born in 1551, in Great Poland, in a village called Sulmierzyce, in the palatinate of Kalish, and received his education in the Academy of Cracow, where he was made doctor of philosophy. He traveled in Hungary and Bohemia, Dantzig and Lemberg, where he spent four years. In 1580 he went to the city of Lublin, where he was a counsellor and judge of Jewish affairs, and finally became the mayor. He also held an office at Isary, the property of Benedictine monks, wherein sprung a great friendship between the 56 POETS AND POETRY OE POLAND. abbot and afterward a bishop of Kijew, Wereszczyfi- ski, and it is to this intimacy that we are indebted for the production of his "Flis." Having written against the Jesuits he was bitterly persecuted by them and somewhat apostatized from the faith. Then again he incurred the displeasure of the inferior nobility, his former companions, and the Jews. As if to complete his misfortunes he was constantly harassed by his wasteful and wayward wife, who poisoned his life and brought him to abject poverty. He died in an hospital in 1608. His works were published in Cracow, Leipsic, and Cheimno. The latest editions are those of Turowski, 1858, and Wentzlewski, 1861. MEEITS OF POLAND. Poland is rich in green and fertile lands That in God's bosom, as it were, seem thrown, What cares the Pole for ocean or its strands? Content, he ploughs his own. Here Ceres, harvest goddess, wandered by After she left her own Sicilian plain, Here fields of rye abound, and bastion high Loom up the stacks of grain. In Poland, high, commodious barns arise, With harvest bounty amply filled and stored, Here, for the jolly peasant will suffice Of rye, a goodly hoard ! Let who will praise the fertile Asian fields, The yellow maize of Egypt and the Nile, Upon our shore the oat abundance yields, For many a mile and mile. KLONOWICZ. 57 Game is abundant, cattle horned abound, Pat oxen, horses, sheep with lengthy coat, And heifers graze within the meadows 'round, Beside the frisky goat ! From out his herds the farmer gets his teams, Makes clothing for himself, and servants, too, And of fresh meat, and milk-meat as it seems, There is no end thereto. Then, who could count the flocks of cackling geese, The greedy ducks the swan whose whiteness charms, The chickens, too, whose brood each day increase, And travel 'round the farms. Of dishes rich a great variety We get, and dainty food the dovecot gives, How pleasant 'tis the bacon flitch to see Suspended 'neath the eaves! Then, too, the things we gather in the wood, God's bounty to the open-handed Pole, He who desires to use these gifts of good Are welcome to the dole. Through field and wood flit herds of graceful deer, On trees the -birds sing, out their countless lives, And the industrious bee his honey'd cheer Bears homeward to the hives: As to the fish, a million of them speed Through pond and lake and river seaward bound, Nor lack the Poles for anything they need, With much abundance crowned. Hence, I know not why you should grasp for more My brother Pole, with such productive soil, — Why should you seek to gather to your store Of foreign lands the spoil? 58 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. MIASKOWSKI. Kaspae Miaskowski, a flowery poetical writer. Although his style is somewhat hard and less correct than that of some of his contemporaries, he excels them in bold poetic flights. The most eminent of his compositions are: "The Slavonian Hercules," "The Pilgrim of Easter-Day," "Penitential Elegy," "Duma on the Death of John Zamoyski," " Invitation to Sor- row," etc. He sings of wars and warriors, and com- plains of misrule of the country, impunity and pleas- ures; but his religious songs are superior to his worldly ones, yet he exhibits more ardor than simplicity and gracefulness. His religious compositions are perme- ated with a true and sincere spirit of piety. As to his language, it is strong and pithy; but occasionally he is misty and expresses himself in an unusual way. Miaskowski was born in 1549 in Great Poland. He lived in close friendship with G^bicki, bishop of Kujawy, Opalinski, bishop of Posen, and Herburt, the proprietor of Dobromil. He died in 1622. His writings entitled "Collection of Rhymes "were published in Cracow in 1612, in Posen 1622, and the latest in Posen 1855 and in 1861. DIALOGUE BETWEEN DEATH AND A YOUNG MAIDEN. . Young M. Death! why dost thou whet thy scythe anew? Death. To cut the flower that blithely drinks the dew. Young M. Why wilt thou cut it now so ruthlessly, Nor wait awhile its perfect charm to see? Death. Such early flowers most fragrant are and sweet, To me most grateful for my chaplet meet. MIASKOWSKI. 59 Young M. Know'st thou the sickle reaps but ripened grain? Death. After the storm green herbage on the plain Is likewise leveled. Young M. Not magnanimous Is it to fell a tender blossom thus. Death. It were transgression did I leave the one That God has called for ; nay, it must be done. Young M. The pangs of death youth can but ill endure. Death. But the niore innocent youth is, and pure, Swift as the arrow flying to the mark Will it be wafted up beyond the dark. Young M. But I have scarce begun to pay the debt Unto my parents for their kindness yet, Because my years have been so very few; Let me remaining love and serve them too, "Nor leave them in their sorrow mourning me. Death. That is not much for them, — but as for thee, Thou wilt the better reach them through thy love When in God's presence thou shalt kneel above With hands uplifted in unceasing prayer Before the throne, and ask for them His care, That they may close their eyes in peace at last, Untroubled by the shadows I cast. Young M. If so, Death ! I put away my fear, My hope grows stronger and my sight more clear. Death. Then I will pause no more, — to Paradise This stroke shall send thee ! thus the body dies, But the pure soul with living faith astir Is wafted heavenward, there to minister. WHO IS A TRUE SAILOR? He is not a sailor true who sails Over tranquil waters with favoring gales; But he who can skillfully storms outride Is the conqueror true with courage tried. 60 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. SZYMONOWICZ. Simon Szymonowicz was the first Polish poet who wrote pastorals in his native tongue. Not following the poetic hend of Kochanowski he chose his own origi- nal way, and wrote upward of twenty pastoral poems. He did not imitate "Virgil, Spanish, or the poets of southern France, but took as his specimen Theocritus, and at the same time continuing to fall in his own way he created an original manner of his own. Szymono- wicz composed purely national pastorals, full of truth and harmony. After Theocritus he may be considered as one of the greatest writers of idyllics. Sometimes he exceeds even Virgil. He understood very well that in order to create an original pastoral it was necessary for him to approach the national songs. But he did not exactly make them lyrical; on the contrary, he bent them down more to the dramatic form. As to his ver- sification it has a great resemblance to the versification of to-day. He turns easily from line to line, but cares not for the richness in rhyme. Szymonowicz deserves all the praise for the sweet- ness of language and great facility of expression. He mixes in the conversation of Polish shepherds the songs of Theocritus, and in a curious way painting the customs of his age and country mixes the Greek mythology. This fault will show itself less striking when we remem- ber that many learned Poles in those days were well acquainted with ancient literature, and it was for them Szymonowicz mostly sung. Szymonowicz was born in 1557, at Lemberg, and was educated at the Academy of Cracow. He traveled much, and visited Kome. King Stephen crowned him SZYMONOWICZ. 61 with a poetic wreath. He afterward became the secre- tary of Chancellor Zamoyski, who conferred upon him the estate of Czernce, near the city of Zamosd, and when dying he intrusted the education of his son Thomas to him. Pope Clement VIII sent him in 1593 a wreath, and Sigismund III ennobled him, and made him poet laureate. He died in 1629. Szymonowicz published several religious dramas, of which ' ' Joseph the Chaste " obtained the most celebrity. SIELANKA* I. (PASTORAL.) PASTORAL ECLOGUE. " Kozy, ucieszne kozy, ma trzodo jedyna! " DAPHNIS. Goats of my flock, my sole possessions come, 'Mid meadows, nut tree, brushwood make your home; Eat the green leaves, the tender sprouts, and here By the still waters I'll repose me near, And lull to rest my grief by sleep, or song; My Phyllis has disturb'd the calming throng Of gentle thoughts. cruel! whatsoe'er Fate rules, the heart must feed on and must bear. Thou hast forgotten all, my broken joy, My soul's distraction, and the sharp annoy Of a corroding chain; desire intense, Faith-plighted, passionate love and confidence. For thee my orchards bore their fruits: I bid My folds supply the milk, and every kid And every snowy lamb was thine. For thee I track'd through the woods the honey-bearing bee. And I was wholly thine. My ceaseless lays Waked thousand shepherds' voices in thy praise. * Derived from sielo (village). 62 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. For thou wert erst unknown, or unesteem'd; They called thee a mean maiden, and they deem'd Thy bright eyes a black gypsy's; but my lyre Gave glory to thy stately footsteps, fire To thy shrewd glances ; thou wert tall and straight As the unchanging fir-tree, and thy gait Became majestic; roses and snow-milk Painted thy cheeks; thy hair was softest silk, Coral thy lips, and pearls thy teeth : applause Everywhere greeted thee ; — and I the cause — I tuned thy charms to song: and my reward Is thy contempt, and the enamored bard Is left to misery. While the noontide ray Gilds with its brightness all the charms of day, While in the woodlands birds and flocks repose, And from its toils the weary heifer goes, While the green lizards 'round their dwellings green Play joyous, I am left to mourn unseen O'er shattered hopes and shipwreck'd thoughts. I try To appease their busy tumult fruitlessly. The lion hunts the wolf — the wolf pursues The goat — the goat is pleased among the dews Of the red heath: my sorrow clings to thee; — All have their passions and pursuits ;— none free Prom the indwelling worm of grief. I caught A pair of lovely deer, to whom I taught Obedience; from my goats they drank their food; I weaned them from their savage solitude; And many a maiden covets them ; — but thou Think'st all my offerings poor and worthless now. Hark! for the woods are full of music! See O'er the gay fields the flocks sport joyously! How- blest we here might dwell; how calmly go To the cold boundary of life's toils below. Wouldst thou but smile upon my humble cot, And from thy gentle bosom chase me not. szymostowicz. 63 Here the soft mosses o'er the grottoes grow, And shades and woods repose, and streamlets flow O'er stony beds; the poplars tall, the wide And ample lindens; elms and oaks, the pride Of centuries. But without thy soothing voice No streams harmonious roll, no woods rejoice, No charms are charming. Wherefore should I be So worthless, so indifferent, love, to thee? I look'd into the glassy stream, I sought Some hidden cause of thy ungenerous thought, None could I find. My sheep are in the field, They feed, they prosper; and my goat flocks yield Annual increase. I have a rich supply Of milk, and I am skill'd in poetry And the sweet lyre, even like that swain of old, Amphion, watching o'er his ravish'd fold And waking .song; while at his wild harp's sound The wOods and all their tenants danced around. It matters not; my song is vain and vain All my bewailing: I must bear the pain Unmurmuring, for my murmurs are to thee A selfish triumph, and thy cruelty Nothing can soften. Dost thou scorn me? Who Possesses that false heart that once was true ? Laugh on, laugh on ! A lion's whelp art thou, And I a silly lamb. My ice-cold brow The grave's dull earth shall soon be crumbled over, And this shall be my epitaph of woe: — " The cruel Phyllis has destroy'd her lover." 64 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. SIELANKA XIV. CZARY (WITCHCRAFT). THE JEALOUS WIFE. Three nights have pass'd since he left me here, And something is amiss, I fear; Yes, surely something is amiss; And what he does, and where he is, I can't divine ; and who can bear The throb of doubt and woe like this ! Thestyli, bring for magic's rites The awful tools — to-night, to-night My heart shall summon witchcraft's sprites, And revel in the wild delight. Why did he marry, thus to leave me? He well may grieve, who thus could grieve me. I'll pour perdition on the maid Who first his faithless passion sway'd: She wounded me, it shall return, Canker'd within her heart to burn. Moon! I conjure thee — thou art pure; Yet when thou know'st my wrongs, thy eyes, Pitying the miseries I endure, Will show the midnight's mysteries , To me the wretched ! I was chaste And lovely; from my parent's home He bore me, in his scorn to waste - Affection's blush and passion's bloom ; A wife unstained, a faithful mate, He leaves me to be desolate. Pledged faith! Avenge, avenge me now! Thou God above! look down below! He sees thee not, he knows thee not, SZYMONOWICZ. 65 Be shame and wretchedness his lot! His heart is scared — his thoughts rebel- Now scathe him with the fires of hell! 'Tis an unholy task, I know; But grief is deaf — it must be so: I know damnation's fiends await Those who would tear the veils of fate. It must be so, I cannot say, — Come tardy Thestyli, obey! Pour white millet on the pan, Shake it o'er the glowing fire Fan the blazing caldron, fan, — Stronger the flame must burn, and higher. Husband turn, to thy wife's desire: Mighty magic, conduct him home; — My grief is mad, — come, husband, come! He burns my heart; — on his head I burn The crumbled leaves of the blister tree; And as the leaves to ashes turn, So let his heart burn scorchingly. Mighty magic! conduct him home; — My grief is mad, — come, husband, come! I melt the wax in the furnace heat: — As the earth is softened by summer's rain. So let him dissolve in a burning sweat, And pass into dew for his cold disdain. Mighty magic! conduct him home; — My grief is mad, — come, husband, come ! I turn the spindle: — I fain would turn His faithless heart. No rest shall light On his anxious soul; and visions stern Shall be his by day, and dreams by night. 5' 66 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Mighty magic! conduct him home; — My grief is mad, — come, husband, come! My head-dress in three- fold knots I tie, And my hair in tresses; so bind his soul; Let them tangle; until his heart shall fly From unhallow'd passion's fierce control. Mighty magic! conduct him home; — My grief is mad, — come, husband, come ! Place in the vessel a midnight bat, Let it burn, let it burn, and the magic spe Shall bear him to torments worse than that, Oh, would I could add the fire of hell! Mighty, magic ! conduct him home ;— My grief is mad, — come, husband, come! These poisonous weeds to a loathsome toad Transform'd an old woman. Away, away Through the air on a fiery pole she rode : — Burn — burn — he cannot resist their sway. Mighty magic ! conduct him home ; — My grief is mad, — come, husband, come: I have a 'kerchief, which erst in dance, When I was a maid, he threw at me, While wet with the dew of his countenance : — As his sweat, the foam of his mouth shall be. Mighty magic! conduct him home; — My grief is mad, — come, husband, come ! Grits boil in this apron — boil! It boils! No fire is there ! the spell succeeds. He comes ! he comes ! to reward my tons ; I hear the barking hounds through the reeds. I hear him knock. The boilings cease, SZYMONOWICZ. 67 The howling dogs are now at peace. 'Tis he! 'tis he! they knew him well, They knew him by their eager smell. So punish'd, he will, perhaps, improve, But shall I welcome him with love, Or wait till he has rested? He Is panting hard — 'twas marvelously Well done, — for force must act on will, Where will rebels. Fire, brighten still ! Oh, aid me, mighty craft ! till grief In dark revenge obtain relief. Burn, tendons! tell me when they smoke: — So may the accursed members shrivel (As when my heart in anguish broke) Of that seducing fiend of evil. Eevenge, revenge, dark craft! till grief In ample vengeance find relief. Now strip these rags at my behest, Her corpse through dirt let hangman draw. Let fiery pincers tear her breast, And to the hounds her body throw. So aid me, mighty craft! till grief In dark revenge obtain relief. Thou owl ! that hootest through the wood, In vain thou shalt no longer hoot, — Before, behind, in solitude, And through the world screech ' Prostitute ! ' So aid me, mighty craft ! till grief In full revenge obtain relief. Spit thrice, and as the spittle falls, Curse her ; and let her face be thick With plague spots, — sores, and wounds and galls Pollute her: let her foul hands pick 68 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. The living worms that o'er her creep; — Then rot upon pollution's heap. My ears with music ring. I start! thou hast triumph'd, mighty art! Vengeance upon her head descend ! Be welcome — welcome now my friend! But he is come — is come at last. He came half-booted — came in haste. 1 pity — but forgive. Indeed The heart is glad he caused to bleed. EPIGEAMS. THE HARE. , The hounds pursue me in their cruel course ; — I turn'd; I saw the huntsman from his horse Pall death-struck to the ground. So perish all "Who plot, or see unmoved another's fall. THE WOLF. Ye drag me through the village, peasants! Good! I have a thousand brothers in the wood: — Yes! yes! insult the dead ! My life you rive, But thousands to avenge me are alive. THE OLD COCK. In my young days full many a fight I won; But I am old, and all my glory's gone. The young subdue me, and the vulture's throat Is now my tomb. I can avenge it not. ZIMOEOWICZ. 69 ZIMOKOWICZ. Simeon Zimoeowicz was' born at Lemberg (Leopol) in 1604. None of bis poetical compositions were printed during bis lifetime!. Being touched by symp- toms of incipient consumption he hurried in writing up the " Roxolanki " — that is to say the Russian maidens present at the wedding of his brother Bar- tholomew. These interesting compositions, although original, are partly imitations of Horace and Anacreon; they show a strong pen and elicit much poetical beauty. He also wrote many songs, but all his compositions are permeated with youthfulness. His selection of sub- jects and poetical colors shows a young man who feels the worth and charms of life. He had a great admira- tion for Szymonowicz and imitated him, but possessed more poetical force. He also translated Moschus. Zimorowicz died very young, — in his twenty-fifth year — and was buried at Cracow, where the follow- ing Latin inscription covers his remains : Subter te, qui legis, Simeon Zimokowicz Leopoliensis Omnium Musarum et Gratiarum Floridus Adoleseens Particulam Terrse Eoxolanse Cum calculo abjecit: ]pse Indole, Litteris, Moribus Annos XXV supergressus Eediit unde venerat Anno 1629, Die 21 Junii. Cui FE. ME. Lachrymas et longum Vale Tu Supremum Have da et I. 70 POETS AND POETRY OE POLAND. SONG. "Witlziaiem cig z okieneczka." I saw thee from ray- casement high, And watch'd thy speaking countenance; With silent step thou glidest by, And didst not cast a hurried glance Upon my mean abode nor me. Then misery smote me, — but for heaven I should have fallen scathed and dead. I blame thee not, — thou art forgiven ; I yet may hear thy gentle tread, When evening shall o'ermantle thee. The evening came, — then mantling night; 'I waited till the full moon tower' d High in the heaven. My longing sight Perceived thee not; the damp mists lower'd. In vain I sought thee anxiously. Didst thou upon some privileged leaf My name record, and to the wind Commit it, — bid it charm my grief, Bear some sweet influence to my mind And set me from despairing free? Where are the strains of music now, The song, the dance, that morn and eve We heard around my house, — when low And sweet thy voice was wont to heave Soft sighs and gentle thoughts for me ? 'Tis past, 'tis past, and in my heart Is sorrow, silence in my ear; The vain world's wonted smiles depart; Joy and the springtide of the year, Fond youth ! are scatter'd speedily. ZIMOEOWIOZ. 71 Thou hast not said farewell ! no sleep Shall close my mourning eye, — the night Is gloomy now. Go, minstrel, weep! For I shall weep; and sorrow's blight That scathes my heart shall visit thee. SIELANKA. Zephyr! that gently o'er Ukraine art flying, Go and salute my Maryna for me; Whisper her tenderly, soothingly sighing " Lo! he has sent these soft accents to thee! " Why dost thou dwell, my maiden so lonely? Why dost thou dwell in so gloomy a spot? Think of the palace of Leopol* — only Think, my fair maid! though thou visit it not. • There in thy tower is a window, where seated Often thou sheddest a smile on thy swain, There have my sighs oft an audience" entreated; Maiden, that window invites thee again. Lady ! the thought of thy absence has shaded Even the flow'rets with sorrow and gloom; All the bright roses and lilies are faded, And my gay orchard is stripp'd of its bloom. Come, my fair maid, with thy beautiful blushes, 'Shine o'er our turrets, — oh, come for awhile! Smile on us, lady ; oh, smile, though Bed Eussia's Twice-castled towers may deserve not thy smile. Lo! it expects thee, its lionsf await thee, Watching like sentinels fix'd on the height: * Leopol is the capital of Red Russia, Roxolania,. now Austrian Gallicia. f Lions — The arms of Leopol. 72 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. Sleepless and eager to welcome and greet thee When thy fair vision shall dawn on their sight. Haste, maiden, haste! scatter blessings around thee, Laughter and wit are waiting thee here ; Courtesies, feastings and smiles, shall be found thee, Wanderings and wassails to honor thee, dear! Here we have centered the graces and pleasures; Come thou, bright lady! inherit them now. Here Nature pours out her charms and her treasures, Nothing is wanted, oh, nothing but thou. SIELANKA. "Rozyna mi w taneczku pomarancze dala." Eosina, while dancing, an orange convey'd, And promised the garland that circled her head; I gave her my hand and with love and desire The orange was turn'd to a ball of bright fire. It burnt like a coal from the furnace, and made Its way to my heart, while it fever'd my head. Eosina, my flame ! that fair orange x>f gold Has kindled a passion which may not be told. I have learnt what love is; not Venus the fair, But the whelp of a lioness fierce in her lair; She-tiger of Caucasus nurtured to scorn The hearts that are broken, and souls that are torn. SIELANKA. "Roxolanki Ukochane «. Przez usta wasze rozane." Maid of Eoxolania fair ! By your lips of roses swear, Why your lyre's sublimest tone zimoeowicz. 73 Sings the graceful Thelegdon ? "lis that noblest passion's praise, Merits, aye ! the noblest lays. Light of love whose kindling stream Shines like morning's dewy beam; Not so bright the dawn which shakes Splendent ringlets when she wakes. Not so rich her lips of red, When their balmy breath they spread; Not so glorious is her eye, Burning in its richest dye; Not so modest when her face Shadows all its blushing grace. Yet if heaven's thick-scattered light Seeks to be more pure, more bright, 'Tis from her their rays they'll take; Goddess of the frozen lake, Genii of the wintry snow, Warm ye in her beauty's glow. Not the immeasurable sea, Not the tides' profundity, Not the ceaseless years that sweep, Not the murmurs of the deep, Shall outlive that maiden pure, — Shall beyond her fame endure. Joyous hours again renew, Songs of praise and rapture, too. Maid of Eoxolania, praise, Praise the fair one in your lays. 74 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. GAWINSKI. John Gawinski, one of the foremost of Polish bards, who for ease and harmonious flow of language can be put by the side of Szymonowicz and Zimoro- wiez. Of his poetical compositions which deserve especial notice we can mention '<»The Mournful Threns," " Pastorals," and " Epitaphs "; as also " The Epigrams " on different subjects, ' ' The New Pasto- rals," "The Polish Yenus," "Fortune or Luck," and "Idyls of Mopsus." In the poetry of Gawinski the reader can discover true pictures of life wrought with great skill and marked by pleasing simplicity and excellence of lan- guage. Gawinski was born in Cracow at the •commence- ment of the seventeenth century. After finishing his education at Cracow, in order to still further improve him- self he lived at the court of young Ferdinand Charles, although during the stormy reign of John Casimir he studied law. He was compelled to grasp the sword, and fought against the Cossacks in Ukraine. The time of his death is uncertain. PASTOEAL (SIELANKA). In the fair fields of Ezeczniow a glade Was circled by a forest's budding shade; There Amaryllis lay, her flocks she kept, While in the spreading shrubs in peace they slept. There mid the branches of ancient tree Damet and Myrtil sat and skillfully Waked the reed's music, told the pleasing dream Of love and courtship's joys; — and this their theme : Damet. Gay o'er the meadows wends the songful bee, From flower to flower swift glancing sportively, Eobbing their hidden sweets; yet if decay Wither the flower, she turns and speeds away. I am a bee, but seek the sweets whose taste Is fresh and fragrant, spring-begotten chaste: — Sweet Amaryllis! my fair rose thou art; But know, no wither'd rose can charm the heart. Myetil. A snow-white turtle on a fountain's side Bends o'er the mirror stream with joy and pride; He pecks his plumes, and in the water clear Washes his silvery feathers; fluttering there He sees another dove, and nods and coos, And flaps his wings. Poor turtledove ! amuse Thyself with the delusion, the deceit! Thyself thou dost bewray, thyself dost cheat. Love has its flatteries, — has its treacheries, too, And we're pursued when fancying we pursue. Damet. Silently swim the ducks upon the lake, Silently, in the absence of the drake. He comes! he comes! the welcoming strains begin; Round him they crowd, and what a joyous din! Man is the temple's prop, the temple's base, On which is raised the pile ,of woman's grace. Without him Nature is a shatter'd whole, A lifeless life, a clod without a soul. » Myetil. Prom the deep waters Venus has its birth, . And reigns the queen of ocean and of earth. 76 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. Charm'd by her influence even the fishes stray- Wandering enamor'd round her witching way, Each fed by love and mastered by desire, Even in the wave glows passion's busy. fire. How should I struggle 'gainst the flame when thou Art the bright Venus that inspires me now! Damet. The night bird sings upon the hazel tree, The wind sweeps by, the leaves dance murmuringly. She speaks, — the nightingale his strains gives't o'er. The leaves are still, the rude wind speaks no more. Mtktil. Pair is the rose when laughing in its bud, Fair o'er the plain towers the tall cedar wood. She comes! the cedars and the rose are dull; Even Lebanon bows, though -proud and beautiful. Damet. The moon obeys the sun, and every star. . . . Pays homage to the moon; the twilight far Leads in and out the shifting days; and so I dwell with thee, my fair ! where'er thou go. Mtrtil. On the proud world the sun delighted beams, Piercing the blue depth of the rolling streams. So would I bathe me in thy azure eyes, And drown me in thy heart's deep mysteries. GAWINSKI. 77 'Twas thus the shepherds sung. The sky above Looked smiling on their strains of eloquent love; And Amaryllis, from the blooming thorn Tore a white sprig their temples to adorn: And from that hour t' enjoy their simple airs She often came, and mixed her flocks with theirs. BONES ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. Traveler, our bones are bleaching on the ground, And yet unburied. Pity not our doom. Ours is a grave of glory, shrouded round In virtue, and the vault of heaven our tomb. SOLDIER SLAIN. I fought, my land, for thee! for thee I fell; On, not beneath, the turf I rest my head. Witness, my country, that I loved thee well; Living, I served thee, and I guard thee dead. THE PLOUGHMAN AND THE LARK. Sweet lark! the twilight of the dewy morn Calls me to plough, and to thy music thee. Blessings be with us! on thy notes be borne Success: — I toil, I sow for thee and me. ELIZABETH DRUfcBACKA. 18 DRUZBACKA. 79 DRUZBACKA Elizabeth Dru^backa sprung from a very respecta- ble family of Kowalski, and occupies an important rank in Polish literature; in fact, she must be con- sidered as the first Polish poetess. Possessing a true poetic feeling of the heart, she placed herself at once in the first poetic rank of those days. She was able to get rid of the literary contamination of that age, and wrote in pure Polish. Among her poems deserving especial notice are, "The Christian History of the Princess Elefantiha," "The Life of David," "The Praise of Forests," "The Penance of Mary Magdalen," " The Four Seasons," etc. etc. Madam Druzbacka possessed an inborn talent for poetry, but the defective taste of the age taints some of her compositions; still, there is much wit and beauty in her poetic productions. She was not a learned woman, and spoke but her own native tongue, but born with a natural inclination for writing poetry, she exhibits great vigor of conception of thought, live- liness of imagination, and. originality in her creations. The buoyant fancy and strong feeling united with piety devoid of fanaticism were the chief traits of Druz- backa. She was born in 1687, and passed her younger days With Madam Sieniawska, Castelane of Cracow, where she married and became acquainted with the highest circles of Polish society. Her'husband being one of the king's officials she lived in Great Poland. After the death of her husband she entered the convent of Lady Bernardines, at Tarnow, but was not initiated in- to the order. She died in 1754. 6 80 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. SPRING. golden season in childlike disguise, Gay Spring ! so gratefully we feel thy smile We needs must overlook thy vagaries "Whether thy winds blow cold or warmly wile; Or thou with childlike freedom dost presume To fright with snow the flowers that earliest bloom. But shouldst thou frighten thou wilt do no harm, Neither with freezing cold nor sultry glare ; Thou pleasant season ! adding to each charm An understanding with the sun and air. Thou knowest when to warm and when to cool, And age refreshed grows young beneath thy rule. Thou hast the power to unbind the earth From frosty chains and give her liberty — A loving child to her who gave thee birth, Her fetters fall from her when touched by thee. And through the warmth that in thy bosom stirs The icy grasp is loosed at length from hers. When passes winter's dark, tyrannic sway, From thee the earth fresh inspiration draws Thou openest warm thoroughfares each day Where frozen clod and hardened debris thaws. When thy soft breath goes forth upon the Earth, Life conquers death in all renewing birth. SARBIEWSKI. 81 SARBIEWSKI. Mathew Casimik Saebiewski, who gained much fame as a Polish lyrist in Latin, was born in 1595. He was especially admired for his correctness of expres- sion and the beauty of poetic turns. He was called the Polish Horace in an age when the knowledge of the Latin tongue was considered as the highest accom- plishment. He was so perfect in the handling of Latin that he outstripped all other Latin poets; his poetic flight was one of an eagle, and no one has ap- proached Horace nearer than he. Sarbiewski entered the Society of Jesuits in 1613, and lectured in the college of Wilno on the rules of oratory. He then went to Eome, where he became very famous, and where he was crowned with a poetic wreath by Urban VII. Eeturning to Poland Sigis- mund III named him a court-preacher to his son Ladislaus IV and chose him as his personal companion and friend. Sarbiewski was quite an artist on the harp, and sang well. "With these he amused and cheered the king, and also interested him with his instructive con- versation. Inseparable from the king he traveled with him not only through Poland, but also into foreign countries. He died April 2, 1640. During his life- time he formed many intimate friendships with the literary men of his time, and Dr. Watts translated and imitated many of Sarbiewski's lyrics. Sarbiewski's works were published in many places, such as Cologne, Wilno, Antwerp, Cracow, Paris, Bres- lau, and London. Louis Kondratowicz, an eminent 82 P0ET8 AND POETEY OF POLAND. Polish poet and scholar, is the translator of Sarbiew- ski's Latin poems into Polish. TO THE CICADA. Thou, whose voice in the grove's silence is heard aloft, While thou drinkest the tear-drops of the heavenly dews, Thy sweet music, Cicada, In thine ecstasy pouring forth. Come! come! summer on light wheels is advancing fast, While the hastening suns move, be they hail'd but chid For their tarrying too long, When the frosts of the winter flee. As days dawn in their joy so they depart in haste; So flee, speedily flee; speedily speeds our bliss. Too short are its abidings ; — But grief lingeringly dwells with man. TO THE POLISH AND LITHUANIAN KNIGHTS. Poles ! let no foreign customs throw their Scandal among you. Teach religious duties, Laws of your country, virtues of your fathers, Teach to your children. Sacred your temples, — your tribunals, justice; Peace, truth, and love dwell midst you, omnipresent; All that is vile and all that is unholy, Drive from your country ! Walls screen not crime, and punishment will force its Way through the towers and through the thrice-bound portals, Smiting the vicious. Thunderbolts but wait to Burst on the vile one. Painted deceit, tyrannical ambition; Wealth-seeking lust, and luxury's excesses Chase them far from you; let them never hold a Throne in your bosom. SAKBIEWSKI. 83 Poverty gives to man unwonted vigor, Teaches him patience 'neath the weight of suffering, Arms him with, courage ; but the stolen armour Wearies, though golden. Whether your lot be war or peace, ye Poles ! Still be united, for united brothers Stand like a temple on a hundred pillars, Firmly supported. So midst the rocks the sailor in his prudence Looks to the stars ; and so the friendly anchor Steadies the vessel on the heaving ocean, — Steadies it surely. So does the bond that binds the social fabric Strengthen; while strife and mighty fraud and rancour Overthrow cities, threatening desolation E'en to the mightiest. TO LIBERTY. Queen of brave nations : — Liberty! What land thy favorite seat shall be? What land more suited to thy reign Than Poland's fertile, charming plain? Daughter of council and of bliss The mother and the nurse of peace; Thou, sought midst many dangers round, Midst more than many dangers found ; Higher than thrones thy throne we see, Majestic more than majesty; Thou mistress of our country's fame, Now stop thy course, — thy smile we claim. Arrest thy cloud- encircled car, And linger where thy votaries are! 84 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. 0, see upon thy Vistula Lithuania's sons in long array, The Lechan and Littavian ranks Like sea-waves gathering on its banks ; No servile crowds we bring to thee, But heirs of ancient bravery : Sons of the North, whose blood remains As pure as in their fathers' veins ; Untaught from faith and truth to swerve, Train'd by the laws their king to serve, They spurn a stranger's stern commands, And love their land o'er other lands! And is there ought so purely bright As when in truth and virtue's light Impartial Freedom deigns to shed Her joys on prince and people's head? Then the unfettered man disdains Sloth's soul-debilitating chains, And Genius, like a conqueror, flies On to the goal and claims the prize. No foreign calls our ranks can move; We but obey the chief we love, And follow where his footsteps lead, To freedom's goal and victory's meed; As o'er Carpathia's hoary height Our sires achieved a glorious fight; And on the widespread field of Thrace Our fathers found their triumph-place ; And when our flags waved smiling o'er The Bosphorus and the Baltic shore. And proud Teutonia, bearing all Her Asian spoils, was forced to fall Before those iron columns we Had rear'd to mark our sovereignty ; SABBIEWSKI. • 85 Those mighty trophies of the brave, The unconquerable Boleslaw; And by the Borysthene's side, And by the Volga's current wide. And past the Alexandrian's shrines And to those dark Lapponian mines, Where the fierce North wind has its birth: "We trod the far Danubian earth. Saw old BoOtes freeze his waves, And dug for the Meotians, graves. Are we degenerate? Shall the fame Of our own fathers blast our name? Smile on our prayers, Liberty! And let the world thy dwelling be. Urban* and Ferdinand combine, Wladislaw, their powers with thine. And the world calls thee to confer Her laurels on the conqueror, — Thou, Sigismund's illustrious son, Thou of the blood of Jagellon. what can darken, what delay The glory of our future day? Hail Wladislaw! thou hope of man, Fav'rite of God, our Poland's van. All hail ! our warrior senate cries. All hail ! a people's voice replies. A thousand lances shine around, All hills and vales and woods resound The song of joy. And raised above His watery throne, his praise and love * Urban VIII, who distinguished Sarbiewski by very marked at- tentions, and when they parted hung around his neck a golden cross to which a miniature of his Holiness was attached. 86 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Old Vistula shouts forth ; — their brow- Proudly the Orapack mountains bow In homage. Say what projects vast Struggling in thy great soul hast? For such a soul unceasing teems- With mighty thoughts and glorious dreams, And still springs forward to the praise Of distant deeds and future days : Nor sloth nor luxury shall impede That opening fame, that dawning deed; Or quiet wisdom to o'erthrow The dark designings of the foe, Or splendid daring — swift and bold, Sweeping like surges uncontroll'd, The heir-loom of thy sires of old. Thus did the Jagellons, they spread Their praise, their glory and their dread* — Envied, admired, and fear'd — the son Soon made the father's fame his own: And envy's wing could not pursue A flight so high and glorious, too; The ambitious son outshone the sire, As glory's mark ascended higher. Till to our thought no hopes remain Their fame and glory to maintain. This is our noblest heritage, — A name, bequeathed from age to age. For thee, from centuries afar A mingled wreath of peace and war, Have generations waited, — now, "Wear the proud trophy on thy brow: Make all thy father's victories thine, With these thy gentle virtues twine ; SAKBIEWSKI. 87 Success shall show thee fairer, — woe Shall hid thy roots jet deeper grow. Such are Sarmatia's prayers. Her prayers Up to the heavens an angel bears ; On vows no chance shall e'er repeal Eternity has set her seal. A THOUGHT. (From Saphics.) He has lived long and well whose death enforces Tears from his neighbors, — who has made his glory Heir to himself, — rapacious time will plunder All, all — besides it. 88 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. KONAKSKJ* Stanislaus Hiekonim Kobtakski belongs to the greatest practical philosophers of the age. It was he who, having ascertained by his learning and compre- hensive powers of the mind the vanity and absurdity of the ways and manners of education and enlighten- ment practiced in the period in which he lived, by his writings scattered to the winds the darkness, reinstated the freedom of thought, and presented to his country- men fresher models than the old musty Latin works; implanted into the minds of Polish youth new ideas- tending to moral improvement, and awakened the true spirit of inquiry after learning. He struck the old pedantism a heavy blow, introducing in its stead fresh- ness and naturalness of expression and modern concep- tions. His works written on the subject had a great in- fluence on the reform of Polish literature, because they not only treated on aesthetics but also on moral and practical philosophy. The most prominent of these are " De Emendandis Yitiis" and ' ' Volumina Legum. ' ' The first treats extensively of the defective style of writing and oratory, but what is most curious and cred- itable to him is that in order to have his criticism fall gently upon the works of his predecessors and contem- poraries, he very good humoredly criticised some of his own works formerly written, and pointed out his own defects with unsparing justice. In ' ' Volumini de Legum " he endeavored, with much zeal for the public * Although not a poet was a man of eminent literary talents, and having created a new epoch in Polish literature deserves an honored place here. KONAESKI. 89 good, to collect different statutes and scattered consti- tutions into a settled code of laws. That successful service to his country accomplished much good, and was of itself enough to immortalize his name. In his " Art of Correct Thinking, Without Which There Can- not Be Correct Speaking," where, in sensible and judicious observations he straightens out the mind of the Polish youth by numerous and well-selected ex- amples, adducing also specimens of beautiful and per- fect oratory. The especial merit of this work is that it contains a great deal of useful matter necessary to the Polish people of those days. It was the noble aim of the author to put down prejudices, and fit the mind for the reception of useful truths. The fourth work of Konarskiwas " Of Successful Way and Manner of Ad- vising." We can place that work among those produc- tions of which the Polish nation has a right to be proud. You can see in it a true citizen, whose heart burns with love to his country, and earnestly engaged with the welfare of his fellow- citizens. In writing this work for a people who were not as yet well versed in political science, and promulgating certain truths contrary to the common prejudices of the majority, he had to use vari- ous methods to elucidate, explain, and adapt them to the understanding of all. The fifth' production of this distinguished man was "Of Keligion, of Honest Peo- ple, and Against the Doctrines of Deism," wherein the author endeavors to convince his readers that without religion morality cannot have solid foundation; hence, good and virtuous intentions of a community are flimsy and uncertain unless supported by religious convic- tions. Taking it as a whole Konarski's writings show genius. His correct views in the matter of presented 90 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. subjects; his lively imagination; broad and sensible explanations, and above all his power of philosophical reasoning, emanating from his profound knowledge of the subjects upon which he treats, places him in the highest ranks of Polish writers. Konarski was born in 1700, and Teceived his in- itiatory education at the institution of the Order of Piiars, which order he entered in the seventeenth year of his age, and against the wishes of his powerful rela- tives. He was soon transferred thence to the College of "Warsaw as the professor of philosophy. In the year 1725, with the advice of his uncle Tarlo, the bishop of Posen, he went to Italy, where, in the city of Rome, he gave lectures on oratory and history. From Rome he went to Paris, where he closely connected himself by the ties of friendship with the celebrated Fontenelle, the great philosopher, orator, and poet. After a lapse of six years he returned to his country and became professor of history in Cracow, then he occupied the same dignity at Rzeszow, and was made Provincial of his order. In the year 1743 he established a boarding- school for the youth of the nobles, or Collegium 'No- bilium. He also established similar schools at "Wilno and Lemberg. At his Warsaw college he arranged the building so that a part of it was appropriated exclu- sively for dramatic representations, and dramatic plays of the most celebrated tragic poets were there repre- sented, especially the French: Corneille, Racine, and Crebillon. Konarski had also a great influence in putting down the liberum veto, receiving for the great service the hate of second-class nobility. In 1748 he again left his native land for other coun- tries. He visited France and the most celebrated acad- KONARSKI. 91 emies, and returning to "Warsaw employed himself in finishing his " Collegium, " which was opened in 1754. In 1749 Komorowski, the Primas, sent Konarski to Koine in an important cause, which mission he fulfilled with great credit to himself. He lived on terms of friendship with the most distinguished men of his age, and almost of all countries, who frequently sought his advice. He was personally known to Pope Benedict XIV, to August II and III, as also to Stanislaus Lesz- czynski, whom h^e accompanied to Lotaringia (Lorraine). In France he had insured to him by Louis XV the in- come of two abbacies. Ranks of dignity which were frequently offered to him he would never accept; hence, for the bishopric by Benedict XIV, as also for the bishopric of Przemysl by August II, and the same dig- nity offered him' by King Stanislaus Poniatowski, in Livonia, he only returned thanks but would not accept of them. The king wishing to honor Konarski for his great labors ordered a medal to be struck in his honor, with the inscription, Sapere Auso (To him who dared to be wise). He died in 1773. His work, ' ' De Emendandis Vitiis" was published in "Warsaw in 1741 ; ' ' Of the Art of Correct Think- ing," also in Warsaw in 1767; " The Best Mode in Advising" in 1760, and " Of Religion " in 1769. 92 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. NARUSZEWICZ. Adam Stanislaus Naruszewicz, although brought up according to the old customs of the country, was never- theless a quick learner of the new social and political elements which began to permeate through the higher and more advanced social circles in Poland; hence he may be considered as the incarnation-of two different epochs. His writings, therefore, are the depositories of two contending intervals. In them he boldly educts the progressive principle, fearlessly attacking the corruption of the age and handling without gloves the pretentions of the nobility, indolence, extravagance, and other national defects. As a poet he represents two sides, diametrically opposite to each other : — one that of a panegyrist, the other that of a satirist. He wrote odes, satires, fables, and idyls, which in those times comprised about the whole poetical cycle, which he considered as his own, and which would serve him to pave the way to dis- tinction and fame. Although there is much of the poetic spirit in his odes, yet as a whole, emanating from different circum- stances, adverse to poetic inspiration and replete with exaggerated flattery, they do not on, that account pos- sess much of poetical value. He had doubtless much power and poetic ' ardor, and the spirit of his lyric poetry could soar higher than any (of his contempo- raries. His lively and fiery imagination opened to him a rich depository of bold and exalted thoughts; but this life-giving ardor, this creativeness of imagination, accompany the poet only when their incitement comes ' NAETJSZEWICZ. 93 from the deep feeling of truth, and when the theme itself is worthy of poetic inspiration. Many of his lyrics have only a semblance of decla^ mation, and a superficial luster takes place of emotion. Their taste and style remind one of the compositions of the sixteenth century. He speaks as a true lyrist only when the theme is patriotic citizenship, and the love of his country warms him up. In his lyric muse Naruszewicz constrains himself to flights of fancy, and in his satires he cannot keep away from exaggeration, though we may say that in his satires he very properly points out national defects, and while furnishing a great many progressive lessons, he at the same time paints a faithful historical picture of the blemishes of the existing social system. His satire of "The Yoices of the Dead," as also "The Return of the Senators," are written in an old, con- strained style, full of ludicrous images. Naruszewicz was very much addicted to the introduction of mytho- logical personages, which he pours upon his readers without stint. However, it was the failing of all the poets of Stanislaus' Age, but Naruszewicz exceeds them all. In his satire "The Nobility " Naruszewicz strongly upheld the privileges of birth ; indeed, he tried to build a partisan wall between the two different classes which was very distasteful even to his own kindred. In his satire "The Folly " he represents a false devotee, or we may say a downright hypocrite. "The Spoiled Age " is a continual grumbling that things are not as they should be. In his ' ' Flattery " he ridiculed the common national foible of court manners and the bad influence they had on national literature. ' ' The Lean Litterateur " is another unique production, reminding 94 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. us of the sad epoch of superficiality when solid sciences were not appreciated, and hence the true litterateur was always lean and poor, and as a characteristic type it went into a proverb. As to idyllic compositions Naruszewicz had no great talent. Accustomed to court life and a great friend to a fashionable world, he could not understand nor ap- preciate the charms of rural life; indeed, his pastorals "The Farm-house," "The Happy Marriage," and "Narcissus," have more of a satirical than of a pas- toral turn. However, his Polish is pure and correct, and in his power, freshness, and poetical imagery, he is superior to Krasicki. Indeed, we find in his satires many beautiful expressions, — new and pleasing turns with which he truly enriched the Polish literature. Naruszewicz was born in 1733, receiving first rudi- ments of education at Pinsk. In 1748 he joined the order of the Jesuits, which sent him to Lugdun. Re- ceiving assistance from Prince Czartoryiski he per- fected himself in learning in France, Italy, and Ger- many. Returning to his own country he received the professorship of the Cathedra of Poetry in the Academy of "Wilno, and subsequently of "Warsaw. He was so liked by the king, Stanislaus Augustus, that after the abolition of the order he resided with him. After receiving the abbacy of Niemenczyn he was admitted to the coadjutorship of the bishopric of Smolensk. He afterward held the office of the Clerk of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania; finally he was made a bishop. Stanislaus Augustus honored him with a decoration, and ordered a medal struck with visages of Sarbiewski and Naruszewicz. He died in 1796 at Janowce. His works were published in "Warsaw in 1778-1803, and at Leipzig in 1835. Naruszewicz's biography was WARUSZEWICZ. 95 written by Julian Bartoszewicz in his work ' ' Cele- brated Men of Poland of the Eighteenth Century," published in St. Petersburg in 1853, in three volumes. CONSULTATION OF ANIMALS. In a corner of Africa most remote Animals, so runs the anecdote, Those beasts that have hoofs and those that have claws, Established government and laws. With that worthy gentry all prospered well Or so begun. I'm glad to tell That harmony reigned throughout the land ; And, difficult to understand, Friendship, too, dwelled there, which you will agree Is what we very seldom see Among the masses of human kind (Sorry to bring the fact to mind). The wolf did not start from his savage lair To devour goats, and pigs to snare ; And not till brother in strife with brother Begun to wrong and wound each other Was there example harmful in the least Set before the misguided beast. It chanced, when hard times fell, the state Its scanty funds to aggregate Called council ; with care that nothing should pass Except in justice to each class Of animals: — asses, the goats, and sheep, That the apportioned tax should keep Of equal weight, 'mong the high and the low, And the state burdens ordered so That each could easily render his share, The lowly and the millionaire. 96 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. With preparation and dignity great > The worthy councillors of state A meeting called to settle as they could These matters for the public good. The elephant was first to speak, — said he: " Citizen animals, most worthy ! Oxen, goats, asses, and mules, and hares, Distinguished by the name each bears, That matters to all should be without wrong, To the meek sheep or lion strong, I propose to you in all sincerity, Without favor or asperity: Let each one who thinks that in small or great He has broken the laws of state Contribute a mark to the treasury; From this a great auxiliary Will our country gain, while at the same time You must reflect, all sorts of crime In our country's bounds, from west to east, From north to south, will be decreased." " That perhaps might do," said the crafty fox, Bowing most humbly to the flocks ; A good-natured grin on his countenance spread And wagging his yellow tail, said : " Greater the income, in my opinion, If young and old of this dominion Were allowed to apprise their good degrees, And pay a florin for each of these; My fame for judgment I'll stake in this way, A larger sum we could display, Which would be with the utmost promptness paid, And' never any trouble made. NARUSZEWICZ. 97 Because, may it please your reverence, They'd rather pay than evidence Transgression of the law's just scope, Your honor sees the point — I hope." WHO IS FOOLISH ? He is foolish who, possessing neither strength nor heart, With vain empty boasts acts an idle swaggerer's part. Who with proud assumption wondrous learning will pretend, And seek to teach a language he does not comprehend. Or he who marries not as befits his own estate, For to fret or be fretted will surely be his fate. Who seeks fortune in cards, psofit in a bone, nor knows Ever that which comes easily as easily goes. He is foolish who through craft to defraud others tries, And seeks credit for that purpose in honesty's guise. He is foolish who drinks when his toes are out, and lives Beyond his income, taking all while he nothing gives. A simpleton is he who's by trifles filled with fears, And he who readily believes each little thing he hears. The rich who buy on credit and let their money rust; ; Foolish is the merchant who'll an idle spendthrift trust. He is foolish who weekly his losses will bemoan, Or weds an old woman for the money she may own. Foolish he who with affairs of state will interfere, Unfit to aid or council he muddles what was clear. Who boldly of his creditor asks a loan, although He has failed to pay a debt contracted long ago. He is foolish who alone on paper projects makes, Who leaves unfinished ever the tasks he undertakes. Who's familiar with unequals shows his lack of sense, Or who farms from a book or from school gets eloquence, Who only speaks truth when there's no falsehood at command, Who amusement seeks with that he does not understand, Who pays much attention to the talk of common folk, 7 98 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. Who allows a little jest his anger, to provoke. Who — but there ! my paper's out, and some perhaps will say I am making my remarks in a fault-iinding way. Pray excuse me, sirs, if Lhave said too much; at times A subject has been borne too far by my erratic rhymes. Poets, and musicians, too, upon extremes will touch, Often one will play too long, the other say too much. KNIAZNIN, 99 KNIAZtilN. Francis Dyonisius Kniaznin was a poet whose writings are characterized by pleasantness, suavity, and purity of the heart. His vivid conceptions, combined with great feeling, eminently qualified him for a lyric poet. He does not soar very high, nor is he carried by sudden flights of imagination, but whenever he follows his own inspiration he charms the reader with his wonderful simplicity. In that respect he may be considered as equal, if not superior, to Karpinski, since his poetry strikes more deeply into the heart and is richer in colors and imagery. He wrote with great feeling and expression. Among his works we can mention " To a Citizen," ' ' Ode on the Centennial Celebration of John Sobieski's Yictory over the Turks at Vienna," "To Grace," "Eosemary," etc. The construction of Kniaznin's verse is peculiar to himself; concise in expression, the selection of soft syllables and natural expression of thought make his verses very harmonious and grateful to the ear. Kniaznin was born in 1750, and was brought up and educated by the Jesuits; in fact he joined the society, but after the abolition of the order in 1773 he again be- came a civilian, and labored assiduously in the great library of Zaiuski. After that he became a secretary to Prince Czartoryiski at Pulawy, a hospitable place,, which in those days was in reality a shelter for learned men. The changeful events of those years, and an un- happy love, darkened his existence and produced de- mentia. He died in 1807. 100 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. His complete works were published in Warsaw 1828, and at Leipsic 1835. A REVERIE. The goddess of darkness, and silence, and dreams, Hath spread her black wings o'er a slumbering world, Care holdeth no longer his empire o'er man But deep in oblivion's abyss has been hurled. Majestic the moon riseth up in the sky, • With her maidens of honor, the stars, in her train, The earth is in solitude gloomy arrayed,. And in silence profound reigns o'er hamlet and plain. Such a lesson as this once could light up my soul, And forgetting the troubles and cares of the earth My mind on the wings of conception would fly, And give to a thousand imaginings birth. I hovered in joy o'er the gay land of dreams, Gave to gladness a, smile, and to sadness a tear, And buoyed in safety on silver-winged hope, Never let thoughts of the future with bliss interfere. There fiery and bold as the eagle of Jove My young spirit roved through the pa'ths of the sky, I gave to the wind all devices of love, Smiled at languishing simpers, and laughed at a sigh. But love stole within my cold heart and there placed An image of her whose cold hardness I mourn ; I loved her — I thought that the world was but her — I loved — but alas ! was not loved in return. To-day e'en the ghost of my once blessed hours Has sank in the earth, and departed from view, And the flowers of love, to which wishes gave birth, Have my sighs for their air, and my tears for their dew. KNIAztflN. 101 For' another has plucked the red rose from the stem, And the beautiful flower in his bosom will bloom, Whilst I, like a spirit from heaven cast out, Am sentenced to Erebus, sorrow, and gloom. ETERNITY. Holy Eternity! Thou work of wonder! In thy belief all virtuous hearts concur ; Those that have in thee hopeful confidence Paint thee in tints of rare magnificence! While others trembling for themselves in fear Would with doubt's gloom thy sacred light obscure. The earth and fathomless sea Are worthy of God's dignity, And thou wilt forever with them endure ! Time, in its broken and unbroken flight, Going we perceive not how and whither, Is only a small branch from thee grown hither, Unfolding till it with thee unite. RELIGION. Religion, thou blessed and holy name ! Thy sovereignty and thy power how great ! How many virtues rare within thee wait For hearts that can thy presence truly claim. How happy on this earth the man may be Whose eyes thy truth and glory can perceive; A guard thou art for all that will believe, A shield from sin for those that cling to thee. In trouble, consolation lies in thee; Thou bindest man to God with holy chain. Misfortune linked with hope forgets its pain ! Thou bind'st the Present with Eternity. 102 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. MORAWSKI. Francis Moeawski differs from other poets in this respect: that he was named " A Soldier Poet. " Sub- sequently we see his easy and unrestrained wit soaring in his fugitive verses, but with such happy turns and skill, and above all such humor, which in our literature is exceptional and rare, and belongs neither to the classic nor romantic school, that we may say he stands by himself. Morawski's mind was very flexible, he being a frequenter not only at camp-societies, but also a welcome visitor of fashionable salons, giving him an opportunity to acquire that ease and pleasing mien which never forsook him even to the last moments of his life. When he was twenty he belonged to the classic school. Between twenty and thirty he waged a liter- ary war with the so-called romantic school, and although his letters and satires were only in manu- script, they circulated freely and had a great repute, as indeed they were very forcible and witty. In the fourth decade of his life we see him writing ballads and romances; in the fifth he is the translator of "Andromache," and then he finishes his poetic career by " A Visit Into the Neighborhood," and a poem, " The Home of My Grandfather." They were indeed all true Polish pictures, — replete with, and full of, old-time diction, simplicity of language, and faithful delineations of historical figures. And thus Morawski, commencing only as a soldier poet, subsequently goes through other periods, and with a flexibility peculiar to himself, — everything new that came into repute in the literary world. MORAWSKI. 103 He was born in 1785 in the Great Duchy of Posen, and received a careful education at Leszno. He after- ward attended a law school at Frankfurt, and subse- quently at Kalish. In the year 1806 he served in the National army, and participated in the great wars of Napoleon, and reached the rank of the chief of staff. His eulogy, delivered at the funeral ceremony of Prince Joseph Poniatowski, 23d of December, 1813, was a splendid effort of oratory. During the existence of the Duchy of Warsaw he served in the Polish army, and in 1819 obtained the rank of brigadier-general. During his sojourn at Warsaw he frequently visited General Vincent Krasinski, whose house was the as- semblage of distinguished men representing literature. After the year 1831, having suffered imprisonment at Wologda, in Russia, he retired to Posen, and settled in a village called Lubonia, where he wrote poetry, prin- cipally for a literary publication called ' ' The Friend of the People," issued at Leszno. He died in 1861. His works were published at Breslau; then a col- lection of poetry in 1841; at Leszno in 1851, and St. Petersburg in 1855. His son published his Fables at Posen in 1862; Five Poems of Lord Byron at Leszno in 1853. A sketch of his life, written by L. Siemienski in the Polish Review, was published at Cracow in 1866. GIERMEK.* Once in Poland's land deep sadness Filled the people ev'rywhere, For the Swede with war's fierce madness Conquered all and none would spare. * Squire or shield-bearer. 104 POETS AND POETRY OIT POLAND. In the lindens' shadows dreary, Strayed the army's broken band; By the camp-fires dumb and weary Mused the warriors of the land. When a bard with white hair flowing, Came the shattered ranks among; Well they knew those accents glowing, As he touched his lute and sung: Olden themes can tell a story Charming every heart and ear; Olden tales of valor's glory, Ev'ry patriot loves to hear. Once we stood a lofty tower, And a shield firm-fixed and strong To repel the foreign power Moved to work our people wrong. On the foes of other nations Fast our. Polish arrows poured ; Sang we Freedom's exultations And the peace that we adored. Clash of armies fierce contending, Anguished moans and trumpets swell, With pursuits wild thunders blending, Formed the hymns we knew full well. Ev'ning's light serene and solemn Sets Petrolia's fields aglow; Comes the army's stately column, Unappalled to meet the foe. Wagons, caissons, onward sweeping, Shake the ground with thundrous pace, MORAWSKI. 105 Rich the field for Death's grim reaping, As the threatening armies face. On one side in spotless glory Faith's bright banner fluttered high O'er brave youths and hetman hoary For the right prepared to die. Mad with passion's wild commotion On the other side arrayed, Raging like a troubled ocean, Tartar rabble's ranks displayed. Sank the sun in blood, as warning Every one that strife is near; Carnage dire begins when morning In the flushed East shall appear. Now the Polish chief, attended By trained bearer of his shield, When the first dusk has descended Mounts resolved to scan the field. Now the foes' dark camp surveying, Rides he numbering fires alight, — Hears their buzz, their horses' neighing, And in thought has caused their flight. Chief restrain thy soaring fancies Tartars fight with desperate zeal ; Swift and changeful war's wild chances, Hark ! those sounds raised peal on peal. 'Tis the Tartars' rabble forces, , All the camp is now alarmed; Cries the chief : "Quick! to your horses!" Chief, — shield-bearer, — all are armed. 106 ' POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Through the darkness dense prevailing, Through tumultuous rising sound, 'Mid the ranks they rush assailing The fixed rabble that surround. Now the young shield-bearer breaking, Prom his youth merged fire and life; In his arm while still unshaking, Brave-souled hetman led the strife. Hear they coming in the distance, Polish warriors! glorious bands! But too late is their assistance; Destined they for Tartars' hands. Youth is taken ! — hetman taken ! 'Mid a savage shout prolonged ; Stubborn Khan with anger shaken Views the capiives he has wronged. With a fierce revenge that never Boil'd with greater malice, he Soon decrees the two forever Shackled foot to foot shall be. To the skies above them shining, Lifted they their tear-dimmed eyes; Yet why sing I their repining Reveries sad and hopeless sighs? He who never had to languish In fell slavery's chains can know All a captive's bitter anguish, » In the power-of ruthless foe. Who in grief vain and .despairing, Has bedewed his food with tears, MORAWSKI. 107 'Midst a savage rabble bearing Pain untold, long suffering years. For a time in mournful dreaming Sat the bard, depressed and mute; With the silent tears down streaming, Then resumed his song and lute. Soon the hetman gray is sleeping, Hushed to rest as 'mid his own; But the youth a watch is keeping, Wrapped in dreams of home alone. Full of grief and pain, no sighing Or embittered tear relieves; On the ground beside him lying He a glittering axe perceives. Trembling, dreaming, thinking, yearning, Filled with purpose high he stands, Noble fire within him burning, Grasps the axe with vigorous hands! On his iron shackles gazing, Firm, unfaltering aim he takes At his foot; — the axe upraising — Severed 'tis — the chief awakes ! Cries the youth: thy people need thee, Slumbering guards the way leave clear. Conquer Khan, for I have freed thee, Joyfully I will perish here. Rose the chief, — the youth confided To God's care while tears flowed fast, Blest him, from the dungeon glided And the slumbering sentry past. 108 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Suddenly the guards awaken ! Find no prisoner but the youth, To the Khan the news is taken, Hastened he to prove its truth. Scarce believing what was told him, In the youth's bold eyes he gazed, Doubting though he did behold him, Strove to read him — sore amazed. Virtue conquers Hate's fell power; Cure the youth — 'tis my command, Said the Khan, — and with rich dower Send him to his native land. Now before the court — all wearing Radiant robes of royal sheen, Comes the youth with grateful bearing, Walking two famed knights between. With a crutch his form sustaining, Now the beauteous youth appears, Wonder in their bosoms reigning, All the court is moved to tears. Comes the youth deep homage showing To the king placed on his throne, Who a famous sword bestowing Named him knight, while thro' his own Circle came the hetman hoary With a golden foot, and turned To the youth. " Distinctive glory," Said the king, " you've richly earned. " This your coat-of-arms for wearing, All in mem'ry of your deeds; MORAWSKI. 109 Full of virtue, full of daring." Then the martyred youth he leads 'Mid the people's shouts up pealing To the blest altar of the Lord; And before it humbly kneeling, There he fervently implored That success might e'er attend them; Prays he to the God of heaven That more heroes he will send them For their country's glory given. Then the bard no longer raising His free song, — his lute has stilled, While his eyes are deeply gazing In the hearts his song has thrilled. KARPINSUTS MONUMENT AT KOLOMYIA (GALICIA). KAEPINSKI. Ill KARPlftSKI. Francis Kakpinski is one of those few who, during the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, deserve the name of true poets. He differs from the old classical Polish poets in this, that they were artistic and followed cer- tain rules of composition with much strictness, but Karpinski, too sincere to bend that way, chooses no especial system, but sings like a bird, he breathes what he has in his soul, and spreads the feelings of his heart right before us. In his Thyrses and Corydons we can plainly see the rustics of Polish villages with small no- bility in the background. Karpinski's songs breathe the elegiac, rustic spirit, remote from overstrung caressings and fondlings and •erratic reveries. He sang with a sincere feeling, de- scribing his emotions almost with a childlike simplicity — though every thought seems combined with feeling, and every feeling is represented by a corresponding pen image. All his original poetry bears a stamp of sadness. Some of these songs can fairly compare with the most beautiful compositions of Goethe. It is al- most impossible to find anything equal to them as re- gards delicacy of feeling 1 and expression. With the most beautiful of these we may include the idyl "Lau- ra and Philon." His religious songs hit exactly the heart of the popular feeling. They are simple and art- less, and always worthy of their subject. Among these we can mention "The Morning Hymn," " All of Our Daily Doings," " During the Labor in the Field," etc. All, these songs are destined to remain forever on the lips of the people. As a political poet Karpinski has no significance, 112 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND. for he never took active part in the troublous move- ments during the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, al- though he wrote a few threns, consecrating them to the cause of his country, one of them on " The 3d of May, 1791," and another " The Lament of a Sarmatian Over the Grave of Stanislaus Augustus, the Last Polish King from the House of Jagellons." His song stopped with the sad fate of his country, and he him- self said that he laid down his lute on the grave of Sigismund. Karpinski excels in sad themes and grave subjects. "The Duma of Ludgarda" is a fine specimen of the kind. He was born in 1741, and commenced his education at Lemberg (Leopol or Lwow), then for a short time he was engaged in law practice, but he soon became tired of it and traveled in foreign countries. He re- mained in Vienna for about one and a half years, de- voting himself to studies. Returning to his own coun- try he for some time followed farming, and then he became an inmate of Prince Czartoryiski's family, and finally held the office of Secretary of the Interior under King Stanislaus Augustus. Retiring from the office the king persuaded him to accept the tutorship of young Prince Radziwtt, but after a lapse of a year he left the lucrative place and took in rentage the vil- lage of Krosniak and again engaged in farming. In the year 1807 he went to Warsaw, but soon quit the capital and returned once more to the peace and quiet of a country life, where he passed the remainder of his days in seclusion. Being a single man he left his property to his relatives. He died in 1825. He was called the poet of the heart. His works were published at Warsaw in 1792, 1806, KARPrifSKI. 113 and 1830, in Breslau 1826, in Leipsic 1836, and by Tu- rowski, in Cracow, 1862. Besides these his comedy, "The Rent," came out in 1782; the tragedy, "Boleslas III," "Warsaw 1790, and " The Memoirs of the Times From 1741 to 1822," published by Moraczewski, Posen 1844, and Lemberg 1849. Anton KorniJowicz wrote ''Life and "Writings of Karpinski, " "Wilno 1827. MOKNING HYMN. "Kiedy ranne wstaj| zorze." When the morning stars are rising, Earth and sea thy glories praising, Join all nature's voice in singing, Praise to thee, Oh God, we're bringing! Man on whom thou'st poured rich treasure, Endless bounties without measure, By Thy power redeemed, life given, Why not praise Thee, God of heaven! When at morn I first awaken, On my lips Thy name is taken, And I call on God profoundly, Then I seek Him all around me! Yesternight were many taken, To the sleep that ne'er shall waken, While our ling'ring breath is given — For Thy praise, great God in heaven! EVENING HYMN. Through the past day our behavior, With mercy accept just Savior, And when we sink to dreamful sleep, May praise of Thee our visions keep. 8 114 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. As Thy eyes are turned upon us, Day and night are looking on us, Where feeble and weary mortals, Wait for help from out Thy portals. Turn away the dark night's terror, Save us Lord from shafts of error, Judge and Guardian in Thy keeping, Have us waking, have us sleeping. YEARNINGS IN THE SPRING. Pull many times the sun has come and gone And favored the day with light ; But from my life all sunshine has withdrawn Why must I ever walk in night? The grain is shooting up so fresh, so fair, Almost the heads begin to show ; So verdant are the wide fields ev'rywhere, Why does my precious wheat not grow? Within the grove sweet sings the nightingale, Echoes the grove its melody ; Gaily the birds sing in the woodland and vale, But my bird does not sing for me ! Many flowers have sprung from the moist ground, After a reviving shower ; Bright tinted are the meadows all around, Oh! why springs for me no flower? How long, Spring ! shall I beseech in vain ? Disconsolate I sigh and yearn ; While my sad tears have bathed the earth in rain, For this, a harvest rich return. KARPINSKI. 115 PEACE THAT VIETUE BRINGS. Whoever paints virtue sad, has seen • But little of her charms serene ; E'er pleasantly she smiles nor sighs, Nor turns aside her lovely eyes. Naught can the deeps of her calmness stir, Fortune, misfortune, are alike to her. In vain mishaps to work her ill Their poisonous darts make sharper still; She meets them as the steadfast rock Receives unmoved the sea wave's shock Or as the fire that burns with ardent glow In gold's bright semblance more and more will grow. His country Socrates loved well, And for its cause drank poison fell, Nor felt a fear, but strong and brave To friends beside him counsel gave ; Anitus grumbled in amaze to see E'en death could not annoy that spirit free. Why runs he with distracted air? Why sadly weeps and tears his hair? He grieves because' that has been done For which no help is 'neath the sun. Let him a hundred years lament, 'tis vain ; A farthing's worth it helps not to complain. The chain in ages past begun, Wrought from the world's swift changes, none; Can it undo save He whose hand Linked it together as He planned? Why grieve then for what is or for what was, Since all is ruled by just, eternal laws? 116 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Brief are our lives and naught we know Of the to-morrow. Since tis so, Why should we borrow care or sour With needless fears a single hour? GolcPs worshipers may tremble full of fear, No cause to tremble have God's children dear. Upon the path with thorns entwined, Fragrant flowers you'll also find : Then let us forward bravely go, Nor mind a little pain, although We are stung at times, it is said a wound Heals quick where roses without thorns are found. WOROJSflCZ. 117 WORONICZ. John Paul Wokonicz occupies one of the most distinguished places among the poets of Poland. In genius he surpasses many of his contemporaries, characterized by the purely national simplicity of the olden times. At the decline of the old epoch he comes in as a new prophet of other times and other peoples, dissimilar in the outlook of the present generation, but inimitable and incomparable. He did no homage to the new conceptions, innovations, or impressions of the age he lived in, drawing his subjects from historical elements and historical reminiscences, the faith of his ancestors; from the burning feelings of the purest patriotism gushed forth his poetical inspirations, and, like a true bard of the people, he was their interpreter and their embodiment in their grandest national rem- iniscences. In many respects Woronicz is allied to the two greatest bards of the Holy Scriptures. He combined the ardor of Ezekiel with the tender emotions of .Jere- miah, and it can be truly asserted that no poet was ever more impressed with them than Woronicz, no poet bet- ter appreciated them than he did. The feeling of national pride was the chief theme of his lyrics, but their tenor is sad and the intrinsic con- struction of his songs is solemn. He paid but little attention to their smoothness, correctness, and finish. Bold and manly conceptions are so molded as to purposely give them the form of perpetuity. In his " Hymn to God " the bard sings of the won- derful goodness of God to the Polish nation. We see 118 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. here as if an apotheosis of the whole people was ex- alted to the highest and almost gigantic extent. Sub- lime poetic art flows into a deeply affecting and re- ligious strain; the load of grief is raised heavenward, where buoyant imagination takes its flight into the highest regions of sublimity; for it represents the whole nation chanting the covenant made with God for a thousand years. His ' ' Temple of the Sybil " is an epopee, a hymn of Poland's glory, sung in praise of national deeds and patriotic remembrances; heroic deeds of valor are un- earthed from the ruins of the past — of nine hundred years— its glories and its trophies are the historical themes of this great poetic creation. The style of ex- pression, the ardor, and the extraordinary boldness of imagery are the characteristics of the poem. Similar literary qualities characterize also his "Lech," "The Diet of Wislica," and " The Dissertation on National Songs." Woronicz was born in 1759, in the province of Vol- hynia, and was educated at the Jesuit College in Os- trowo. He joined the order when quite young. On account of his unusual talents he was called to a professorship at that college, and filled his duties so well that he received commendations of not only his superiors, but also thanks of those whom he taught. After the abolition of the order in 1773 he obtained a situation at the Mission at Warsaw, and giving him- self up to arduous labors he became so erudite in learn- ing that he commanded the respect of the most dis- tinguished and learned heads of the church. Adam Ceciszewski, the bishop of Kijow, as also of Garnysz, the bishop of Chehnno, frequently consulted with him in regard to church affairs. In this way the young WORONICZ. 119 chaplain paved his way to the acquaintance of the king, Stanislaus Augustus. In 1795 he left "Warsaw, and was satisfied with the modest parsonage at Liwo, and with much ardor gave himself up to the duties of a country- pastor. From Liwo he was assigned to the curacy of Casi- mir, in the neighborhood of Pulawy, where the sight of "The Temple of the Sybil" filled with so many national souvenirs and relics furnished him the materi- als for composing the celebrated poem of that name. The society of "Friends of the Sciences" at "Warsaw made him a member. Being again assigned to a new curacy atPowsinie, near "Warsaw, and before he had yet settled at his new parish, Frederick August called him to fill the office of a dean at the cathedral at Warsaw, and a counsellor of state. In this new situation he, soon was known as an orator of great distinction. "When the remains of the heroic Prince Poniatowski, who perished at the battle of Leipsic, in 1813, were brought to Warsaw, "Woronicz delivered a funeral ora- tion which stands up to this day as the highest effort of the kind. Afterward the Emperor Alexander I made him bishop of Cracow. In the year 1829 he was as- signed to the archdiocese of "Warsaw, to which was at- tached the dignity of the Primate, and while holding that high office he presided and conducted the corona- tion of Mcholas I as the King of Poland. Soon after "Woronicz left Warsaw for Vienna in order to recover his failing health, but unhappily soon after his arrival there he died, December 4, 1829. A collection of his poems was published in Cracow 1832, and in Leipsic in two volumes in 1833. 120 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. FROM THE TEMPLE OP THE SYBIL.* Oracle of Hesperian lands ! fame crowns thy brow Of vast and sacred groves, all-powerful abbess thou ! To whilom lost and scattered Trojan bands, once more Hast shown the welcome headland of safe fortified shore. Later, with wonderful mysteries hast led apace To glory grand and great their ever-conquering race. Now having forsaken Cumaean rock renowned Thou hast on Vistula's shores a shining temple found ! Let me in my song praise of thy new abode proclaim, And praise of the people long extinct — and of their name ! Here shepherds gather from all the heaths by winding ways, Remind one of the olden, happy, vanished days, That he possessed the name of fortunate, whose soul Could not the whole world govern, but could himself control, Who faithful as a friend, and as a father kind and wise "Wiped full many bitter tears from sorrowing eyes — His riches counted he in sheaves and in herds alone — But far more than these the wealth of love was all his own. His nature serenely high was also gently bland And worthy of the virtuous Amarylla's hand, With whom in affection and peace for aye lived he, In concord sweet unruffled by adversity. Craved he no other's goods — but wholly was content, His old age was adorned by love and honors blent, And when called to his last resting place, calmly slept — Regretted by all in truth — by all sincerely wept.f * Temple of the Sybil. A lofty building in the garden of Pulawy, erected in imitation of the Temple of Tiburtine Sybil on the river Teverone, in Italy, by Princess Isabella Czartoryiska, as a depository of Polish national souvenirs by a cove of the river Vistula, and at the base of a mountain among beautiful trees. It bears an inscription : " The Past or the Future." t Prince Adam Czartoryiski. The family of Czartoryiski comes from the lineal of a royal family of Gedymines. WORONICZ. 121 LOVE AND VIRTUE. He that can feel within his heai't true love Is virtuous already — or such will prove. THE POLES. Poles ! my dear brethren your high laws are all the same — Virtue is your element and valor is your name! ARCHBISHOP KRASICKI. KBAS1CKL 123 KRASICKI. Ignatz Krasicki, the celebrated archbishop and poet, is an acknowledged representative of his period. He was not one of those geniuses who have their mind's eye fixed upon their own greatness and glory in the distant future; on the contrary he was a true citizen, endeavoring in the happiest possible manner to lift up, not himself, but his fellow-countrymen and the age he lived in. If even Mother Nature had not fitted him with that facility and pleasant- ways, his own good heart would have led him to seek the way to conquer super- stition, bad taste, and especially the carelessness and indifference to learning. He appeared on the stage exactly in the right time, when sciences in Poland had not yet assumed a definable shape, and of course had not reached the point of desired amplification. The spirit of philosophy of the eighteenth century, with its erroneous teachings, was in the ascendant; but Krasicki overcame that difficulty by boldly yet pleasantly point- ing out a different and a better way. Although he himself had been brought up under its baneful influ- ences, he was able by his writing to gradually reinstate the old-time customs, faith, and manners of his ancestors. Krasicki occupied a high place in Polish literature. He was very witty, and although he did not display great creative powers in his comic composition, he had a way of his own to sing with the harmony of a bird, adding to it a precision and a consummate finish. Being an excellent judge of the human heart, he had a happy faculty of seeing men and things exactly as they were; 124 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. hence he was pertinent and practical. He was an excellent delineator of the faults and foibles of the living pictures of society. Among the poetical works of Krasicki his satires are entitled to the first place and consideration ; except their pungency they have no real bitterness in them, and always a tendency to correct the existing state oi things. In them he paints in a humorous manner the customs, ways, and manners so precisely that such a description was something very uncommon in those days. While castigating the ways and manners he invariably brought up an ideal how they should be. If he ridiculed anything funny, sluggish, or what deserved reprimand, he at the same time set forth types worthy of imitation. By such course he plainly proved that whoever undertakes to point out others' faults he must love them. His satires are of two different kinds — some touch the weaknesses and defects of the humanity at large, as for instance "Malice, Hidden and Open," "The Happiness of Rogues," and " Drunkenness "; in others again he points out the national shortcomings, as in "The Fashionable "Wife," "The Journey," "Prodi- gality," "Praise of Age," and "Court Life." Some, however, contain irony and sarcasm, as " The Spoiled World." His " Monachomachia, or the War of the Monks," was written when he and Voltaire lived together at the Palace of Sans-Souci. It was a happy occurrence that when Krasicki embraced Voltaire's philosophical ideas he did not reach as deeply as Voltaire himself. Having been born in the southern part of Kussia-Poland he was by nature true to himself, and did not possess that virulence of character. Being himself an Ecclesiastic, KKASICKI. 125 he knew the defects and digressions of the clergy, and inflicted his castigations accordingly. In this produc- tion he distinguishes himself in pleasant but harmless wit, nice imagery, accuracy, and grace of expression. Throwing the mantle of fun, and even ludicrousness, over high thoughts, the author exerted great power and influence in that direction. When it was ascertained that his intent was misunderstood and misconstrued, and looked upon as a lampoon on the clergy, and that many minds were vitiated thereat, Krasicki composed " Antimonachomachia " — sort of a revocation of the former poem; but " Monachomachia " had neverthe- less the desired effect in correcting the existing evils. The subject of the poem was the confederation of the clergy against the author of the offensive literary production. "Myszeis " is a playful poem containing within it a hidden moral and satirical comparisons in regard to national defects. This contention for the preeminence, or we should say "Who shall be greatest ?" between rats and mice, means probably the old political wrangles in Poland, — misunderstandings or quarrels between the Senate and the Chivalry of those days. Besides the satirical writings of Krasicki we can place his Letters, — the subject matter and the style of which very much approach his satires. These, being written in verse after French models, palpably remind us of the haste and defects of the literature of that period. In his " Doswiadczynski " (the man of experience), a moral tale written in prose, Krasicki paints the social defects of that time. Thoughtlessness, prodigality, litigation, bribery, the law intrigues, court eloquence, are pictured in vivid colors. This jocular but highly 126 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. interesting production hits somebody or something every time, and shows in the author an uncommon talent and discrimination of how and where to casti- gate national blemishes. From' all of Krasicki's writings his Fables were perhaps the most popular; they all contain truths, expressed with great conciseness and wit, comprising at the same time deep meaning, sound practical philos- ophy, replete with the spirit of reflection, humanity, and frequently patriotism. They are all short, prac- tical tales, allegories, or witty anecdotes. "The "War of Chocim " Krasicki composed to show that a good epopee could be written in the Polish language. His "Pan Podstoli"* we consider a valuable depository, and it stands as a living monument of Polish ancestry. In this "work Krasicki rises higher in philosophical tendency than any painters of char- acters or novel-writers have ever led us. In the representation of Mr. Podstoli he did not follow any especial ideal, or the originality of any person; he simply and plainly painted a characteristic portrait of a citizen, husband, father, and neighbor, who in the fullness of his own and his family's happiness con- quers old impediments and defends himself from the new ones; prizing knowledge, liberal in his household, generous in his frugality, an indulgent moralist, glad in the goodness of his heart, sincere in his moderation, and awakening in every heart a longing desire for hap- piness similar to his own. Krasicki is the man of his epoch, not only of the age he lived in, but for all ages to come, so long as we will think, feel, and write in Polish. Krasicki had * Under-carver — An honorary title among the ancient Polish nobility. KRASICKI. 127 within him every quality to raise him to so high a sphere. He possessed immense creative powers, an original mind, and original ways of looking at things, — qualities which in reality constitute a true poet. He created, a sphere to which he attracted the people without any resistance on their part, — so much so that his poetry became a necessary element in their existence. The great archbishop stands on the borders of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; but the creation and preparation of a boundless poetical sphere, and bringing a general use of his ideas into different strata of society, make him a poet not only of his age, but also of the present time. Krasicki was born in 1734 atDubiecko, now in the southern part of Russia-Poland. After finishing his studies at Lemberg he resided at Rome. Returning to his country he became a canon, and then a curate at Przemysl. When hardly thirty years old he presided over the Ecclesiastical Tribunal at Lublin, and it was not long after that the king, Stanislaus Augustus, made him coadjutor of the old bishop, Grochowski, and when he died in 1767 Krasicki succeeded him as the Bishop ofWarmia, with the title of a prince. In 1772, after the first partition of Poland, when "Warmia, with the western part of Prussia, came under the reign of Prussia, Krasicki became a vassal to Frederick II, who having a sort of penchant to surround himself with learned men took him to his side and invited him to reside in his palace of Sans^Souci. When, after the last partition of Poland, a considerable part of the king- dom of Poland came under the Prussian dominion, Krasicki was made the archbishop of Gniezno, in 1795, and occupied that high place till his death. In 1800 128 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. he was made a member of the Society of the Friends of Learning at Warsaw. He died in 1801. All his works were published at Warsaw in 1803 and 1804, in ten volumes; in Paris, 1830, ten volumes in one; in Leipsic, 1834. Besides his encyclopaedic col- lection of the most important information, alphabet- ically arranged, his comedies "The Liar," "The Poli- tician," and " Solenizant" (the solemnizerof his birth- day) were published under a pseudonym of Michael Mowinski. THE WAE OF CHOCIM. Canto I. Long in the murderous rolls of conquering fame The Osmanlis, — scourge of God, — in proud success, Had triumph'd. Devastation, blood and flame They scatter'd in their fury, merciless. Unsated even by slaughter they became Prouder in power, — encouraged to oppress; Half the wide world had recognized their sway, And their stern scepter bade the rest obey. Fall'n Greece ! on thy majestic ruins, high The haughty Moslem rears his tyrant throne ; How many desolated nations lie In dust ! — how many suffering kingdoms groan ! Towns, towers in ashes sink ; by his stern eye Dismay'd, their terror trembling millions own, Shuddering in dread, when with half-stifled breath They see him wave the scimitar of death. Before him fell the holy city's walls. Thy daughters, Zion! wept in slavery long; Whelm'd in the dust thy palaces and halls. No more Mount Calvary's sacred scenes among KRASICKI. 129 Kneel pious pilgrims ; — drear desertion palls The Savior's sacred tomb ; an impious throng Insulting trampled where to fallen man Salvation's marvelous mystery began. The valiant Osman then the throne possess'd, — Osman, whose conquests like the ocean spread ; To daring deeds adventurously he press'd, And joy'd his sire's ambitious path to tread. His busy love of conquest found no rest, But in devoting every Christian head. Impious! to deem a tyrant's peevish rod Could raze or blast what has been raised by God. Such thoughts he cherishes; the powers of Hell Fan his ambitious flame: before his eyes .They bid fresh wreaths of shadowy laurels dwell — A filmy web; though victory's heedless cries Ring in his ears like music, sorrow's swell Seems joy, while in his soul stern thoughts arise. 'Twas thus deluded warrior bands became A scourge to nations, — to the world a shame. So from the palace happy quiet flies, — The seat of peace is in the shelter'd cot; When cares disturb the mind, sleep shuns the eyes, — Sleep, not the monarch's, but the peasant's lot: Though on a couch of down proud Osman lies, Repose his weary eye-lids visits not. 'Twas dawn, — the star of morn palely shed Her beams, when o'er him slumbers faintly spread. The great Arch-fiend approach'd him, — he of old Hurl'd down from highest heaven, — who bids abound On earth both guilt and guile. A cloth of gold, From distant India brought, encurtain'd 'round 9 130 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. The tyrant's bed: — in form of human mould The dsemon wrapp'd him; and with human sound, While the false prophet's visible shape he took, Thus to the deeply-slumbering monarch spoke : " Nay ! on a soft and an effeminate bed, This is no fitting time, my son ! to taste Oblivious sleep. Aurora blushing red Heralds the morn; the pale stars sink to rest; The sun uprises bright: — Awake! and lead Those conquering bands who wait thy high behest: Awake! and let thy great example tell, Sloth cannot in the minds of heroes dwell. " Awake ! let them behold in thee whate'er Befits a conquering nation's monarch ; scorn Of sloth; delight the steely mail to wear; A wakeful eye anticipating morn; — Thine arm'd host waits thee, nought is wanting there To valor, but a leader ; fierce they burn For the wild joy of battle: — thus of yore Their sires won fame; and lo! they pant for more. " By glory led, whose brightly beaming light Shines all propitious by the hero's side, Each step is certain conquest; to the fight A hero leading heroes; terror's tide Shall whelm the Christians ; and thy power shall blight Each bud of hope for them; thy falchion dyed With blood shall on the Faithful joy bestow, — That sword which flashes death upon the foe." As when the savage boar outstretch'd in sleep, In his dark covert hidden, hears the horn Of the sharp hunter, and from slumbers deep Awakes in bursting wrath, and rage, and scorn, — KEASIOKI. 131 Bristled and panting see the monster leap Forth from his den ; foaming and fury-torn He dashes tow'rds the sounds, — so Osman sprung, While round his dreaming eyes the vision hung. And fierce and fatal were the threats which call'd His troops around him then; the battle cloud Spread darkly gathering. Armies were -enthrall'd; Viziers and Agas at the mandates loud, And seldom-check'd Pachas, by fear appall'd, Brought their attendant hordes, and meekly bow'd; While scarce one welcoming, one approving glance Escaped the frowning despot's countenance. He stood among them like a pyramid O'er-darkling with its shade the plain around, And thus unveil'd his daring purpose, — hid Till then ; while at the valor-stirring sound, Prostration mute,, and eager rapture bid Meet utterance : — " Thou, the Koran's moat and mound, Stretch out thy blade; thy foes shall pass away. And prostrate earth adore the Prophet's sway. " Nobly thou hast begun, and so proceed ! Let thy sword herald on the law divine ; — Destroy the impugners of the Prophet's creed, But on the faithful let thy favor shine. Thy glory shall encircle earth ; the meed Of pious triumphs, — thou shalt raise a shrine To victory. And as Rome was victory's queen, Stamboul shall now become what Rome has been.'' Skinder Pacha was there, — 'twas he who won Cecora's bloody day, — and thus he gave His monarch humble counsel : " Thy proud throne Towers above all thrones, and thus thy slave 132 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND. Presumes t' advise. Since Poland's bravest son Sleeps mouldering in his melancholy grave, Be Poland thy first spoil: for Poland lies Crouch'd at thy feet, — and at thy frown she dies. " Zolkiewski was their chief: his fame in war Was mighty: toils and time had made him gray: His band, look'd proudly on their country's star ; His countless band; and in the glimmering ray Of faded recollections twinkling far Sought hope ! Thou gav'st them to us as a prey, — Thou, Prophet! whom they dared blaspheme. They fell, As ever falls the insulting infidel. " And now dismay has crowded on defeat, And terror holds them in its heavy chains; Send forth thy mandate, and they shall retreat, O'erpower'd and scatter'd, as across the plains An atom in a whirlwind. It were meet To whelm in dust their wasted, weak remains, — Their wives, their children, slavery's bonds await, — All yield to fate, — and they must yield to fate. " They have despised thee in their insolent pride ; They have rebell'd against thy sovereign will; Laugh'd at thy awful frowns; and turn'd aside Prom thy bright smiles: and undespairing still, Their obstinate zeal supports them. Chiefs divide, And factions tear them ; yet by force or skill They hang together: and these stubborn foes The only barrier to thy sway oppose." Thus the fierce Skinder spoke : their lord's behest Anxious the whole divan awaited. He The wild, rude anger of his eye suppress'd; While bursting joy, dim dreams of victory, KRASICKI. 133 And restless passions struggled in his breast. He bow'd assent; and with proud dignity- Threw round him a dark glance of light afar, And utter'd, " War, my warriors! nought' but war ! " He said that he himself his troops would head, And lead them on to triumph. At the word A murmuring concert-tone of gladness spread, And loud eulogiums on their valiant lord ; For armies when by hero-monarchs led, Know no defeat. A sultan's self-drawn sword Flashes with victory. A chieftain brave Makes all his followers spurn the gaping grave. Then to the camp vast crowds of warriors throng, From every quarter summon'd. Shouts of joy And the gay music of the battle-song Bid the heart leap, and light the ebon eye. There young and old, children and sires, among The gathering band are mix'd tumultuously; And many an oath is heard, and many a vow To Allah and the Prophet utter'd now. And o'er the palace portal high unroll'd, The Prophet's banner, deck'd with pearls and gems, Floated. It was a sheet of br'oider'd gold, Sparkling with jewels fit for diadems, Which dazzle when their brightness we behold: And the sublimest of all apothegms: " There is no god hut God, — and Mahomet His Prophet is,'' on the bright field was set. And proudly to the wind its folds it flung, And million voices blended all around; The clashing cymbals high aloft were flung. The spahi's shouts, and the strange babel-sound 134 POETS AND POETRY OP POLAND. Of countless voices uttering joy, o'er-rung All heaven ; the war-steeds stamp'd the dusty ground, Eager for battle. Osman bent his head, And to the crowds the white-lock'd Mufti said: "Ye have been chosen, Faithful! from the crowd Of nations, sacred duties, mighty deeds Triumphant to accomplish. Victory loud Calls to the noble strife where victory leads ; Heaven blesses Ismael's sons; their banner proud, With glory seated on its shrine, proceeds; The Prophet's standard blinds the Infidel, And God's bright smiles of light around it dwell. "Yes, Osman! glorious thy reward shall be! Bright as the dreams that play around thee now Shall be the future's dazzling victory ; And high as night's proud stars thy fame shall glow O'er thy ruin'd foes. At thy decree Oecora's scatter'd fragments swift shall go Into oblivion. Thou shalt reign alone, And all the prostrate world thy mandates own." Then the mysterious Koran-tome he took, And read its dark and deleterious page ; Mingling new cheats with that all-cheating book, He pours his blasphemies ; then strove to engage, "With a devout but most dissembling look, Heaven's smiles upon the tyrant, — to assuage Heaven's frowns; and on the chiefs, and on the crowd, Saints*, Mulahs, and Imams, pour'd blessings loud. Then to his palace he return'd, and soon Warriors from every quarter join'd his train,; From whence Euphrates, lighted by the moon, Bursts through his cliff-bound way; and from the plain * Santons. KEASICKI. 135 Where rolls the yellow Tigris 'neath the noon, Bushing in rapid depths toward the main ; And from the jagged and the granite shores, Where fierce Araxes through the hard rocks roars. And whence the solemn Nilus rolls his tide, Enriching at each step Egyptian lands, To where in seven-mouth'd eloquence of pride He breaks impatient from his earthly bands Into the Ocean's bridal bed. The wide And scorch'd Sahara, and Numidia's sands, Sent forth their sons, and Ethiopia's eye Look'd proudly on her troops of ebony. From Yemen came a sturdy shepherd rage, Bronzed in the fierceness of the burning sun; — The tribes of Fez, who deem it a disgrace To spare or sympathize where gore-streams run; From Mecca; from Medina — hallow'd place! Scene of the Prophet's birth: from Lebanon And from Mount Carmel's sides; — impatient all, Panting for fame, and reckless though they fall. But who can count them, — who, — when all array'd They pass'd before the sultan's raptured eye? He saw his million vassals who display'd Their gorgeous pomp; and hope's light ecstasy, Scepters and crowns and mighty kingdoms laid At his proud feet by victory. To the sky Tower'd his ambitious thoughts ; his frowns he hurl'd And pour'd his threats of insult o'er the world. HOW MUCH TO DRINK. You may drink of wine three times at a feast, The first small glass won't hurt you in the least. The second you drink to the health of friends, And if you stop there, all pleasantly ends. 136 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. But suppose you drink the third to the guest, ' Be sure that at this point you will rest — For the fourth begets a coarseness of speech, Words rude and vulgar your converse will reach; At the fifth your anger is uncontrolled, Loudly you talk — not knowing where to hold; And if, after all these, a sixth succeed, You are left in a wretched state indeed; And one's perception need not be acute To see you've reached the level of a brute ! DRUNKENNESS. A SATIRE. Where were you? T can hardly go. Are you sick? Yes, You know I never humor myself to excess ; But such a headache as I've had words can't convey. You must have surely had a gay time yesterday — That's why you are sad to-day, how was it? I think, After a luscious meal, water is good to drink. Nay, not so good my friend, — and may that man be cursed (I'll tell you how it was) who used that proverb first. Day before yesterday I got drunk — wife's birthday ; I regret it not — that occasion should be gay. 'Tis a great day you know — nor is it very wrong To raise your neighbor's spirits — wife was full of song. We had lots of wine, and its quality was prime, So you can bet we drank and we had a big time. Till morn the feast continued, about noon I woke — Head like a chunk of lead — to cough and spit and choke; Madame proposed tea, but that's sickening, you know ; Somehow, 'twas but a chance, I passed a drug store. So I took a drink of bitters, as anybody would, Then I drank again, thinking it would do me good. KBASICKI. 137 Still sick, again I drank, then I felt better quite, And thus, then, happened two guests of yesternight; Under such conditions a treat I could not shun — And then how can one treat and yet himself drink none ? That wouldn't do. I drank, it happened, so you see, The liquor was A No. 1, and hot as it could be. That's good for the stomach, and as my good luck willed, The nausea was stopped — that dreadful headache stilled. Well, again, to happy home with my friends I went, "We found dinner ready, and it was excellent. Mr. Andrew said temperance was a thing he prized, Aye, long live temperance! drunkenness we despised. At hand stood the bottle, the cork beside it laid, Mr. Albert of dyspepsia somewhat afraid, After the ham eaten, proposed a little wine. One or two glasses drank for the health is fine, Especially when the wine is pure and past its youth. We acceded all to such self-evident truth — Talked of manly spirit, of bold and grand designs, Talked of gold and silver, of digging in the mines. And so the bottle dried up — how? we scarcely knew, And so another came — and while our ardor grew, Disappeared the third, the fourth, and then the fifth came on, Then the sixth and seventh and eighth and the tenth was gone ! And when our arguments grew louder and more free, Mr. Andrew dared to fling the name of fellow at me. I, a fellow! I'll teach you not to be so bold — At me he goes, and I at him, we took fierce hold. Albert interposed, and the servants next appeared, I really do not know how the quarrel cleared — Certes it is a bottle was broken on my head, Be drunkenness below to darkest regions sped ! What is there in it? There is trouble, strife and pain, Nausea, bruises, plasters — these are its only gain. Well said: a pastime 'tis to which the lowest cling, An upright man will scorn it as a shameless thing. 138 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. All sorts of feuds and trouble from its reign outcome — Mem'ry grows dull — reasoning powers grow numb; Health suffers, and its victim hastens to life's brink. Just look upon a man who is a slave to drink ! A man but in appearance — really a brute. When a man is drunk 'tis fitting to compute Him with senseless cattle — justice, not abuse. If heaven thought fit to place wine here for man's use, It was to help him, not to incapacitate — The use of God's great gifts should e'er be moderate. Though dumb brutes are senseless we oft are shamed by them. Intemperance is a sin that animals condemn In men who drink but not alone to slack their thirst. Brutes drink what is needful — man who calls them accurst Is worse indeed than they are, more abject and low. Heed not the wounds and plasters; the meed of guilt is — woe! Far greater punishment than those bruises is meet For those that keep transgressing in their blind conceit. Knowledge, which distinguishes man from animal, They often disregard for causes small. What gain is sufficient to balance its neglect; For its loss what profits sufficient can collect. In those who commit not excesses base and vain You'll find good sense and comfort — and freedom from all pain. See the results that with temperance agree — Perfect health, cloudless brain, and a mind gay and free; Strength exceptional, and energy for their tasks; Property in order, in smiles their household basks; Cash to meet each needful and sensible expense, — These are the inducements to follow temperance; And aught but total abstinence is risky, It is: Good-bye — I go to take a drink of whisky. KEASICKI. 139 FABLES. THE KING. A certain king there was of projects grand Would register the wise ones of the land, The names likewise of all the happy found, And v set the scribes to search the kingdom round. The seeker for the happy found but few, But great the multitude of wise ones grew, So great the scribe beheld his labor vain, No paper left the number to contain ! THE LAZY OXEN. The first commission of an ill Delight is no less; 'Tis in the effect it brings about That lies the bitterness. As easily is proven by This most veracious history. In spring the oxen all refusBd To plough the grassy plain ; When autumn came they would not haul From out the fields the grain. In winter, being scarce of bread, They knocked the oxen on the head. THE MOSQUITO AND THE FLY. If we must fly at all, I know We should soar neither high nor low, Mosquito said, who, buzzing by, Saw in a pail a drowning fly. And sadly he bemoaned its fate, That it had not been fortunate, And, like himself, had wings to fly Where'er he willed, or low or high, 140 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. And mourning o'er its fate he turned, Fell in the candle and was burned. : THE BOYS AND THE FROGS. At evening a small lake beside A group of boys with hop and stride Watching to see the frogs, ran by; And when a frog with motion spry Popped up, knowing of naught to dread, They dealt a blow upon its head Their love of sport to gratify. But one frog, bolder than the rest, With courage thus the boys addressed, The while he rose into their sight: " You'd better stop, — it is not right For you to play the way you do ; It is but senseless sport for you, For us 'tis death, -or wounds and fright." THE RAM AND THE JACKASS. The ass complained in moving words It was a shame and sin To cast him from the stable out And let the ram within ; But while the loudest were his moans Thus spake the ram in bitter tones : " Be quiet, pray, my long-eared friend; With anger be less rife, A butcher's standing by my side With ready, sharpened knife. Comfort yourself with this conceit ; ' Mankind will not eat jackass' meat! ' " KRASICKI. 141 THE STANDISH AND THE PEN. Betwixt the standish and the pen A dreadful quarrel rose, Which came to words of bitter kind, Black looks and almost blows, As to which penned a certain fable That lay just written on the table. Its author in the meanwhile came The library within, And, finding out the cause of this Most sad and dang'rous din Exclaimed: " How many bards at war Just like this pen and standish are ! " THE DOG AND HIS MASTER. A certain dog of watchful kind To scare the t^ief away /' Barked from the setting of the sun Until the dawn of day. His master at the morning light Flogged him for barking thus all night. Next night the dog in kennel slept Sound with prodigious snore, The thief broke in and seizing all Made exit by the door. When morning came they flogged the brute Because the lazy dog was mute. THE TALLOW-CANDLE AND THE TOECH. A tallow-candle and a torch, Both in a narrow place, Were lighted, when the first began To speak, with fancied grace: . " Fear not the dark, my glimmering brother, My light shall the darkness smother." / 142 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. " Fool ! " said the torch, " and thinkest thou That all the world are blind, That thy pretensions will deceive A sensible mankind? Or that they do no difference know 'Twixt my bright light and thy faint glow! ' THE FOOL AND THE SAGE. A fool one day a wise man asked What good was there in learning, If it improved one's happiness And ought diminished mourning ; E'er mended coats or broiled a goose, — In short, what was its aim or use? At first the sage refused to speak, But for a long time pressed, In angry words yet courteous tones This answer apt expressed: " It becomes us this, its chiefest rule, To give no answer to a fool." THE TORTOISE AND THE MOUSE. A tortoise crawling o'er the plain, Bearing her shelly house, Met 'fore she long had traveled A fat and pompous mouse, Who said: " I pity one past telling, Who hath to carry such a dwelling." " Reserve your pity, pray, my friend," The tortoise calm replied, " And hie you to the palaces Of man, to bloat your pride; Though mine is formed of clumsy bone, And is not handsome — 'tis my own." KRASICKI. 143 THE HAUGHTY RAT. Upon the altar, during mass, One Sabbath morn there sat, Surrounded by admiring friends, A consequential rat. " For me," said he, " the incense floats, And peal yon swelling organ notes." E'en as he spoke, the incense cloud, Borne by the summer breeze, Came curling o'er the altar top And made his ratship sneeze. Hearing the sound, a wary cat Leaped up — adieu, my haughty rat! THE CAT AND THE HOUND. A pussy who in corner sat, Devouring dainty mice, Was by a mighty stag-hound asked Why lived she not more nice? Said he, " I eat no mice-like gear, But seize and slay the stately deer." The cat replied with modest look, " I grant my mice are small, But please, my friend, to recollect, That I consume them all; Preferring for myself a mouse, To a deer for my master's house." THE TWO PAINTERS. Two painters once, 'tis said, there were, Each bore a wond'rous name; But one far o'er the other stood In point of noisy fame. 144 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. The best no cash nor blessing got, The worst one had them both, I wot. The first his portraits made from nature, True to the copied one ; Correct in every form and feature, With faithful care 'twas done. The last drew little on truth's store, Embellishing from fancy more. THE CHILD AND THE ROD. The father whipped his child because He was so slow to learn; Imagining the smart would make Him smarter to discern. But e'er that way again he trod His son and heir had burned the rod. Next time when little John deserved A heavy punishment, The father, to the usual place, To find his weapon went. And, as 'twas missing, he was fain To use instead his walking cane. THE SHEPHERD AND HIS SHEEP. A shepherd shearing sheep one day Declaimed most zealously Upon the care was ta'en of sheep, Prom utter charity. How they had homes to rest their feet And in the winter food to eat. The sheep he, held was mute — The angry peasant cried, "Ungrateful! no acknowledgment?" When calmly it replied — KRASICKI. 145 " Well, God must pay men for their care: From what is made the coats they wear?" THE GAPTIVE BIRD. " Why weepest thou?" a youngling bird To older one appealed, "Art thou not better in this cage Than in yon dangerous field? For me the prison-house and care, 'Fore danger and the open air." "Peace!" said the elder bird, " be still! Within this thou wert born; But I have known the hallowed sweets Of freedom in life's morn. Bright liberty once sunned my brow, I weep that I'm a prisoner now." THE PHILOSOPHER. There lived somewhere, in olden time, A proud philosopher, Who, fixed in his opinions, thought That he could never err. i Progressed through life without assistance, And scoffed the thought of God's existence. But sickness came, and with its pangs Came loss of fortitude ; And he who measured heaven's space, And farther'st planets viewed, Came not alone a God to know, But all the fiends of hell, also. JO 146 POETS AND POETRY OP POLAND. WENGIERSKI. Thomas Kajetan Wengierski, the Polish Piron, was born in Podolia in 1755, and educated by the Jesuits at Nowe Miasto, as also at Warsaw. He became a chamberlain to the king Stanislaus Augustus, but his unbridled passion for satires and epigrams caused him many bitter enemies. All his writings are distinguished for smoothness and great wit. His ' ' Calash " and ' ' The Philosopher" are short poems, but excellent. He is also the author of " Organy ."' (the organs), a poem of great power and bitter satire. His satirical attacks of persons connected with the king's court caused his dis- missal, and he was. obliged to leave the country. He traveled in England, Italy, France, Martinique, Hayti, St. Domingo and the United States of North America. He gave a lucid account of his travels in Southern France and Italy in the French language, but the rest of his peregrinations were written in his native tongue. There is no denying that "Wengierski was a poet of great genius, but his language is occasionally some- what loose. He died at Marseilles quite young (at the age of thirty-two), having impaired his health and shortened his life by all, sorts of excesses. Lucian Siemienski, in his "Literary Portraits," pub- lished in 1850, wrote an article on the "Travels and Reminiscences of Wengierski," mentioning many inter- esting incidents in the poet's life, softening greatly the asperse criticisms on Wengierski, and acquainting us with the unknown part of his life and character. WENGIEESKI. 147 MY WIPE. A DKEAM. Strangely 'wilder'd I must seem, I was married in a dream, — Oh, the ecstasy of bliss ! Brother! what a joy it is! Think about it and confess "lis a storm of happiness, — And the memory is to me Sunbeams, — but sixteen was she. Cheeks of roses red and white; Mouth like Davia's ; eyes of light, Fiery, round, of raven hue, Swimming, but coquettish too; Ivory teeth ; lips fresh as dew ; Bosom beauteous, hand of down, Fairy foot. She stood alone In her graces, — she was mine, And I drank her charms divine. But in early years our schemes Are but showy, shadowy dreams; For a season they deceive, Then our souls in darkness leave. Oft the bowl th*e water bears, Yet 'tis useless soon with years; First it cracks, and then it leaks, And at last — at last it breaks. All things with beginning tend To their melancholy end — So her beauty fled. * * * * * Then did anger, care and malice Mingle up their bitter chalice. 148 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Riches like a whirlwind flew, Honors, gifts, and glories too; And my lovely wife, so mild, Fortune's frail and flattered child, Spent our wealth, as if the day Ne'er would dim or pass away; And — 0, monstrous thought ! — the fair Scratched my eyes, and tore my hair; Nought but misery was our guest, So I sought the parish priest. " Father ! grant me a divorce — Nay, you will grant it me, of course: Reasons many can be given, — Reasons both of earth and heaven." " I know all you wish to say: Have you wherewithal to pay? Money is a thing of course, — Money may obtain divorce." " Reverend father ! hear me, please ye, 'Tis not an affair so easy." " Silence, child! where money's needed Eloquence is superseded." Then I talked of morals ; but The good father's ears were shut. With a fierce and frowning look Off he drove me, — And I woke. WHAT ONE LIKES. " Co kto lubi." Let the toper his empty glass fill, And the gambler throw his dice with skill; Let the huntsman gallop his steed at will, And the warrior other warriors kill ; WENGIERSKI 149 Let the courtier buzz in the palace gate, The usurer eat the youth's estate; The lawyer pillage and prose and prate, And rob even beggars, with looks sedate; The monk may leave his sandals where They tell strange tales, — I nothing care, If of this world's follies I get my share; Let eaeh just as he likes — that's fair. The end of life is happiness. — Pursue That end life's transitory journey through, Nor fear, on earth, while happiness pursuing, That thou art storing up for heaven thy ruin. But if tho"u fear the future, oh, beware At every step, and tread with cautious care; For in this world, to sin and sin unheeded, A very decent character is needed; So get a character, and then just do Whate'er you please, — the world will smile on you. Helter skelter, a dandy scuds over the streets, With his hot, foaming steeds, helter skelter, The dread and annoyance of all that he meets, Who fly at his coming for shelter. His horses he flogs and cries " Out of the way," As they tear up the pebbles and stones, sir; And he thinks it a great condescension to say " Be off ! or I'll break all your bones, sir." I saw him once knock a poor mendicant down, And laugh as the luckless one stumbled;' And I said, " E'er he reaches the verge of the town That cold-hearted pride will be humbled! Sure a tyrant like this, one so reckless and base, Should be curl'd to be cautious or quiet." But still he dash'd on in his life-scorning race, Till he rattled .toward Nowy Swiat* * Nowy Swiat," the New World, — a fashionable part of Warsaw. 150 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. When he struck on a stone at a corner — and smack Went the axle, and down came the hero. He was thrown like a stone from a sling, on his back, And his pride sunk at once below zero. I have seen him on crutches, and hope he has found This secret — I need not reveal it, — "lis easy indeed to occasion a wound, But not very easy to heal it. TEEMBECKI. • 151 TREMBECKI. Stanislaus Teembecki was a man of extraordinary- powers of mind. He possessed the greatest facility of being easily impressed with all kinds of literary crea- tions. He was well versed in Latin literature, wrote in French as well as in Polish, and was thoroughly learned in all Slavonic languages. In life, and in the world around him, objects presented themselves to him only as themes for writing poetry upon. He praised many people and many things, but he loved no one and nothing. He never had. a soul-attachment to any one. Persons and things that interested him he loved but for a little while. Not having the popularity of Krasicki, he was superior to him in taste and poetic talent. Among the learned he had a great repute. He composed satires, letters, fables, on common and political subjects. We must also add that he was dis- tinguished in epic poetry. In his lyrics he was cold and constrained, but occasionally he warmed up with patriotic feeling, but even then he was more eloquent than poetic. His satires were the fruits of momentary impressions and tools of contention. Open and hab- itual derider, he comes out with bitterness and severity, never trying to smooth things over with harmless wit or even irony, frequently using common and even coarse expressions. In his panegyrics he frequently piles flattery with great profusion. Epic poetry was his chief pursuit, in which he distinguished himself as the poet most conversant with the patterns of the masters of antiquity. Initiated into the mysteries of poetic spirit, in the riches and adaptation of his native 152 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. tongue he was gifted with aesthetic feeling and a deli- cate taste. Although an imitator and a disciple of a new school, he did not know how to become a national writer, neither did he wish to approach the grateful simplicity and freshness of the poets of Sigismund's times, yet he equaled them in power, dignity, and fer- tility, but in the outward smoothness and polish consid- erably outstripped them. His most celebrated poem is "Zofiowka" (Sophia's Park or Garden), a description of a garden of that name, the property of Count Potocki, situated close to the city of Human, in Ukraine. In this park of mag- nificent proportions and great beauty is a grotto, on entering which your senses are struck with a delightful sight of rare works of art and many wonderful curiosi- ties. As you gaze around it the spell of enchantment only increases, and you almost imagine that you have entered the gates of Paradise. The following in scription in Polish may perhaps be seen up to this day over the grotto, the meaning of which is this: Before you enter here leave your troubles all behind, — If you're already happy, more happiness you'll find. The conciseness of presenting high thoughts, the power, skill, and the appropriateness in description, the inim- itable skill in the outer form of the verse, distinguish him from all his contemporaries. Trembecki has been called more of an artist than a poet. He was born in 1723. While yet very young he traveled over nearly all Europe, and resided for some time in Paris, where he contracted a friendly -intimacy with many distinguished French poets. It was there that he was impressed with the philosophy of the eigh- teenth century, and with the manners and customs of TREMBECKI. 153 the French court of Louis XV. He fought thirty duels, the cause of almost every one heing women. Returning to his country he became chamberlain to King Stanis- laus Augustus ; from this time hence he lived at War- saw, and was engaged in the composition of different kinds of verses. After the abdication of King Ponia- towski he remained with him continually at Grodno and St. Petersburg. After the king's death he resided at Tulczyn, in the Province of Podolia, at Count Potocki's manor. For thirty years he never ate meat nor drank any wine. Toward the end of his life he associated with but very few, and scarcely left his house. He spent one day in the week giving alms. He died in 1812. All his works were published in 1828, in two vol- umes, at Breslau, and in Leipsic in 1806 and 1836. Quite a learned dissertation on Trembecki's poetry was published by Hippolitus Klimaszewski in 1830. "Zo- fiowka" was translated into French by De Lagarde. BALLOON. Where the eagle in his rapid flight With strong pursuit the birds do scare — And lurid thunderbolts with angry might Rush through the regions of the air. A strange pair whom fear has never checked, Resolved to o'ercome Nature's laws; And striking the road where Icarus wrecked, Soared through the clouds without a pause. With gas the vehicle the pair inflate, Upward the air its course inclines — Its chains are threads, its rudder is fate, They are competing with the winds. 154 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. The lofty, gorgeous houses, one by one, Lessen and disappear from sight, And looking from the trap of the balloon — A ruined heap they all unite. The broad Vistula, so august and grand, Looked like a stream whose drops would fail, Its width like a finger from a child's hand, Though it flowed grandly in the vale. Yet some attribute wonders strangely great To this unsafe and crazy craft, Perhaps 'tis so, yet I may truly state, Wise men have at their judgment laughed. Yet we admit that Nature's giant might Has burst strong walls of stone and steel, Man's wisdom, too, all obstacles shall smite — But give him time with work and zeal. With gallant ships his fertile brain has filled The stormy and the pathless main, Of gems to rob the ocean he is skilled — Eternal rocks he rends in twain. The mighty elements their wrath forego Under his skilled and wise command; He bids the waters leave the valleys low, And mountains sink to level land! NIEMCEWICZ. NIEMCEWICZ. 157 NIEMCEWICZ. With pleasure Heaven itself surveys A brave man struggling in the storms of fate, And greatly falling with the falling state. Pope. Julian Uesin Niemoewicz, secretary to the senate of the kingdom of Poland, and soon after a senator, president of the Royal Society of Science of Warsaw, and member of many literary societies in Europe and America, was born of an ancient and respectable family in Lithuania, in the year 1758. As citizen, statesman, author, historian, and poet, he shone with an eclat unparalleled since the days of Orichton. "While still very young he was elected representative of the palati- nate of Polish Livonia to the diets of 1788 and 1792. Much civil courage was requisite in those assemblies to combat the menaces and intrigues of the factions, and much activity to repress the turbulence of the people; for in addition to the dangers to be apprehended from exterior enemies, the ambition, interest, and prejudices of the great, and the ignorance of the. people, were opposed to the efforts of the patriots. The young Memcewicz, endowed .with a generous mind and superior talents, knew how to merit this double praise. Amidst the representatives of his country his eloquence was poured forth in defense of the sacred cause of rational liberty, and sustained the rights of the peasant against the usurped privileges of the aristocrat when this important question was before the house. To disseminate his principles he united with two 6f his colleagues, — the castellan Thadeus 158 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. Mostowski, and the representative of Livonia, Joseph "Weyssenhoff, in publishing a political journal; and notwithstanding the short duration of ' ' The Foreign and National Gazette " (1st January, 1791), it rendered important service to the public cause. The muse of Niemcewicz, by chanting in spirited strains the exploits of the heroes of his country, kindled the torch of patriotism in the breasts of their compatriots. The laurel that entwines the brow of the hero would wither in his tomb if, like that of Achilles, it were not pre- served by the bard in unfading freshness. Niemcewicz also made the theater subservient to his ruling passion. One of his comedies, the ' ' Return of the Representa- tive," displays equally his talents and public spirit. During the public fetes on the anniversary of the 3d of May, 1791, a new drama (Casimir the Great) had the honor of embellishing the national rejoicings, adding to his fame, and acquiring lasting and deserved popularity. The memorable ' day on which it was enacted was the last of Poland's happiness. A handful of traitors, bribed by the empress, Catharine |II, sup- ported by her troops, and encouraged by the shameful irresolution of King Stanislaus Augustus, with the deadly blight of their treason blasted the councils of the brave, and prepared for the ruin of their unfortunate country. But Pbland did not yield without covering herself with immortal glory during the last moments of her political existence. The illustrious Kosciuszko raised the standard of independence, and placed him- self at the head of those brave men who resolved to bury themselves under the ruins of their country. The young Niemcewicz became aid-de-camp to the general- issimo. It was he who composed the proclamations, orders of the day, and bulletins of the battles, — all NIEMCEWICZ. 159 dictated by ardent love for Poland and for glory. But when, after unhoped-for success, the fatal day of the 10th of October, 1794, covered Poland with mourning, and Kosciuszko, pierced with wounds, fell into the hands of the enemy on the field of Macieiowice, the brave Memcewicz, also grievously wounded, shared his fate. They were sent, with a number of other illustrious victims, to the dungeons of St. Petersburg. In their solitary confinement they mourned over the fate of Poland until the accession of Paul I to the throne of Russia restored 14,000 Polanders, dispersed through Siberia and the different strongholds of the vast Russian empire, to liberty. But the virtuous Niemcewicz seemed destined to- form an exception to the amnesty of 1797. Niemcewicz still inspired the new czar with suspicion. "I fear," said Paul, "that his ardent mind, vast intellectual powers, and persua- sive eloquence will excite new troubles- in my empire." The entreaties of Kosciuszko overcame the fears of the czar, and Niemcewicz followed his immortal friend into that refuge of oppressed virtue, the hospitable land of America. In exile, as well ns in captivity, he found in letters his chief consolation. It was in his Russian prison that he composed his beautiful translation of the '"Rape of the Lock," and of "Racine's Athalia." Desirous of seeing his family he sailed for Warsaw in 1809, and there published his works in twelve volumes. Received into the Scientific Society, he joined in their labors, and wrote some political tracts, which are greatly esteemed. It was in Paris, in 1803, that he was invited into Russia, where the government offered him employment; but disdaining to serve the spoilers of his country, he refused the offers of Alexander, and returned to America, where he married a lady native of 160 POETS AHT> POETKY OF POLAND. New Jersey, whose talents and agreeable qualities formed the frequent theme of his muse during his short visit to Europe. During his former visit to America he had, with his general, Kosciuszko, been admitted into the friendship of the immortal Washington. In the verd- ant groves of his charming residence in Mount Vernon, and on the banks of the superb Potomac, Niemcewicz mused on "the condition of his beloved Poland, or. con- templated the august figure of the most virtuous of Americans, until his sentiments of respect and venera- tion for this hero found utterance in his biography of George Washington. The events of 1806, the creation of the grand duchy of Warsaw, and their hopes of the complete restoration of Poland, caused many of her patriots to return thither, and among the rest JSiemcewicz, who was nominated secretary to the senate — an office he filled until 1830. The muses were his relaxation, science and his duties as a states- man his occupation, and the veneration of his com- patriots his solace. Frederick Augustus, King of Saxony and Grand Duke of Warsaw, conferred upon him the order of St. Stanislaus. He was afterward nominated a member of the Directory of Public In- struction; he devoted himself to this honorable office, which he retained until 1821, when an absolute system adopted anew by Stanislaus Grabowski, senator and minister of public instruction, made him resign it. His retirement was requisite to enable the government to stifle every germ of liberty. Niemcewicz was always odious to Eussia, both from his services to Poland and from his avowed hatred to her oppressors. His "Lithuanian Letters," published periodically dur- ing the war of 1812, to promote a revolt in Lithuania, contributed much toward increasing this feeling. All NIEMCEW1CZ. 161 his works aimed at the one point, that of keeping Polish patriotism alive. His national melodies, his historical pages glowing with love of his country, and ingenious allegories equaling La Fontaine's, which his fertile imagination offered periodically to his country- men, all breathed the same spirit. The retirement of Memcewicz from the directory did not deprive him of all means of serving his com- patriots. Called by the choice of the inhabitants of Warsaw to the presidency of the beneficent society of that city, he found a sweet pleasure in exercising his philanthropic feelings. Another proof of public regard awaited him. The Royal Scientific Society honored themselves by raising him to the office of president, vacant by the death of the learned and philanthropic Stanislaus Staszyc. Memcewicz was equally illustrious as historian, journalist, romancer, and poet. His romances "Dwaj Sieciechowie " and "Leybai Siora" (Levi and Sarah) are of great importance, and were not without influence on the public mind. Following is a list of his works : 1st. The Secret History of John of Bourbon; trans- lated from the French in 1779, 2 vols. 8vo. 2d. The History of Margaret of Valois, Queen of Navarre; translated in 1781. 3d. Odes on quitting England (1787). 4th. Casimir the Great, a drama in three acts, acted at Warsaw May 3, 1792. 5th. The Eape of the Lock; translated into Polish Terse from the English of Pope in 1796. 6th. Wladislas, King of Poland, a tragedy, acted at Warsaw in 1796. 7th. King John Sobieski's Page, a farce, written in 1808. 162 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. 8th. Lithuanian Letters, written in 1812. 9th. The Public Prisons, written in 1818. 10th. Reign of Sigismund III, King of Poland (1819), 3 vols. 8vo. 11th. Two historical romances (1819). 12th. Odes of the Polish Army in 1792. 13th. Historical Melodies in 1819. 14th. Fables and Tales (1820). 15th. Historical Recollections of Poland as it has been (1822), 4 vols. 8vo. 16th. John de Tenczyn, an historical romance; translated into German in 1826. 17th. Leyba i Siora, a Jewish romance; translated into German, English, and Dutch. 18th. What Pleases Ladies, a tale of Yoltaire; translated from the French. 19th. Odes of Pope and of Dryden on music; translated into verse. 20th. The Miseries of Human Life; translated into Polish. 1st. Athalia, a tragedy of Racine's ; translated into verse. 22d. Hedwige, Queen of Poland, an opera in verse; the music by Kurpinski. 23d. The Return of the Representative, a comedy in three acts, in verse; this work, twenty years after its publication, excited the resentment of the Grand Duke Constantine. 24th. Traits of the Life of General "Washington. 25th. Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia; translated from the English. 26th. The Suspicious, a comedy in five acts and in verse, acted during the revolution. 27th. The Vain Man, in five acts. NIEMCEWICZ. 163 28th. Kochanowski, a drama. And a number of other works of great interest. In 1830, the day preceding our revolution, the supreme counsel of the kingdom having felt the neces- sity of being supported by names dear to the natives, called upon Niemcewicz to join its ranks. It was to his venerable appearance, and the words of wisdom and eloquence that he addressed to the people assem- bled under the windows of the hall of government, that the accomplishment of a revolution, unstained by crimes or excesses, may be in a great measure attrib- uted. As a member of the national government until the creation of the dictator, he assisted in all the delib- erations of the senators, of whom he was the secre- tary. He had the signal honor of being elected senator without the formalities prescribed by law, the senate wishing to confer on him a mark of national gratitude and veneration. The day of glory again dawned in Poland, and the veteran of seventy-two embraced with all the ardor of youth the cause of liberty; but to him the revolution shone like an expiring lamp, for eternity was opening before him. With a self-devotion and energy of mind that neutralized the assaults of age, Niemcewicz, deputed by the national government, undertook a journey to London to interest the British cabinet in the cause of liberty and of Poland; but the days of reverses arrived, and, exiled with the more virtuous among his countrymen, he returned no more to Poland. After living for a long time in retirement in London, he went to Paris to rejoin the greater part of his friends and colleagues, and from time to time published little tracts or poems analogous to his cir- cumstances. In 1,841 he ended his career with the tranquillity resulting from a life of duty. The Polish, 164 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. French, American and English residents in Paris united in paying him the last tribute of respect due to man, and accompanied his honored remains to the cemetery of Montmorency. Among the spectators at this melancholy scene we find Mr. Gibbs, an American gentleman, who thus said to the assembled friends of the deceased: "Gentlemen, the noble Polander to whom we pay the last tribute has the sympathy of all my fellow-countrymen; as to the American citizen, companion of Kosciuszko and to the friend of liberty, I outrun, I am sure, and express their wishes, when in their name and mine I pay to his memory due tribute of profound esteem. Firm in his principles, magnanimous and unconcerned for himself in the hopes of prosperity for the cause of mankind, his memory deserves the eulogies of good men of all countries. His name will be placed among those of my fellow-countrymen who are honored with the name of benefactors of mankind. " The professors and members of the Princeton Col- lege (N. J.), at a meeting called expressly for that pur- pose, passed the following resolutions: Resolved, That this society has learned with pro- found grief of the death of their respected member, Julian Ursin Nlemcewicz; Resolved, That this society, with numerous friends of the departed, mourn his death, and as a proof of his services and regard to his memory will wear usual mourning for thirty days; Resolved, That copies of these resolutions be sent to the "Princeton Whig," "National Intelligencer" and "New York Journal of Commerce." NIEMCEWTCZ. 165 In a poetical epistle addressed to his old friend, Gen. Kniaziewicz, thus he describes AMERICA AND GENERAL WASHINGTON. With my wounded commander* compelled to depart From thee, oppressed Poland, the pride of my heart; An asylum I sought o'er the dark rolling sea, In the land of the noble, the brave and the free ; But e'en there the sad thought of my country would rise, And the tears of deep anguish would roll from my eyes. In boundless savannas, where man never strayed, Amid woods that ne'er echoed the axe's keen blade; In the foaming abyss, where the clouds of bright steam Round the falls of the roaring Niagara gleam ; And on the deep sea, when the white sails are spread, Lo! the shade of my country, all gory and dead. Pull of bliss to my heart is the thought of that day When to Washington's mansion I wended my way; To visit the. warrior, the hero and sage, Whose name is the day-star to each coming age; By his valor the new world rose happy and free, And her glory his endless memento shall be. His features are still on my memory defined, With the fadeless and delicate colors of mind. Pull, noble, majestic, with a crown of swan-hair, And a brow deeply writ with the finger of care: Old Roman simplicity marked his fine face, Expressive of dignity, grandeur and grace. How oft on his accents with rapture I hung, While wisdom and kindness distill'd from his tongue; Kosciuszko. 166 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. And whene'er the sad tale of our fall I'd relate — How brilliant our struggle, yet awful our fate — A sweet tear-drop of sympathy stole down his cheek — Better pledge of affection than language could speak. Precious tear! a rich proof of his sorrow for thee, Loved home of my fathers ! once peaceful and free. And oh, could I that gem which so peerlessly grows, In some costly and beautiful crystal enclose, So priceless a treasure a witness I'd keep, That o'er Poland's sad ruin a great man could weep. And further down, such a picture he makes of his abode in the UNITED STATES: When an exile from home, with deep sorrow oppressed, In the new world a pilgrim, unknown and unblessed, With no light to illumine the shadows that spread Like the gloom of the sepulcher over my head, My lonely condition made woman's bright eye Mould the beautiful tear-drop of sweet sympathy. But the feelings of pity were soon changed to love, That bright seraph of mercy bequeathed from above ! With the gift of her fond heart she sweetened my woe, Making hope's dying embers with sweet brightness glow; Since then my neat cottage, the meadow, parterre — Rich pleasures of freedom ! — have been my sole care. How oft has Aurora, from his soft couch of blue, Found me cutting fresh grass, all so pearly with dew; Or engrafting a shoot on the thriving young tree, While nature was smiling in beauty and glee. delightful employment! — with pleasure how rife Are the exquisite scenes of a pastoral life. NIEMCEWTCZ. 167 Far away from the crowd of the giddy and vain, From the thraldom of tyrants, the rude and profane; From the folly of idlers that cumber the earth, Wasting life's precious season in profitless mirth. Ambition and av'rice disturb not the breast, While hope points the soul to the realms of the blest. So pure were the joys and so peaceful the life That I shared with my lovely and beautiful wife, I might have been happy, could man but forget When his country with deadliest foes is beset. But too oft the sad thoughts would convey me away In the stillness of midnight, the bustle of day, Thro' the foam-crested waves of the dark rolling sea, To thee, distressed Poland — once peaceful and free ! DUMA.* GLINSKI.f "W okropnych cieniach pieczarow podziemnych." In a dark, dreary dungeon, where the beam, The gladdening beam of sunlight never shone: Where from the dismal roof its little stream Of twilight pour'd a pendent lamp; — alone And conscience-tortured — sat, to misery bound, Glifiski — in victory and in crime renown'd. His forehead years and grief had furrow'd o'er, His grey hair huilg disorder'd on his brow ; His bloody sockets saw the light no more ; Plough'd were his wasted cheeks with scars and woe. He sat and lean'd upon his- hand: — his groans Were echoed by the dungeon's gloomy stones. * A Duma, an elegiac poem ; a plaintive song. + Glinski was a Polish chief who nourished at the beginning of the sixteenth century. The events referred to in this Elegy took place in 1515. 168 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. With him his only child, his daughter fair, A very gem of virtue, grace and youth. She left the smiling world and the free air, Her miserable father's woes to soothe; Pleased in that fearful solitude to stay, While life's young bloom fled silently away. " Father ! I pray thee by these tender tears " — So spake the maid — " be comforted, and chase Despair; though chains hang heavy on thy years, Yet hope deserts not e'en this desert place. Time may smile upon thee; thou may'st rest Thy gray old age upon thy country's breast." " My country! breathe not that dread name to" me, For crimes rush down upon my tortured thought, And wakened conscience gnaws the memory, And gentle sleep these eyes will visit not. Did I not head her foes ! — And can the name Of ' traitor ' but be link'd to death and shame ? "All that can raise a man above mankind, — All that is good and great in war or peace, — Power — riches — beauty — courage — strength of mind, — Yes! nature gave me these, and more than these. I wanted nought but laurels — which I found — And glory's trophies wreathed my temples round. " The locust-swarming hosts of Tartans broke Upon Lithuania and Volhynia's land, Plundering, destroying; their terrific yoke Spared neither sex nor age; the fiery brand Of desolation swept the country o'er — Children and mothers drown'd in fathers' gore. " I sought the invaders' ravage to withstand. Proud of their strength, in widespread camps they lay; NIEMCEWICZ. 169 But they were scatter'd. by my victor hand. The misty eve look'd on the battle, fray, While corpses on the Niemen's waters rode, And Infidel blood the thirsty fields o'erflow'd. " "When Alexander on his dying bed Lay, mourn' d by all his children-subjects, came The news that the defeated Tartars fled, Upon his clouded brow joy's holy flame Kindled sweet peace. ' Now let me, let me die, For I bequeath to Poland victory!' " My deeds, my monarch's praises, warm'd my breast, And love of daring violence grew. The fame Of Zabrzezynki oft disturb'd my rest. I — a most foul and midnight murderer — came And butcher'd all in sleep. My Poles rebell'd — I join'd with Poland's foes, by rage impelled. "Flagitious sin, and memory's fiercest smart; The eagle blended with the hurrying steed * From cruelty and crime won not my heart, Nor sheath'd the sword that did the cruel deed. The foemen Euss I bent to my control, And fought 'gainst Poles — e'en I — e'en I — a Pole! " I look'd upon the battle-field; I saw Many a well-known corpse among the dead. Then did fierce agony my bosom gnaw; Then burning tears of conscious guilt were shed: And I implored forgiveness — from my king, — Forgiveness for a vile and outcast thing. " I told my penitent tale. My foes had wrought Upon the czar, and roused him to distrust. * The arms of Poland are a wfiite eagle. Those of Lithuania are a Twrse galloping, with a rider holding a sword ready to strike. The latter is called Pogon, from pursuing. Gonic means to pursue. 170 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. He met indignantly my honest thought, Dash'd my awakening virtue to the dust; Bid them tear out my eyes, and bind me here In galling fetters to this dungeon drear. " Ten years have pass'd ; and yet I live. The sun And the gay stars shine on, but not for me. Darkness and torments with my being run ; My strength decays; my blood flows freezingly Through my chill'd veins ; and death — not gentle death - Lays its rude hand upon my weakening breath. " Yet a few days — this corpse, my grief's remains, Will ask a handful of unfriendly earth. Leave then, my child, these foul and foreign plains, Blest who can claim the country of his birth. The Poles forgive, — and -thou shalt be forgiven. My child, be blest, and I be left to heaven. " Yes ! thou shalt see thy country, and its smile . Shall chase the memory of these gloomy days; Thy father's princely hall shall greet thee, while Thy thought o'er long-departed glory strays; Thy friends, thy countrymen, shall welcome thee, Give thee their love, — but pour their curse on me. " Yet e'en my death may hallow'd thoughts inspire ; Prom this scathed trunk may wisdom's blossoms grow. My history shall check revengeful i-re, — None other Pole shall join his country's foe. Why should a traitor live when he hath bound HiS'veil'd and sorrowing country to the ground?" Thus spake the miserable man. A groan, A dark and hollow groan the dungeon fill'd ; On her pale breast his snow-white head was thrown ; Death's shade o'ershadow'd, — and all was still'd. HTEMCEWICZ. 171 So died the mighty Glinski:— better lot Might have been his,— but he deserved it not. This Duma is one of the most popular in Poland. It is also the subject of one of the best of the Polish trag- edies by Wenzyk. DUMA. POTOCKI. " Sluchajcie rycerze mlodzi." Come, listen youthful warriors, now, While my sad tale of grief is told; And let it kindle glory's glow While it records* the deeds of old. For I will sing the glorious wreath Which erst the patriot hero wore Who nobly died a hero's death While crown'd with laurel'd victory o'er. Chmielnicki's fierce and savage band Had ravaged our Podolia's vales; The cries of mothers fill'd the land, Wide-echoed round from hills and dales. Our ploughmen from their fields are torn, Our«maidens shameless slavery prove, Our shepherds are to exile borne, — Not to be exiled from their love. Potocki — old and hoary — stood Proud in felicity and fame, When the loud shrieks, the cry of blood, Like soul-disturbing tempests came. He sigh'd ; a stream of tears roll'd down His venerable cheeks, while thought Rush'd on the brighter moments gone. But age had come, and left him — nought. 172 POETS AND POETRY OE POLAND. The will, but not the power, was there. Down dropp'd the falchion from his grasp. But see his hero son appear — Spring on his steed — the war-brand clasp. Why should he waste in ease and sloth The brightness of his morning star, When virtue and when valor both Had charm 'd his ear with tales of war? " My son," — his eyes with tears were fill'd — " Thy country groans! Go, warrior! be Thy bosom now thy country's shield, — < Be worthy of thy sires and me ! Go ! — for thy country live ! Be blest With triumph glorious and renown'd ! So calmly shall I sink to rest When 1 have seen thee victory-crown' d." A fond farewell sent forth his son, When he had bound him to his breast. He put the heavy armor on; The while a golden helmet prest The raven ringlets of his hair: Yet ere he sought his warriors he Saw midst many a maiden fair His maiden at a balcony. She was a maid of beauty rare — The loveliest maid Podolia knew — Fair as the morning rose is fair When blushing and when bathed in dew. And she was true to love and fame, And young, — and pledged her hand and heart To him whose valiant sword should claim In battle fray the bravest part. Then drew the ardent hero nigh, And lowly bent on reverent knee: NIEMCEWICZ. 173 "0 thou, my heart's felicity, All, all life's sweets I owe to thee! Now bless me in the field of death, And smile upon me, struggling there. My heart's best blood, my latest breath, I'll pour for fame and thee, my fair ! " His heart was full — he spoke no more. Her eyes were wet — the maid unbound The snow-white scarf her bosom wore, And girt the hero's shoulders round. " Go ! rescue what is lost ! My tow By this pure pledge shall fail thee never ! Be crown'd with bright affection now, Be crown'd with bliss, with fame, forever ! " Meanwhile the piercing clarions sound, The dust-clouds o'er the plains arise; The troops of warriors gather round. While helms and armor dim the eyes. The courts, the gates, the lofty walls A thousand anxious gazers show. The slow-descending drawbridge falls, While to the gory fight they go. 'Twas evening. Through a gloomy night Toward the Yellow Lake they sped. The morning came, but not in light, — 'Twas wrapp'd in clouds opaque and red. The mighty army of Bogdan Spread countless o'er the extended land; The brave Potocki led the van, To smite the innumerable band. Then dreadful havoc's reign was spread, The murd'rous fires of death were there; Swords cleft the helm and helmed head, And hissing arrows fill'd the air. 174 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. The dauntless chieftain fought, — he press'd The foremost on the foe, — when deep A deadly arrow pierced his breast; He fell, — fell lock'd in endless sleep. Yet victory crown'd our arms. !Twas vain; — It was no triumph ; — He away, Courage and joy were turn'd to pain. They throng'd around him in dismay: They bathed his wounds; they wash'd the gore With tears, — while round the corpse they stand Then on their shields that corpse they bore, Their hope — and of their fatherland. And on a green and woody glade 'Neath a proud tomb his dust they set; They hung his armor and his blade, And that white scarf, — with blood 'twas wet. And there through many a day forlorn, His joy-abandon'd maiden went; And from the evening to the morn She pour'd — she wept — love's sad lament. Sleep, noble hero! sweetly sleep Within this dark and sacred wood; The silent moon her watch shall keep Upon thy gravestone's solitude. And should some future warrior come, And the decaying trophies see, His eye may linger on thy tomb, And learn to fight and die from thee. * Translation of the four lines on the frontispiece : Ye exiles, roaming through the world so helplessly and long, When will your weary feet find rest, broken-hearted throng ! The wild dove finds its hidden nest, the worm its native clod, But Poland's son can only claim of earth a burial sod! FASTIDIANA. 175 FASTIDIAKA. (GUZDRALSKA.) A HUMOROTTS TALE OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY. In an old tatter'd chronicle, whose pages Had been defaced and stain'd by ruthless time,- A dusty fragment of departed ages, When Casimir, the monk, o'er Poland's clime As sovereign ruled, — but older far than he, — I found this strange, recorded history. Near £.enczyca, upon a flowery mound, A proud and noble mansion look'd around, — Its name I have forgotten; and 'twere vain To rack my broken memory again. But an old manuscript that long was hid, Moth-eaten, 'neath a crumbling coffer-lid ; It tired my weary eyes, — though I possess'd A microscopic glass, — the brightest, best, Which magnified a hundredfold, at last Gave me some light, — and my reward was vast. There lived a noble, whose proud wish aspired To honor, — and he found what he desired. A Truchses* now, — and next a Stolnikf. His Were piles of wealth, — and towns and palaces. That matters not: his pride, his boastings were Of his fair daughter. She was passing fair; And bounteous Nature o'er that maiden threw All charms man loves, and all he honors too. She was a very queen of grace, whose skill Play'd with the heart and wielded it at will. * Wine-bearer : f Plate-bearer ; — titles at court. 176 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. The story of her beauty, like a breeze That bears perfume, spread through the provinces, — ' Spread o'er the land ; and many a raptured youth Laid at her feet the vows of love and truth. They saw her, and were lost: a single glance Of that bright, lovely, laughing countenance Won all the soul. No wonder; — the control Of wit and beauty ever wins the soul. And was she faultless? No! one little sin— For she was human — one alone crept in ; One little fault or error, which — Heaven knows — Was a dust-atom on a scarlet rose. What could this little dangerous error be? Time and the maiden never could agree. She knew not wherefore years should be- divided In days and nights and hours, — and years derided : She thought that time, to please a maiden's whim, Mighty tarry: — little knew the maid of him. She deem'd her smile should stop the hurrying day, When in delights and feasts it sped away; And the wing'd hours in their swift flight restrain, And to a rock time's slippery spirit chain. E'en thus she lived, and dreams like these employ'd The shifting moments which those dreams enjoy'd. Her dawn was noon, — time's dawn her middle night ,- Always too late ; her place, though noblest, might Eemain unfill'd. At table she first came When all was over ; and 'twas just the same E'en when a new piece charm'd the theater; At the last act's last' scene she would appear Nor at the church, mortal sin! before The careful beadle closed the sacred door. She was her parents' hope, her parents' bliss, So no reproaches smote the maid for this. FASTTDLANA. 177 Yet there is pleasure, — so the record says, — Sweet pleasure in these lingerings, these delays: And none of her admirers loved her less, — Many and noble, — for her tardiness. But one was privileged o'er the rest,— and he Was the young Wojewod of Kujavy; He bore Gruzdawa's arms. (And those who bear These old insignia, Paprocki* supposes Were long distinguished for their length of noses, Their large, bright eyes, their crisp and curly hair. Unwearied in all enterprise, in war Supremely valiant, — rather superstitious, — Amorous as born beneath love's famous star.) Indeed our Wojewodzicf was ambitious To be a true Guzdawa; and the youth, In size, form, virtues, was their heir, in truth. His life was stainless, and 'twas decorated ' With all the gems of talent. Happy fated, He won the lady's promise to be his, And parents' blessings crown'd the promised bliss. Then his brains swam in joy, and rapture threw Her sunshine on the moments as they flew. Four weeks before the paschal feast began The nuptial preparations. Mad desire Made days and hours and moments as they ran Linger like years, whose lingering footsteps tire ; But hope, and meditations, and soft sighs Believed their tardy passage, as he brought Her paramount wit, her gentle voice, to thought; The million graces playing round her eyes, And her white hands, 'bove all, so purely fair, No ivory with their brightness could compare. * A famous heraldist of old time. t Wqjewodzic, son of the Wojewod; and so Sedzic, son of the judge; Choronzyc, son of the ensign; — ie is here synonymous with the Russian wicz, or vich, or vitch. 13 178 POETS AND POETRY OP POLAND. A thousand and a thousand times he said, " She is indeed the sweetest, loveliest maid ! " And then a thought, — sad thought, — would oft intrude: " She's so forgetful, though so fair and good ! 'Tis surely not her fault, but time's; who may, And no doubt does, mistake the time of day. But let us wed, — this weakness shall be check'd; 'Tis a slight fault, and easy to correct. Watches and clocks shall hang on every wall, And silver hammers all the hours recall; Hours, minutes, seconds, — monitors like these Will chase the maid's obliviousness with ease." So was he satisfied, — and his doubts were gone. The marriage contract sign'd, and all was done: And the church doors were open'd for the pair; Gorgeous and great was the assemblage there. The bridegroom sallied forth from his abode, And no unhappy omen stopp'd his road: He came with friends and relatives who wore Their sable furs — adorn'd, as well became Men who did honor to so proud a name, With dazzling gold and sunny scarlet o'er. The chronicle describes the gay parade, And well-plann'd order of the cavalcade. Twelve trumpeters in Flemish garments clad, Which many a splendid decoration had. And, as the Wojewodzic long had headed His father's hussar troops, a numerous band Of spearmen the procession next preceded; Upon their shoulders wings of eagles flapp'd And quivers full of silver arrows rattled Behind them as they forward moved embattled; Round each a leopard skin was loosely wrapp'd, Its claws and tusks were fasten'd on the breast. The standards revel'd with the winds, and prancing FASTIDIANA. 179 Their richly saddled steeds appear'd advancing, Their riders all in martial sternness drest.* Then came a troop of Tartars, — such: as sate With the lord's household, or watch'd round his gate; And each his bows and arrows bore, And a wide-flowing mantle wore, Bending his proud and sprightly Bachmatf o'er. Next thirty youthful squires led thirty steeds To decorate the scene ; — their race proceeds From most renown'd Arabia, and the shore Of the Euphrates, — whence to Poland's plains Transferr'd their fame, their ancient fame, remains; So proud, so ardent, that the wearied hand Of their tired rider could restrain no more Their noble spirits to his mute command. They toss'd their hoofs in air ; — the golden bit Was cover'd o'er with foam; — their nostrils broad As if with glowing sparks of fire were lit: Proud were their trappings, as the knights who rode; The saddles were all set in turquoises, And the rich housings swept the very ground: Pearls were profusely scatter'd o'er the dress ; A target at the saddle hung ; and near A truncheon and a crooked scimitar; Rubies and sapphires sparkled all around, With smaragds, topazes, whose lights and dyes Blinded the eyes. Next came a troop of friends, sedate but gay; Their silk and velvet garments fill'd the way, Bound with resplendent girdles ; and they held Their battle-axes, — for their rank was high ; Then six proud, dappled steeds the car impell'd, Where sat the bridegroom in his ecstasy, * This description, though rather grotesque, is a correct delinea- tion of the costume of the old Polish hussars, f Bachmat ; — a Tartar horse. 180 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Eight golden columns bore a canopy Of richest velvet, and the youth was clad In most superb brocade; his under vest Of crimson, which a row of buttons had Of sapphires and of rubies of the East. There was a clasp, whose glorious brightness never Could be described — so I shall not endeavor: It was a carbuncle so large that kings Might envy, — brighter than the sun which flings His glories o'er the noon. Upon his head High plumes above a splendid bonnet spread. Two noble youths sate by him : one the son Of the Wyszogrod pennon-bearer; one Grod's wealthy heir; but both of brilliant eyes, And gay in humor; and their heads were bare.* Next a long train of squires and knights appear, With their attendants in rich liveries; Each wore a splendid scarf with garments meet. The cavalcade was closed by a long suite Of six-horsed heavy-laden coaches, which Bore presents for the bride, superb and rich. Beautiful pearls from Uria, ear-rings, gems, Bracelets, and jewels fit for diadems, And fit a lady's eyes to please : nor were The richest clocks and watches absent there. While thus the sun toward the church was bent, His busied father stay'd at home, intent • On the approaching festival. He stored With giant goblets the capacious board, With plates of silver and with cups of gold; Emboss'd tureens, and rich-carved bowls, to hold Medals of ancient days, — the cups and vases, Gilded and rich, had their appointed places. * It was an old custom with the Poles to shave their heads. FA8TIDIANA. 181 From distant forests, wagons brought vast stores Of their wild tenants, deer and fawns and boars. Game without number, — which six master-cooks Who bore their German caps, prepared with all The due formalities of cookery books. Mincemeats and spices; — but I'll not recall These long details. The noblest thing they did Was to erect a mighty pyramid Of almonds crusted o'er with sugar. Can Aught in the art exceed a Marcipan?* A curiously-constructed lynx portray'd The escutcheons of the bridegroon and the maid, Gordowa's and Rogala's : and a brand Of Cupid's fire they held in either hand. The table was weigh'd down by luxuries rare, j And all the neighboring men of rank were there; | Prelates and senators; our Truchses vow'd To give the act its due solemnity, And went to Skirniewic with a crowd Of friends and of dependants, but to see The venerable primate, and entreat That he would honor his poor house, and be The officiating minister, as meet. So the guests came at last. You wish to know How they were housed; — I cannot tell you how. The dwelling had four rooms and one saloon; (A splendid mansion, then!) the guests were driven To rather closish quarters; but 'twas soon Arranged. One chamber to the primate given; The others where they could repose their head; And all slept soundly, though they had no bed. Then dawn'd the happy moment. At eleven * Marcipan. A large round cake adorned with various emblem- atical figures. It is still used by the peasantry at wedding festivals. 182 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND. 'Twas fix'd the nuptial pledges should be given Before the sacred altar. Parents, friends, Were seated in the church ; the clergy led The primate, with his mitre on his head, His pastoral staff in hand,^-who now ascends His throne. The, tapers are enkindled. "Where, Where is the bride? — They wait an hour, — they sent To ask what cause, what luckless accident Delay'd her. Lo ! he comes ! — the messenger Begs for a short delay. One stocking she, The lady had got on, and speedily Would finish with the other. Well! they wait; — Time lingers, lingers still. The clock strikes Three; They send again. 'Twas strange she should forget The hour, she said ; — but she would braid her hair, And in a very twinkling would be there. One hour, — and yet another, — five o'clock, When other heralds at her chamber knock; She just was fixing on her robes a wreath, And would come instantly. The well-bred sun Linger'd; but as his patience soon was done He sank the occidental hills beneath. But love had made the bridegroom angry, while Hunger attack'd the guests; their empty skins Began to be rebellious; 'tis a vile Peace-breaker, that said hunger; — they had thought Of the rich feast ; some little, and some nought Had taken ; so they suffer'd for their sins. Oh, had they but some bread and sausage brought! At last the ladies yawn'd; a senator Open'd his gasping mouth from ear to ear; The primate was observed to whiten, — then The bridegroom rose, and to the castle fled, Entreating on his knees the lingering maid To hasten, though undress'd: "Just tarry; when FASTIDIANA. 183 I've tied this bow," the lady said, " I'll come, — I'll come indeed." He hasten'd back, — he heard A blending of strange sounds which struck him dumb; He enter'd; — first the primate's form appear'd Sunk in the canon's arms ; — he look'd around ; Knights, senators, were stretch'd upon the ground, Two palatines, three barons, — vanquish'd all By heat and hunger; tears of anguish fall Down the parental cheeks; — his love turn'd cold, " Ere thou art dress'd," he said, " I shall grow old; And if to-day thou trifle thus, to-morrow " — He said no more ; but sprung with silent sorrow Into his car, and fled'. Such haste was wrong; But young men's passions are perverse and strong. His hurry did no good; — and those who marry Should ne'er fall out with things that make them tarry. Yet a few hours, — even though impatient, — he Had been rewarded. 'Twas exactly three, Three in the morning, when the lovely lady Dress'd for the altar — all adorn'd and ready. 184 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. DMOCHOWSKI. Francis Xavier Dmochowski was born in the year 1762, in the province of Podlasie. He attended the school of the fathers Piiars, and in 1778 joined the order, and was employed as teacher in Radom, Eomza, and Warsaw. He then lived with KoHontaj, through whose influence he obtained a parsonage at Kolo. Dmochowski was very active during the great Diet, and published "The Official Gazette" up to the 1st of November, 1794. Having left Poland to travel in for- eign countries he did not return till 1800, when he was married to an estimable lady, Isabella Mikorska, and they published during the following five years a liter- ary review. He translated Homer's "Iliad," Milton's "Paradise Lost," and Virgil's "^Eneid," as also let- ters and satires of Horace. His funeral oration on the death of Archbishop Krasicki is one of the finest efforts of the kind. He died in 1808. In the year 1826 the miscellaneous writings of Dmochowski were published at Warsaw in two vol- umes. Dmochowski has rendered great services to Polish literature, and in fact he was counted among the most distinguished writers of the day. His verse is very smooth and harmonious, and we may justly add that he greatly contributed toward the spread of literary knowledge among the masses. He lived long enough to see several editions of his works, which serves as a proof of his popularity as a writer of those days, for he has indeed left an indelible impression upon the pages of Polish literature. During his whole life Dmochowski endeavored to be useful in the cause of literature and national advancement. bMOCHOWSKI. 185 CRACOW'S ENVIRONS. Dear to my heart is every spot of earth On Poland's bosom, where her sons had birth. For me, on Cracow's fair surroundings fall A charm, which makes them loveliest of all ! At every turn, where'er the footstep strays, So many souvenirs arrest the gaze; So many records of the past which tell Of Poland's day of glory ere she fell. CASTLE OP OYCOW. Ye who have wandered thro' each foreign land Have marked the Seine and Tiber's silver course, And raised the eye to Alpine summits grand, Should ye not blush to seek for beauty's source In other countries than your own? Behold Where scenes as beautiful arrest the eyes In Oycow's groves and forests manifold — Its river's flow, its rocks that grandly rise ! 186 POETS AND POETRY OE POLAND. MINASOWICZ. Joseph Dionisius Minasowicz (b. 1798, d. 1849). In this distinguished litterateur we find two talents com- bined, which are considered as diametrically opposite to each other, to wit, Law and Poetry — a combination of a similar kind is seldom found in one and the same individual. While a professor in the University of Warsaw he was a learned expounder of the history of the Roman and commercial law, and then again he appears before the world as an elegant poet and a translator of Schiller's works, which difficult task he accomplished most successfully. Many of his fugitive pieces are written with peculiar correctness of style and elegance of expression. All of his works were pub- lished at Leipsic, 1844. Mr. Minasowicz was a man of refinement, generous disposition, and a profound scholar. THE MAIDEN AND THE ROSE. T the strong resemblance see Between a blooming rose and thee; Yet when the charms of both I view My fancy gives the wreath to you. The rose its loveliness displays At most a few short passing days, Then fades — as I behold it now, And it will shortly die. Whilst thou, The theme of my poetic strain, Unchanged forever shalt remain! MINASOWICZ. 187 WHAT YOU ARE. (written when a lad.) The flower stays in the same place And hardly moves at all, Waits for the rain to wet its face, Till wind the dust makes fall. But who is blessed with legs can flee, Swiftly and with power , Can run; so, God, I thank Thee I am not a flower. And animals have legs also, As our dog has — our Tray; But they such converse must forego As folk may use alway. Between a goose and sheep tell me How converse could be brought? Impossible! I thank Thee, God, An animal I'm not. No animal — a man am I, Language can hear and heed — Can send my happy prayer on high, And also I can read. My elders know in great degree, And in a few years' span I'll be like them. God, I thank Thee That I was born a man ! 188 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. FELltfSKI. Aloizy Felsinki, the celebrated translator of De- lille, left after him a historical drama entitled ' ' Barbara KadziwiJ," the appearance of which awakened a desire in all the poets of that time to study history. This famous drama was rendered with such great adherence to historical truth, such consummate knowledge of man- ners, customs, and traditions, that it created the great- est admiration in the public mind. Felinski was a poet who was capable of infusing into his Tragedy of Bar- bara more nationality than any of his contemporaries. On that account Barbara Radziwii will ever remain a lasting monument of Polish literature. He was also the author of a "Dissertation on Orthography," In his epoch Felinski was considered as the brightest literary star. Felinski was born in 1771, at Luck, in the province of Volhynia. He went to school in Dombrowice, estab- lished by the Order of Piiars, and in 1790 became an intimate friend of Thaddeus Czacki, the great friend of learning. In the revolution of Kosciuszko he was that chieftain's aid. After the war he spent some time in Germany, and on his return to Poland he settled in the village of Osow, where he resided till 1815. In that year he came to Warsaw, where he was called to the professorship of literature. Jn 1819 he became the director of the Lyceum of Krzemieniec, as also the professor of literature. He died in 1820. POLISH NATIONAL HYMN. "BOZE CO§ POLSKE." Lord, thou hast to Poland lent thy might, And with a Father's strong, protecting hand FELINSKI. 189 Hast given fame and all its glory bright, And through long ages saved our fatherland. We chant at thy altars our humble strain, Lord, make the land of our love free again ! Thou who in Nature's deepest gloom inspired The strife to save the holy cause from shame, The world's esteem for our brave deeds desired, And filled it with our glory and our fame. We chant at thy altars our humble strain, Lord, make the land 'of our love free again ! Eenew, Lord, we pray, her old renown! Make rich her soil, — life to her fields convey, , With happiness and peace our future crown; angry God, grant us this boon we pray ! We chant at thy altars our humble strain, Lord, make the land of our love free again ! Not long our freedom has been lost, but flows In rivers, blood which heroes' hearts outpour; How bitter, then, the sufferings of those Whose liberty is lost forevermore ! We chant at thy altars our humble strain, Lord, make the land of our love free again ! gracious Lord! whose mighty hand doth hold The scales of justice o'er world's rulers vain, Crush out unholy aims of tyrants bold And, hope awake in our poor souls again. We chant at thy altars our humble strain, Lord, make the land of our love free again ! Thou, holy Lord ! thy wond'rous might we praise, Oh may it freedom's blissful sun restore, On Polish soil the tower of peace upraise Which foes shall. tremble and recoil before! We chant at thy altars our humble strain, Lord, make the land of our love free again! 190 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Lord! who rules o'er all the wide world hath, At thy .command we raised from dust may be ; If in the future we deserve thy wrath Turn us to dust — but let that dust be free ! We chant at thy altars our humble strain, Lord, make the land of our love free again! FROM THE TRAGEDY OP BARBARA RADZIWtt,. Isabella, Sisteh op Sigismund Augustus, to Boratynski. Yes, she has all my friendship, I glory in that truth, She was a most beloved companion of my youth ; When I felt life a burden and fainted 'neath its weight, She was the first to show me life's joys were also great. When the czar with all the power of the East and North To blot out the Polish Nation drew his dread sword forth, Her sire hastening to his post at the army's head, To Lithuania's frontiers whence his duty led, To risk the doubtful issue of a battle, all knew Must be fierce and final, in my presence bade adieu To Sigismund, the king, and these were the words he said: " 'Tis Victory or Death, freely shall my blood be shed For thee and for my country a grateful offering, And thou shalt soon behold me a conqueror, my king, Or thou wilt never see me outside the land of souls, My lips shall never tell thee of the defeat of Poles; But let my only daughter, this favor I would crave — With no one to protect her, — her mother in the grave, — When her father, too, is lost, a father find in thee." Alas! the dreadful stroke, which he seemed then to foresee Fell heavily upon him, that warrior true and tried, He went, he fought with valor, he conquered, and he died. KROPINSKI. 191 KROPINSKI. Louis Keopinski is placed in the first rank of Polish poets principally because of his authorship of the trag- edy " Ludgarda," the incidents of which were founded upon fiction instead of historical truth. Yet it is so well written that it was compared with Barbara Eadzi- wjl of Felinski. It contains indeed many beautiful passages, but, on the whole, it reminds one that it is an imitation of French tragedies. At this present time, aside from fine poetic verses, it has no value. In its own time, however, it caused a great sensation on account of its powerful dramatic effect. He is also the author of a novel, "Julia, and Adolph, or Extraordinary Love of Two Young People on the Bank of the River Dniester. 1 ' In this hovel it was the purpose of the author to show that the Polish language was capable of equal harmony and expres- sions of the most delicate shades of feeling with any French production of a similar kind. He also com- posed many beautiful fugitive pieces. Kropiriski was born in Lithuania in 1767. During the reign of Stanislaus Augustus he entered the mili- tary service, and as a lieutenant-colonel participated in the battle of Maciejowice in 1794, and received in that memorable battle thirteen wounds. After that event he went to Italy, and as a true connoisseur he collected many valuable works of art, and brought them to Po- land. On his return he acted as secretary of war. In 1812 he was named general of brigade, and soon after advanced to the rank of a general of division. After the end of the war he married, and gave himself up 192 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. entirely to domestic life. He was honored with the friendship of Thaddeus Czacki, and made inspector of schools and colleges. He was also a distinguished member of the ' ' Society of the Friends of Learning " in "Warsaw. Ten years before his death he became blind, and died in 1844. His "Ludgarda," written in 1809, was brought out on the stage in 1816. It was translated into German by Melish and Pol de Pollen- burg (brother of the poet Vincent Pol). Goethe gave a flattering opinion of ' ' Ludgarda. " All of Kropinski's writings were published at Lemberg in 1844. HUMAN LIFE. As by eternal decree, Pour seasons in the year there be, So has a man — Four seasons in life's span. In the spring, .Fearless and rejoicing — We bask in youth's glad beam ; Our eagle souls are like the birds: We sing, we soar, we fly, Ever loftier and more high — And in this joyful career, Sweeping through life on rapid wing, At errors of our sires we sneer — But into the same traps we spring ! For youth has many a trap and net, Crags and lures its path beset. In summer, too, it still is pleasant. With beams divine, When the bloom is most bountiful, The moon does shine — KKOPINSKI. 193 Far o'er, We soar — But not so fleet During the heat: Begin we then the shade to prize, Within whose depths experience lies. In autumn, Less bright the fields of green become — Leaves grow sere, and fall here and thither, And with them our hopes begin to wither. No longer gaily do we sing; And tears at times bedim the eye. Still later — 'though the sun shines high, And upon its rays at times Sends a breath of balmy climes ; That breath reminds us of the spring, But ah, it is no more the same thing ! The memory of those vanished days Whispers: " We ne'er will come again!" This thought a poignant torture has: No. longer we do soar and sweep, But oft, alas! in silence weep. But even that season chimes With pleasantness at times. It is a sort of " talking matters over," The Past, and what future time does cover; Chatting with friends, prospects and aims, This or that, the heart most dearly claims. At last the winter reigns, Nature is held in frosty chains, And the white grass-plots Glisten with diamond dots, As if to amuse children. 13 194 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND. But then, we can't so easily be beguiled, Since unlike in the spring, summer and autumn, By growth of green forgotten, Life to death seems reconciled. We begin to complain of the present, And only the Past we call pleasant — We prate, And ruminate; Our senses we can scarce employ, Like hours the moments slowly ebb; And like a spider from its web, From stuff of flimsy make, Which any little wind may break, We draw our joy! We exist only by a fear Lest something should break — We know not which course to steer, Uncertain which road to take. Where are we to live? what does await? Thus by the eternal decree, Man's stay on earth does terminate; In life's fourth goes he. And in his journey woe betide Who to the realms of endless bliss Has not pure conscience For a guide ! A FRAGMENT FROM HIS ELEGY ON HEDWIGE, QUEEN OF POLAND. Too soon she drained the cup of bitterness, Though her life's op'ning-days seemed born to bless; And with a sadness sweet she bore each bitter grief, Religion was her shield, pure conscience her relief. osinski. 195 OSINSKI. Louis Osinski was not only a superior poet, but also a learned litterateur and a distinguished orator. He was born in the province of Podlasie in 1775", and received the first rudiments of education at the insti- tution of Piiars, at Lomza, where he endeavored to fit himself for the profession of a teacher. Unfavor- able circumstances, however, connected with political changes in Poland, changed also his purpose in that respect. But he was always industrious, and never slacked in his literary pursuits. During the Prussian government of that part of the country he published a volume of poetry which was well received by the public. But the poetical field was not the only one he traveled. He acquired great fame as an orator. His legal argument delivered before the high court in defense of Col. Siemianowski was not only very learned, but also one of the most eloquent efforts of the day. Another effort of Osinski — "Eulogy on Xavier Dmochowski," a distinguished Polish poet — delivered before the society of "Friends of Learn- ing," only increased his fame as a national orator. His command and skill in the effective use of the Polish language was considered as something extraordinary. When he lectured on literature hundreds, and we may say thousands, of the most refined and learned people listened to him with admiration. During the existence of the ' ' Duchy of "Warsaw " he was called into the public service as a secretary in the department of justice, and subsequently as chief clerk of the court of Cassation. In 1818 he was chosen as 196 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. a professor of literature in the University of "Warsaw. Osinski also published a literary journal with a Latin motto: " Omnes tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci " (Containing all the points — the useful with the pleas- ant). His poetical compositions and translations of dramas and comedies, together with his lectures on literature and his eloquent orations, were published at Warsaw in 1861 and 1862. He died in 1838. IN PRAISE OF COPERNICUS. The highest sphere of mortal glory lies In power to read the heavenly signs aright. My song is worthy of Olympian height To speed its flight. Urania, arise ! The fickle power of man to me is known — Such little grandeur I unworthy deem. My thought upreaches to the star-girt throne. I sing Copernicus — the world my theme! Free from earth's fetters, following on his track I from unerring starry ways look back And measure nature's breadth. In air upheld These bodies by mysterious powers propelled Roll on, ascend, attract, and then revolve, The one grand end harmoniously to solve. Shall I not reach at last where Deity Himself, an august presence, guardeth space, And holds the countless worlds unweariedly Within his bosom — their abiding place ! OSINSKI. 197 in. Insolent man, and perishable race! Dust raised by pride which called the heavens its own, And deemed that nature's aim likewise was base — To grasp all worlds, and rear to self a throne! Men, mistaken, and of judgment blind! Hath not the world recorded age on age To man unknown, where failed the clear-eyed sage To fathom God's unfathomable mind ! IV. " Must we for all high knowledge vainly pray To Thee, God, whose omnipotence lies Veiled in these outspread heaven's immensities? Eend thou from them the veiling clouds away ! Show us thy wonders! Man, though frail he be, Moved by Thy spirit, grows more like to Thee! " Thus spoke one man — not having any thought Of what the envious night withheld from us. Thus, after lapse of ages that had wrought Their work in darkness — came Copernicus. Even as the power of the creating word To nature's shapeless germs gave life and force While all the listening void of chaos stirred, And moved to music in harmonious course, So in the gloom by ages darkly shed, . Kindled by Thee, Copernicus, a spark Of truth arose — by no illusion bred — To overcome the world's abysmal dark ! VI. 'Twas night. The pale and queenly moon arose. Man slept, forgetful of his troubled days. 198 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. All earthly creatures breathed a calm repose Save one alone, who watched with upturned gaze From where the Baltic's- welcoming shore outspread The wondrous course of planets overhead. Never had he beheld so grand a sight! On him a sense of glory seemed to smite. hour supreme! soul-inspiring thought! To crush the error by the ages wrought. VII. sudden change ! Is it but nature's power Revealing all these mysteries to his sight, Or changes order with the changing hour? Does God unseal his eyes to read aright? The eternal structure shines resplendently, Its secret workings to his gaze revealed — More wondrous in their grand simplicity Than in their vast immensity of field. VIII. From the unending, in a moment's space Nature to fairer form and stature grew. Behold, ye shades immortal! from your place, How man's exploring mind creates anew ! Mind, that sought creation's bound to span ! What thoughts enchained thee — what emotions fir When nature's triumph, joined to that of man, Placed thee on heights to which thy soul aspired ! Science ! thy power o'er nature reaches wide — Brings close the worlds that distance separates — And gives to dust the fashions that abide. Strength and perfection on its presence waits, And through thy skill, as by enchantment swayed, The multitude of forms around us change. Yet sought Copernicus of thee no aid — His skill and vision took a higher range. OSINSKI. 199 His were the inner forces that unite , To break all fetters — his the power to soar Beyond this world of sense in upward flight To conquer all unconquerable lore ! Higher he reached than any of his race, And the grand problems over which he wrought Shall in all after ages take their place But as the consummation of his thought. IX. As wreck and ruin leave their trace behind When hurricanes, that sweep in fury blind, Level and overthrow with fearful shock Both fragile structure and unyielding rock, So ruin marks the ages in their flight. Baces are born and perish from the earth. Earth changes form before the wondering sight, Her old achievements grown of little worth. But thou, Copernicus! whose living fame Becomes our glory — thou shalt conquer Time, While the unnumbered ages bear thy name Into eternities that roll sublime! And while the Pole around which planets flame Performs the ponderous task by thee foreseen, Thine own remembered — fills the space between ! 200 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. JOSEPH WYBICKI. "Poland is not yet lost" is the most celebrated Polish historical song extant. After the third parti- tion of Poland, in 1795, her enemies said : ' ' There is no Poland," but very soon after the sons of Poland, who, under the command of the renowned General Dombrowski fought in Italy, began to sing "Poland is not yet lost," which was a strong protest against the partition of our country. That patriotic song was com- posed by Joseph Wybicki. General Dombrowski, the organizer of the Polish legions in Italy (born 1755, died 1818), actually entered Poland at the head of his legion in 1807, and crossed the river Warta, and thus the prediction of the song was verified. This patriotic Polish song has been in bygone years, and is up to this day, sung all over Europe, and we may say in all parts of the habitable globe wherever a Pole is found. It is always sung with a longing cheer- fulness while hope is strengthening the realization of the happy future in store for his suffering country. "Wybicki was born in 1747 near Dantzic. He took an important part in the four-years Polish Diet, in the revolution of Kosciuszko, and in 1806-7. During the existence of the Duchy of Warsaw he was a senator, and in 1818 held the high office of the supreme judge. He died in 1822. Wybicki left very interesting mem- oirs, which were published by Raczyiiski in Posen, 1840. Many years ago the editor of this work had the song set to music and published in the city of Philadelphia. JOSEPH WYBICKI 201 POLAND IS NOT YET LOST. (Jeszcze Polska me zgingfct.) While we live she is existing, Poland is not fallen; We'll win with swords resisting, What the foe has stolen. March, march, Dombrowski, Prom Italy's plain; Our brethren shall meet us, In Poland again ! We'll cross where Warta's surging Gloomily its waters, With each blade from sheath emerging Poland's foes to slaughter! March, march, etc. Hence unto the field of glory, Where the life's blood's streaming; Where with talons red and gory, Poland's eagle's screaming! March, march, etc. Poland! shall the foe enslave thee Sadly and forever; And we hesitate to save thee? Never, Poland, never! March, march, Dombrowski, Prom Italy's plain ; Our brethren shall meet us In Poland again! MICKIEWICZ. IN YOUNG EK DAYS. 202 MICKIEWICZ. 203 MICKIEWICZ. Adam Mickiewicz, one of the greatest of Poland's poets, and indeed considered by many the greatest of all. Almost simultaneously with the daybreak of the morning star in Polish literature, there appeared in the firmament of poesy a pleiad of most extraordinary poetic minds. New bards stepped forward, and their songs in sounds of delightful harmony penetrated al- most every corner of Poland with melodies full of feel ing and ardent love of their country. At that time, especially, circumstances surrounding the nation were at once exciting and uncertain, furnish- ing adequate elements, from the sources of which countless inspiring themes were drawn and sung with patriotic boldness throughout the land. And the peo- ple looked at the bards with astonishment and pride, — and well they might. They began to discover in these new creations deep and philosophic truths, though hidden in the imagery of poesy. They could see better their past, and began to unveil their future. In- deed, under these poetical figures, in perfect harmony with the national spirit, were brought to light the na- tion's genius and its future destiny. Thus a new and fertile evolution of Polish poetry created new bards of uncommon genius, who produced works of exalted order which will be immortal as themselves. Mickiewicz is one of those who is indebted to this creative genius, in which he so prominently distin- guishes 'himself, and he was fortunate enough to un- derstand how to govern the elements of this peculiar time. His poetic conceptions, supported by reasoning 204 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. and proofs, balanced in the scales of extraordinary genius, accomplished, what he wished; and hence he created a new epoch in his country's literature known as ' ' Pseudo-B.oma.ntic. " It can be said of him what was once said of Herder, ' ' That he was the first to lift the world of Poesy on his shoulder, and that he still car- ries it." In their feelings of admiration the Polish people had it at the time that Mickiewicz was " called " to be the greatest creative genius of their nation, and they were right — for he had lifted them higher than they were ever before. In this respect Mickiewicz is really the representative not only of the people but also of their feelings. Happily, too, for him, that the materials for the epoch had already been prepared for him; and that he understood its spirit is shown in his "Primrose." Being as it was, it is not to be wondered at that his poetry permeated the hearts and souls of the whole people, an occurrence seldom to be met with in historical annals. When Mickiewicz's poetry first appeared it created an unprecedented furor. Poetic inspiration took com- plete hold of the people. Everyone, and especially those possessed of fine feelings and who could under- stand him, read his verses with unusual enthusiasm, and committed many striking pages to memory so as to recite them to others. All felt as if they were inspired and enchanted by his poetry. Mickiewicz exceeds all the poets in the power of phantasy and beauty of expression. It is true that he frequently indulged in allegory and mysticism, which at times are unintelligible, but it is the opinion of the masses these things did not detract an iota from their merits. His poetry is so multifarious and diverse, and written under so many different circumstances, that it MICKIEWICZ. 205 may be said there is not a branch which he had not touched and in which he did not excel. When Mickiewicz was creating such tremendous im- pressions on the young men and women, there was, of course, as it generally happens in similar cases, a feel- ing of jealousy engendered among the amateurs of the pseudo-classic school against this innovation in poetry. The disaffected ones met at dinner circles, coffee-houses and club-rooms, to discuss and decry this new state of things gotten up without their advice and consent, but their adverse deliberations were in vain and fell harm- less by the way. Even some newspapers begun severe criticisms, but the pulse of the public heart beat too strong. They could neither stifle the enthusiasm for the young and gifted bard nor their admiration for his splendid and inimitable poetic creations. But what is equally interesting to note is that these gentlemen lit- terateurs began themselves to wheel into the popular ranks, and eventually became devotedly attached to the new Pseudo-Roman tic. school. Of all poetical creations of Mickiewicz as regards themes and forms which present themselves to the learned critic is a poem bearing the title " The Ances- tors. " The intention of this poem is ostensibly the edu- cation of philosophic thoughts in regard to man's rela- tions to the world. His "Grazyna" is also a great poem, but relating to the incidents of olden times. " Conrad Wallenrod " is a historical poem, the subject of which is the crusade against Lithuania, exhibiting great sacrifice and love of country. "Pan Tadeusz " is a national epopee, in which Mickiewicz's genius as a poet is fully shown. "Crimean Sonnets," written under most pleasing impressions during his sojourn in that charming peninsula. "Erotic Sonnets" and 206 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. "Farys" bear a stamp of foreign climes. Mickie- wicz also translated Byron's "Giaur." "The Book of the Polish Nation and the Pilgrimage of Its Peo- ple " is written in biblical style, and very beautifully, too, because of its solemn and impressive eloquence. That was the last and the crowning labor of the poet. The entire groundwork of Mickiewicz's poetry is feeling, which, if we may thus express ourselves, he has communicated to his countrymen in a burning state; letting them know their greatness as a people, and their misfortunes, and pointing out to them a lesson. In this Mickiewicz has done, perhaps, the greatest ser- vice to his countrymen, because if a nation has no such bards they cannot possibly have a full knowledge of themselves. Mickiewicz was born on the 24th of December, 1798, in a town called Zaosie, in Lithuania. He re- ceived the first rudiments of education with the Order of Dominicans at Nowogrod (Newtown). In 1815 he entered the University of Wilno, where he contracted the most friendly and affectionate ties with Thomas Zan, a young man of rare qualities of the heart and mind. It was a happy circumstance in Mickiewicz's life to have met young Zan (of whom we will speak under the proper head), for this young man having dis- covered great poetic genius, took him under a brother- ly care and stimulated him to noble actions and to the unfolding of his poetic powers. The editor of this work remembers well reading in younger days this in- teresting incident of friendly attachment, and the im- pression lasted through life. After finishing his studies in the university he was obliged to accept the professorship of Polish and Latin literature at Kowno; then he returned to "Wilno again. MICKIEWICZ. 207 Even at this period (in 1822) Mickiewicz had already a great reputation as a poet, gained by his "Ballads,'' "Komances," "Grazyna," and the fourth part of " The Ancestors," which we mentioned above. About this time the Russian Government suspected some political irregularity among the prominent young men ofWilno, and instituted an investigation. The consequence was that over a dozen of the best and most intellectual young men were arrested and sent into the depths of Russia. Mickiewicz and Zan were among them. In 1824 he was carried to St. Petersburg, but on account of his. already great fame he was well received by the educated Russians. Among many friendships con- tracted in the capital of Russia was one of the renowned Russian poet Puschkin. Here Mickiewicz wrote his " Ode to Youth." After a while he was transported to Odessa, and was employed in Prince Woronzow's office. Prince Woronzow, being an enlightened and polished gentleman, treated the poet with much kind- ness. Here he commenced his " Conrad "Wallenrod," and " Crimean Sonnets." In the year 1825 he was sent ' to Moscow, where he had a place in the office of the military governor, Golibyn. Here it was where, through the instrumentality of Princess Zeneida Wolkonska, the salons of the most distinguished families were open to him ; the princess took him under her protec- tion and procured for him from the Russian Govern- ment permission to reside at Moscow. She nursed him- in sickness, and translated his poems into the Russian language. In the year 1828 he was again transferred to St. Petersburg, was well received there, , and became acquainted with Alexander Humboldt. On account of his " Wallenrod " he was accused by the government, but through the influence of Princess 208 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. Zeneida received an unlimited passport to Italy, Ger- many, and France. His friend Olenin facilitated his journey to Cronstadt, from whence the poet sailed for Lubeck. In a few days after his departure orders were received for his arrest, but the government officials were too late. In his travels through foreign countries he was accompanied by Odyniec, with whom he visited Ber- lin, Dresden, Carlsbad, and Praga, and returning to Germany he stopped at "Weimar and made a visit to Goethe, who received him with great hospitality, respect and admiration. From Weimar through Rhen- ish provinces he returned to Switzerland, whence, through Spliigen, Como, Milan, Yerona, Padua, Yen- ice, and Florence, he arrived at Pome, where he remained till May, 1830, and was received with marks of great distinction by the highest society, and invited to the ' ' Tuesday Assemblies " at the house of Queen Hortense (mother of Napoleon III). From Pome he visited Naples, Messina, Palermo, and lighted his cigars in the clefts of the Crater on Mount Yesuvius;. later, returning by way of Pome to Switzerland, he stopped at Milan, and became acquainted with the most celebrated Italian poets, Gross, Manzoni, and Fosti. Through Lago Maggiore and Chamouni he went to Geneva, where for the first time he learned of the ' ' July Revolution " at Paris, which he had months before predicted. Here, too, he made the acquaintance of Sigismund Krasiftski, the illustrious Polish poet. Parting at this place with # Odyniec, his personal friend and companion of his travels, he started for Pome. It was here and at this time that the most intimate and affectionate friendship sprung up between him and Stephen Garczynski, a MICKIEWICZ. 209 young Polish poet of great genius. In 1831 he left Rome and journeyed through Switzerland to Paris, from whence, in company of Anton Gorecki, the poet, he left for Dresden, and visited the Grand Duchy of Posen. In the same year he returned to Dresden, where he wrote his " Pan Tadeusz." In the following year he went to Geneva, where he composed the third part of " The Ancestors." It is from this place that Mickiewicz took his friend Garczynski to Avignon, where he closed his eyes in eternal sleep. He was so overcome by his friend's death that he thought of going to America and seek seclusion; hut his friends dis- suaded him from the idea, and he returned with them to Paris. He shortly married Miss Celina Szymanowska, a lady of great worth and many accomplishments. This interesting event occurred in 1834. From this time hence he became a husband and a father of a family, but he never again touched the strings of his lute, — at least his countrymen never heard its sounds. In 1839 he was called to the professorship of Ancient Literature at Lussanne, which in about a year he left to accept a professorship of Slavonian Literature at the College de France, in Paris, where he lectured for about four years. It was here and about this time that he became acquainted with a certain Andrew Towiafiski, who pretended to possess extraordinary powers of clairvoy- ance, and who by strong magnetic powers exerted a great influence over the poet, but fortunately it was but for a short spell. In the early part of 1855 he lost his wife, and in June was commissioned by the French Government to proceed to Constantinople in order to investigate the condition of the Slavonic races under the Turkish Government. Armand Levy, a Hebrew, 14 210 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. and Henry Sluzalski accompanied him on this mission. After arriving at their destination they visited the camp of Sadyk Pasha (Michael Czaykowski), but incon- venient life and the prevailing cholera laid the poet on his dying bed, from which he arose only to be taken to his last resting place. His death occurred the 28th of November, 1855, in the presence of his two faithful companions and friends, Sluzalski and Levy. The mortal remains of the greatest poet were taken to Paris and buried in the cemetery of Montmorency. Through the endeavors and influence of Dr. Matecki, of Posen, a monument was erected to the immortal poet in 1859, executed by the artistic chisel of Stanis- laus Qleszczysnki, the Polish sculptor. There are many editions of his works issued at different times • and at different places, such as "Wilno, Moscow, Warsaw, St. Petersburg, Paris, Posen, Leip- zig, Wadowice, Thorne, etc. The most complete edition of Adam Mickiewicz's works has been published in several volumes by his children in Paris — 1869. PRIMROSE. (Pierwiosnek.) Scarce had the happy lark begun To sing of Spring with joyous burst, When oped the primrpse to the sun — The golden petaled blossoms .first. I. 'Tis yet too soon, my little flower, The north wind waits with chilly breath ; Still capped by snow the mountains tower, And wet the meadows lie beneath. MICKIEWICZ. 211 Hide yet awhile thy golden light, Hide yet beneath thy mother's wing, Ere chilly frosts that pierce and blight, Unto thy fragile petals cling. Peimbose. Like butterflies our moments are, They pass, and death is all our gain ; One April hour is sweeter far Than all December's gloomy reign. Dost seek a gift to give the gods? Thy friend or thy beloved one? Then weave a wreath wherein there nods My blossoms — fairer there are none. 'Mid common grass within the wood, Beloved flower, thou hast grown, So simple — few have understood What gives the prestige all thy own. Thou hast no hues of morning star, ■ Nor tulip's gaudy turban'd crest — Nor clothed art thou as lilies are — Nor in the rose's splendor drest. When in a wreath thy colors blend, When comes thy sweet confiding sense That friends — and more beloved than friend, Shall give thee kindly preference? Peimbose. With pleasure friends my buds will greet, They see Spring's angel in my face; For friendship dwells not in the heat, But loves with me the shady place. 212 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Whether of Marion, beloved one, Worthy I am — can't tell before?. If she but looks this bud upon, I'll get a tear — if nothing more!. ODE TO YOUTH. (Oda do Mlodo&Si.) Without soul-life but skeletons are we — On me, Youth, bestow thy wings! To soar about this hopeless world, Into the regions fair to see, Where mind-created imagery Strews flowers with fancy's dew impearled, Arraying hope anew in life's imaginings. Let him bowed down by weight of years, With brow that bears time's furrowing tou«h, See only of the world as much As to his dull, dim sight appears! Youth! above this level send The sunny glances of thine eye, And penetrate from end to end Humanity's immensity. Now look below where the eternal mists unfold The dark expanse that chaos does o'erwhelm ; The earth behold! Look where above its waters dead A shell-clad reptile lifts its head, Who is himself both ship and steersman at the helm, Chasing the smaller elemental fry; Once he ascends, then down again he sinks — The waves cling not to him, and from their clasps he shrinks; Then as a bubble bursts — collapsing suddenly. None of his life knew aught, and neither is he missed — It was an Egotist! MICKIEWICZ. 213 Youth ! the nectared wine of life for thee Is only sweet to taste when shared by others; As heavenly joy unites the heart, and we Are drawn by chords of love more closely to our brothers. Together then unite, my friends! The joy of one alike on all attends — In union strong, and wise in frenzy's heat, In one all our purpose blends. And happy he who fails to win a name If by the sacrifice of self he seat Another on the topmost round of fame. Unite for nobler ends! Though perilously steep the path, And violence with weakness guard the gate, Let violence contend alone with wrath, With weakness youth may strive, and striving conquer fate! He who in childhood crushed the hydra's head, Will later on strike the centaurs down, Will wrest from hell its dead; Then soaring up, win laurels for his crown ! Will strain his gaze beyond all human sight, Crush barriers that reason cannot shake. Youth! thy course is as the eagle's flight, Thy strength like thunderbolts that round him break! Then shoulder to shoulder linked, as by one common chain, This earthly globe we will surround, And in one focus drawn of thought profound One purpose and one end maintain! Earth! move from thy foundations old, To the progression of our thought, And breaking through the crust that time has wrought, Let germs of greener years unfold ! As in the region of chaotic night, Where warring elements contended, 214 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. 'Mid whirlwind's roar and torrent's thundering call, To the " Be thou " of God's creating might, A living world sprung up, and over all Illuming stars ascended! So darkness in the realm-soul prevails, The elements of will are still at war; But love's breath of living fire Behold the spent life unveils! Through which youth's heart conceiving shall aspire, Joined by eternal bonds forever more! The icy clod revivifies, With light prejudice disappears, .Arise, star of freedom, rise! The morning of Redemption's near! NEW YEAR'S WISHES. The old year is dead, and from its ashes blossoms bright New Phoenix, spreading wings o'er the heavens far and near; Full of hopes and wishes, earth salutes it with delight. What should I for myself desire on this glad New Year? Say, happy moments! ... I know these lightning flashes swift, When they the heavens open and gild the wide earth o'er, We wait the assumption till the weary eyes we lift Are darkened by a night sadder than e'er known before. Say, 'tis love I wish ! . . . that youthful frenzy full of bliss Bears one to spheres platonic — to joys divine I know. Till the strong and gay are hurled down pain's profound abyss, Hurled from the seventh heaven upon the rocks below. I have dreamed and I have pined. I soared and then I fell. Of a peerless rose I dreamed, and to gather it I thought, MICKIEWICZ. 215 When I awoke. Then vanished the rose with dream's bright spell — Thorns in my breast alone were left — Love I desire not ! Shall I ask for friendship? . . . that fair goddess who on earth Youth creates? Ah! who is there who would not friend- ship crave? She is first to give imagination's daughter birth. Ever to the uttermost she seeks its life to save. Friends, how happy are ye all ! Ye live as one, and hence Ever the self-same power has o'er ye all control, Like Armida's palm whose leaves seemed separate elements While the whole tree was nourished by one accursed soul. But when the fierce and furious hail-storms strike the tree, Or when venomous insects poison it with their bane, In what sharp suffering each separate branch must be For others and itself. ... I desire not friendship's pain ! For what, then, shall I wish, on this New Year just begun ? Some lovely by-place — bed of oak — where sweet peace . descends, From whence I could see never the brightness of the sun, Hear the laugh of enemies, or see the tears of friends? There until the world should end, and after that to stay In sleep which all my senses against all power should bind, Dreaming as I dreamt my golden youthful years away, Love the world — wish it well — but away from human- kind. TO M . "Precz z oczu moich — poslucham od razu." Hence from my sight ! — I'll obey at once. Hence from my heart ! — I hear and understand. But hence from memory? Nay, I answer, nay! Our hearts won't listen to this last command! 216 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. As the dim shadows that precede the night In deepening circles widen far and near, So when your image passes from my sight It leaves behind a mem'ry all too dear. In every place — wherever we became As one in joy and sorrow that bereft — I will forever be by you the same, For there a portion of my soul is left. When pensively within some lonely room You sit and touch your harp's melodious string, You will, remembering, sigh in twilight's gloom " I sang for him this song which now I sing." Or when beside the chess-board — as you stand In danger of a checkmate — you will say, " Thus stood the pieces underneath my hand When ended our last game — that happy day ! " When in the quiet pauses at the ball You, sitting, wait for music to begin, A vacant place beside you will recall How once I used to sit by you therein. When on the page that tells how fate's decree Parts happy lovers, you shall bend your eyes; You'll close the volume, sighing wearily. 'Tis but the record of our love likewise. But if the author after weary years Shall bid the current of their lives reblend, You'll sit in darkness, whispering through your tears, " Why does not thus our story find an end? " When night's pale lightning darts with fitful flash O'er the old pear tree, rustling withered leaves The while, the screech-owl strikes your window-sash, You'll think it is my baffled soul that grieves. MICKIEWICZ. 217 In every place — in all remembered ways Where we have shared together bliss or dole — Still will I haunt you through the lonely days. For there I left a portion of my soul. (From the " Improvisation.") A MOMENT AND A SPARKLE. What is my life? Ah ! but a moment short as a sigh ! What is my feeling? Ah ! but a sparkle soon to die ! Whence comes the little man that plays such mighty part? Prom a sparkle! What'll be the time that'll crush my thoughts and my heart? But a moment! • And those thunders that shall tomorrow roar To-day what are they ? But a sparkle ! What are the world's events of years, and my lore? But a moment ! What was He then when in his bosom held this world? But a sparkle ! What'll be the time when all will crash and be hurled Into the abyss of forgetfulness? But a moment! i (From the "Ancestors.") She is fair as a spirit of light That floats in the ether on high, And her eye beams as kindly and bright, As the sun in the azure-tinged sky. The lips of her lover join hers Like the meeting of flame with flame, And as sweet as the voice of two lutes, Which one harmony weds the same. 218 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. (From " Faris.") No palms are seen with their green hair, Nor white-crested desert tents are there; But his brow is shaded by the sky That flingeth aloft its canopy ; The mighty rocks lay now at rest, And the stars move slowly on heaven's breast. (From the same.) My Arab steed is black — Black as the tempest cloud that flies Across the dark and mutt'ring skies, And leaves a gloomy track. His hoofs are shod with lightning's glare, I give the winds his flowing mane, And spur him smoking o'er the plain, And none from earth or heaven dare, My path to chase in vain. And as my barb like lightning flies, I gaze upon the moonlit skies, And see the stars with golden eyes, Look down upon the plain. FATHER'S RETURN. (A BALLAD.) (Powrfit Taty.) Go, children, all of you together, To the pillar upon the hill, And there before the miraculous picture Kneel and pray with a fervent will. Father returns not. Mornings and evenings I await him in tears, and fret. The streams are swollen, the wild beasts prowling, And the woods with robbers beset. MICKIEWICZ. 219 The children heard, and they ran together To the pillar upon the hill ; And there before the miraculous picture Knelt and prayed with a fervent will. " Hear us, Lord ! Our father is absent, Our father so tender and dear. Protect him from all besetting danger! Guide him home to us safely here! " They kiss the earth in the name of the Father, Again in the name of the Son. Be praised the name of the Trinity holy, And forever their will be done. Then they said Our Father, the Ave and Credo, The Commandments and Rosary too; And after these prayers were all repeated, A book from their pockets they drew. And the Litany and the Holy Mother They sang while the eldest led — " Holy Mother," implored the children, " Be thy sheltering arms outspread ! " Soon they heard the sound of wheels approaching, And the foremost wagon espied. Then jumped the children with joy together. " Our father is coming ! " they cried. The father leaped down, his glad tears flowing, Among them without delay. "And how are you all, my dearest children? Were you lonesome with me away? "And is mother well — your aunt and the servants? Here are grapes in the basket, boys." Then the children jumped in their joy around him, Till the air was rent with their noise. 220 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. " Start on," the merchant said to the servants, " With the children I will follow on; " But while he spoke the robbers surround them, A dozen, with sabers drawn. Long beards had they, and curly moustache, And soiled the clothes they wore, Sharp knives in their belts and swords beside them, While clubs in their hands they bore. Then shrieked the children in fear and trembling, And close to their father clung, While helpless and pale in his consternation, His hands he imploringly wrung. " Take all I have! " he cried; "take my earnings, But let us depart with life. Make not of these little children orphans, Or a widow of my young wife." But the gang, who have neither heard nor heeded, Their search for the booty begin. " Money ! " they cry, and swinging their truncheons, They threaten with curses and din. Then a voice is heard from the robber captain, " Hold ! hold ! with your plundering here ! " And releasing the father and frightened children, He bids them go without fear. To the merchant then the robber responded: " No thanks — for I freely declare A broken head you had hardly escaped with, Were it not for the children's prayer. " Your thanks belong to the children only; To them alone your life you owe. Now listen, while I relate to you briefly How it came to happen, and go. MICKIEWICZ. 221 " I and my comrades had long heard rumors Of a merchant coming this way ; And here in the woods that skirt the pillar We were lying in wait to-day. "And lying in wait behind the bushes, The children at prayer I heard. Though I listened at first with laugh derisive, Soon to pity my heart was stirred. " I listened, and thoughts of my home came to me; Prom its purpose my heart was won. I too have a wife who awaits my coming, And with her is my little son. " Merchant, depart — to the woods I hasten — And children, come sometimes here, And kneeling together beside this pillar Give me a prayer and a tear! " 222 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. CHILDE HAROLD'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE LAND. (FROM LORD BYRON.) Adieu, adieu! my native shore Fades o'er the waters blue; The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, And shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight: Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land — good night! ii. A few short hours and he will rise To give the morrow birth;- And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my mother earth. Deserted is my own good hall, Its hearth is desolate; Wild weeds are gathering on the wall: My dog howls at the gate. Come hither, hither, my little page, Why dost thou weep and wail? Or dost thou dread the billows' rage, Or tremble at the gale? But dash the tear-drop from thine eye; Our ship is swift and strong; Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly More merrily along. MICKIEWICZ. 223 POZEGNANIE CHILDE HAROLDA. (Z LORDA BYRONA.) Tlomaczyl Adam Mickiewicz.* Bywaj mi zdrowy, kraju kochany! Juz w mglistej nikniesz pomroce; Swisn^ly wiatry, szumj% baiwany I morskie ptactwo swiegoce. Dalej za sioncem gdzie jasn% giow§ W zachodnie pograza piany — Tym czasem siofice bywaj mi zdrowe Bywai zdr6w kraju kochany! Za kilka godzin rozane zorze Promiefimi blySnie jasnemi: Obacz£ niebo, obacz§ morze Lecz niezobacz^ mej ziemi. Zamek, na kt6rym brzmialo wesele, Wieczna zaloba pokryje; Na walach dzikie poros"nie ziele U wr6t pies wierny zawyje. m. Pojdz 1 tu m6j pazlu-paziu m6j mily, Co znacza^ te Izy i zale? Czyli ci§ wichrow zdasane szaly, Czy morskie l^kaj^ fale? Rozwesel oko, rozjasnij czolo! W dobrym okre_cie, w pogodg — Lotny nasz sokol nie tak wesolo Iak my polecim przez wod§. ♦Translated by Adam Mickiewicz. 224 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. IV. " Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high, I fear not wave nor wind ; Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I Am sorrowful in mind; For I have from my father gone, A mother whom I love, And have no friends save these alone, But thee — and One above. " My father bless'd me fervently, Yet did not much complain; ' But sorely will my mother sigh Till I come back again." Enough, enough, my little lad, Such tears become thine eye; If I thy guileless bosom had, Mine own would not be dry. Come hither, hither, my stanch yeoman, Why dost thou look so pale? Or dost thou dread a French foeman? Or shiver at the gale? " Deem'st thou I tremble for my life? Sir Childe, I'm not so weak; But thinking on an absent wife Will blanch a faithful cheek. " My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, Along the bordering lake, And when they on their father call, What answer shall she make?" — MICKIEWICZ. 225 IV. " Niech fala szumi, niech wicher. gluszy, Niedbam pogoda czy slota: Te izy wyciska z gi§bi mej duszy Nie bojafn ale t^sknota. Bo tam moj stary ojciec zostanie, Tarn matka zostanie droga, Tam wszyscy moi pr6cz ciebie, panie Pr6cz ciebie tylko i Boga. Ojciec spokojnie mi§ biogoslawil, Nie placze ani narzeka; Lecz matka ktoram we izach zostawil, Z jakaz t^sknot^ naz czeka?" Dos"d, do&6, m6j paziu! te izy dziecinne Zrenicy twojej przystojg.; Gdybym miai rownie serce niewinne, Widziaibys" we izach i moj%. Pojdz tu moj giermku, giermku m6j miody! Skad ci ta blados"d na twarzy? Czy rozhukanej l^kasz si£ wody, Czyli francuzkich korsarzy? " nie Haroldzie ! niedbam o zycie, Niedbam o losow igrzyska: Alem zostawil zon§ i dziecig To mi izy z oczu wyciska. VII. Zona na koncu twojego siola, W zielonej mieszka dabrowie; Gdy dzieci§ z piaczem ojca zawoia Co^ mu nieszczgsna odpowie?" 15 226 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Enough, enough, my yeoman good, Thy grief let none gainsay; But I, who am of lighter mood, Will laugh to flee away. For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour? Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. And now I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide, wide sea; But why should I for others groan, When none will sigh for me? Perchance my dog will whine in vain, Till fed by stranger's hands; But long ere I come back again He'd tear me where he stands. z. With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, So not again to mine. Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves! And when you fail my sight, Welcome, ye deserts and ye caves ! My native land — good night! MICKIEWICZ. 227 Do&6, do&6 moj giermku! sluszna twa z&lo&i; la chod tej. ganid nieinog^, Mniejszq, mam czuloSd, czy wi^ksz^. staked : Smiejac si§ puszczam si§ w drog§! •1 VIII. Kochanki, zony placz mi£ niewzruszy — Bo nim zablySnie poranek, Z bl^kitnyck oczu te Izy osuszy Nowy majs, nowy kochanek — Niezal mi ziemi gdziem mtodoSd strawii, Nie straszne podroze wodne; Zaluj^ tylko zem niezostawil Nic coby bylo lez godne. Teraz po swiecie bladz§ szerokim, I p§dz§ zycie tulacze ; Czegoz mam plakad zakim i pokim Kiedy nikt pomnie nie placze? — Pies chyba tylko zawyje z rana, Nim obc% karmiony r^kg., KiedyS swojego dawnego pana Wscieki^, powita paszcz£k|. x. Iuz okr§t piersi^. kraje gJ^bin^, I zagle na wiatr rozwinal; Niedbam ku jakim brzegom poplyn§ Bylebym nazad nieplynal, Gdy mnie twe jasne znudzg. krysztaly, Ogromna modra plasezyzno, Powitam lasy, pustynie, skaly — Badz" zdrowa luba Ojczyzno! 228 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. BRODZINSKI. Casimie Brodzinski is one of the poets who appeared on the stage at the outset of this period. He cast his searching eye upon the just expiring century and felt in his heart the voice calling for a new state of things. His elaborate ideas, combined with deep reflections, he transferred into a charming world of poesy. He argued the whole thing out, and gave his feelings a tangible and poetic form. His talent was not of the flashy kind, but rather retiring and modest, resembling the light of the morning star casting upon the world its soft, sad, and longing rays ; but this light was not seen nor understood by all; he shared the common lot of all creative minds, and of those who wished to implant new ideas into the popular heart. The public admired him; men of letters appreciated him for his artistic skill; it was acknowledged that his dissertations were full of rendition; but the masses were deaf to Brodzinski's voice, — it failed to make any impression on their minds. In a short time he was as' it were completely forsaken by them, and he became as a target to be fired upon by the youth of Poland. A mistaken and ill- advised impression was spread that in his works were concealed dangerous elements. Thrust aside, found fault with, he was almost forgotten. But the revolu- tion of 1830 lifted him up at once. Heaven granted him a gift of looking far into the future. Brodzinski's poetic genius did not lift him into the empyrean spheres; it did not carry him beyond the limits of the occasion; but every one can see that his feelings are not con- strained ; that honesty of purpose and a yearning feeling BBODZINSKI. 229 knocks gently at the heart of others. His prepon- derant ability was in his inquiring mind, which carefully reveals the unknown road, working cautiously around, consulting his own judgment, and profiting by the experience of others. Being well acquainted with German literature, he preferred to look there for examples to cultivate his own talent; but above all, while fathoming the popular songs and the character- istics of the Slavonian peoples to correctly delineate the national spirit of Slavonian poetry seemed to be his chief aim. But this innovation caused in those days great opposition, especially among the votaries of Laharpe and Boileau, who considered themselves as infallible judges of every unfolding talent. Brod- zifiski suffered patiently all sorts of personal taunts, and while forgetting himself he did not cease defending the cause. He published a highly interesting disser- tation on Classicism and Romanticism, which was printed at Warsaw. This dissertation proved to be a species of watch-word for a subsequent stormy literary war, which gave the contending parties two separate names, to wit: Classicists and Romanticists. Brod- zinski very modestly put himself on the neutral ground, and would not participate in this polemic struggle; but by occasional publication of his poetical compositions in the "Review," and finally by pub- lishing them in a volume (1821-2), subdued all prejudiced minds, and favorably inclined them toward his innovations in the literature of his country, at the same time opening a way to a complete reform, not only in the art of writing itself, but also in the concep- tions necessary to the innovation. These innovations and conceptions were taken up by another genius, and very soon after put into practice. 230 POETS AND POETRY OE POLAND. Brodzinski's poetical compositions breathed like the gentle breezes of the wind, which seemed to ,send into the popular heart a new life; it was a genuine national breath, awakening in poetry pure native feeling and turning attention to the land of our birth — its inher- ent qualities and its beauties; he chose for his images simple and more accessible objects, — rural life and scenery, and beautifully painted their simplicity, their innocence and charms. Thus is his "Wiesiaw" planned. It is like the first flowers in the spring, which are not the prettiest in outward appearance, — but then one of these is the violet, and who plucked the first violet in our litera- ture was the first to welcome the spiritual spring of the nation. "Wiesiaw " is the most beautiful pastoral, — the most charming rural epopee, — and after its' publication it created a sensation such as no other poem ever created before. The youth of the country could repeat it by heart, and even to this day the poem is known and loved by all classes. It was welcomed at its first appear- ance as a harbinger of a bright star of future poetry which was to rise over the whole Polish nation. This "Wiesiaw," singing forth with the accompaniment of a country fiddler, the Cracovian dancers, the bride-men, the para-nymphs, came out with charms unknown before. If Brodzinski had not written anything else but that, it alone would have contributed greatly to the Polish literature, and would have placed him in the first ranks of Polish poets. He infused into his poetry all the gentleness of his nature, his feeling, and his sincerity. Brodzinski was born on the 8th of March, 1791, in Galicia. In consequence of the early death of his mother, and neglected by his stepmother, he grew up BRODZINSKI. 231 amidst rural people and rural scenes. Later he was sent to school at Lipnice. He finished the gymnasium at Tarnow, from where he ran away with his brother Andrew, and enlisted in the artillery in 1809. He served in the campaign of 1812, and the year after was wounded at the battle of Leipsic, and finally taken prisoner by the Prussians. In 1814 he was released, and returning to Warsaw he left the military service, and gave himself up to learning. At that time (1818) he wrote his dissertation "Of Classicism and Komanticism, " which called out, as before mentioned, the celebrated literary war. Laboring on the commit- tee of the department of the interior he, at the same time, gave private lessons in Polish literature. In 1821 he taught at the Lyceum, and the succeeding year was called to a professorship at the University of War- saw. His failing health compelled him to seek milder climes, and in 1826 he left for Italy, visiting Switzer- land and France. Returning again to his country he continued in his usual labors till 1829. In the follow- ing year he published ' ' The Latin Elegies " of John Kochanowski. Falling sick again he went to the Bo- hemian waters, and died at Dresden on the 10th day of October, 1835. The first collection of his poems, in two volumes, was published at Warsaw, 1821. Afterward "The Miscellaneous Writings," containing critical and ses- thetical dissertations was also published at Warsaw, 1830. A complete edition of his works was published in ten volumes at Wilno, 1842-4. Besides that the translation of the tragedy of " Raynouard, " Warsaw, 1819; "Latin Elegies," Warsaw, '1830; "Of Litera- ture," in Turowski's Library, at Sanok, 1856. 232 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. THE FATHER AND HIS SON. My son, give me my spade and plow — To labor is our lot, And though a lonely being now, I'll guard our little cot. Within the valley of thy birth Lies armor we will raise; 'Tis hid within our native earth, Awaiting better days. And when I see thee draw once more Thy father's conquering sword, I'll dream our night of slavery is o'er, And freedom is restored. And oh, my son, weep not for me; These aged hands can toil For our support — but 'tis for thee To guard our native soil. My hope on God and thee depends, And God will me reward; My corn will grow to feed the friends Whose swords our freedom guard. See where yon trees their branches wave, And shroud the church in gloom, There, sooner than become a slave, Thy sire will find a tomb. And if returned from foes o'erbome, To me be tear-drops given; If not, thy arms must share my tomb, And seek thy sire in heaven. BRODZINSKI. 233 THE OLD MAN. Young Man. Old man, tell me where to get bread. Old Man. In early morning leave your bed, And as the way is long and steep, "lis best the ploughshare's path to keep. It will be somewhat wearisome, But thereby health and peace will come. Young Man. Where are your recreations here ? Old Man. No road through six days brings them near; Through six days to your work attend ; To make a home your mind must bend, And boldly then when earned your pelf On Sunday you enjoy yourself. Young Man. Where are your schools and teachers here? Old Man. Schools and wise teachers both are near ; But you'll lose time to go and ask, — Be giddy-headed with the task. But for beginners, full of worth, Are charts of sky and charts of earth; And there is, too, Dame Nature's book, That children learn from as they look. People there are who lose or gain, Whose hearts are full of joy or pain; And they each other teach in turn, With pluck and spirit go and learn. Search "without idleness ; refrain Prom asking oft. The way is plain. Young Man. Tell me where can I find a friend . Old Man. That great boon none but Pate can send; - With golden nets he is not caught, With skill nor flattery is bought. He who has found, indeed, a friend. Whose heart with his through life may blend, Blessed is he beyond compare! For as the body needs the air 234 POETS AND POETRY OP POLAND. E'en so the true heart needs a friend, — He who will a few words extend, If they be kindly and sincere, Though why, may not to you appear. Time passes, and day follows day, Year after year will slip away; But still your heart will yearn for him, He reigns o'er you in silence dim. Will all your hidden troubles guess In fancied luck or hopelessness. Your friend rejoices or he grieves, If your devotion he receives. To state a truth there consequent To your voice let your heart be lent, Exclaiming: I a friend have found. Young Man. Tell me where pleasure does abound ? Old Man. 'Tis long since from it I have heard, Others can tell you scarce a word. Something of it I knew in youth, Its mother was good health and truth. Innocence it had for a wife, Possessed goods many of this life; Except with children it is found 'Tis vanished now from sight and sound. Young Man. Pray tell me where's Virtue now. Old Man. It's lying ill and very low. It prays for all most fervently, Its own reward it used to be, Quietly breathing its pure breath, But now it weeps as if for death, And terrible is its distress! Young Man. Where then can I find happiness? Old Man. In this direction it lies not, By every one the way is sought, But ah ! no one knows happiness, And so, I think, all will confess; BRODZINSKI. 235 In search of it they still must roam. You have left it in your sire's home; Only in God you'll find it now, Speak gently — teach your heart to bow. Seek peace in many a uoble task, And last of all your conscience ask, And that will the whole story tell. Young Man. Where does Faith about here dwell? Old Man. . If from your mother you learned not By children you can best be taught. The straightest path to it would be, — Not to inquire of men you see, Who happy seem, nor those world- wise, Seek if in love for all it lies In loving deeds and kindly thought, And when all else has come to naught It will, when troubles fast succeed, Itself into your succor speed, And to its home in safety lead. SLANDER. Unlucky he who stands in slander's power ! Though great, — for worms a lion may devour. FRIENDSHIP. Like the morning sunbeam's shade, Friendship with the evil made Lessens every hour with time; As the shade of evening lengthens Friendship with the virtuous strengthens, Till the sun sinks down sublime. 236 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. WIESi-AW.* Old Stanislaw came from his chamber-door, His wife upon his arm, — two bags he bore ; Whence thrice a hundred florins he told o'er, And said, " Take these, my Wiesiaw, and depart; And bring a pair of steeds from Cracow's mart; — A well-matched pair. — My son was slain in fight, And grief and grievous age o'erpower me quite: I've none to trust but thee, the prop, the stay Of my old house. When I have pass'd away Be thou its head ; — and if (Heaven grant the prayer !) My daughter e'er should win thy love, thy care, — Twelve years — rare beauty — thou mayst wait; — my tongue Must not betray my heart; — but thou art young." "Yes! yes!" cried Bronisiawa, "'tis for thee I watch and train the maiden tenderly.'' (She smoothed Bronika's cheeks while this she said; And deeply blushed the young and simple maid.) " I have no sweeter thoughts for her ; — and this Were the. full spring-tide of a mother's bliss; ! I was twice a mother. God above ! Can I weep out the memory of her love? The fifth fruit scarce had blossom'd; — -she was reft, And not a solitary vestige left. Twelve wintry winds have stripped the forest tree, And still her visions haunt that memory. When war had ravaged Poland, — when its brands Fired our low cots, and razed our smiling lands, — When even the forests perish'd in the blaze, And terror like a whirlwind met the gaze, As if all heaven were frowning ; — overturn'd * Pronounced Vieslav. BKODZINSKI. 237 Our houses; rooted up, and tore, and burn'd Our sheltering woods; — 'twas as if judgment-day Had gather'd all its terrors o'er our way. Midst sobs and sighs and shrieks and wailings loud, Through the wild tempest of the fiery cloud, Our peasants rush'd to save us; while the foe Fed upon plunder, scattering fear and woe. Our father's cottage in the smoke-clouds fell, — And that beloved child, — horrible! That sweet, soft maiden disappear'd ; — no trace Was left; — 'twas all a bare and blazing place: — I sought her through the villages and woods: There was no voice in all their solitudes. No ! she was lost forever ! as a stone Into th' unfathom'd trackless ocean thrown ; And I found nought but silence. Year by year The harvest maidens wreath'd with flowers appear, — But she appears not; — Oil! she is not there. Heaven's will shall be Heaven's praise. — I fix'd on thee, My son, her representative to be. Thou wert an orphan, and of old 'twas said, That he who housed a homeless orphan's head Should ne'er want comfort ; — and perchance my child May yet have found a home, — and 'neath the mild And holy smile of a maternal eye May dwell with other children joyously. So have I'train'd thee, — so have I fulfill'd A mother's duties, — and my grief was still'd With thoughts that mercy should for mercy pay; For Heaven's rewards flit o'er our earthly way In strange and wandering light. Perchance the mound Lies on her head o'er the dark grave profound, While her freed spirit in the realms of rest Sits dove-like on the Heavenly Mother's* breast; * The Virgin Mary. 238 POETS AND POETRY OP POLAND. And thence by prayers and tears on our abode Sends down the smiles of angels and of God." She could no more; — her cheeks were drench'd in tears, — Tears, — the prompt eloquence of hopes and fears; Her daughter's heart seem'd bursting. Tears deny Their soothing influence to man's sterner eye. So Stanislaw, whose soul was full as hers, Cried, " God in heaven directs weak man's affairs, — God, whose all-penetrating sight can rend The curtains of all time and space ; — a friend And ever-present Father. None too mean For his regards; — he rules o'er all unseen. Let grief give way to pious confidence ! Provide for Wieslaw now, and speed him hence, And give him counsel and thy blessing; — youth Is ever hasty. Boy ! some pledge of truth Thou'lt bring to thy betroth'd." — In reverence meet He bow'd, and then embraced the old man's feet; Then pass'd the threshold, grateful to high Heaven, Who to the orphan such kind friends had given. Sweet evening with its twilight bathed the earth, And lo ! the gladdening sounds of village mirth Fell upon Wieslaw's ear, as home he rode Upon his new-bought steeds, — the shouts were loud, And gay the music; — swift the horses speed: He saw the bride-maids sporting in the mead, All crown'd with myrtle garlands. Youths around Stamp'd their steel heels upon the echoing ground,* Then sprung to greet the stranger. First of all The Starost t spoke: " Tis well to claim, and call A stranger, friend: from Proszow welcome thou; * To stamp with the feet is the accompaniment of the Cracowiak dance. (•The head of the wedding festival. BRODZINSKI. 239 Despise not the kind thoughts that hail thee now. Come, share our joys, — the joys which time and toil, And God's good blessing, and our flowery soil Confer; — and thou Cracovia's maids shalt see, Their dances, dresses, and festivity. Come, join their sports; though thou art tired, perchance Thy weariness may fly at beauty's glance, For thou art young." The fair Halina, — fair As morning, — she the queen, the day-star there, Approach'd ; — she blush'd, she blush'd, but nearer drew, And proffer'd cakes and fruits of varied hue Prom her own basket: — " Stranger, deign to share Our fruits, our bread, our unpretending fare." The stranger's vivid eye toward her turn'd, And with a magic smiling brightness burn'd ; Aye ! from that very moment eye and soul Were spell-bound by that simple maid's control, And joyous sped he to the dance. The band Of youth, with wine-fill'd goblets in their hand, Bid him a welcome ; and the Starost's word Thus order'd : — " Let precedence be conferr'd Upon the stranger. Let him choose the song; Be his to lead the mazy dance along. Let him select a maiden, — courtesy Must on the stranger wait, — and this is he Wieslaw had seized her hand whose eye had shed On him a heavenly influence, and he led Halina forth, — a long and laughing train Of youths and maidens to the music's strain Beat their responsive feet, — and heel on heel Like flitting shadows on the water, steal. His hands were on his belted girdle, while He gaily danced in that bright maiden's smile: Into the vial silver coins he threw, And bowing to the seated sires, anew 240 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. Struck with his foot the ground, and lower'd his head And thus pour'd forth his music to the maid : " Beautiful damsel! often I Have seen what seem'd almost divine, But never brightness like thine eye, But never charms, sweet maid! like thine. " Look on my face, and see, and see, As my warm heart to Heaven is known, How that fond heart would spring to thee, And blend its passions with thine own." Again he led the maiden forth, and danced Like a young god by joy and love entranced ; Again the gladdening peals of music rang, Again he stopp'd, and bow'd, and sweetly sang : " ! had I known thee in the plain Where Proszow rears his forest shades, I should have been most blest of men, Thou happiest of Cracovian maids. " The blood that flows within our veins Can all our fond desires enthrall: Man plants and waters, toils and pains, But God in Heaven disposes all." With dancing step before the youth she flew, With joyous ecstasy his steps pursue. Again he takes her hand, and smiles ; — again His thrilling lips resume the raptured strain : — " fly not, .fly not, maid divine ! My life, my chosen one, art thou: My heart shall be thine own bright shrine, And never lose thine image now. BEODZINSKI. 241 " So in the solitary wood. The little warbler finds its rest; And consecrates its solitude, And makes its own, its homely nest." Now in his turn before the maid he flies, And she to track his footstep gaily hies: He stops, and laughs ; — again his lips repeat Words of light eloquence to music sweet : — " Gospodar* ! I have dearly bought My steeds; — my money all away; — Perplex'd and pain'd my rambling thought And my poor heart is led astray. " But wake, wake the song ! — despair And darkness gather o'er my mind: I seek my home ; — my body there I drag, — my soul remains behind." She stretch'd her hand ; — again he sings, — the throng Of youth hangs raptured on his ardent song. Strike up, musicians ! — 'Twas too late ; for they Had sunk to rest beneath sleep's lulling sway. And now Halina fled ; — her blush to hide She sought the village matrons' sheltering side. And Wieslaw to the Starost and to these Made many a bow, and utter'd courtesies; And many a whisper fell ; and late and long He linger'd midst the hospitable throng ; Linger'd until the bride-day whitening fell In twilight on the hills, — then said farewell ! His ears were full of music and of mirth, His heart seem'd big with thoughts, yet void with dearth; One thought in varied imagery was there, One all-possessing thought, — the thought of her. * Landlord. 16 242 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. III. Wieslaw o'er the field, the waste, the wood, Sped swiftly; yet his bosom's solitude And his love-grief were with him : — for when love Is seated in the heart no thoughts' can move, No reason drive it thence. And n'ow should he Divulge his love, or fan it secretly? He would tell all to Stanislaw. He rode To the court-yard, and to his loved abode Was warmly welcomed by tb' expectant crowd; Sire, mother, daughter, — some with voices 16ud, And some with silent smiles. They smooth'd his horse And tied him to the hedge ; and praised of course His bargains and his quick return. The steeds Old Stanislaw with looks approving leads To their appointed stall ;; — but first his care Bids Bronisiawa homely feast prepare. And Wieslaw reach'd the cot, and seated him Pensively. " Art thou ill? — thine eyes are dim! " Inquired the anxious women. No word pass'd His lips: he stretch'd his hand, and- gave at last A present to Bronika: — still he kept Silence. Just then a curious neighbor stept Over the threshold, — it was John, the seer Of all the village, and though learned — dear: Prudent in council he; yet free and gay, He sway'd the peasants, but with gentlest sway: Honest and wise in thought, — in language wise. Yet' why does gloom hang thick on Wiesiaw's eyes? The father came, and all were seated round Their sober meal; — John's jests and jokes abound. Yet Bronisiawa could only dream and guess What Wiesiaw's silence meant. " now confess, Confess what clouds thy heart and stills thy tongue, For gloom and silence ill become the young; BRODZINSKI. 243 Thou'rt brooding on some grief." The words pierced thro' His heart; — his cheeks were stain'd with roseate hue; O'erpower'd he fell at Bronislawa's feet. " Yes ! I will speak, — say all. Indeed 'tis meet To veil no thoughts from aged friends; for they May guide the wandering youth that walks astray, With words of wisdom. Better I had ne'er Left this kind home, your kindness and your care. Content I walk'd behind your cheerful plow, And never knew the war of grief — till now. But man can only travel in the road, Or smopth or rough, which is mark'd out by God. His oracles are swift as rays of light, — Unseen as spirit, — unopposed in might, — I pass'd a village, where a maiden stole My heart, and charm'd my senses and my soul, And holds them now. My parents rest in heaven; You to the orphan a kind home have given — A shelter to the orphan's misery: Yes ! you unbarr'd your friendly gates to me; — Repent not now your kindness and your love. Ye taught me toil, and fear of God above ; And gave your only daughter, a wreath'd * bride To hang with fondness on the orphan's side. Even when I rock'd her in her cradle, ye Have often said, ' That babe thy wife shall be !' — And am I then ungrateful? Is my heart, My obdurate heart, of stone, that thus would part, Your hopes, my dreams? Nay! let me, let me speak, For love is strong, and language is but weak. Why must I grieve ye? — why my shame declare? No longer can I claim your fostering care; For I must dwell with strangers. Come what may, I cannot live where that fair maid's away; — * Wreath'd, affianced. A wreath is synonymous with a dower. 244 POETS AND POETBY OF POLAND. I hate myself; I'm useless to mankind; — Give me your blessing. Let me leave behind Eternal gratitude. Your blessing give; For who beneath a patron's curse could live? Farewell! and God shall judge us." Tears of woe Good Bronisiawa's aged eyes o'erflow. The old man bends his head, — but not t' approve, — And utters these sad words of solemn love : " 'Twas on thy father's death-bed that he gave Thee to my care, — and then he sought his grave; And from that hour I loved thee tenderly : Yes ! nothing was more dear than thou to me. Know'st thou old age is on me ; and canst thou Leave me to struggle with its miseries now, And rush upon life's perils? — quit the cot Where sorrow and unkindness enter not, — Quit every future hope? — Oh, if thou go, Thou shalt bear with thee shame and tears and woe! Thine is a dangerous course: — I cannot say 'God bless thee!' Stay, my best-loved Wiesiaw, stay!" All wept, "except the village seer. His head He wisely shook, and thus he gaily said: " How can the old man understand the young? Freedom is in their heart, and on their tongue Sweet change ; tempt them with love, with riches' cares, Still they look further, — for the world is theirs: For them restraint is weariness and woe; And as the spring-bird scours the meadows, so Proud, free and gay, rejoicing in his might, O'er rivers, woods, and cliffs he takes his flight, Until attracted by some gentle strain He seeks the green and leafy woods again, And by his mate reposes. Such the laws Which nature round the star of youth-time draws. In vain you stop his course, — and why should he Be check'd, when God and nature made him free ! BRODZINSKI. 245 He holds no influence o'er Bronika's doom; "lis mutual love makes happy wedlock bloom : She is a lovely floweret, to be placed On some fair stranger's bosom. Father, haste And give thy blessing to thy son ; — for each Should seize the bliss that grows within his reach." To' whom old Stanislaw, — " Not so ! not so ! I cannot let my son, my WiesJaw, go: Thou'rt full of knowledge ; but thou canst not know A father's fondness, and a father's woe, When the dear object of his grief, his cares, — With whom he lived, and loved, and labor'd, — tears His heart away, and leaves a dark abode The once love-lighted dwelling where he trod; — Forgetting all — all, e'en the tears they pour'd In solitude, — while at a stranger's board The daughter sits. no ! I long had dream'd Of bliss to come, — and sweet and bright it seem'd To think her mother, when death's curtain fell Upon my silent grave, in peace should dwell In her own cottage; — but 'twas vain to build Such visions; — Be the will of Heaven fulfill'd! Go — with my blessing, Wieslaw — go; let John Escort thee, counsel thee ; — Heaven's will be done ! Go to thy loved one's dwelling. If the maid And the maid's friends consent love's wreaths to braid, Then bring her hither ; — John thy guide shall be,* And she be welcomed when betroth'd to thee." So John and Wieslaw left their home at length : And Wieslaw, sped by love and youthful strength, Flew o'er the mountains, through the fields and dells, * Among the peasantry it is the custom in Poland for the young man who asks a maid in marriage to take the most venerable of his friends to plead for him. He is called the Swat. The ceremony of betrothing follows, and rings are pledged in exchange. 246 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. And reach'd the dwelling where the maiden dwells ; While thus beneath her window, where they stood, Their strains of music on her ear intrude: " The beds are cover'd with flowerets sweet, And rue and rosemary bloom in pride; A garland lies in the window-seat. And a maid walks forth to be a bride. "A youth from a distant land will come, And soon to the maiden's parents speak; The daughter will pluck the flowers that bloom, And swiftly another mother seek. " rosemary ! wear thy gems of blue, And garland once more ihe maiden's brow; And wake again, thou emerald rue, For none shall water thy springing now. " The cottage is neat, though poor it be, The blessing of God beams bright on care, The magpie cries on the old elm tree, And the maid in her morning robes is there. "Awake, and open! — the guests draw nigh, welcome them in a day like this; Keceive the strangers cordially, They come to shed and to share in bliss." The mother from her spindle rose, and drew The bolt, — the creaking door wide open flew; Old John and youthful Wieslaw entered then, — Wieslaw of giant height and noble mien, Whose head reach'd e'en the ceiling. Jadwicz said, " Welcome, our guests ! Sit down and rest, and spread The news ye bring." Next came the bright-eyed maid, Blushing, yet bending like a flower that's weigh 'd BKODZltfSKI. 247 By heavy dews. John hail'd her: " Maiden, stay ! Those rosy cheeks an old man's toils shall pay." Then she blush'd deeper, and from Wieslaw took His traveling-basket, and his traveling- crook From the good sire ; — she drew the settle near, And bid them rest; while whispering in her ear Jadwicz gave speedy orders: " Light the hearth, Prepare the me'al." "While with a smile of mirth The old man said, " I would not now transgress The' customs of our fathers, — I confess I love old usages; — so with your leave, * An ye will lend your goblets, and receive A draught from our own flagon, I will pledge My landlady, for wine gives wit its edge; It cheers and it emboldens; tears the veil That hides the heart, and bids us see and feel: And, as when children in the crystal brook Upon their own, their very image look, — So the red wine's the mirror where we see Our very souls. The honey-gathering bee Is a bright emblem of our cares'; he goes Busy o'er all-providing earth, and shows What order, care and zeal can do; — in spring, From fragrant flowers and orchards blossoming To his hive brothers bears the gather'd stores: So in his maiden's lap the fond youth pours His passions, his affections. How sincere Is the pure offering of a villager, Who offers honest, ardent love ! The bee Its emblem, — labor, — concord, — purity." The mother reach'd the goblets. John's discourse Delighted all; for in it shone the force Of a clear intellect, which God had given. He had bound many ties, and had made even Many strange odds; — at every wedding feast He was the Starost, and of course the guest: 248 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. And hundred children call'd him "Father"; he , Call'd every happy home his family; — And he was always welcome. Now he took The goblet in his hand, and o'er it shook The liquid honey.* " Take it, gentle maid! It grew in distant fields," he smiling said: " Take it, for thou deservest all that's sweet And beautiful in life." Her glances meet Her mother's eye, and with averted look 'Neath her white apron hid,f the maiden took One solitary drop. The rest old John Drank to the dregs; — while like a summer dawn That brightens into light with blushing hue, The maiden stood; and the old man anew Thus said: " The maiden's silence speaks; and now I'll turn me to her mother: — Wayward youth, Both blind and passionate, wants our guide: in truth It cannot penetrate futurity, But hangs on love, and trusts to destiny. Let's lead them then, — they wander far astray ; We'll take their hands, and guide them on their way, And watch their happiness, — foresee, control Their path; and God, who watches o'er the whole, Will turn all ill to good. — You see the son Of honest sires, — though they, alas! are gone, And sleep beneath the turf; — yet other sires Have, pity-touch'd, fann'd all affection's fires, And taught him virtue. They have given him food; Trained him, an orphan, to be wise and good ; * Mead is a national beverage of the Poles, and lias been ao for many centuries. The best is made in the month of July, when the lime trees are in flower, at which period the honey is called Lipiee. Kowno, on the banks of the Niemen, is particularly renowned for its honey. t The Polish peasants, as a general thing, always turn away and cover their faces when they drink in the presence of others. BR0DZINSK1. 249 To labor, to obey them, — in the fear Of God and duty. He became so dear, They call'd him 'Son '; they made him jointly heir; And well he has repaid their pious care. Their harvests go not from the scythe to seek The tavern; — Sunday wastes not what the week Has earn'd ; — God's blessing smiles upon their way. Rich wheat is gather'd from their cultured clay; Their fields are white with sheep, and full their stall. They have four steeds that bear to Cracow all The produce of their land. — From them I come. And ask yon maid to decorate their home Her Wieslaw saw, and seeing, flew and pray'd Their sanction to espouse that blushing maid. And Stanislaw has sent me to demand From thee, from her, the lovely damsel's hand. He said: ' Go bring her here; his guide be thou; She shall be welcome if she love him now.' Now, mother, thou hast heard me. Give the maid, And heaven shall blessings with new blessing braid I'll praise the youth, though he be here, — though praise Too oft beguiles us, and too oft betrays. They deem too easily to win their end; And counsel hurts, and kind reproofs offend. Wieslaw was modest and laborious ; still He sometimes was a Szpak* and had his will; He once stopp'd even the Wojewode: his delight Has been to revel in an inn at night; And he has driven (0 sin !) th' imperial troops, Cesarskie Woiaki\ thence; and at the loops And sandals of the wandering highlanders X He grinn'd and laugh'd till his mouth reach'd his ears. He was a sad wild fellow, but he grew * Starling, a bold, noisy fellow f Austrian soldiers. % Gorale, the mountaineers of Carpatia. 250 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND. With time both wiser and sedater too: For as in spring the swelling stream rolls by, Foams, dashes o'er its borders furiously, Then flowing further glides serenely on, So youth is gay and wild till youth is gone ; Till, taught by thick anxieties and years, It sheds the excess of blossoms which it bears, And, shaken by the winds of want and woe, Its flowers drop off upon the sod below. And he has known the smiles and frowns of Heaven; To him has sorrow all its lessons given; And now, to crown his blessings, he requires A good and steady wife; and his desires Upon Halina dwell. With her the rest Of life shall all be tranquillized and bless'd. My mission is discharged. — Behold my son! Give a kind ear to Wiesiaw ; — I have done." The observant maiden stood aside, and traced Each shadowing thought and secret jest that pass'd Across the good man's mind and countenance. He could not, would not, wound her ; for his glance Had watch'd the influence of each playful word. But Wiesiaw bow'd in silence, an he pour'd A stream of, suppliant tears, that said " Forbear! " Then there was silence, — silence everywhere, — Till a full torrent o^r Halina's 'cheeks Pour'd, as when many a pregnant spring-cloud breaks Over the Vistula, and flowers are dew'd With freshen'd joy; while the bright sun renew'd, Towers glorious o'er the mountains. So the eyes Of the fond children sparkled. With surprise And with delight the mother watch'd them, — proud And joyful. But some gloomy memories crowd Upon her thoughts. Halina, she had naught; Nor dower, nor parents, nor parental cot, Nor hope of wealth. So Jadwicz heaved her breast, BRODZINSKI. 251 And thus spoke frankly to her listening guest: " There is a God in heaven who judges all ; He tries us when we rise and when we fall: And, raising or depressing, his decrees Follow our deeds and guide us as they please. Halina is an orphan! at my side •E'en from her childhood wonted to abide. The sun has risen on our abode; its fire Is far too bright; for how should she aspire, — She a poor maid, — to wed the wealthy son Of a rich peasant ! Father she has none, — No friends, — not one, — to counsel or to care. noble youth! May God reward thee here. Thy generous heart, — this kind design; — yet tell This story of Halina, — and farewell ! When Poland's crown was by disasters rent, My husband and my brothers swiftly went, Though arm'd with scythes alone, our land to save; But they return'd not, — they but found a grave. The cruel stranger all our country razed, Our palaces destroy'd, our village blazed. How dreadful is the memory of that day. E'en now the thought is death ! We fled away, — Old men, young mothers, — to the blazing woods, That scared us from their frightful solitudes. 0! 'twas a hideous,— -'twas a hideous sight; When life's last beam went out and all was night; Till blazed for leagues the horrid flames again, Children and mothers straggled o'er the plain. T saw them, and I wept, — I look'd, and wept Till tears had dimm'd my sight. A child had crept Tremulous to my side. I seized it. Press'd The trembling little orphan to my breast, And ask'd its name, its parentage, its home. It answer'd not; it knew not; it had come (So said the sobbing child) from fire and flame, 252 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND. But it knew not its nation, nor its name. Strangers had led it thither: — and no more The infant said. ' I seized the child. Though poor, — I was a mother once ; — I thought of God; And led the orphan to my mean abode, And watch'd it; and her smiles, her toils repaid, Ten-fold repaid, the sacrifice I made. She grew, — industrious, healthy, prudent, fair, And we have toil'd together many a year, With self-same wants and with the self-same care. We bore our mutual poverty, and smiled, Though to a stranger's borrow'd cot exiled, — Nothing possessing. Soon our wealth increased; Two cows, one heifer, and six sheep at least Were our own store. At last, by care and toil, We won an interest in our country's soil. We sow'd our land with flax; at night we span For raiment, and the remnants soon began A little pile for age. And so we pass Our life away. We have our morning mass, Our joyous evening sports, and once a year Our merry carnival; but not for her, — The rings are bought, the wreaths are wov'n for them Whom fortune crowns with her own diadem, — But not for her! An orphan, — how should she Attract the wealthy, or enchain the free? She has no parent, has no dower. If Heaven Shed down its light, Oh, be its blessings given To no unthankful bosom ! — but while I Shall live, Halina may not, cannot fly." Hot tears broke forth, and show'd the pangs she felt, While the fair maid before her mother knelt, And clasp'd her knees: — " Dear mother! mother, thou- Thou art my dower, my wreath, my all things now ! Though mines of gold were mine, though castles fair, And silken wardrobes; yet wert thou not there BRODZINSKI. 253 All would be naught; — without thee, all appears A blank, and life's bright charms a scene of tears." And so in silence they embraced. A gleam Pass'd through the old man's mind as in a dream, Then fix'd itself in light. His raptured soul Look'd through the future's maze, and saw the whole Future in glory. Struggling thoughts broke through His changed regards, betraying half he knew; — And Wiesiaw fain would speak; but John imposed Peace, and thus spoke: — " The Almighty has disclosed His purpose, and inspires me. Now I see His brightness beaming through the mystery. Mother, confide in my advice, — sincere, And from the soul. Go, summon swiftly here A carriage and two steeds; we will repay The service nobly, — for we must away, We must away,— the hour of joy is come; — Halina shall be welcomed to our home." And swiftly, white with foam, the horses fly, And forests, meadows, bridges, plains, run by., But all are sad and pensive — all but John, — The proverbs, jokes, and tales are his alone. The maiden veil'd her eyes in doubt and dread ; He fann'd his growing joy though hid, and said To his own heart, " How blest, how sweet to bring Bliss to two houses ! " Now the lime-trees fling Their lengthen'd shadows o'er the road, — the ridge Of the brown forest, like a heavenly bridge, Shines with pure light. The breezes blew like balm, And the fair morning dawns serene and calm. They hasten'd toward the village ; — 'but awhile They tarried, — marshy pools for many a mile The path impeded; — those on foot may make 254 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. In one short hour their way; equestrians take Three hours at least. On foot they gaily bound; The carriage raised the dust, and hurried round. What joy, what gladness lights Halina's eye ! Why talks she now so gay and sportively? They cross the planks, — the brushwood maze they thread, The sheep and shepherds play upon the mead : She listen'd to the artless pipe ; her ear Appear'd enchanted. Was it that her dear, And now far dearer Wieslaw had portray'd This scene, when singing to the enamor'd maid? John watch'd her looks intensely. Was the scene One where her early infant steps had been? Now rose the village steeple to the view; The vesper-bells peal'd loudly o'er the dew; * They fell upon their knees in that sweet place; The sunset rays glanced on Halina's face. And she look'd like an angel. Every vein Thrill'd with the awaken'd thoughts of youth again, And longings which could find no words. The bell Had burst the long-lock'd portals of the cell Of memory; and mysterious visitings, And melancholy joy, and shadowy things Flitted across her soul, and flush'd her cheek, Where tear-drops gather'd. To a mountain peak They came; — the village burst upon their view. They saw the shepherds lead their cattle through The narrow bridge ; the ploughmen gaily sped Prom labor's cares to labor's cheerful bed. The village like a garden rear'd its head, Where many a cottage-sheltering orchard spread; The smoke rose 'midst the trees; the village spire Tower'd meekly, yet in seeming reverence, higher * The Poles, in some localities, believe that the bells peal more loudly while the dew is falling. BKODZINSKI. 255 Than the high trees. The yew-trees in their gloom Hung pensive over many a peasant's tomb; And still the bells were pealing, which had toll'd O'er generations mouldering and enroll'd In death's long records. While they look'd, old John Bent on his stick, and said " Look, maiden, on Our village: — doth it please thee? Wieslaw's cot Is nigh at hand." She heard, but answer'd not: Her looks were fix'd upon one only spot; — Her bosom heaved, her lips were dried, her eye Spoke the deep reverie's intensity. Remembrance of some joy had bound her soul: She breathed not, but moved on ; — a cottage wall Soon caught her eye, and near a cross appear'd : 'Twas ivy-clad and crumbling; — for 'twas rear'd In the old time; — a willow- tree, a sod, Where the gay children of the village trod On holidays, were there. She could no more: She dropp'd o'erpowered upon the grassy floor, And cried, " God ! God ! — 'twas here, 'twas here I lived! Where is my mother? Tell me, where? If she be dead, I'll seek her grave, and weep My orphan soul away to rouse from sleep Her blessed form. — 'Twas here I play'd of old; — 'Twas here I gather'd flowers: — but I behold My mother's cot no longer, — thought flies o'er Its memory ; — but that cot exists no more ! " John answer'd thus: " The God who shelter'd thee, Shelter'd thy parents; — when the misery Of that fierce war was over, they return'd, And joy beam'd o'er the fields where they had mourn'd. They lost their cot, they lost their child ; but Heaven Their dwelling and their daughter now hath given; And they shall take thee to their longing arms. Thank God, who saved thee from all hurts and harms, 256 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Who, when thy helplessness had lost a mother Gave thee with generous tenderness another, And now restores thee to thine own." She knelt, And clasp'd his knees, while luxury's tear-drops melt Into the light of joy. And one by one They enter 'd the court-yard; but all were gone Forth to the fruitful fields. Halina's eye Wander'd some old memorials to descry, And grew impatient. Soon the sire appears With his sharp scythe; and next his wife, who bears A truss of clover for the stall. Before Ran young Bronika, gaily turning o'er A basket of blue corn-flowers; with her hand Beckoning, she bid her parents understand That guests were come. " Go," said old John, " my boy, And tell your happy parents all your joy." And what fond welcome sprung from breast to breast ; How oft they kiss'd each other; how they prest Bosom to bosom, heart to heart; what greeting, What questions, answers, thanks, engaged that meeting; And how the laughing neighbors gather'd round, And how Bronika, full of rapture, bound Her sister to her soul, — for though she ne'er Had known her loss, her gain she felt, — I fear No words of mine can compass. Could I speak, Tour hearts in sympathy would almost break With the bright joy: — but ye have souls to feel, And they will vibrate to love's proud appeal. Yes ! ye have hearts, with which ye may confer, And they shall be my best interpreter. KRASIKSKI. ' 257 KRASlftSKI. Sigismund Keasinski is the zenith of Polish poetry in Poland's land. It is not only a loving heart, an in- spired soul, not only a fantasy or art — it -is the spirit of the Pole — the spirit of true manhood; yes, it is the spirit of poetry changed into the spirit of an angel and entered into the soul of the inspired poet-prophet. While writing he thought of ages, and ages alone can judge him. The most prominent stamp of Sigismund's writings, distinguishing him from other poets contem- poraneous with him, is -the true prophetic spirit, not under the influence of any play or fantasy, or any com- bination, but the expression of apocalyptic visions; hence he is an uncommon phenomenon not only with us but in the history of the universal spirit. He pos- sesses such qualities and gifts as God seldom grants even to poets. From the times of antiquity he took what Plato had. From the law of Moses and the Jewish history he took the harp of David. From the new law he took the apocalyptic visions of the future. "With such strange elements, living in the midst of Europe, amidst our people, and in the middle of the nineteenth century, he transformed all these into orig- inal poetic creations. Krasinski was second after Mickiewicz who restored the high poetic type of the poetic priesthood in literature where frequently are found thoughtless leaders, carrying with them the doubting and feverish community into the regions of chimera, bad examples and deceitful prophecies. It was he who took those who leaned toward egotism, 17 • 258 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. plunging about in the evanescent pleasures of reality, and carried them into the beautiful world of love and self-sacrifice. "The Undivine Comedy " is, as it were, a thunderbolt sent to crush the doctrine of egotism and human pride, which renounces allegiance and obe- dience to God. The time, place and- persons of the comedy are all created by the buoyant imagination of the poet. This fantastic comedy occasionally breaks off and snatches at moments which are expected but have not yet arrived. Krasinski was the first who ventured to compose a prophetic drama to represent persons and incidents that were to come to pass at some future time. The scenes, however, are enacted in Poland, and the time is not very far distant from us, because persons there introduced speak as we do, have our prejudices and our customs; we can recognize them as belonging to our generation and to the Polish people, although the author does not stamp them with any nationality, neither does he introduce anything indicating locality. Krasinski comprehended and grappled the current of stormy conceptions which, in but a few years later, ran through the whole of Eu- rope, and in which were found phases and figures drawn by the hand of the immortal poet. This re- markable production, planned on the broad back- ground of modern social times, takes the point of argu- ment that the causes of evil arise from social perverse- ness which permeates the different grades of society, and from which humanity is yet to suffer for a long time; and that the possible union of so many contra- dictory elements can only be effected by the influences of Christianity. The soaring imagination of Krasinski had at its call beautiful and brilliant language, breaking out in new KRASINSKI. 259 turns anil harmonious words. His christian feeling was very pure and deep. The poet loves the whole of humanity, and he reminds them of the holy truths of faith, and that the world can only be regenerated by love. The "Day-Break" is an ethereal lyric composition replete with transcendent beauties. A woman (Beat- rice) is introduced in the poem to quicken into life the whole creation of exalted order, and above all the in- dividuality of the poet. There beams the pure and powerful inspiration of truth, which spreads its thou- sand poetic colors as the morning star of the day which the poet represents to his people. ' ' The Dream of Cesara " is classed with prophetic writings, and is not indispensably a poetic creation, but rather a descrip- tion of the poet's vision, yet it is plainly seen that it bears the stamp of truthfulness and can claim preemi- nence over all writings of that class. ' ' Irydion " is a magnificent poem representing olden times, when Borne was in its decline — its great power being undermined by the light of Christianity. The incidents are drawn from the epoch of Helio- gabalus, and the persecutions of the first Christians. The author tries to work out the idea that Christianity neither accepts nor condemns feelings of national re- venge for intentionally inflicted wrongs. In his "Psalms" the author explains to the world the mys- teries of resurrection. He reveals his -beautiful, though perhaps illusive, dreams of the destiny of his suffering Fatherland; he praises heroism and volun- tary devotedness and self-sacrifice. Here we can im- agine that he anticipated the sad events which took place in Galicia in 1846 (see Ujejski's biography). " The Unfinished Poem " is connected with "Undi' 260 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. vine Comedy," and, according to the plan of the au- thor, was to constitute the first part of the trilogy, of which only the second part was elaborated. This poem consists of five grand episodes, which are not connected with one another very closely, but yet are put together so as to form a sufficiently prominent whole, and, although unfinished, it is nevertheless replete with resplendent imagery and sublime thoughts, shining forth with unequaled hue of style. The princi- pal purpose of the poem is to show the tendency of humanity toward truth and perfection, and the unceas- ing attempts and conspiracies against the power of truth and the spirit of God in this world. ' ' The Present Day " is a fantastic expose of society going astray from the true path, but warned and en- lightened by the words of the angel from Heaven, The poem, being a creation of youthful imagination, is an historical romance, yet having the color of the sub- limest poesy. "Agaj Han" is taken from the history of Marina Mnich, and Demitry the pretender. Although there is much poetic fire in the poem, yet it is pronounced by the critics as occasionally offending with exaggera- tion. Krasifiski was one of the greatest moral philoso- phers of the nineteenth century, as well as the most inspired poet, whose prophetic vision comprehends not only the* past and future ages, but also the present century. He is clearly a poet of humanity, who wholly understood all the relations of society; he was more than others; it is perhaps for that reason that he has invented a language of his own to express pain and inspiration which he saw in the sufferings of humanity. The power of Krasinski's poetic genius is so immense KEASINSKI. 261 that we have no scale in our literature to weigh it. The characteristics of his poetry are deep religious feelings; they in reality constitute the background of the manner in which he viewed the past and the future; the sufferings of a people as well as of individuals he considered as mediums through which come cleansing and merit. Krasinski was a stately and ethereal form of a recluse, or an anchorite, doing penance for the trans- gression of his ancestors, blessing the people, teaching them, and showing unto them signs for the future. Plunging into prayerful spirit, and looking toward the stars, he viewed the earth not with the eye of a man, but with the one of an inspired prophet. Pleasures and amusements of this world had no charms for him. Having passed through purgatory of life, he was free from the prejudices of his people; but after deep and silent suffering, which was plainly seen on his marble face, he tried to conceal from the human eye the many wounds from which he so intensely suffered that he often threw a veil of mystery over himself, , desiring . only to appear to the people as their brother mortal, who was at all times burning offerings at the altar of his country, and held in his heart her sufferings and her hopes. He was indeed a guardian angel of the national spirit, and a physician of hearts torn to pieces by misfortune and sufferings, and he poured upon the wounds of the Polish national body the balm- of faith, love, and hope. Krasifiski was born on the 19th of February, 1812, of a rich and influential family. His father, Vincent, was aide-de-camp to Napoleon the Great, and after- ward the general of the Polish army. Up to the thir- teenth year of his life Sigismund's cultivation was 262 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. under the immediate supervision of his parents, and under the guidance of the poet Joseph Korzeniowski, and other distinguished teachers. In 1825 he entered the Lyceum at "Warsaw, where Linde, the lexicographer, was the rector. Even at that early period of his life he wrote a composition, "The Grave of Reichstall's Family," from which it was inferred that he possessed a natural inclination for dramatic imagery, then he wrote " Ladislas Herman, "in imitaton of Walter Scott's style. In this very fine romance he painted the Past in a truly masterly manner. From the Lyceum he went to the University; hut on account of certain unpleasant circumstances he thought it hest to quit it. He went then to Geneva, in Switzerland, where he wrote his " Black Zawisza," but it was lost in its trans- mission to Warsaw. It was there that he became per- sonally acquainted with Mickiewicz and Odyniec, two Polish poets, and in their company visited the moun- tains of Switzerland. In 1830 he again met Adam Mickiewicz at Home. In 1832 he was compelled to answer personally a call at Warsaw, although his state of health could hardly permit of so long a journey. From Warsaw he was sent to St. Petersburg, where he was kept all winter, although very ill. He was suffer- ing so badly from a disease of the eyes that they at last permitted him to go to Graffenberg, from whence, after getting quite well, he went to Vienna. Here he wrote " Agaj-Han," and had it published at Breslau. He left Vienna in 1836 and went to Italy and Rome; here he became acquainted with Julius Siowacki, and wrote "Irydion." In 1838 he went to Warsaw, but on account of illness was again obliged to return to Italy. In 1843 he was married to Countess Elizabeth Branicka at Dresden, whence they visited the places of their KRA&rtfsKi. 263 birth, and then again went to "Warsaw. In 1845, he went to Mee, where he wrote one of the most beautiful poems, "The Psalms," in consequence of which a con- troversy ensued between himself and the poet Siowacki. In 1847 he once more visited Rome, and there again met Mickiewicz. In the following year he resided at Heidelberg, Paris, and Baden, when he again was called to Warsaw in 1849; but the eye disease coming upon him with greater severity than ever, he once more, with the permission of the Government, returned to Heidelberg, and then to Baden. Toward the last of that year he was very assiduously occupied with the antiquities dug out by the Appian "Way, and the follow- ing year he spent some time on the picturesque banks of the river Rhine, from whence for the third time he was ordered by the Government to return to Warsaw. When his health began to fail and the eye disease grew worse, he went once more to Heidelberg, and on the death of Czar Nicholas, having received a permis- sion to reside in foreign countries, he stopped at Baden, and in 1856 at Kissingen. ' Later he journeyed to Paris, and from there visited his father at Potok; but soon after he went to Plombieres and Ems to try the water-cure. In the same year he returned to Paris; there he learned of the death of his father, which had so great an effect upon him that he fell hopelessly ill, and died on the 14th of February, 1859. Krasiftski's works were published at Warsaw, Paris, Breslau, Leszno, Leipsic, and Posen. 264 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. PRAY FOR ME. Pray for me — when I mourn in sore depression , Sins of my fathers, and my own transgression; Pray for me that when death at last shall doom me, Regrets for thee arise not to consume me. Pray for me — that when with my God in Heaven, After long ages passed, it shall be given My weary soul to rest with thee forever, For here much sorrow mars its high endeavor. Pray for me — vain my life if, worst of changes, Thy heart grown cold from mine itself estranges; Oh, pray for me, for I through years have treasured Thy name with love unfathomed and unmeasured. Pray for me — for my life is dry and scentless,' My heart is faithful though my fate relentless; Pray for me — let thy words breathe healing thro' me, Though thou canst only be a sister to me. Pray for me — other prayers are unavailing, Thine only calm my heart in its bewailing ; All other prayers save thine the pang would double ; Pray for me — for I cling to thee in trouble. On earth without thee I am lost and lonely ; My thoughts are thine, I dream upon thee only; Dream that in far eternities now hidden, My soul with thine shall mingle unforbidden. EVER AND EVERYWHERE. Say not of me when I am in my grave, I only wounded where I should forbear; 'Twas that I drank from sorrow's bitter wave, Ever and everywhere. KRASINSKI. 265 Say not of me calm-voiced when I am gone That I have marred your life that else was fair ; I walked with sunshine from my own withdrawn, Ever and everywhere. Say not of me as colder hearts would say "When I am dead, that life had proved a snare Because misfortune followed on my way, Ever and everywhere. When I am gone, then kindly speak of me, Say that my heart was frenzied by despair; I loved thee from my soul, if bitterly, Ever and everywhere. TO A LADY. Hearts you may lure to you with ardent glances, Or crush beneath unsympathetic sway; Yet will you fall below the fair ideal Of womanhood, for which we wait and pray. Eyes downward cast, and cheek whose roseate glowing Tells not of knowledge, are to-day as nought; Attain to womanhood through slow ascension, Through scenes of sorrow rise to heights of thought. And when through tears and pains of aspiration A ray of Deity outflowing warm Shall touch your soul with its living splendor, And buds that blossom in the day of storm Unfold to crown your pale and thoughtful forehead, Then will your beauty take ideal form. 266 POETS AND POETRY OP POLAND. ONCE I ASKED THE DAY. (Never before included in Krasmski's Collections.) Once I asked the day why it was so bright, I asked the thought why it soared so free, And the heart why the world should so narrow be, And the stars why they shone with such lustrous light. I am son of the sun, replied Day, so am bright; Being children of spirit, Thought answered, we soar; The world is narrow, said Heart, since perverse evermore; We shine, the Stars answered, as the great King of light. I asked a gentle maiden's beaming eyes Whence came such marvelous outlines of her face, And whence to her soul such beauty and such grace, Whence the rays of light and fires of feeling rise. No word she spoke — her beauteous face alone With the expression of her sweet spirit shone, Her eyes' light touched her face with crimson rays, And played in her feelings; pure spring displays The sunlight in depths of the clear summer rill, We can only solve feelings with feelings still, And the works of God with the Heaven-sent mind; But if 'tis not understood by humankind, Oh, do not their dull comprehension resent. The world should never chill your feeling from Heaven sent; Let not earthiness a shade on thy soul's glory cast. And when my sad star has removed me far from thee, Eemember it to thee could never permitted be. By inem'ry of the dear hours we have together passed, And by the memory of all feeling most divine, Of all my inspirations holiest and most bright. To cast aside the rays of radiant, sacred light, Which even in the lowliest grave will o'er me shine As it shone in the glad morning of my life's fair day, On the threshold of eternity 'twill shed its ray; KKASINSKI. 267 And though on the earth it parts us with stern behest, Twill surely in God once more unite us, ever blessed! RESURECTURIS. The world's a graveyard, kneaded with tears and gore, Where none his Golgotha avoids. Evermore — Vain is the spirit's strife When sorrow's shaft descends; Against the storms of life No refuge here defends. Abysses dark ingulf the brave, At every step fate mocks at us, The pure, the loved, sink in the grave, The hated live, — 'tis ever thus. All is tangling -in a maze which naught divines, And death is near and far away: O'er waves of future ages shines Resurrection's Day- Heartless and insensible, then, must we be, Murder with murderers setting passion free, 'Mid the vile grow viler, and though conscience yearn, Make it's soft voice be still, Lie, hate, blaspheme, and kill, And evil for evil to this world return. In this alone must all our power consist; — Let us eat and drink, and sate the body well, Chasing from the brain each noble thought, and swell Of fortunate and fools the length'ning list. Oh ! no, that must not be. Oh! pause, my soul, for we Can never in that way At humanity's head Stand. No force can hold at bay But sacrifice the dread 268 POETS AND POETBY OF POLAND. And unrelenting fate That crushes us to naught. That is the lion great Of history ; — all pride And servility are; But idle straws that caught By passing breath may glide To nothingness afar. Oh! learn thyself to know; Seek not omnipotent, Like Him in heaven, to grow, And to bend thee like a brute, ne'er give consent, Knowing no good save some fat pasture-land on This side the tomb; e'er breaks the radiant dawn Of Resurrection. Oh! be thou constant still, > Though worlds should crash unmoved with dauntless will. Be tireless. Patience, which 'mid every ill Slowly rears from naught the edifice complete, And which e'er prepares, unshaken by defeat, The future, certain, and final victory. Oh ! amid the storm be thou tranquillity, Order in chaos, in discord harmony; Amid this life's combat, that no respite hath, Be thou the eternal Beauty, calm and bright. For cowards and for Pharisees be wrath, And menace or silent contempt, pure as light, Angelic inspiration for all men be. The rich nourishment that nourishes the heart, A sister's tear when suffering thou dost see, A manly voice when courage, long tried, forsakes, Home, birthplace, wandering exiles find in thee. Be hope for the despairing, — thunder that wakes The drowsy souls lulled in corpse-like repose. KEASIN8KI. 269 Be thou the force, always and everywhere, That reconciles, — force of self, — devotion rare, Stronger than death, and in the strife that no end knows, — Against the mad world's abyss of hate, Oh! be Abyss of love, pure and free. Ne'er cease to give Thyself unto thy brethren in form sublime Of teaching and example; in acts that live Still multiply thyself; thus for all time Thousands of men shall be outweighed by thee. Even in irons performing acts that bless, Learn to bear pain and bitterest agony; Thy whole nation living in thy breast shall be, — Be the miracle joins heaven to earth, — naught less, — In slavery, — holiness. Seek not death till, like the buried seed that starts, Thy grand thoughts be sown and germing in the hearts Of thy compatriots, — till martyrdom alone A pledge of certain victory shall be known. Strive not with others' goodness, but thine own, Shun martyrdom's renown, And false vain-glory'.s crown Leave to fools; for in this, Danger's dreadful abyss, Plunge only heroes brave. Loftiest souls ne'er gave Heed to siren's voice of bliss. "When the tocsin of events at last shall swell, — Signal for thy final holocaust, — a knell Both sad and wild, from thy native land, then Kneel down on eternity's threshold ; — When, So deep within thy humble and contrite soul, Thou hear'st the voice that only comes from God above, Bise, like a strong athlete who wins the goal. 270 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND. Shake off thy feet earth's dust. With infinite love Stretch forth thy arms to Heaven, which still will bless. Without complaint, wail, inward bitterness, Bravely to meet thy executioners advance, Saluting them with inmost pitying glance Of high immortality, which glorifies. Thus for the future thy sacrifice shall be The most fruitful witness. From thy death shall rise The germ of life, for all men glorious, free. The hopes the world deems idle dreams, Oh! make them real, — In justice, faith, — To see and feel; Which, like a probe that deeply darts, Sink in men's hearts, And dwell forever there. Be its touch light as air, A breath, a sigh's soft thrill. The world, thy murderer, will Kneel to thee in remorse, Confessing brutal force; Is impotent to strike Country and God alike From the conscience and care Of nations ev'rywhere. When the blood which thy wounds shall spill Sanctifies thy thought, that thought will Draw the light of God's judgment strong On the impious throng. Troops and bayonets are vain, Kings, lies, corruption, — aught; No people shall attain Power against that thought. KRASINSKI. 271 When the third day shall dawn O'er thy agony, on Thy martyrdom's white tomb, — At last the boon shall bloom For nations, — undefiled,- Jtjstice, — God's own fair child. SEOWACKI'S MONUMENT IN PARIS (FRANCE). SEOWAOKL 273 SLOWACKI. Julius SIowacki tried his strength at all kinds of poetry. There are beautiful lyrics of his; others again are epics, and also dramas. In each and every one of these his creative mind shines with a resplendent lus- ter. Everywhere he is new, fresh, and poetic; always exhibiting extraordinary strength, always soaring high. For a long time Siowacki was not understood, al- though he was a poet belonging to all humanity; but some of his poems were not understood, and others did not come into general use. Almost thirty years had elapsed before the people could look into them and fully comprehend them. But as everything of the highest order will ultimately find its vindication with the. people, so it was with Slowacki's writings ; they at last found their deserved acknowledgment and justifi- cation. Of all the poets from Krasicki to Krasifiski, no one possessed greater power of fantasy than SIowacki. This was shown in a volume of poems written at the time of the Polish Revolution (1831), and since its fall. Another poem, "Zmija" (the Viper), is also a fan- tastic production. But there is much higher and truer poetic merit in his "John Bielecki." The subject is taken from the Polish Chronicles, partly oral, of a cer- tain occurrence having taken place in eastern Galicia. Here the portraitures of the Polish nobility are strik- ing, and scattered throughout the poem very happily, showing the greatest force, and with it the character- istics of his own individuality as a man of uncommon genius. "The father of the stricken with the plague," 18 2 74 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. in El-Arish, contains in it a power likening to the suf- fering of the Laocoon not carved in wood nor chiseled in marble, but in the painting of poetic genius. Among all the creations of Siowacki, nor in the whole Polish literature, is there anything that could equal it in finish, conciseness, power and truth, and finally the incomparable mastery in the diversification of the par- ticulars of this awe-inspiring poem. What the statue of Laocoon or the groups of Niobe is in sculpture, "The father of the plague-stricken" is in Slowacki's poetry. If it concerned the vivid representation of accumulated strokes of misfortune heaping thunder- bolts upon the head of a doomed human being, weep- ing till its tears are dry, and moaning under the weight of misery until the last vestige of human feeling is gone; when it becomes a lifeless statue, unable to weep or feel more — to reflect over its unutterable mis- ery — then surely Slowacki's design is fully accom- plished. Then comes "Hugo," tales of the Crusades, fol- lowed by "Balladyna," and "Lilla Weneda." The first one a beautiful epopee, not exactly in the Ho- meric style, but somewhat in the manner of Ariosto; prehistoric account of Poland is the subject. "In Switzerland " is a charming idyllic intermixed with tragic incidents, so abstruse and yet so truthful that it is not possible to find any such love-dream in any for- eign tongue. Truth and fiction, reality and poetry, man's love and genius of the artist, all here strike hands to produce a poetic creation, and one knows not which to admire the most. In ' ' "Waclaw " is a full confession of beautiful motives, such as are seldom to be found. This poem is equal to any of Lord Byron's in the masterly carving out of each particular. "The sjiowACKi. 275 Arab" and "The Monk" are also wrought in an ar- tistic manner. "The Silver Dream of Salomea" seems to be only a dramatized tale concerning two dif- ferent pairs of married people, who, in order to accom- plish the desired end of being united in marriage, have to wade through a sea of misfortunes and fears caused by national troubles, which so ruthlessly passed over their devoted heads. It is for that reason that the poet called it "The Eomantic Drama." The tragedy "Mindowe" is one of the latest of the poet's productions. In this tragedy the incidents relate to the times when Lithuania had not yet the light of Christianity. In represents the renegacy and the re- turn to the faith of his sires of Prince Mendog. The tragedy "Mazeppa" is full of tragic incidents, and of vivid and passionate poetry; where the most delicate shades of human nature are wrought up to perfection. The background of "Kordyan" is the age, which, from the very beginning, the poet reproaches and chas- tises for its dwarfishness, condemned to pass away as unworthy of mention. The poet here creates a charac- ter which is too exalted, and outgrew the littleness of the spirit of the present generation. He feels keenly the misery of this life, and desires to fill it with some- thing more noble, and hence throws himself about, here and there, to attain the desired object. Slo- wacki's ' ' Kordyan, " unites almost all the character- istics of greatness and the contempt of life — ready for all sacrifices, desire for fame, bravery and noble pride. In the historical drama "Maria Stuart" the frame of the picture is tolerably narrow. It was not the in- tention of Slowacki, as it was of Schiller, in the trag- edy of the same name, to draw within the confines of it the whole history of the given epoch, but for all 276 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. that there are in it splendid passages that enchant the reader. The verse is flowery and masterly, and his language sparkles with diamonds of the first water. The epopee ' ' Sambro " proves Slowacki's great power of fancy and a great gift of poetical invention. The subject is taken from Greek history, that is to say from the last part of it of last century. He tries to repre- sent a hero endowed with every necessary condition, and to excite for him the wonder and admiration of the reader, whereas it is discovered that from under these artificial coverings appears a man full of moral corruption — the more unpleasant to the eye since it is plainly seen that he comes out with gigantic preten- sions which nothing can justify. It being impossible for our poet to travel all the time in the realms of poetic fantasy of the past, and hearing the subterranean moanings and weeping of the people, he created, with a power at once charming and genial, "Anhellim, " where the infernal regions of Siberia take a shape of strange illusion which makes it beau- tiful and fearful, dismal and at the same time enticing. In this production the poet gives a portraiture of the fate of the whole people, and a review of their relations which we suffer for the guilt of others, as also of transgression of which we ourselves are guilty. It was the poet's fancy to call a Siberia the whole of our social condition. The doctrine advanced in "Anhellim" is turbid and fantastic, — it loses itself in the unfathomable depth of mysticism, and is written in biblical style. In ' ' Bieniowski " one is reminded from its construction of Byron's " Don Juan," but in spirit it resembles the creations of Ariosto. The poem uncovers to the reader the bloody wars toward the end of the last century, in which Poland has manifested sSiOwacki. 277 her patriotism, which are shown by various drifts in the poem. Here, in imitation of an English bard, Siowacki marks strongly his own individuality. Be- sides the strophes marked by deep moral feeling, colored mostly by the poet's fancy, we find others in which is seen a most extraordinary power of language in form, and unlimited bitterness of feeling. This powerful poem by turns causes tears to flow, aston- ishes, cheers up the public, and moves their passions. Being deeply engaged in the investigation of questions beyond the comprehension of human understanding, brought about by Towianski (a votary of whose doc- trines SJowacki became), it engrossed his mind to such a degree that in his last composition their influence is obvious. It is plainly seen in his " Priest-Mark," a drama in which the character and stamping of the Jewess Judith answers exactly the conception of Tow- ianski's sect as regards the mission of the Jewish people. From the plot and characters introduced it is evident that the poet was intent upon the conquering of the evils of the world, and the erecting upon their ruins of a great epoch of the future for the people and for humanity itself. "The Spirit King" was the flrst great national epopee in song wherein the author puts aside the veil and pre- sents to view his grand philosophical thoughts in regard to his country ; and in order to legitimize it the author gives us to understand that he thoroughly comprehends the long sufferings of his nation; and we further infer that the poet knew the way to solve the problem of the nation's future destiny. The author makes this pro- duction an offering upon the altar of art for humanity, but not for the real interest of a perishable generation. " The Spirit King " displaces but does not divide the 278 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. vital parts of his country. His plan comprehends the eternal future, history corroborates it; the present bears witness to it, and the future will demonstrate its truth. All of Slowacki's works possess a powerful feeling, exalted thoughts, and stormy passions. Oftentimes he pours out to the world the bitterness of his heart; but above all his fancy is so active that his mind and feel- ing can hardly keep pace with it. It is not to be wondered at, then, that he reaches with so much tenderness the hearts of the Polish youth. He was their songster and their spiritual leader. The spirit of youth, like the gentle breezes of spring, breathes from every one of his songs. The age of dreams, the inward emotions of the soul, and sudden but noble impulses, permeate each of his creations. Slowacki was born in 1809 at Krzemieniec, where his father, Euzebius, was a professor of the Polish language. He received the rudiments of education at "Wilno, and after finishing the course there, in 1824 entered the University. In 1826 he went to Odessa, and after completing his academic studies he entered in 1828 as assistant in the treasury department in "War- saw. Here he wrote "The Mother of God, "and the tragedy ' ' Mindowe. " Owing to the revolution of 1831, and adhering to the moderate party, he left for Dresden, from whence he was made a member of the diplomatic mission . going to Paris. Then he went to London, and after, the taking of Warsaw, being for- bidden to return to Poland, he went again to Paris and lived in seclusion, but ardently engaged in the cause of Polish emigration. In 1832 he left for Geneva, where he took up his abode on the shores of Lake Geneva, and wrote the poem "Lambro," "The Hour of Thought," " Duma Waclaw Rzewuski," and "Paris." 8LOWACKI. 279 He then went to Greece, the East, and Italy. At Koine he met Sigisnmnd Krasinski, returned to Greece again,, and in 1856 went to Egypt. From Cairo, on a camel, he travels to Gaza, through the desert, and reaches Jerusalem, and from there he visits Palestine, Mount Lebanon, Damascus, and the ruins of Balbek. At Beyrout he wrote the celebrated poem "The Father of the Plague-Stricken," founded upon facts of sad adventure, in which he, with his associates, took a prominent part during two weeks' quarantine at El-Arish. At Beyrout he went in a sail-vessel in 1837 to Livorno. In the following year he resided at Florence, where he published his " Anhelli." In 1839 he returned to Paris, where he resided till his death; and though amidst many members of the Polish emigration, he lived most of the time in seclusion. He looked with somewhat envious eye upon Mickiewicz's reputation, between whom and himself there was ap- parent coolness, — Mickiewicz in his lectures on Litera- ture having his name mentioned but once, and that, too, rather indifferently. This year he published his "Balladyna," and in the following year "Lillia "Weneda " and ' ' Mazeppa " were also brought out. Under the influence .of a morbid feeling he published " Bieniowski, " in 1841, where he bitterly complains of the indifference of some people, — Mickiewicz and the critics receiving their share. In the same year he joined Towianski's sect, and a happy reconciliation took place between himself and Mickiewicz ; but shortly after the proud and independent feeling of Slowacki caused him to leave the Towiafiski Union, and the poet himself became the head of a separate sect, small in number, but surpassing even Towiafiski in mysticism. Under the deep impression of the doctrines of this sect 280 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. he wrote " Priest-Mark, " and also the drama "The Silver Dream of Salomea." The occurrences of 1848 reanimated him once more; so much so that he left Paris for Posen, but did not remain long. While returning through Breslau to Paris, after the wandering of years, he saw and pressed to his heart his beloved mother. Returning to Paris he fell into a dangerous illness and never recovered from it. Seeing that he was about to end his earthly career he united himself with God, and expired the 3d of April, 1849. His poems were published at different times and dif- ferent places, but the most complete edition of his works, in four volumes, was published in a library of the Polish writers in 1861. In 1866-7 Professor Malecki published at Lemberg,with an addition of a biographical studium, several literary productions of Slowacki hith- erto unknown. The following are the titles: "Wal- lace," a tragedy; " Krakus," and "Beatrice di Cenci "; "Wallenrod," a drama; "The Black Zawisza," a drama; "John Casimir," a drama; "The Incorrigi- bles," whilom entitled the "New Dezanira," a drama; " The Golden Cup," a drama; " The Poet and the In- spiration," a fragment liryco-dramatic; " Samuel Zbor- owski," a fantastic poem; " Journey to the East," con- tinuation of " Bieniowski " ; "Conversations with Mother Makryna," a poem; "and "The Genesis of the Spirit," a prayer in prose. I AM SO SAD, GOD! I am so. sad, God! Thou hast before me Spread a bright rainbow in the western skies, But hast quenched in darkness cold and stormy The brighter stars that rise; SEOWACKI. 281 Clear grows the heaven 'neath thy transforming rod, Still I am sad, God! Like empty ears of grain with heads erected Have I delighted stood amid the crowd, My face the while to stranger eyes reflected The calm of summer's cloud; But Thou dost know the ways that I have trod, And why I grieve, God ! I am like to a weary infant fretting Whene'er its mother leaves it for a while, And grieving watch the sun, whose light in setting Throws back a parting smile; Though it will bathe anew the morning sod, Still lam sad, God! To-day o'er the wide waste of ocean sweeping Hundreds of miles away from shore or rock, I saw the cranes fly on, together keeping In one unbroken flock; Their feet with soil from Poland's hills were shod, And I was sad,- God ! Often by strangers' tombs I've lingered weary, Since grown a stranger to my native ways, I walk a pilgrim through a desert dreary, Lit but by lightning's blaze, Knowing not where shall fall the burial clod Upon my bier, God! Sometime hereafter will my bones lie whitened, Somewhere on strangers' soil, I know not where; I envy those whose dying hours are lightened, Fanned by their native air; But flowers of some strange land will spring and nod Above my grave, God! 282 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. When but a guileless child at home they bade me To pray each day for home restored, I found My bark was steering— how the thought dismayed me- The whole wide world around ! Those prayers unanswered, wearily I plod Through rugged ways, God! Upon the rainbow, whose resplendent rafter Thy angels rear above us in the sky, Others will look a hundred years hereafter, And pass away as I; Exiled and hopeless 'neath thy chastening rod, And sad as I, God! EXTEACTS FROM SEOWACKTS TRAGEDY OP MIN- DOWE,* OR LEGATE'S REVENGE. Mindowe, King of Litwania, having embraced the Christian religion, his mother, who is blind, together with his nephew Troinace, conspire to effect his death. Mindowe has banished Jlawski, the Prince of Nalzhaski, and es- sayed to win the affections of his wife. £,awski, not being heard of for some time, is supposed to be dead. The scene opens just after the baptismal rites of the monarch. ACT I. Scene II. — The royal presence-chamber. Enter Oasimir and Basil, from different sides. Basil. Saw you the rites to-day, my Casimir? Casimir. I saw what may I never see again, The altars of our ancient faith torn down, Our king a base apostate, groveling Beneath a — * Pronounce Mindoveh. SEOWACKI. 283 Basil (interrupting him). Hold ! knowest thou not The ancient saw that "palace walls have ears.' " The priests throng round us like intruding flies, And latitude of speech is fatal. Casimir. True — I should speak cautiously — But hast seen The Prince? Basil. Who? Troinace? Casimir. The same. Ha! here he comes, and with the queen-mother — It is not safe to parley in their presence. Hence Along with me, I've secrets for thine ear. [Exit Casimir and Basil. Ronelva enters, leaning upon the arm of Troinace, and engaged with him in conversation. Troinace. Thou hast a son, Ronelva, crowned a king ! Ronelva. Is he alive? with sight my memory fails. Once I beheld the world, but now 'tis dark — My soul is locked in sleep — God ! God ! My son! hast seen my royal son? The king, Thy uncle, Troinace? How is he arrayed? Troinace. In regal robes, and with a jeweled cross Sparkling upon his breast. Ronelva. Across! — what cross? 'Tis not a symbol of his sovereignty — Troinace. It is a gift made by his new ally, The Pope. Ronelva. The Pope ! — The Pope ! I know none such ! Who is this Pope ! — Is't he who sends new gods To old Litwania? Yes — I've heard of him — (A pause) Enter Mindowe, crowned, and arrayed in purple, with a dia- mond cross upon his breast, and accompanied by Heidenric, the Pope's Legate: Herman precedes them bearing a golden cross. JLawski, disguised as a Teutonic knight, with a rose upon his helmet and his visor down, bearing a casket. Lutdver attending the king. £awski stands apart. 284 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Ronelva. I feel that kindred blood is near, Mindowe! Thy mother speaks! approach! [He approaches. Hast thou returned Prom some new expedition? Is thy brow Covered with laurels, and thy stores Replete with plunder? Do I hear the shouts, TV applause of the Litwanians, hailing thee As conqueror. Returnest thou from Zmudzie, From Dwina'sshores triumphant? Has the Russian Bear Trembled before thy sword? Does Halicz fear Thy angry frown? Speak! with a mother's tears I'll hail thee conqueror. Mindowe. My mother! why These tones and words sarcastic? knowest thou not That victory perches on another's helm? I am at peace, and am — a Christian king. Ronelva. Foul shame on thee, blasphemer? Hast thou fallen As low as this ? Where is thy bold ambition ! To what base use hast placed thy ancient fame? Is't cast aside like to some foolish toy No longer worth the hoarding? Shame upon Thy craven spirit! Canst thou live without That glorious food, which e'en a peasant craves, Holding it worthless as thy mother's love. And thy brave father's faith? Mindowe. Nay, mother, nay! Dismiss these foolish fancies from thy brain. Behold! my jeweled brow is bent before thee. Oh, bless thy son! Ronelva. Thou vile apostate! Thou Dare ask for approbation? Thou! — I curse thee! Sorrow and hate pursue thy faltering steps. . Still may thy foes prove victors; subjects false; Thy drink be venom, and thy joy be woe. Thy mind filled with remorse, still mayst thou live. SEOWAOKI. 285 Seeking for death, but wooing it in vain; A foul, detested, blasted renegade — I have bestowed to earth a viper, but From thee shall vipers spring, who like their sire Shall traitors be unto their native land, And eager plunge them into ruin's stream! Depart! and bear thy mother's curse! Mindowe. Mother, My mother — Ronelva. Call me not mother, viper ! , I do disclaim thee: — thee, — and all thy seed! [Exit Ronelva, leaning on Teoinace. Mindowe {speaking as though awe- stricken). Heard ye that curse? Heidenric. What are the frantic words Of a revengeful woman? Empty air — Mindowe. A mother's curse ! It carries pestilence, Blight, misery and sorrow in its train. No matter ! It is, as the Legate says, But " empty air." (To Heidenkic.) What message do you bear? Heidenric. Thus to the great Litwanian king, Pope Innocent (Fourth of the name who've worn the papal crown) Sends greeting: Thou whose, power extends From fartherest Baltic to the shores of Crim, Go on, and prosper. Though unto thy creed He thinks thy heart is true, still would he prove — (Mindowe starts, and exclaims " Ha!") Send thou to him as neighboring monarchs do An annual tribute. So he'll bless thy arms That ere another year elapses Russ' shall yield, And Halicz fall before thy conquering sword. Mindowe. Thanks to the Pope. I'll profit by his leave; I'll throw my troops in Muscovy, and scourge The hordes of Halicz, move in every place Like an avenging brand, and say: The Pope Hath giv'n me power. But, hark ye ! Legate, 286 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. What needs so great a priest as he of Rome With my red gold to buy him corn and oil? Explain ! I do not understand rae riddle. Heidenric. He merely asks it as a pledge of friendship, But nothing more. The proudest kings of Europe Yield him such tribute. Mindowe. Tribute! base priest! Whene'er thy master asks for tribute, this — {Striking his sword.) Is my reply. What hast thou there? Heidenric. A gift — A precious relic of most potent virtue. Thou'st heard of St. Sebastian? holy man! He died a martyr. This which brought him death Is sent unto thee by his holiness — < {Presents a rusty spear-head.) Mindowe. Pie on such relics ! I could give thy Pope A thousand such! This dagger by my side Has hung from childhood. It has drank the blood Of many a fte that vexed my wrath ; and oft Among them there were men, and holy men, As holy, sir, as e'er was St. Sebastian. Heidenric. Peace, thou blasphemer! Mindowe {angrily). How! dost wish thy head To stand in safety on thy shoulders? What means this insolence, sir Legate? Think'st thou that I shall kneel, and bow, and fawn, And put thy master's iron yoke upon me? They act not freely whom the fetters bind, And none shall forge such galling chains for me ! There's not one more Mindowe in the world, Nor is your Pope a crowned Litwanian king. Heidenric. I speak but as the representative Of power, supreme o'er earthly monarchs Mindowe. Thou doest well to shelter thus thyself Under the shield of thy legation. Hast SBOWACKI. 287 Aught more to utter of thy master's words, Aught more to give? Heidenric. I have a gift to make Unto thy queen. Mindowe. The queen hath lain, sir prince, In cold corruption for a twelvemonth back. What means this mockery? Heidenric. Pardon, my lord! It was not known unto his holiness. The forests of Litwania are so dark They shut her doings from her neighbor's ken. If then the queen be dead who shall receive This goodly gift? Mindowe. My mother — Heidenric. If I may judge By what I heard e'en now, she'd not accept Our offering.. Mindowe. Then give the gorgeous gaw To i/awski's widow — she who soon will be My crowned queen. Summon her hither, page. [Exit Page. Attendants, take from hence these costly gifts, And give them in the royal treasurer's care — [Exit Attendants, as Aldona enters. Here comes my spotless pearl, the fair Aldona, The choicest flower of the Litwanian vales. Address thy speech to her. Heidenric. Beauteous maid, Accept these golden flowers from Tiber's banks, Where they have grown, nursed by the beams of faith. Nor deem less in value that they are By the bright luster of thine eyes eclipsed. Aldona. These costly jewels and. the glare of gold, Albeit they suit not my mourning weeds May serve as dying ornaments. As such I will accept them. 288 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND. Heidenric (aside). Ay! I warrant me. Like to most women she accepts the gift. No farther questions. Gold is always — gold. (Motions to ILawski to approach Aldona. He does so, trem- blingly.) Mindowe (to S-awski). Thou tremblest, Teuton ! (i