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россшскАя Ангаолопя, 
 
 SPECIMENS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 RUSSIAN POETS, 
 
 WITH 
 
 INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 
 C/*^M^yj?>t . ', r r Уо///у^. 
 
 Башюшковт. . 
 
 JOHN BOWRING, F.L.S. 
 
 AND HONORARY MEMBER OF SEVERAL FOREIGN 
 SOCIETIES. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED FOR O. AND W. B. WHITTAKER, 
 
 AVE-MARIA LANE. 
 1823. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVKON, WHITEFRIARS. 
 
RBf{ 
 
 TO 
 
 HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY 
 
 ALEXANDER, 
 
 AUTOCRAT OF ALL THE RUSSIAS, 
 
 &-C. &-C. &-C, 
 
 The flattering mark of approbation with which 
 you were pleased to honour the former volume 
 of the Russian Anthology, induces me to in- 
 scribe the name of your Majesty upon the de- 
 dication page of this. 
 
 When the delusions of conquest and the re- 
 cords of political changes shall have passed 
 away, the purer and nobler triumphs of civiliza- 
 tion and literature will be remembered, and 
 bear along the stream of time, to the gratitude 
 of future generations, the names of their il- 
 
 a2 
 
 436132 
 
IV DEDICATION. 
 
 lustrious protectors. To have contributed to 
 their influence is a glory which no time can 
 tarnish — it is worthy of the worthiest — it will 
 be your highest title — a title brighter than the 
 brightest jewel of your imperial crown. 
 
 The destiny of millions is in your Majesty's 
 hands. Under your auspices, your empire has 
 made gigantic strides in knowledge and in 
 power. The future is formed by the present. 
 O, be it your most imperial ambition to make 
 that knowledge and that power the source of 
 virtue and of liberty ! Such are the wishes, 
 and such the hopes, of one to whom your re- 
 putation is dearer than to a thousand flatterers, 
 and who is, in all sincerity, 
 
 Your Majesty's most obedient. 
 And devoted humble servant, 
 
 JOHN BOWRING. 
 
 Boulogne PrisOTiy 
 Oct. 20, 1822. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I AM encouraged to commit another volume of 
 * Specimens of the Russian Poets,' to that opi- 
 nion which so kindly welcomed, and so favour- 
 ably judged the former. I write now, instructed, 
 and I hope benefited, by the very extensive 
 notice which the first essay obtained ; and I may 
 indulge an honest feeling of complacency and 
 pride in remembering, that, in almost every in- 
 stance, candour and generosity characterised the 
 literary articles to which my experiment gave 
 birth. I avoided, generally, any criticism on 
 the works for which I requested the patient 
 
 436132 
 
VI INTEODUCTION. 
 
 judgment of my countrymen. I deemed the 
 object most interesting to trace the early de- 
 velopement of poetical literature in a nation 
 bursting into civilization. The spectacle was 
 before me, and its phenomena left a strong im- 
 pression on my mind. I was witnessing not a 
 family, not a tribe, not a feeble community pass- 
 ing from barbarism to Ught and knowledge, but 
 a mighty people whose aspirations after political 
 influence, and whose excitements to foreign con- 
 quests, were among the most striking facts which 
 accompanied their onward progress. Others, I 
 thought, could not fail to trace the influence of 
 their early literature upon their future destiny. 
 It was my object to gather together the me- 
 mentos which their poets strewed around them 
 as they moved forward. I have continued my 
 labours^ and I believe, that while philosophy 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 will find much matter for sober thought in these 
 varied pages, the statesman will do well to study 
 the tendency and the character of that fountain- 
 head of popular feeling whose waters will spread 
 over generations of men, and over the widest 
 empire of the world. 
 
 I have said that the intellectual state of a 
 country cannot be judged of by its productions 
 of literature or of art : and I suspect strange 
 delusions exist in our minds with regard to the 
 attainments of the mass of society in those 
 countries which our classical associations hallow 
 with every thing that is bright and beautiful. 
 America has produced no Murillo, no Cer- 
 vantes, no Calderon ; yet who would hesitate to 
 rank her people far above the unenlightened — 
 the brave, the generous, though unenlightened 
 — inhabitants of the European peninsula ? The 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 extreme depression of the many leads to the 
 extraordinary elevation of the few, and poetry 
 sits on the very pinnacle of civilization. It 
 may rear itself like a pyramid, where all around 
 is a waste. So, a land may be covered with 
 verdure and cultivation, where no column is 
 raised to commemorate the past — where no pile 
 makes an appeal to the sympathies of the future 
 — where the generations of men flourish and 
 fade, * and the place that knew them knows them 
 no more.' The possession of every object of 
 reasonable desire leaves little scope to the ima- 
 gination, which is the child of hopes and fears. 
 Such a land, however, must necessarily be the 
 abode of freedom, for freedom alone can give 
 that equaUty of rights whose influence produces 
 universal happiness. A real equality of rights, 
 and of security in (heir possession, will neces- 
 
INTEODUCTION. IX 
 
 sarily bring with them something hke an equaUty 
 of knowledge, at least of that knowledge which 
 has the most direct influence upon human fe- 
 licity. Well understood freedom is that which 
 provides for the well-being of the great majority 
 of mankind — it is that which leaves in every 
 individual's hand the greatest possible suna of 
 political influence and power which is consistent 
 with the interest of the whole. Despotism is that 
 which provides for a small minority by the sacri- 
 fice of the mass of society ; it is that which arms 
 itself with the greatest possible sum of authority, 
 and leaves no strength, and will communicate 
 no intelligence to the people. A strong govern^ 
 ment — a government too strong to be influenced 
 by the national will, and Avhich makes no real 
 appeal to that will, must necessarily be a bad 
 government. That government is alone wise, 
 
 a5 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and that government is alone legitimate, which 
 requires and possesses the support of popular 
 opinion, and which is too weak to oppose, and 
 too honest to wish to oppose, that sanction by 
 which it was created, and by which it may be 
 destroyed. 
 
 The history of time gone by will afford few 
 facts to assist us in judging of the tendencies 
 of those marvellous changes which are now 
 going on in the intellectual world. Truth 
 and knowledge shut up in a few individual 
 minds, and enlightening only a narrow circle 
 already half enlightened, had nothing to con- 
 nect them with the great masses of society. 
 They were torches which blazed in a chamber, 
 leaving darkness behind them, till other torches 
 were kindled. Now the light of instruction is 
 unextinguished — is inextinguishable. It is not 
 
INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 exclusive in its blessings, nor bounded in its 
 journey ings. Its roots are planted among the 
 poor. They are entering on their heritage, 
 which cannot be taken from them. The trea- 
 sure is confided to their keeping — to the keep- 
 ing of the many and the strong. 
 
 But though society is obviously tending to a 
 state in which some of its existing gradations 
 must necessarily be destroyed, in which the 
 wider repartition of knowledge must inevitably 
 lead to a more equal distribution of wealth, of 
 political power and of consequent enjoyment, it 
 must be borne in memory, that the influence 
 of intellect is incredibly great, and that the 
 master-minds of a nation give a deep impression 
 to the national character. I have done violence 
 to my feelings by translating many of the mili- 
 tary and warlike productions of the Russian 
 poets; but they will not be without their use. 
 
Xll INTKODUCTION. 
 
 They will serve to show how the feelings of 
 hatred and malevolence are excited; how that 
 love of outrage which is called * martial spirit ' 
 creeps into the bosom of a people, and corrodes 
 all the mild and all the generous virtues. They 
 will show the arts by which the slumbering 
 passions are aroused, and how terrible it is to 
 arouse them. Nor will such compositions ex- 
 cite our sympathy — they are directed against 
 us as well as others. Our shame and sin are 
 indeed heavier and older than theirs. Let us 
 never forget, that he who hates another prompts 
 another to hate him. We cannot keep all the 
 malevolence and all the vengeance for ourselves; 
 it will return upon us with renewed strength and 
 redoubled ferocity. The wound may be in- 
 ^cted for a momentary purpose, but we leave 
 the weapon there to canker and fester for ever. 
 On other grounds their introduction is almost 
 
INTRODUCTION. XUI 
 
 indispensable. They are a necessary and an 
 important part of the general picture. Among 
 these compositions, that of Zhukovsky, * The 
 Minstrel in the Russian Camp,' is perhaps the 
 most popular of modern poetical productions in 
 Russia. 
 
 So much for generahties, which 1 hope will 
 not be thought misplaced. And if some regret 
 be felt, that so many of the Russian poets have 
 followed the example of us, * the more en- 
 lightened nations,' in their admiration of heroes 
 and conquerors, and in their laud of restless 
 and ruthless ambition, some of them are entitled 
 to a higher and a nobler praise — they have 
 sung the gentler influences of truth, and know- 
 ledge, and virtue, the progress of civilization, 
 and the spreading happiness of man. 
 
 A remark has been made and repeated on 
 
XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the subject of the former volume : * These poets 
 have little originaHty.' Now something must 
 be allowed for the extreme difficulty of pre- 
 serving in translation all the characteristics of 
 the author. Many phrases cannot be verbally 
 rendered — many associations cannot be felt. To 
 a Russian red and beautiful are synonymous; 
 he uses the same word for both. How can the 
 imagery of his mind be transferred to an English 
 reader ? Besides, too much is expected on the 
 score of originahty. Man is every where the 
 same being, with the same feelings and af- 
 fections, the same senses, and nearly the same 
 desires: their modifications are but slightly 
 varied by circumstances, and the great tablet 
 of nature too has far less variety than we are 
 wont to deem. Does a Russian see any thing 
 brighter than the sun, or vaster than the ocean. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 or more beautiful than a cloudless night? Is 
 any thing more venerable than his mountains, 
 or more poetic than his streams? Such are 
 his elements of song — are they not also ours ? 
 The subjects of poetry too are less extensive 
 while general literature is in its cradle, and 
 their number is still more limited where the 
 form of government prevents the mind from at- 
 taining its full expansion, and bars out some of 
 the warmest and sublimest feelings — such as 
 indignation against oppression — and others of 
 the tenderest — such as sympathy with the op- 
 pressed. The intenser passions of the poet, 
 unable to exercise themselves in the high range 
 of patriotism, are spent in the songs of love and 
 valour ; while his calmer affections dwell among 
 the daily business of society, recording the joy 
 of the parent over the new-born infant, the 
 
XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 rapture of the bridegroom, or the plaints that 
 wail the dead. The poetry which is here 
 presented is the poetry of a highly-imita- 
 tive, strongly-feeling, but despotically-governed 
 people, erected upon a magnificent, sonorous, 
 and flexible language, blending something of 
 the wildness of oriental character with the stern- 
 ness and the sobriety of European precision. 
 That the impress of our literature, and that of 
 our neighbours, is to be most distinctly traced, 
 is quite certain. Nearly half the poetry which 
 Russia possesses is translation. Their leading 
 authors have travelled, and have taken back 
 with them the treasures they found: and they 
 have done good service. The most obvious 
 resemblance is to the German school: and to 
 the honour of Germans be it said, that their 
 influence on the civihzation of Russia has been 
 
INTRODUCTION. XVll 
 
 most extensive and most salutary. Their patient 
 industry, their general intelligence, their social 
 habits of life, have so interblended them with 
 the Russian people, working a silent but an 
 effective change, that the whole mass will be- 
 come leavened with their long-suffering, their 
 industrious, and intellectual virtues. The ne- 
 cessary result of an habitual intercourse with 
 foreign nations — an intercourse estabhshed by 
 Peter the Great, and most wisely encouraged 
 by all his successors, was the introduction of 
 models which placed the poets of Russia, as to 
 form at least, on a level with the most cultivated 
 people of the south. Their language easily 
 lent itself to all the varieties of versification, 
 and without the gradations of advancing im- 
 provement, they adopted a style of poetical 
 composition which they have found no reason 
 to modify or to change. 
 
XVlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 On the whole, the present volume will possess 
 a character much more decidedly national than 
 the former. A variety of poems immediately 
 connected with the earlier history of Russia, 
 and others representing the peculiar habits of 
 the Russians, are introduced. The national 
 songs, especially, will, I trust, excite some at- 
 tention. These are the poetry of the people. 
 These are the fragments whose authors are 
 never raised from the darkness of obHvion — 
 these are the joy and the study of the peasantry, 
 their consolation in the dreariness of their win- 
 try dweUings, conveyed from tongue to tongue 
 through many a generation. These are no 
 subjects for criticism, for criticism cannot reach 
 them — it cannot abstract one voice from the 
 chorus, nor persuade the village youths and 
 maidens that the measure is false, or the music is 
 discordant. The forms of versification, though 
 
INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 some of them are rude and irregular, I have 
 endeavoured to preserve, as a part of their 
 original charm. I have heard them sung in 
 the wooden huts of the cottagers; and have 
 been cheered by them when the boor has whirled 
 me in his uncouth sledge over the frozen snow. 
 The rude melody, often gentle and plaintive, in 
 which they found utterance, still vibrates in my 
 ear, I ask for them no admiration — they are 
 the delight of millions. The fame of the Ihad 
 is nothing to theirs ! 
 
 I had not seen the Poetische Erzaugniase of 
 Karl Friedrich von der Borg, printed at Dorpat 
 in 1819, when the former volume was published. 
 I confess I was surprised at the almost verbal 
 resemblance of some of his translations to my 
 own. In this second volume I have been able 
 to strengthen myself with his opinion as to the 
 
XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 selection, and to avail myself of his most in- 
 teresting Specimens for my assistance. His 
 fidelity is admirable. 
 
 This volmne was written during my solitary 
 confinement in the prison of Boulogne : it made 
 days and hours swift and pleasurable, which 
 might have been most long and wearisome. 
 When my spirit reposed from that exciting in- 
 dignation which seemed to exhaust its energies, 
 it was among the poets of Sclavonia that it 
 lingered. I shall recal this memorable epoch 
 of my life with gratitude and pride — gratitude 
 to that active sympathy which my situation 
 awakened, and pride in the recollection, that in 
 the darkest moment no dejection, far less de- 
 spondency, had place in my mind. I could 
 picture, and did picture every thing that in- 
 justice, cruelty, and violence, might assemble 
 
INTRODUCTION. Xxi 
 
 for my humiliation or my destruction. I com- 
 muned with my conscience, and anticipated 
 the worst with cheerfuhiess. Surely there is 
 something in principles which cannot be shaken 
 by the terrors of life, nor the fears of death. 
 
 J. B. 
 
 Boulogne Prison^ 
 Oct. 25, 1822. 
 
if 
 
 i 
 
 >*>^ 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Introduction v 
 
 Lomonossov ....... 1 
 
 Derzhavin 15 
 
 Dmitriev 23 
 
 Zhukovsky ....... 57 
 
 Karamsin . . . . . . .117 
 
 Dolgorukov 133 
 
 Batiushkov 141 
 
 Merslakov 159 
 
 Voeikov 167 
 
 Muraviev 173 
 
 Kapnist . . , . . . .185 
 
 Petrov . 189 
 
 Shatrov 205 
 
 Vaesemsky . . . . . . .213 
 
 Milonov 221 
 
 Khovansky ' . .233 
 
 National Songs 237 
 
Comoito0so\), 
 
RUSSIAN ANTHOLOGY, 
 
 LOMONOSSOV. 
 
 ODE. 
 
 FROM JOB. 
 
 О MAN ! whose weakness dares rebel 
 Against the Almighty's strength, draw nigh 
 And listen, for my tongue shall tell 
 His message from the clouded sky. 
 Midst rain, and storm, and hail, he spoke. 
 Around the piercing thunder broke j 
 At his proud word the clouds disperse, 
 x\nd thus he shakes the universe: 
 
 b2 
 
LOMONOSSOV. 
 
 ' Come forth, then, in thy pride and power — 
 Come answer me, thou son of earth ! 
 Where wert thou in that distant hour 
 When first I gave creation birth ? 
 When all the mountain's heights were rear'd. 
 When all the heavenly hosts appeared. 
 My wisdom and my strength's display? 
 Man ! let thy towering wisdom say ! 
 
 ' Where wert thou when the stars, new born. 
 Sprung into light at my command. 
 And fiU'd the bounds of eve and morn. 
 And sung the intelligence that plann'd 
 Their course sublime ? \Mien first the sun 
 On wings of glor^' had begun 
 His race, and oceans of pure light 
 Wafted mild Luna through the night. 
 
 ' Who bid the ascending mountains rise ? 
 Who fix'd the boundary of the sea? 
 Wlio, when the waves attack' d the skies. 
 Confined their furious revelry ? 
 
LOMONOSSOV. 
 
 The caverns hid in darkness I 
 Unveil'd — my breath of majesty 
 Dispersed the gathering mists — my hand 
 Divided ocean from the land. 
 
 * Say, canst thou bid the morning dawn 
 At earlier hour than I have given, — 
 Or water the rain-thirsty lawn 
 When I have shut the gates of heaven ? 
 Canst thou a favouring breeze prepare 
 To waft the anxious mariner 3 
 Or guide this earthly ball — to crush 
 The vile — and the tumultuous hush? 
 
 ' Say, hast thou scaled the mountain's height. 
 
 Or sounded ocean's vast abyss; 
 
 Or measured all that infinite 
 
 Immensity that o'er thee is ? 
 
 Or couldst thou ever penetrate 
 
 Those clouds so dark, so desolate. 
 
 That round death's midnight-portal dwell? 
 
 Or dive into the depth of hell ? 
 
LOMONOSSOV. 
 
 ' Couldst thou with tempests fill the cloud. 
 The glory of the sun to hide 3 
 And in yon bright cerulean shroud 
 The lightning and the watery tide : 
 With swiftly-gathering fiery flash. 
 And \vith the mountain- shaking crash. 
 Tear earth's foundations up, and show 
 What dust is thy poor world below? 
 
 ' Tell me, thou scrutinizing mind. 
 Who leads the eagle's flight sublime^ 
 His pinions are the mighty wind. 
 His path beyond or earth or time 3 
 Far o'er the sea, on some tall rock. 
 He looks upon the surge's shock. 
 Who could his craving wants supply ? 
 Who gave him that sun-dazzling eye ? 
 
 * Look at the awful behemoth — 
 Read there, vain man! my power's display 
 Go I see him trample, in his wrath. 
 The thorny forests in his way. 
 
LOMO>4'OSSOV. 
 
 His veins are hard as cables — try 
 AVitli him thy arm of potency ! 
 His ribs are brass — his giant horn 
 Puts all thy boastful strength to scorn. 
 
 * Go ! hook the huge leviathan. 
 
 And draw him subject to the shore j 
 
 The ocean is his kingdom — man ! 
 
 His course, the boundless waters o'er : 
 
 The scales upon his sides are bright 
 
 As silver shields in Luna's light : 
 
 He sees, in mockery, frov/ning lord ! 
 
 Thy threatening spear and sharpen'd sword. 
 
 ' A millstone is his heart — his row 
 Of teeth like sickles, threat'ning still : 
 Who shall attack him — hero ! who ? 
 He waits the strife with ready will. 
 He basks him in the sunny beam 
 On the sharp rock — 'tis smooth to him — 
 His strong impenetrable mass 
 Sleeps as it were on sand or grass. 
 
8 L0M0X09S0V. 
 
 ' When he prepares him for the fray^. 
 The ocean like a furnace gleams ; 
 The thundering surges mark his way. 
 His anger like a caldron steams } 
 His eyes with burning fury roll. 
 As in a forge the scarlet coal. 
 All fly before him — ' Who shall stand 
 Before my frown, when I command?' 
 
 * When my high will creation's plan 
 And self-supported wisdom drew. 
 Did I consult thee, feeble man ! 
 
 To tell me what my hand should do ? 
 Why didst thou not my purpose check. 
 Thou who wert then an atom speck. 
 And say, when I was framing thee, 
 
 * Why art thou thus creating me ?" 
 
 Insolent mortal!— bow thy head: 
 God's wisdom and God's goodness tracer 
 In the safe path He marks thee — tread — 
 'Tis He who fix'd thy earthly place ^ 
 
LOMONOSSOV. 
 
 And joy and grief alike are given 
 To lead thee on thy way to heaven : 
 Then hope and bear — in patience bear — 
 And throw on Him thy woe, thy care. 
 
 ъ2 
 
10 LOMONOSSOV. 
 
 MORNING MEDITATIONS. 
 
 O'er the wide earth yon torch of heavenly light 
 Its splendour spreads, and God's proud works unveils ; 
 My soul, enraptured at the marvellous sight. 
 Unwonted peace, and joy, and wonder ifeels. 
 And with uplifted thoughts of ecstasy 
 Exclaims, 'How great must their Creator be!' 
 
 O, if a mortal's power could stretch so high — 
 If mortal sight could reach that glorious sun. 
 And look undazzled at its majesty, 
 'Twould seem a fiery ocean burning on 
 From time's first birth, whose ever-flaming ray 
 Could ne'er extinguish'd be by time's decay. 
 
 There waves of fire 'gainst waves of fire are dashing. 
 And know no bounds ; there hurricanes of flame. 
 As if in everlasting combat flashing. 
 Roar with a fury which no time can tame : 
 
LOMONOSSOV. 1 1 
 
 There molten mountains boil like ocean-waves. 
 And rain in burning streams the welkin laves. 
 
 But in Thy presence all is but a spark, 
 A little spark: that wond'rous orb was lighted 
 By Thy own hand, the dreary and the dark 
 Pathway of man to cheer — of man benighted 3 
 To guide the march of seasons in their way. 
 And place us in a paradise of day. 
 
 Dull night her sceptre sways o'er plains and hills. 
 
 O'er the dark forest and the foaming sea^ 
 
 Thy wond'rous energy all nature fills. 
 
 And leads our thoughts, and leads our hopes to Thee. 
 
 How great is God ! a million tongues repeat. 
 
 And million tongues re-echo, ' God, how gi'eat ! ' 
 
 But now again the day-star bursts the gloom. 
 Scattering its sunshine o'er the opening skyj 
 Thy eye, that pierces even through the tomb. 
 Has chased the clouds, has bid the vapours fly^ 
 And smiles of light, descending from above. 
 Bathe all the universe wih joy and love. 
 
12 LOMONOSSOV. 
 
 EVENING MEDITATIONS, 
 
 ON SEEING THE AURORA BOREALIS.* 
 
 The day retires, the mists of night are spread 
 
 Slowly o'er nature, darkening as they rise 5 
 
 The gloomy clouds are gathering round our head. 
 
 And twilight's latest glimmering gently dies : 
 
 The stars awake in heaven's abyss of blue ; 
 
 Say, who can count them ? — who can sound it ? — who ; 
 
 Even as a sand in the majestic sea, 
 
 A diamond-atom on a hill of snow, 
 
 A spark amidst a Hecla's majesty. 
 
 An unseen mote where maddened whirlwinds blow. 
 
 Am I midst scenes like these — the mighty thought 
 
 O'erwhelms me — I am nought, or less than nought. 
 
 * This Ode was given in the first volume, but as it ought to 
 accompany the poem which precedes it, it is now published in 
 another form. 
 
LOMONOSSOV. 13 
 
 And science tells me that each twinkling star^ 
 
 That smiles above uSj is a peopled sphere. 
 
 Or central sun, diffusing light afar; 
 
 A link of nature's chain: — and there, even there 
 
 The Godhead shines display'd — in love and light. 
 
 Creating wisdom — all-directing might. 
 
 AVhere are thy secret laws, О nature ! where ? 
 In wintry realms thy dazzling torches blaze. 
 And from thy icebergs streams of glory there 
 Are pour'd, while other suns their splendent race 
 In glory run : from frozen seas what ray 
 Of brightness? — from yon realms of night what day ? 
 
 Philosopher, whose penetrating eye 
 
 Reads nature's deepest secrets, open now 
 
 This all-inexplicable mystery : 
 
 Why do earth's darkest, coldest regions glow 
 
 With lights like these? — О tell us, knowing one. 
 
 For thou dost count the stars, and weigh the sun. 
 
 Whence are these varied lamps all lighted round ? 
 Whence all the horizon's glowing fire? — the heaven 
 
1 4 LOMONOSSOV. 
 
 Is splendent as with lightning — but no sound 
 Of thunder — all as calm as gentlest even ; 
 And winter's midnight is as bright, as gay. 
 As the fair noontide of a summer's day. 
 
 What stores of fire are these, what magazine. 
 Whence God from grossest darkness light supplies ? 
 What Avond'rous fabric which the mountains screen. 
 Whose bursting flames above those mountains rise ; 
 Wliere rattling winds disturb the mighty ocean. 
 And the proud waves roll with eternal motion ? 
 
 Vain is the inquiry — all is darkness — doubt : 
 This earth is one vast mysten,- to man. 
 First find the secrets of this planet out. 
 Then other planets, other systems scan 5 
 Nature is veil'd from thee, presuming clod ! 
 And what canst thou conceive of Nature's God? 
 
ШщЬйШ. 
 
DERZHAVIN. 
 
 то A NEIGHBOUR. 
 
 For whom these festal luxuries 
 
 On Neva's foaming banks — for whom? 
 
 'Neath intertwining, shadowing trees. 
 
 Where all is flowers, and fruits, and bloom ; 
 
 Gay Persian tents emboss'd in gold. 
 
 And China vases manifold,- 
 
 And sparkling glass from Austria sentj — 
 
 For whom — for what ? О why abuse 
 
 Fortune ? Why dissipate and lose 
 
 Gifts, лvhich at best are only lent ? 
 
 The song is heard — the chorus blends 
 Its louder tones 3 — 'neath pines up-piled 
 And fruits, the wearied table bends j 
 And sweets — О silly, spendthrift child ! 
 The senses are all feasted : — Maids 
 Pour forth the grape -jiiice-^see, it spreads— 
 
18 DEJIZHAVIN. 
 
 The world contributes : ancient Rhine, 
 Champagne, and Xeres, mingling come 5 
 • And British streams, and streams from home, 
 And Selzersvvave and Moselle wine. 
 
 In a cool grot, whose fountains flow 
 Round alabaster piles and busts. 
 Stretch 'd on a bed where roses grow. 
 The slave of thy unholy lusts. 
 Thou liest : a maiden, bright and fair. 
 And young, reposes near thee there — 
 A nymph with laughter in her eye : — 
 She sings — thou sinkest on her breast. 
 And, strangely wilder'd, thou hast prest 
 Her hand, in ecstasy of joy. 
 
 Thou sleepest — and thy dreams foretel 
 An everlasting heaven of bliss : 
 Its flowery buds around thee sлvell 
 With blossoms bright and blest as this. 
 Thou hast thy treasures, hast thy fields; 
 For thee Siberia's bosom yields 
 
DERZHAVIN. 19 
 
 Of countless wealth a rich display : 
 Thee, a proud stream of silver meets : — 
 О blessed ! whom the morrow greets 
 As happy as the yesterday. 
 
 О blessed ! in life's vale below. 
 Who sees unmoved this shifting scene — 
 Who, though the mighty storm-winds blow. 
 But hears their rage^ and is serene. 
 The thunder-clouds may o'er him roar. 
 The waves may spring the mountains o'er. 
 Scattering the sand and foam — 'tis nought 
 To him — the torn and scatter'd wood 
 May leave a desert solitude — 
 He sits in calm and quiet thought. 
 
 Ours are but foolish wishes — change. 
 Change is the meteor we pursue : 
 Д\Ъеп nought is wanting, then we range 
 And gasp, and grasp at something new. 
 The time of sorrow comes — thy maid 
 Betrays thee as she has betray'd 
 
20 DERZHAVIN. 
 
 Other admirers — then the song — 
 Ay! all this noisy song will cease. 
 And thou be left to think in peace — 
 In sadness Sorrow's day is long. 
 
 Look ! even now her eyes are darting 
 Less beams of love, of revelry. 
 Hark ! from yon gathering clouds is starting 
 A fearful storm — thy ship 's at sea. — 
 No! no! — while all seems fair and bright, 
 О dream not thou of sorrow's night ! 
 Feast, neighbour, feast — and dance and sing- 
 Life's sun has but a summer's glow. 
 And joy is innocent — but know, 
 'Tis but that joy which bears no sting. 
 
DERZHAVIN. 21 
 
 THE SHIPWRECK. 
 
 The silver moon the clouds looks through. 
 Her beams upon the waters float 3 
 
 And midst the gathering mist and dew 
 The mariner has launch' d his boat. 
 
 And in that moonlight's placid ray 
 His course across the deep he takes j 
 
 The welcoming port before him lay. 
 And in his bosom joy awakes. 
 
 But oh ! he dashes on a rock — 
 
 His voice is choked — his eye is dim ; 
 
 A moment struggling 'gainst the shock. 
 And then — the waves o'er-mantle him. 
 
 'Tis but life's picture — for the tomb 
 Drags all things to its desolate cell : 
 
 Hope is a flower of morning's bloom— 
 And love and friendship fare ye well! 
 
22 DERZHAVIN. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 The ass that looks upon the stars 
 Is not less asinine 3 — the base 
 And coAvardly that boasts of scars. 
 Or wears a crown, may take the place 
 Of generous spirits, in the throng 
 Where usurpation reigns ; for men 
 Confound the worthy with the strong. 
 Nor weigh pretension's clamor vain. 
 
 The hollov.est vessels sound the loudest. 
 
 The richest treasures deepest lie; 
 
 Vet piled up wealth, and rank, the proudest. 
 
 Are but tumultuous vanity. 
 
 I am a prince — Avitli princely spirit, 
 
 A ruler — if I rule my heart j 
 
 A titled heir —if I inherit 
 
 Of A'irtue, wisdom, truth, a ])art. 
 
iimtrteb» 
 
DMITRIEV. 
 
 JERMAK. 
 
 What vision, history, bring' st thou now 
 To flit before my wandering eye ? 
 In the dark night, amidst the glow 
 Of the pale moon, that tremblingly 
 Shines, Irtish takes its wilder'd way : 
 It whirls — it wanders — and its spray- 
 Is scattered o'er the rugged shore. 
 Two men are there — pale — bent beneath. 
 Like shadows from the realm of death. 
 Their brows are hung their bosoms o'er : 
 One young — a beard, by age made white, 
 Reach'd to the other's waist — they wear 
 A simple ornament — affright 
 And terror seem attendants there. 
 
26 DMITRIEV. 
 
 Round their steel helmets many a bird 
 
 Flapping its ominous wing is heard. 
 
 And spectres rustle in the air : 
 
 Their vestments from the wild beasts' lair 
 
 Were brought — their breasts in flint are wrapt. 
 
 And with the rime and hoar-frost captj 
 
 A broad knife at their girt was hungj 
 
 Beneath them two tympanas lay. 
 
 And broken, worm-worn lances : they — 
 
 They were Siberian Shamana^ 
 
 I listen'd there — and thus they sung: 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Yes ! Irtish, rage — thy murmuring roar 
 Echoes our griefs — the storm that lowers 
 Is meet — for all our sunshine 's o'er — 
 Ah, woe is ours ! 
 
 YOUNG MAN. 
 
 Ah ! woe is ours. 
 And fearful is time's threatening frown ! 
 
 ' The principal inhabitants and warriors of Siberia. 
 
DMITRIEV. 27 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Thou whose proud crown, in days of old. 
 Three different nations' shelter'd — known 
 To history — and by fame enroll'd. 
 Mother of many lands, and land 
 Of hoary-headed glory — thou — 
 Even thou, Siberia — thou must bow^ 
 Smitten by desolation's hand. 
 
 YOUNG MAN. 
 
 Thy people are all scatter'd now — 
 Scatter' d as the whirhvind drives the sand ; 
 Thy Kutshum^ is departed too — 
 Dead — distant from his father-land. 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Tliy Shamana are swept away 
 
 Whose fear, whose fame had fiU'd the world. 
 
 ^ The Tartar, the Ostjak, and the Bogulich nations. 
 2 Kutshum lost his kingdom, and delivered himself up to the 
 Calmucks, by whom he was afterwards slain. 
 
 G 2 
 
28 DMITRIEV. 
 
 Is it for this my hair is gray. 
 That century-aged warriors hurl'd 
 Into the dust — even from their tomb 
 Call — loudly call on others — Come^ 
 And rouse again Shaitana's* day: 
 
 YOUNG MAN. 
 
 Ye Gods ! where was your conqueror then r 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 о miserable, mournful doom ! 
 That handful of Muscovia's men ! — 
 О had the blasting lightning riven — 
 Deluge — or plague — the shame, the stain 
 Might have been borne — but Jermak ! — Heaven ! 
 
 YOUNG MAN. 
 
 О curse him now, Siberia's hills ! 
 Streams, vales, on him your curses be ! 
 
 The idols of Siberia. 
 
DMITRIEV. 29 
 
 Night — starless night — Siberia fills — 
 The desolating demon he ! 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 He came — a torch of fury lighted — 
 A frost, that all creation blighted! 
 Where'er he went his ravaging breath 
 Brought, like the withering pestilence, death ! 
 And death ruled o'er our land benighted. 
 
 YOUNG MAN, 
 
 The brother of the king he slew. 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 With Mehmet Kul ', Siberia's pride, 
 I saw him struggle — and there flew 
 The whistling barbs on every side. 
 Kul from its sheathe the sabre drew. 
 
 ' Mehmet- Kul was the king's brother, whom Jermak made 
 prisoner and sent to the Tzar Ivan Vassilievich. The noble family 
 of Sibinsky have their origin from him. 
 
30 PMITEIEV. 
 
 And thus in generous rage he cried : 
 ' О mock not, death I — an unstain'd name 
 With chains — with infamy — or shame!' 
 Then rush'd he fiercely on the foe. 
 О fearful sight! — their sabres flash — 
 Their eyes are fire — and blow to blow 
 Is echoed in the horrid clash : — 
 Both swords are shiver' d — and they stand 
 Unarm'd, with upraised close-clench'd hand. 
 'Tis man to man, and breast to breast : 
 The forest glades the shock repeat. 
 And the earth shakes beneath their feet. 
 And their blood flows like rain — the best. 
 The bravest blood : their big hearts burst — 
 Their knees give way — their sinews crack — 
 Their flanks are broken — heat, and thirst. 
 And weariness : — 'tis now the first — 
 'Tis now the second faints — th' attack 
 Kindles again: — who wins? — Jermak. 
 ' Mine art thou now — from this proud hour 
 All, all is conquer' d — all is won.' 
 
DMITEIEV. 3 1 
 
 YOUNG MAxV. 
 
 Our thread of destiny is spun ! 
 The victor's desolating power 
 Has crush'd Siberia — but her sighs — 
 Her heavy groans 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Will ever rise. 
 -But hear, my son! — At eventide. 
 In this dark solitude I trod. 
 And brought my offering to our God ; 
 While sad devotion's thoughts came o'er me, 
 A howling north wind by my side 
 Rush'd, scattering the riven leaves before me ; 
 The hundred- winter oak trees mutter' d 
 Terrible sounds — the wild goat fled. 
 Affrighted, from his wonted bedj — 
 I fell: — some godlike voice thus utter'd: 
 ' Racha* no suppliant prayer shall hear 
 
 » Racha was the Jupiter of the Ostjaks. Kutshum, who was 
 bred in the ]\Iahommedan faith, whether by argument or by force, 
 caused the adoption of the Koran through a great part of Siberia. 
 
32 DMITEIEV. 
 
 When spreading his avenging token. 
 Siberia ! thou his laws hast broken — 
 Take thy reward — his curses bear : — 
 Thou the white monarch's * slave shalt be. 
 And every day-break, every eve, 
 JShall fetter'd find thee — fetter'd leave j 
 And Jermak's fame, and Jermak's race. 
 Find an eternal resting-place. 
 Long as the moon its course shall keep/ 
 'Twas silence — and from heaven's high doors 
 A thrice-repeated thunder roars. 
 Lost — ^lost in darkness drear and deep. 
 Oh ! woe is ours 
 
 YOUNG MAN. 
 
 о woe is ours ! 
 
 Then sighing — trembling — then they rose 
 From the cold rock where lichen grows ; 
 
 The Russian Tzar. 
 
DMITRIEV. 33 
 
 They raise their war-arms from the sand. 
 And wandering slowly 'long the strand. 
 The mist conceals them from my eye. 
 
 Thy dust, Jermak, sleeps still and calm. 
 
 But Russia shall erect on high 
 
 Thy pyramid, and shall embalm 
 
 Thy name with flowers and poetry : 
 
 A pile of gold, which thy good spear 
 
 Won from Siberia, shall she rear ! 
 
 What said I, thoughtless one! — what dream 
 
 Has passion in its sleep created ? 
 
 Where is his fane ? — the dust of him 
 
 Is lost — his grave unconsecrated. 
 
 Unknown : — that dust the wild-boars tread , 
 
 The savage Ostiaks there chase. 
 
 With their wing'd barbs, the timid race 
 
 Of fawns o'er the vast desert spread. 
 
 But be consoled, thou heir of fame ! 
 
 1Ъе genius of the lyre is come 
 
 To sing her matins o'er thy tomb; 
 
 And many an angel guards thy name 
 
 c5 
 
34 DMITRIEV. 
 
 While seated on thy ruins: — verse 
 Shall thus her sweetest strains rehearse 3 
 
 ' Great One ! who in the hoary time 
 Wast born — and victory led thee on — 
 Death stopp'd thee in thy course sublime. 
 And now thy very dust is gone. 
 Though thy forefathers sought their food 
 In the mde plain and wilder'd woodj 
 Though savage wolves escorted thee. 
 And fame ne'er spread thy feats abroad. 
 Yet still thy glory's majesty 
 Endures — and thou art half a God. 
 From age to age — above decay. 
 Till lasting night time's day shall close 5 
 Till the proud heavens shall pass away. 
 And Time upon his scythe repose*.' 
 
 1 The crown of Kutshum is still preserved in the museum at 
 IMoskow, among the imperial insignia. The events referred to in 
 the above poem occurred in the year 1580. Ataman Jermak was 
 sent by Ivan VassUievich against Kutshum, and drove him from 
 his capital, called Siberia (whence the name of the country) : it 
 was situated near Tobolsk. — See Karamsin's History of Russia. 
 
DMITRIEV. 35 
 
 MOSKVA RESCUED. 
 
 Receive the minstrel wanderer 
 Within thy gladeSj thou shadowy wood ! 
 No idle tone of joy be here j 
 Nor let even Venus' song intrude ! 
 Fair Moskva's smile my vision fills — 
 Her fields, her waters, — towering high. 
 And, seated on her throne of hills, 
 A glorious pile of days gone by. 
 
 О Moskva, many a nation's mother. 
 How bright thy glances beam on me ! 
 Where, like to thee — where stands another- 
 Where, Russia's daughter, like to thee! 
 As pearls thy thousand crowns appear. 
 Thy hands a diamond sceptre hold j 
 Thy domes, thy steeples bright and clear. 
 Like sunny rays on eastern gold. 
 
36 DMITRIEV. 
 
 The treasures of the orient meet 
 Those of the west : through every street 
 A stream of wealth and luxury flows. 
 Thy sons are natural heirs of fame. 
 Courage and glory shrine their name ; 
 Thy daughters — lovely as the rose. 
 
 But war has spread its terrors o'er thee. 
 And thou wert once in ashes laid^ 
 Thy throne seem'd tottering then before thee. 
 Thy sceptre feeble as thy blade. 
 Sarmatian fraud and force, o'er- raging 
 The humbled world, have reach'd thy giitcj 
 Thy faith with flattering smiles engaging. 
 Now threatening daggers on thee wait — 
 And they were drawn — thy temples satik — 
 Thy virgins led with fetter clank — 
 Thy sons' blood streaming to the skies — 
 * Spirit of vengeance ! now arise. 
 Save me, thou guardian angel! — save!' 
 So criedst thou in thy a^oiiv. 
 
DMITRIEV. 37 
 
 Thy streets are silent as the gi*ave — 
 The unsheath'd sword— it hangs o'er thee. 
 
 And where is Russia's saviour — Avhere ? — 
 Stand up — arouse thee — in thy might ! 
 Moskva alarm' d — surrounded there 
 And clouded, as a winter's night. 
 Look! — she awakes — she knows no fear. 
 And young and old, and prince and slave; — 
 Their daggers flash like boreal light; 
 They crowd — they crowd them to the light. 
 But who is that with snowy hair — 
 The first — that stern old man — the tide 
 Of heroes he leads onward there ! 
 Pozharsky — Russia's strength and pride ! 
 What transport tunes my lyre ! — my lays 
 Seem glowing with celestial fire : 
 О ! I will sing that old man's praise ; 
 Shout loudly now, thou heavenly choir ! 
 I hear — I hear the armour's sound: 
 The dust-clouds round the pillars rise — 
 See ! Russia's children gather round. 
 
38 DMITRIEV. 
 
 Pozharsky o'er the city flies. 
 
 And from death's stillness he awakes 
 
 The л^егу life of valour. — Lo ! 
 
 Midst the star's light, and sunny glow. 
 
 He forms the firm courageous row. 
 
 Here — there : hope, joy, again appear : 
 
 The burghers gather round him there. 
 
 And range them for the combat now. 
 
 ' And why this crowd?' a warrior calls 
 
 From a high pinnacle ^ — he saw — 
 
 His senses whelm'd in fear and awe — 
 
 He fled from Kremlin's royal walls. 
 
 ' Sarmatians I to your swords ! ' he said 
 
 ' Delay not, for луе are betray' d : 
 
 ' I saw the gathering enemy 
 
 ' Stretch' d like a waking snake along : 
 
 ' They gain the city rapidly — 
 
 ' The fields are cover' d with the throng. 
 
 » The French also employed the steeples of Moskva as watch- 
 houses or observatories. 
 
DMITRIEV. 39 
 
 'Tis bustle all — 'tis all dismays 
 What crowds of soldiers fill each street ! 
 Round walls and gates their cohorts meet. 
 And like a whirlwind urge their way 
 To where Sclavonian thunders roar ! 
 
 And see! how bright the heaven is glowing! — 
 
 What smoke — what flame — what blood is flowing ! 
 
 Sword echoes sword the wide plain o'er j 
 
 Whole ranks are harvested that stood 
 
 Like the firm oak trees of the wood : 
 
 The bullets o'er the field are flying — 
 
 Here sleep the dead, there shriek the dying : 
 
 There, staggering 'neath a lance's wound, 
 
 A wild-horse madly stamps the ground. 
 
 Flies — falls — and covers, as he dies. 
 
 The turf on which his rider lies : 
 
 Still the storm struggles in the air. 
 
 And agony is every where. 
 
 Death is the conqueror! — death — despair! 
 They rule o'er village, field, and grove : 
 
40 DMITRIEV. 
 
 A wounded maiden tears her hair^ 
 
 A hoaiy sire just looks above. 
 
 Then to the ground — and sleeps serenely. 
 
 Come, moralist ! and study here : 
 
 See that poor orphan, suflfering keenly, — 
 
 His star is sunk) the starting tear 
 
 That falls for those whose blood was spilt- 
 
 For others' interests, others' guilt. 
 
 Trembles upon his cheeks ; the fate 
 
 Of war hath left him friendless — best 
 
 Were it for him to join the rest. 
 
 Nor live thus drear and desolate. 
 
 And thrice the day hath seen the strife. 
 And thrice hath dawn'd Aurora blithe ; 
 The battle-demon sports with life. 
 Death waves untired his murderous scythe. 
 Pozharsky's thunder still is heard j 
 He speeds him like the eagle-bird 
 Following his prey — destroying — crushing, - 
 Then on the Poles with furv rushing-. 
 
DMITRIEV. 41 
 
 He scatters them like flying sandsj — 
 
 That giant of the hundred hands. 
 
 On ! On ! — What transports of delight ! 
 
 ' Hurrah ! Pozharsky wins the fight ! ' 
 
 The city joins the ecstasy — 
 
 ' О yes ! our Moskva now is free ! * 
 
 О memorable morning's ray! 
 
 О ne'er to be forgotten day. 
 
 What painter's pencil shall portray thee. 
 
 And in thy natural joy array thee. 
 
 And tell each bosom''s rapture then ! 
 
 Millions in wild delight! — they crowd 
 
 Upon the bulwarks, shouting loud: — 
 
 ТЪе very roofs are made of men. 
 
 What flower-wreathes o'er the streets they flung, 
 
 Wliat triumph-songs the churches sung 3 
 
 How high, how bright the banners hung, 
 
 And palms croAvn'd every citizen ! 
 
 AVhere is the hero ? — where is he 
 Who led our sons to victory ? 
 
42 DMITRIEV. 
 
 List to that cry of eloquence — 
 
 ' Wliat — what shall be his recompense V 
 
 Look! — He who made the invaders bleed. 
 
 And Moskva and his country freed. 
 
 He — modest as courageous — he 
 
 Takes the bright garland from his brow. 
 
 And to a youth he bends him now — 
 
 He bends his old and hero-knee. 
 
 ' Thou art of royal blood,' he said, 
 
 ' Thy father is in foemen's hand3 
 
 ' Wear thou that garland on thy head, 
 
 ' And bless, О bless our father-land ! ' 
 
 Valiant old hero! Russia's pride. 
 And Russia's love, — I bless thee now. 
 By the gigantic mountain's side 
 May everlasting waters flow^ 
 May marshes turn to groves and woods ; 
 Out of our wastes may gardens grow; 
 And in our barren solitudes 
 May cities flourish — and decay : 
 
DMITRIEV. 43 
 
 While generations pass away. 
 And brighter lights disperse their ray^ 
 Yet thou shalt be the poet's charm. 
 And thou shalt be the warrior's glory. 
 Through never-ending time to warm 
 The bosom with thy patriot story. 
 
44 DMITRIEV. 
 
 TO THE VOLGA. 
 
 Now furl your sails — and heaven be blest ! 
 For we have reach' d the promised land : 
 And^ Volga, thou whose wavy breast 
 Has brought us to this smiling strand — 
 Volga ! — the king of waters — named 
 The greatj the proud, the glorious — famed 
 In history — now farewell ! 'Twas thou 
 Who listenedst to the poet's song 
 Ere mingled with earth's busy throng : 
 To thee his Muse was Avont to bow. 
 
 And all my hopes have now been crown' d. 
 
 And every joy has been fulfill' d. 
 
 Which, when my childish thoughts look'd round, 
 
 Some fond aspiring dream instill' d. 
 
 AVhen towards thy banks I stretch' d my eye. 
 
 Peopled thy shores with industry. 
 
DMITRIEV. 45 
 
 Spread on thy waves the silver sail ! — 
 The dream is realised — I view 
 The picture which my fancy drew — 
 Vision of promised brightness — hail ! 
 
 I held sweet converse with thy winds, 
 I heard thy waves, thy tempests roar ; 
 I read each threatening cloud that binds 
 The soul in fear, and shakes the shore. 
 As from a tower I look'd, the height 
 Of granite mountains dimm'd my sight j 
 And lost, and wondering as I view'd, 
 I ask'd — Who saw the days of yore? 
 Proud cities rise her borders o'er. 
 Where 'twas a desert's solitude ! 
 
 Here, meadows, villages, and herds. 
 And smiling cottages are placed ; 
 There, flowers and furze, and savage birds. 
 Are the sole tenants of the waste. 
 And nought seems wanting to my sight. 
 I hear — I hear the gay delight 
 
46 DMITRIEV. 
 
 Of dancing nymphs midst yonder trees j 
 They fill the air with melody. 
 While, from his gloomy cavity. 
 The savage boar their revelling sees. 
 
 The sailor, as he skims thy wave. 
 Gathers the listening crew around. 
 And pointing to a crumbling grave. 
 Says, ' Rasin there his dwelling found.' 
 But pensive silence checks his tongue. 
 The damp s\veat on his brow is hung, 
 His finger trembles, frozen by coldj 
 For o'er his thoughts there rush a throng 
 Of the wild images which song 
 Hath gather' d from the mists of old. 
 
 Yes! midst the iniins time hath pil'd. 
 There strides upon thy waves the wan 
 And awful form of John the Wild, 
 The terrible of Astrachan. 
 I see his hordes, in rude affright. 
 Raining, from yonder vineyard's height. 
 
DMITRIEV. 47 
 
 Their arrow streams upon the Russ — 
 The Russ — who hurries to the fray 
 And conquers — see those hordes obey. 
 And, trembling, yield their land to us. 
 
 I heard the Caspian oracle 
 
 Speak in a voice of thunder — ' See ! 
 
 ' Persians ! your fate how terrible : 
 
 ' He comes — the lord of victory! 
 
 ' A thousand bolts his hand sends forth, 
 
 ' He rules the south, he guides the north, 
 
 ' The crescent and the lion flee ! 
 
 ' Hark ! for he comes — their future king 
 
 ' The subject waves of Volga bring, 
 
 ' Derbent ! thy lord of victory.' 
 
 So spake the sea-god — and his tears 
 Fell from his watery eyes like rainj 
 The waves roU'd round the man of years. 
 He plunged him in the \vaves again. 
 But, Volga, brighter triumphs thou 
 Wreath' st in thy glory-garland now. 
 
48 DMITRIEV. 
 
 And fairer palms of victory wave ; 
 The Caspian trembles at thy feet. 
 The Sound, the Belt, thy trophies greet, 
 And all the ocean is thy slave. 
 
 And shalt thou not be sung, bright river: 
 And like thy blessings be thy praise ; 
 Shall music's voice be dead for ever. 
 Nor to thy fame one anthem raise ? 
 О would the god of song inspire, 
 Ganges ne'er heard so loud a lyre 
 As I would tune, sweet stream, for thee ! 
 Euphrates and old father Nile, 
 Before thy glory should be vile. 
 And earth resound thy majesty ! 
 
DMITRIEV. 49 
 
 ENJOYMENT. 
 
 Naslazhdenie. 
 
 Let each his wayward will pursue, 
 
 I envy not the laurel bough : — 
 
 I '11 have the myrtle drench'd in dew. 
 
 Which thou hast smiled on — maiden, thou ! 
 
 I 've seen the hero seek the fray, 
 I 've seen the sage illume the world; 
 What then? They sparkled through their day. 
 And were to death's oblivion hurl'd ! 
 
 And whether roses o'er them bloom'd. 
 Or nettle weeds oppress'd the ground 3 
 They were in silence' breast entomb' d. 
 Nor heeded all that pass'd around. 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
fiO DMITRIEV. 
 
 Then grief begone — and welcome joy ! 
 And three times welcome, love's sweet bliss ! 
 For as our days like arrows fly. 
 How precious every moment is ! 
 
 Perchance e'en now the mandate 's given 
 To call the hurrying pilgrim home -, 
 Perchance the azure arch of heaven 
 Now hears the summons — ' Mortal — come ! ' 
 
 О tarry not, fair maiden ! give 
 
 Thy hours to rapture, and be blest ! 
 
 And live, since time is fleeting, live 
 
 While pleasure's life-blood warms thy breast. 
 
DMITRIEV. 5 1 
 
 Akh / kogdaja prezhde snala ! 
 
 О HAD I but known before 
 What a misery love might be ! 
 Had that bright star, shining o'er. 
 Ne'er employ' d its witchery — 
 О had I refused to bear 
 This his ring, that magic spell — 
 Never sought the window where 
 He was smiling — it were well ! 
 
 When the light of passion shone. 
 Well I might have pass'd it by j 
 Let the wax- wing' d child fly on 
 Tow'rds some maid less blest than I : 
 Wherefore did I seek the grove 
 Where the swain was wandering then — 
 Met him with a look of love — 
 Left him — and return'd again ? 
 
 d2 
 
52 DMITRIEV. 
 
 Ah ! that heart, that was so gay. 
 Sinks 'neath sorrow's heavy load : 
 Wretched one — I turn'd away : — 
 Fix'd me in the public road — 
 Wept and wail'd — Art thou unmoved. 
 Passing traveller? — ^pity me! 
 He was faithless that I loved : — 
 Set me from love's misery free ! 
 
DMITRIEV. 53 
 
 Stonet sisii golubochik. 
 
 Once a gentle turtle dove 
 
 Night and day dishearten'd mourn'd j 
 
 He was widow'd of his love. 
 
 She had fled, but not return'd. 
 
 He, whose wooing voice was heard 
 Constant as the break of day. 
 Pined, and droop' d — the faithful bird 
 Still, and sad, and silent lay. 
 
 While his thoughtless partner flew 
 Here and there — with all she sported 
 All she wish'd to know, or knew. 
 Greeted, trifled with, or courted. 
 
54 DMITEIEV. 
 
 Oft he look'dj but look'd in vain. 
 He so faithful, fond, and true 3 
 Slowly pined he 'neath his pain. 
 Strength departed, sorrow grew. 
 
 See, his head is 'neath his wing : 
 Coldness o'er his bosom creeps — 
 Ah ! poor solitary thing ! 
 All is still — the turtle sleeps. 
 
 Then the giddy, gadding dove. 
 Fluttering gaily, thither hies. 
 Takes her station by her love — 
 * Husband ! wake thee now,' she cries. 
 
 With her wings she fans the dead. 
 Bitterest thoughts begin to flow : — 
 Chloe ! tell me, hast thou read ? 
 I 'm a widow'd turtle too. 
 
DMITEIEV. 55 
 
 TO CHLOE. 
 
 Of all flowers the fairest 
 
 Is the rose to mej 
 I had deem'd it dearest 
 
 For its constancy. 
 
 Every day completer 
 Seem'd it to my view. 
 
 And its breath was sweeter. 
 Brighter was its hue. 
 
 Trust not Fortune's blossom. 
 
 For my rose I found 
 On the mountain's bosom 
 
 Choked with absinth round. 
 
 Yet it had not perish'dj 
 Still in smiles it shone — 
 
 'Twas the rose I cherish'd. 
 But — its breath was gone. 
 
56 DMITRIEV. 
 
 Chloe ! I bethink me 
 What a rose thou art ! 
 
 Foolish one ! to link rae 
 To a woman's heart. 
 
Zf)Ufej)lJStip. 
 
 d5 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 THE MINSTREL IN THE RUSSIAN CAMP». 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 Now silence wraps the battle field ! 
 
 The tents with lights are gleaming j 
 And lo ! the bright moon's silver shield 
 
 In the calm heaven is beaming. 
 Fill, fill the glass of rapture, yet. 
 
 In unity full-hearted J 
 In wine the bloody strife forget. 
 
 The grief for the departed ! 
 
 » Zhukovsky accompanied the Russian arfhy from ]\Ioscow. 
 He wrote this piece just before the battle on the Tarutina. 
 
60 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 The glasses' ruby stream to drain 
 Is glory's pride and pleasure — 
 
 AVine ! conqueror thou of care and pain. 
 Thou art the hero's treasure. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 О yes ! — the ruby stream to drain 
 Is glory's pride and pleasure — 
 
 Wine ! conqueror thou of care and pain. 
 Thou art the hero's treasure. 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 Now to the warriors of old time. 
 
 The strong in fight and glory ! 
 These \varriors and their deeds sublime 
 
 Are lost in distant stor)^ ! 
 The grave hath gather'd up their dust. 
 
 Their homes, — the storm hath razed them ; 
 Their helmets are devour'd by rust. 
 
 And silent those who praised them : 
 But in their children live their fires. 
 
 We tread the land that bore them. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 61 
 
 And see the shadows of our sires 
 With all their triumphs o'er them. 
 
 О come ! in all your brightness come. 
 And smile complacent, near us j 
 
 Look from your high and misty home. 
 Encourage us and hear us. 
 
 О Svatoslav ! time's injured son. 
 
 Thy path an eagle's flying ; 
 ^ There is no shame in dying — On ! ^ 
 
 There is no shame in dying!' 
 And Donskoi, thou"! courageous man. 
 
 Midst heathen foes we find thee^ 
 
 1 These words are attributed by the old Russian historians to 
 the great Duke Svatoslav Sgorevich, and are said to have led to 
 one of his most brilliant victories over the Greeks. " Let us not 
 shame our Russian land — Let our bones lie here — There is no 
 disgrace in dying !" 
 
 2 Dmitrij Ivanovich (of the Don), the saviour of his country 
 from Tartarian slavery. Ever since the unfortunate battle of 
 Kalka (1223), the hopes of redemption seemed feeble and distant. 
 He assembled his troops, and defeated the countless hosts of I\Iamai 
 on the shores of the Don. 
 
62 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 Destruction leading on thy van. 
 And nought but death behind thee. 
 
 Thou, Peter ! thou, the hero's crown, 
 
 ' Poltava!' is repeated: 
 Thy foes have thrown their sabres dow^n. 
 
 Thee, all the world has greeted. 
 What ! Robbers, would ye build your throne 
 
 Upon our cities' ruin ? 
 Thy horse and rider fell — ^begone ! 
 
 For vengeance is pursuing. 
 Go hide thee in thy native woods. 
 
 There thy ambition smother 5 
 Fate drives thee to their solitudes. 
 
 Yes ! thou, the rebel's ' brother. 
 
 Who is that white-hair' d hero, who 
 That northern more than Roman ? 
 
 His penetrating glance looks through 
 The phalanx of the foeman : 
 
 1 Mazeppa. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 63 
 
 From yonder clouds what shadowy rows 
 
 Are tow'rds his footsteps turning? 
 The spirits of the Alpine snows 
 
 Are wailing loud and mourning. 
 Franks and Sarmatians^ at his view. 
 
 Death's icy paleness Ьогголу ; 
 Well they may fear him — well may rue — 
 
 It is the great Suvorov ! 
 
 Hail ! sons of ages long gone by ! 
 
 Your glories are recorded j 
 We follow you to victory. 
 
 Like you to be rewarded. 
 We see your ranks — they lead us on — 
 
 The foe retreats before us ; 
 We scatter death, as ye have done. 
 
 While ye are smiling o'er us. 
 Drawn sword, and flowing glass, elate 
 
 We look to our Creator ! 
 ' And death for death, and hate for hate. 
 
 And curses on the traitor.' 
 
64 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 Draw swords, fill glasses, then, elate. 
 
 Look to our great Creator ! 
 ' And death for death, and hate for hate, 
 
 And curses on the traitor.' 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 Tills glass then to our country's joys. 
 
 Ne'er may our hearts feel colder; 
 The scenes of mirth while we were boys. 
 
 Of love, when we grew older ! 
 Our country's plains, our country's sky. 
 
 The streams that flow beneath it^ 
 The memories of infancy. 
 
 And all the thoughts that wreath it 
 With joyous hopes and visions blest — 
 
 Dear shrine of our afifection. 
 How glows our heart, how beats our breast. 
 
 When beams the recollection. 
 That is our country, there our home. 
 
 There wife and babes attend us ; 
 And oft their prayers towards us roam. 
 
 And oft to Heaven commend us ! 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 6л 
 
 There dwell our plighted, chosen ones ; 
 
 How bright their memory flashes ! 
 Our monarchs' dust, our monarchs' thrones. 
 
 And there our fathers' ashes. 
 For them we fight, for them луе rove. 
 
 For them have all forsaken -, 
 And may our land's undying love 
 
 In our sons' breasts avv^aken ! 
 
 WABRIORS. 
 
 For them we fight, for them we rove. 
 
 For them have all forsaken ; 
 And may our country's fadeless love 
 
 In our sons' breasts awaken 1 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 Now to the Tzar that rules the Ru&s, 
 
 And be his sceptre glorious ; 
 His throne an altar is to us — ■ 
 
 We swear to be victorious. 
 The oath is heard — 'tis stamp'd in blood — 
 
 'Tis sworn — there's no returning; 
 
бб ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 Our swords shall make our promise good. 
 Our hearts with love are burning. 
 
 Each Russ a son of victory. 
 To duty's ranks we throng uS) 
 
 Let every craven coward fly. 
 For fear луаз ne'er among us. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 Each Russ a son of victory. 
 To duty's ranks we throng us ; 
 
 Let every craven coward fly. 
 For fear was ne'er among us. 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 Now to the chiefs that lead us on. 
 
 The captains that w-e cherish 3 
 In life, in death, conjoin'd as one. 
 
 And heaven for those who perish : 
 That heaven where all, all holy is. 
 
 All love, and peace, and union. 
 And courage, dignity, and bliss. 
 
 In undisturb'd communion. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 67 
 
 This stormy world we look beyond. 
 
 To that serene though far-land j 
 Here danger is our common bond. 
 
 And glory is our garland. 
 
 There sit the wreath-crown' d chiefs who led 
 
 Our fathers long before us^ 
 Their shield of strength shall guard our head. 
 
 Their voices thunder o'er us : 
 On us their Avakening smiles descend. 
 
 Their frowns our foes pursuing j 
 Yes ! through their ranks what terrors blend, 
 
 And threaten them with ruin ! 
 But they shall lead our warriors through. 
 
 Amidst the battle's raging 3 
 Death quits his terrors in our view. 
 
 When with the foe engaging. 
 
 Hail ! martial hero ! chief in fight \ 
 Thou with the ringlets hoary, 
 
 ^ Prince Smolensko. 
 
68 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 Who, like an eagle, takes t thy flight 
 
 Midst storm and thunder's glory. 
 His furrow'd, weather-beaten brow 
 
 Attracts the inquiry curious j 
 How cold and calm before the foe. 
 
 But in his rage how furious ! 
 О wonder! from Ьеал^еп'з halls there flew 
 
 A glorious eagle o'er him'j 
 He bow'd his head — what shouts ! they knew 
 
 That victory was before him. 
 
 Fly to our fathers ! eagle fly. 
 
 And tell them we are speeding 
 To fame, to glorious victory. 
 
 Our hoary chieftain leading. 
 He, strong in council, cool in fray. 
 
 In every purpose steady 3 
 Well known to him is triumph's way. 
 
 His wisdom ever ready. 
 
 » Before the battle of Borodino an eagle hovered round his 
 head, and was observed by the whole army, who set up a general 
 shout of joy. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 69 
 
 Were Moskva's glories razed in vain, 
 Our country's trophies riven ? 
 
 No ! Russia stands erect again. 
 For we are here — and heaven ! 
 
 Hail ! hail, ye martial leaders all ! 
 
 Jermolov, valiant Roman ! 
 Friend of the brave, and valour's wall, 
 
 And terror of the foeman. 
 Rajevsky, thou the chief ador'd! 
 
 Amidst the strife we found thee 
 Baring thy bosom to the sword. 
 
 With thy young sons around thee. 
 Hail ! Miloradovich ! to thee ; 
 
 The field of battle's thunder: 
 Thou tearest, in thy ecstasy. 
 
 The tyrant's chains asunder. 
 
 And thou who saved' st Petropolis, 
 Thou, Vittgenstein ! brave leader I 
 
 Shield of thy country, and her bliss. 
 Thou dread of her invader ! 
 
70 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 AVith darkness was his vision fill'd. 
 
 When first the traitor saw thee; 
 Alone, but leaning on thy shield. 
 
 Numbering his ranks below thee. 
 Then fear came o'er that traitor's mind. 
 
 His courage left him shatter'd; 
 1Ъу sword was drawn — and, like the wind. 
 
 His trembling ranks were scatter'd. 
 
 Hail ! Konovnizin ! thou our joy ! 
 
 From danger absent never: 
 Where bullets whiz, and arrows fly, 
 
 Tliere have we found thee ever. 
 Before — behind — around him — ^we 
 
 Saw terror, death, and danger : 
 He stood, in his serenity. 
 
 To all alarm a stranger. 
 Himself forgotten — see him bear 
 
 Down on those ranks of slavery; 
 And valour's self stood Avond'ring there — 
 
 He was the god of bravery. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 71 
 
 And tliou, Platov ! thou storm of fight, 
 
 Thou Ataman the Lion ! 
 Thy busy lance — thy sling of might. 
 
 Scathe — scatter all they fly on. 
 A wild wolf broken from his lair— 
 
 An eagle on stretch'd pinion : — 
 Death whispering in the foeman's ear. 
 
 Throughout thy wide dominion. 
 Amidst the woods his torches fly — 
 
 How spreads the conflagration I 
 Bridges oppose — in dust they lie — 
 
 Towns — all is desolation ! 
 
 Hail ! Nestor Benningsen, to thee ! 
 
 Nought can thy mind inveigle ; 
 Hero and sage — to enemy 
 
 A serpent and an eagle. 
 And hail ! Woronzov I young and gay. 
 
 Though ripen'd by discretion. 
 And Tormassov ! in battles gray. 
 
 The flying foe's oppression. 
 
72 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 And Baggovuth\ with heart of mail. 
 
 Waving his sabre o'er ye. 
 Hail ! ranks of honour'd heroes^ hail ! 
 
 Our country's pride and glory ! 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 Hail ! ranks of honour'd heroes, hail ! 
 Our country's pride and glory ! 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 Now, brothers ! hallow those who died. 
 
 Those from the strife departed 3 
 Their place is vacant by our side. 
 
 Before us they have started. 
 No more shall they disperse the foe. 
 
 Or hear the battle's thunder; 
 Their hearts no more with rapture glow — 
 
 They sleep in silence under. 
 Their sword, their shield, are on the ground. 
 
 Where damp and rust shall eat them ; 
 
 ' Baggovuth was killed in the battle of the Tarutina. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 73 
 
 Their proud war-horses wander round. 
 Without a friend to greet them. 
 
 О Kulinev ! the brave, the strong ! 
 
 Upon thy shield reclining. 
 Thou diedst amidst the battle throng. 
 
 While thy bright sword was shining. 
 Thou diedst e'en where thy childhood pass'd * 
 
 In happiest visions o'er thee) 
 And thou hast made thy grave at last 
 
 Where first thy cradle bore thee : 
 And sure thy latest sigh was blest. 
 
 For faith's best hopes thou keepedstj 
 That last sigh sought thy mother's breast — 
 
 Reach' d heaven — and then thou sleepedst. 
 
 And where, Kutaissov ! - tell us where 
 Thou in thy bloom alightest? 
 
 ' Near Lutzin, where he had passed his boyhood, and where his 
 mother yet lived. 
 
 ' Kutaissov was a young poet of considerable talents : he was 
 killed at the battle of Borodino. His horse was seen wildly gallop- 
 ing about, covered with blood ; and his body could not be dis- 
 covered for a long time. 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
74 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 His heart, his countenance were clear 
 
 As virtue when 'tis brightest 3 
 He threw him in the battle ring — 
 
 Death dropt its mantle o'er him : 
 He touch'd the sweet harp's sweetest strings 
 
 Let every string deplore him ! 
 His steed approaches, dyed with gore — 
 
 Where is the hand to guide her? 
 His shield is there, blood-clotted o'er — 
 
 The shield — ^but not the rider. 
 
 Where are thy ashes, in what vale. 
 
 What unknown cavern hidden ? 
 For they are sought o'er hill and dale 
 
 By a heart-broken maiden. 
 There lovelier shines the morning dew. 
 
 The sun is brighter glowing 3 
 The breezes they are gentler too. 
 
 More fair the flowrets bloAving! 
 And angel forms at midnight come. 
 
 When mortal eyes are sleeping j 
 Their silent watch around thy tomb 
 
 In mild devotion keeping. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 75 
 
 And thou, Bagration ! i tears were shed. 
 
 And prayers for thee ascended: — 
 'Twas all in vain, for thou art dead — 
 
 Thy hero-race is ended. 
 From rank to rank our warriors sigh'd, 
 
 ' God's mercy shall restore him Г 
 And oft our foes, despairing, cried, 
 
 ' We yet shall fly before him!' 
 Nay ! nay ! that noble soul is gone. 
 
 That generous heart is riven 5 
 To join Suvorov, he is flown 3 — 
 
 To all the brave in heaven. 
 
 Shades of our heroes ! ye are blest. 
 
 Ye roam in Eden's gardens. 
 Where time's departed chieftains rest. 
 
 And angels are the wardens. 
 Your memory still has left its blaze. 
 
 Its holy beamings reach uS} 
 A light which flows to distant days. 
 
 How brave men died to teach us. 
 
 * Bagration received his mortal wound at the battle of Borodino; 
 but it was for a long time expected that he would recover. 
 
 e2 
 
76 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 Your names still mount above your graves. 
 
 Your glories we inherit 3 
 And every unfurl' d flag that waves 
 
 Is pregnant with your spirit. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 Your names still soar above your graves. 
 
 Your glories we inherit ; 
 And every unfurl'd flag that waves 
 
 Is pregnant with your spirit. 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 One glass to vengeance ! In the fray 
 
 ' Heaven for the right ! ' our voices. 
 And ' death or victory!' proudly sayj 
 
 And victory's self rejoices. 
 О count not on your numbers, foe ! 
 
 In vain ye boast your numbers ; 
 Our march is like the torrent's flow. 
 
 Which never, never slumbers. 
 We have no treasures, but we bring 
 
 Our arrows and our lances. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. / / 
 
 And round us desolation fling — 
 And death is in our glances. 
 
 The Robber ! he bad spread his power 
 
 Around our Moskva's borders j 
 And from our Kremlin's sacred tower 
 
 He issued forth his orders. 
 ' I trample on the base-born clay. 
 
 Which folly's pride assembles, 
 " And prince and subject both obey.* 
 
 Insulting one! — ^he trembles. 
 For vengeance wakes her from her rest. 
 
 And arms her with her torches ; 
 Heaves ruin on the tyrant's breast. 
 
 And drives him from our porches. 
 
 Now bring thy slavish princes, now. 
 
 To our ice-girded nation 3 
 And lead them o'er our paths of snow 
 
 To horror and starvation. 
 Come, Winter ! rouse thee from thy bed. 
 
 And close our country's portals — 
 
78 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 о see ! he strews the land with dead. 
 With piles of frozen mortals. 
 
 Now, Robber ! look what thou hast done 3 
 Come, for the strife prepare thee ! 
 
 '1Ъе land we fight on is our own — 
 
 God's vengeance, wretch! is near thee. 
 
 WARRIOBS. 
 
 Now, Robber ! look what thou hast done ; 
 
 Come, for the strife prepare thee ! 
 The land we fight on is our own — 
 
 And God's revenge is near thee ! 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 One glass to friendship's glory lend, 
 
 lЪat makes all sorrows lighter — 
 О happy he who owns a friend ! 
 
 Heaven has no blessing brighter. 
 Our joys to swelb our griefs to share. 
 
 While by life's storms we're driven. 
 Our conscience to direct us here. 
 
 Our friendly staflf for heaven. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 79 
 
 о be the sacred bond ^ our guide. 
 
 Our law, and our allegiance ! 
 'Tis by our life-blood sanctified. 
 
 And we have sworn obedience. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 О be the sacred bond our guide. 
 
 Our law, and our allegiance ! 
 'Tis by our life-blood sanctified. 
 
 And we have sworn obedience. 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 And this to Love! — and break it too — 
 
 Its flame shines ever purely ! 
 For love's sweet smile, and glory's glow. 
 
 They are twin-sisters surely. 
 For he whom Heaven has train'd and taught. 
 
 By love's soft step attended. 
 Whose thought still meets another's thought. 
 
 While heart with heart is blended — 
 
 Holy Alliance. 
 
80 ZHUKOVSKT. 
 
 He is the hero — doubt or fear 
 Ne'er enter in his bosom — 
 
 For doth he not the garland wear 
 
 Of which love wreathed the blossom ? 
 
 О love! thou art our morning starj 
 
 How oft our steps thou meetest ! 
 Thy gay light glances, bright and far — 
 
 Thy songs of all are sweetest : 
 Thy breath oft waves our banners high. 
 
 And to the fight thou guidestj 
 Thou smilest on our victory. 
 
 And o*er our dreams presidest. 
 Look, foeman ! on our battle shield. 
 
 Our hearts' love was the giver j 
 'Twas she who WTote upon its field, 
 
 '^ Thine— even in death — for ever!' 
 
 Fond dreams, which fancy clads in all 
 The beauties love can borrow ! 
 
 She sits behind yon garden wall 
 Communing with her sorrow. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 8 1 
 
 Her plaints, her prayers, to heaven ascend. 
 
 To thee her thoughts are flying — 
 Now tears, now smiles, embalm her friend, 
 
 ' Ah ! perhaps my friend is dying ! 
 When shall I hear his accents — when 
 
 Will fly these days so dreary ? 
 О dawn, sweet morn of joy, again. 
 
 For I am well nigh weary.' 
 
 О friends ! it is a pride to die 
 
 For those whose faith is plighted ; 
 Their love is ever hovering nigh. 
 
 And we may die delighted. 
 Their name upon our lips shall hang. 
 
 While the death-wound is burnings — 
 And it shall soothe the parting pang, 
 
 \^liile to earth's bosom turning. 
 The memory of the maid we love 
 
 Shall, while we're sinking, brighten. 
 And seek with us the world above. 
 
 Its mansions to enlighten. 
 
 E 5 
 
82 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 The memory of the maid we love 
 
 Shallj while we're sinking, brighten — 
 
 We '11 bear it to the world above. 
 Its mansions to enlighten. 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 Now to the Muse the red-grape press — 
 
 The Muse, whose voice of thunder 
 Gives courage, energy, success. 
 
 And tears fear's chains asunder : — 
 The arrows fly — and young and old 
 
 With shield and sabre arm them— 
 Midst the death- shower they throw them bold. 
 
 For nothing can alarm them. 
 The minstrel's song has touch'd their soul. 
 
 And valour's tears are breaking. 
 While hoary age bursts time's control. 
 
 And youthful strength is waking. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 83 
 
 Pride of the elder time, Bojan ! i 
 
 Whose harp, though lost to story. 
 Led on the brave Sclavonian 
 
 With hymns of praise and glory ! 
 Thy songs prophetic did proclaim 
 
 Peter the Great, the glorious : 
 Petrov sang Saidunaisky's name : 
 
 Derzhavin's lyre victorious 
 Its tones of joy and music flung. 
 
 Forest of Kama, o'er thee : 
 Suvorov, thee Derzhavin sung. 
 
 Hero of poet worthy. 
 
 Old man ! О could we hear again 
 
 Thy swan-like tones to bless us ! 
 Thou sangst not idle glory's strain. 
 
 But vengeance to redress us. 
 And not for conquest, not for fame. 
 
 Thy lyre of passion pleaded — 
 
 * Of Bojan little is known. He is supposed to have accom- 
 panied the Russians in the dark ages, and to have excited them to 
 valour with his magic lyre. 
 
84 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 'Twas struggling for an unstain'd name^ 
 
 Revenge for rights invaded. 
 Sing, swan ! thy song the chain will breab 
 
 Which many a land surrounded j 
 And Slavery's threatenings wax them weak 
 
 Where thy proud notes are sounded. 
 
 honour then the Muses' sons ! 
 And I — though mean and lowly : — 
 
 Would that my lyre's awaken,' d tones 
 
 Were all inspired and holy I 
 In the deep valley's loneliness 
 
 That humble lyre was shrouded : 
 
 1 heard a voice, ' To battle press!' 
 
 And to the combat crowded. 
 Farewell, then, music — ^joy, farewell ! 
 
 I sped me to the battle : 
 My song — the trumpets' piercing swell > 
 
 My choir — the cannons' rattle. 
 
 Yet will I sing the Robber's fall. 
 And your bright deeds, elated 5 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 85 
 
 For even now some whizzing ball 
 
 Perchance with death is fated. 
 But could my dying hour disperse 
 
 The dreams I loved to cherish ? 
 And crush the spirit of my verse 
 
 With my faint name to perish ? 
 The robber to his fame hath built 
 
 A pile of bloodstain'd iron ; 
 And there your glory and his guilt 
 
 Time's records shall environ. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 Then welcome be the sons of song. 
 Who bid our victories blossom ; 
 
 And as our fathers pass along 
 With triumph fills their bosom. 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 Your glasses : — To the God of Might, 
 Bend on your knees before him : 
 
 He led you to the glorious fight. 
 And saved you — now adore him ! 
 
86 ZHUKOVSKV. 
 
 1Ъе shield of virtue is his rod. 
 
 He saves the poor and lowly ; 
 The rock of ages is our God — 
 
 He scathes the proud one's folly. 
 Look to the glorious realms above, 
 
 WTiere not a tear e'er started j 
 And hear from thence that voice of love, 
 
 ' My children ! be strong hearted ! ' 
 
 О immortality! thou sea 
 
 Of silence — peaceful portal ! 
 How happy who is launch'd on thee. 
 
 And straight becomes immortal ! 
 О happy they who fall in fight ! 
 
 For those they leave behind them 
 Seek through a long and gloomy night 
 
 The grave that might have shrined them. 
 The son of battle breaks the bond 
 
 Which to the vain world ties him ; 
 Soars to a brighter world beyond. 
 
 Where miseiy never tries him. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 87 
 
 But we ? — О let us trust in God, 
 
 Whate'er our portion given. 
 To lead us through life's darksome road 
 
 To happiness and heaven : 
 Obedient to his holy will. 
 
 Scattering all sin before us 3 
 And gently moving forward still. 
 
 Till darkness gathers o'er us. 
 If low our lot — a courage free 3 
 
 If high — no scornful blindness ; 
 In strength and power — simplicity) 
 
 And universal kindness. 
 
 Ready obedience where 'tis due — 
 
 Our oaths — a sacred token ! 
 To love unshaken, fervent, true. 
 
 And friendship's pledge — unbroken. 
 To those who sink — a ready hand. 
 
 And comfort to the mournings 
 For tyrants — valour to withstand. 
 
 For treachery — hate and scorning. 
 
88 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 The blaze of truth to shame a lie j 
 All honest faith — befriended; 
 
 And in death's fight — calm bravery. 
 And peace — when all is ended. 
 
 О God of might ! be thou our shield. 
 Our squadrons lead and rally ! 
 
 Rider and horse to thee must yield. 
 And perish in the valley. 
 
 God ! in our behalf appear — 
 Our foemen's ranks be broken j 
 
 Come, day of vengeance, dark and drear ! 
 And lo ! the Lord has spoken. 
 
 1 saw him numerous as the sand 
 
 Spread over hills and plains there ; 
 He waved his bright and murderous brand. 
 And now — no trace remains there. 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 I saw him numerous as the sand 
 Spread over hills and plains there; 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 89 
 
 He waved his bright and murderous brand. 
 And now — no trace remains there. 
 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 But look ! the clouds are brightening now. 
 
 The daylight is appearing j 
 See! o'er the distant mountain's brow 
 
 The morning star uprearing. 
 The twilight breaks — the vapours damp 
 
 The hills are now surroundings 
 And lo ! the slumber-girded camp. 
 
 And morning-music sounding» 
 But soon — but soon — as hours return. 
 
 That band so calmly sleeping^ 
 Shall fate — her hand is on the urn — 
 
 Shall fate prepare for weeping ! 
 
 О dawn thee not — ^let darkness try 
 
 Thy waking beams to smother ! 
 For ah ! to-day shall many an eye 
 
 Mourn o'er a perish'd brother. 
 
90 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 \"ain prayer — along the mountain's height 
 
 I hear the thunder roaring} 
 Shouts from the plain announce the fight. 
 
 The sun to\v'rds heaven is soaring : 
 The war-steeds rage and foam — anon 
 
 The shock of arms engaging — 
 The chieftain leads his soldiers on. 
 
 And hearts with fire are raging. 
 
 lliis is no time for wine nor song ! 
 
 Come, to the battle hurry 1 
 With naked sabre join the song. 
 
 For death or triumph's glory ! 
 Yes ! ye who love us far away. 
 
 Farewell ! and if for ever. 
 Preserve the memory of the day. 
 
 And О forget us never ! 
 Thou, Lord of Lords ! our bulwark prove— 
 
 Beloved, one sacred greeting : 
 Here — tender and undying love. 
 
 There — an eternal meeting! 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 1)1 
 
 WARRIORS. 
 
 Thou, Lord of Lords ! our bulwark prove — 
 
 Beloved, one sacred greeting : 
 Here — tender and undying love. 
 
 There — an eternal meeting ! 
 
92 ZHEKOVSKY. 
 
 CATHERINE '. 
 
 SVMTLANA. 
 
 St. Silvester's evening hour 
 
 Calls the maidens round: 
 Shoes to throw behind the door. 
 
 Delve the snowy ground. 
 Peep behind the window there. 
 
 Burning wax to роигз 
 And the corn for chanticleer 
 
 Reckon three times o'er. 
 In the water-fountain fling 
 Solemnly the golden ring. 
 
 Earrings too of gold -, 
 Kerchief white must cover them 
 While we are chanting over them 
 
 Magic songs of old. 
 
 1 I have adopted the word Catherine. Sv^;tlana does not 
 easily accommodate itself to our organs of sense. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 93 
 
 Feebly through the vapours shine 
 
 Moonbeams on the hill^ 
 Silently sat Catherine, 
 
 Sorrowful and still. 
 ' Maiden, why so pensive ? we 
 
 Fain thy voice would hear — ■ 
 Come and join our revelry! 
 
 Take the ring, thou dear ! 
 Sing ' Make haste and melt, and bring, 
 " Goldsmith I come with golden ring, 
 
 ^ Golden wreath for Kate ! 
 ' Ring to deck her hand of snow, 
 ' Wreath to bloom upon her brow 
 
 ' At the altar-gate.' 
 
 I can sing no choral song 
 
 While my love's away 5 
 For my days are sad and long. 
 
 Gloomier every day. 
 Left alone — a year is past — 
 
 Not a line to send — 
 О my life is but a waste, 
 
 Sever' d from my friend I 
 
91 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 Hast thou then forgotten me ? 
 
 Tell me, wanderer ! can it be ? 
 Wbere's thy dwelling — where? 
 
 See, I pine 'neath secret smart : 
 
 Guardian angel ! watch my heart- 
 Listen to my prayer ! 
 
 Cover' d with a napkin white. 
 
 Stood a table there 5 
 Where a mirror, clear and bright. 
 
 Shone amidst the glare. 
 Vacant seats for two were placed- 
 
 ' Look within, О look I 
 'Tis the hour of spirits — ^haste I 
 
 Read Fate's opening book: 
 To the mirror turn thy eye. 
 And the door shall silently 
 
 Open — List ! 'tis he ! 
 Gently shall thy lover glide. 
 Seat him by his maiden's side. 
 
 And shall sup with thee.' 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 95 
 
 Cath'rine sat before the glass — 
 
 All alone was she^ 
 Watching all the shades that pass, 
 
 Shuddering inwardly. 
 But the glass is dark and drear. 
 
 Still as death the room; 
 Scarce a fading taper there 
 
 Flitted midst the gloom. 
 О how fear her bosom shook ! 
 Backwards then she dared not look ! 
 
 Dread had dimm'd her sight : 
 And the dying tapers' noise. 
 And the cricket's chirping voice. 
 
 Cried — 'tis middle-night ! 
 
 Breathless terror chill'd her o'er. 
 
 And she shades her brow: — 
 List ! a knock is at the door. 
 
 And it opens now : 
 To the mirror then she turn'd. 
 
 Stupefied with fear; 
 Their two brilliant eyeballs burn'd^ 
 
 Ever bent on her. 
 
96 ZHL'KOVSKY. 
 
 Horror heaved her breast, when lo ! 
 Gentle accents, sweet and slow. 
 
 Glided on her ear : 
 ' All thy wishes are fulfill'd — 
 All thy spirit's sighs be still'd — 
 
 'Tis thy lover, dear ! ' 
 
 Cath'rine look'd — her lover's arms 
 
 ДУеге around her thrown : 
 ' Maiden ! banish all alarms. 
 
 We are ever one ! 
 Come ! the priest is Avaiting now , 
 
 Life with life to blend 3 
 Torches in the chapel glow. 
 
 Bridal songs ascend.' 
 Cath'rine smiled — her lover led — 
 O'er the snow-clad court they sped. 
 
 And the portals gainj 
 There a ready sledge they found — 
 Two fleet coursers stamp the ground^ 
 
 Struggling with the rein. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 97 
 
 Onwards ! like the winds they go. 
 
 When the storm awakes 3 
 Scattering round them clouds of snow. 
 
 While the pathway shakes. 
 All was dark and wild as night. 
 
 Terrible, and new : 
 Mist-wreaths dimm'd the pale moon's light, 
 
 Plains were drench'd in dew. 
 Fear again possess' d the maid. 
 And in gentlest tones she said, 
 
 ' Speak — my lover true ! ' 
 He was silent then — but soon 
 Turn'd him to the wintry moon,-— 
 
 Pale and paler grew. 
 
 Through the snow — a mountain's height- 
 Next the wild steeds pass'd3 
 
 And a church appear' d in sight, 
 'Midst a gloomy waste : 
 
 Then a whirlwind burst the door- 
 Men are there who mourn 3 
 
 Clouds of incense rolling o'er. 
 Waxen tapers burn. 
 
 VOL. II. F 
 
98 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 Lo ! a black sepulchral shroud — 
 •^Dust to dust!' the priest aloud 
 
 Chants — the horses flew 
 Tow'rds the door — her agony 
 Rose — he spoke no word — but he 
 
 Pale and paler grew. 
 
 Clouds of snow ascend again — 
 
 Lo ! the coursers fly -, 
 And a raven on the plain 
 
 Croaksj and passes byj 
 'Twas an awful, ominous sound ! 
 
 And the moonlight wanes j 
 Darkness wraps the desert round 
 
 O'er the steaming manes. 
 See ! a glimmering light is there. 
 And upon the heather bare 
 
 Stands a humble shed. 
 Swifter — swifter flew the car. 
 Whirl' d the snow around it far. 
 
 But no farther sped. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 At the door they stopp'd anon. 
 
 There — a moment stood:— 
 Steeds — sledge — bridegroom— all are gone 
 
 All is solitude. 
 Catherine on the waste was left. 
 
 Midst dense clouds of snow j 
 Of her lover now bereft. 
 
 To commune with woe : 
 But she hears a footstep now. 
 Turns, and sees a taper glow 5 
 
 Crosses her, and stalks 
 Trembling to the door — and knocks :— 
 Of itself the door unlocks — 
 
 In the maiden walks. 
 
 There, upon a winding sheet. 
 
 Lay a mortal bier j 
 Christ's bright image at its feet 
 
 Shone resplendent there. 
 Whither — whither art thou come. 
 
 Maiden, all unblest? 
 Thou hast sought a wretched home. 
 
 Art a hapless guest ! 
 
 F 2 
 
] 00 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 Catherine to the image flies. 
 Wipes the snow-dust from her eyes^ 
 
 Bends her down and weeps ^ 
 Presses to her breast the cross — 
 Thoughts of heaven her soul engross. 
 
 And she silence keeps. 
 
 All is still ! — The storm is hush'd. 
 
 Faint the tapers beam. 
 Light across the chamber rush'd — 
 
 Momentary gleam : — 
 All is wrapt in silence deep 
 
 As when visions come. 
 List ! what gentle rustlings sweep 
 
 Through the hallow' d room : 
 Lo ! a dove of silvery white. 
 Soft and still, with eyes of light, 
 
 Tow'rds the mourner springs : 
 For a moment hovers there. 
 Then upon her bosom fair 
 
 Flaps his beauteous wings. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 101 
 
 Silence reign'd again. — Can all. 
 
 All illusion be? 
 Lo ! the corpse beneath the pall 
 
 Shudders fearfully: 
 Bursts the mantling bier of death. 
 
 Throws his shroudings by : 
 On his brow he wore a wreath. 
 
 Frozen was his eye : 
 From his lips a murmur breaks. 
 With his hand a sign he makes. 
 
 Pointing to the maid : 
 Trembling she — she dared not move — 
 But the bright and silver dove 
 
 On her bosom play'd. 
 
 Fann'd her with its gentle wing: — 
 
 To the dead man's breast 
 Then she saw her sweet dove spring — 
 
 There it seem'd to rest. 
 Heaved that icy corpse a sigh. 
 
 As in dark despair. 
 Gnash' d his teeth in agony, 
 
 Turn'd his eyes on her. 
 
102 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 Paler wax'd those lips so pale j 
 And the fix'd eye told the tale 
 
 That life's film was broke. 
 Catherine ! lift thy drooping head ! 
 All is o'er — thy lover 's dead! — 
 
 God ! and she awoke. 
 
 Where? — within the self-same room 
 
 Where the mirror stood : — 
 Morn was chasing twilight's gloom 
 
 With its golden flood j 
 Chanticleer had flapp'd his wings. 
 
 Sung his early song : 
 All is bright — the matin rings — 
 
 О thy dream was long ! 
 Long indeed, and dreadful too -, 
 And my spirit long shall rue 
 
 The dread prophecy ! 
 Tell me. Future's misty night. 
 Shall my fate be dark or bright. 
 
 Bliss or misery? 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 1 03 
 
 Catherine in the window sat. 
 
 Sorrowful and still : 
 Tell me — tell me what is that ? 
 
 Mist-cloud on the hill? 
 In the sunbeams shines the snowj 
 
 Leaps the frozen dew : 
 List ! I hear the bells below. 
 
 And the horses too. 
 Lo ! they come — the sledge is near — 
 Now the Isvoshchik's л'о1се I hear— 
 
 They have pass'd the grove : — 
 Fling the gates wide open — fling— 
 Who's the guest the coursers bring? 
 
 Who ? — 'Tis thou, my love ! 
 
 Catherine, tell me now ! The dream — 
 
 Is the dream forgot? 
 Youths may faithful be — who seem 
 
 Faithless — may they not ? 
 When the light of love hath lent 
 
 Brightness to his eye j 
 When his lips are eloquent; — 
 
 Timid maid ! reply ! 
 
104 ZHUKOVSKV. 
 
 Open now the temple-gate. 
 Spring on wings of joy elate. 
 
 Truth, we honour thee ! 
 Pour the glass, and join the hymn^ 
 Ne'er may days of darkness dim 
 
 Youth's fidelity. 
 
 Thou dost smile, sweet maid ! but deem. 
 
 Deem it worth a thought ; 
 For that memorable dream 
 
 Stores of wisdom brought. 
 Thou dost smile again — but know. 
 
 It had lessons holy : 
 Fame, it told thee, was but — show; 
 
 Worldly wisdom — folly. 
 This my song was meant to say, 
 Hope and trust, should guide our way — 
 
 Maid! there's no mistaking: 
 This the genuine moral seems. 
 Miseries — are only dreams, 
 
 Joy — is the awaking. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 105 
 
 о my Cath'rine ! never dwell 
 
 On that dream of gloom j 
 Heaven ! build up her citadel. 
 
 There may grief ne'er come; 
 Not a cloud her joys o'ershade. 
 
 Not a joy decay J 
 Holy is that gentle maid 
 
 As the light of day. 
 Ne'er be it obscur'd by woe, 
 Let her days of comfort flow 
 
 Like a forest river 5 
 And let joy, with smiles serene. 
 Be as it hath ever been. 
 
 Her bright guide for ever. 
 
 p5 
 
106 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 THEON AND .ESCHINES. 
 
 To his country's penates wends iEschines home. 
 To the mist-cover'd land of Alpheus -, 
 
 He long had sought happiness o'er the wide world. 
 But happiness fled — like a shadow. 
 
 And Bacchus and Venus, and pleasure and fame,. 
 His heart had consumed — not contented 3 
 
 The blossom of life had decay' d like his soul. 
 And hope had been banish'd by sadness. 
 
 The stream of the wavy Alpheus appears, 
 Alpheus, with flower-bedeck' d borders. 
 
 And wakes all the thoughts of the days hurried by. 
 And of youth-tide, for ever departed ! 
 
 All the banks are as fair, all the fields are as bright. 
 And the sky smiles delighted above him ; 
 
 But where is that hope Which shed o'er them a ray, 
 A ray of ineflfable beauty ? 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 107 
 
 The dwelling of Theon now ^Eschines seeks 3— 
 
 He dwelt in a peace-girded cottage j 
 His wishes all bounded, and moderate his hopes — 
 
 He dwelt on the shores of Alpheus. 
 
 'Twas just where Alpheus springs into the sea. 
 With olive trees deck'd and plantanas. 
 
 That ^schines saw a humble abode — 
 It was the mean dwelling of Theon. 
 
 In the hot arch of Heaven the day-tide declined. 
 The calm stream of waters was glowing 5 
 
 A rosy smile play'd round the humble abode. 
 Where the myrtles of fragrance were blooming. 
 
 A white grave of marble, with myrtle-wreaths hung. 
 
 Appears on a gentle mound rising j 
 Where roses of fragrance, and jasmin's pale flowers. 
 
 Their branches entwined, interblended. 
 
 Theon sat near his hut^-^-he was lost in deep thought. 
 While he look'd on the purple-tinged billow; 
 
108 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 Then suddenly turn'd on his iEschines — saw^ 
 And remember'd his youthful companion. 
 
 ' To Zeus — Preserver ! be honour and praise ! 
 
 Again dost thou see thy penates !' 
 Cried Theon — while rapture shone bright in his eye^ 
 
 As he iEschines press'd to his bosom. 
 
 And with glances lookM through him again and again, 
 His visage was troubled and gloomy : 
 
 And iEschines mournfully gazed on his friend. 
 His gaze it was calm, but was mournful. 
 
 ' О Theon ! when first I abandon'd thee here, 
 
 Hope painted me visions of pleasure ; 
 Far different my fate from my dreams — I have found 
 That hope is a faithless deceiver. 
 
 ' And tell me, my Theon, has such been thy fate. 
 
 For such doth thy visage betoken ? 
 Have sorrow and sadness intruded on thee. 
 
 And thy peaceful, domestic penates?' 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 1 09 
 
 Theon groan' d in his spirit, and look'd to the grave, 
 ' These, these are the silent recorders. 
 
 If God lent us life to be wasted in joy — 
 Ah ! life is the sister of sorrow. 
 
 * no ! I complain not of Zeus' decrees. 
 
 For life and the world beam with beauty j 
 But bliss that is fleeting, and dreams that are vain, 
 I chase not for earthly enjoyment. 
 
 ' What time can create, and what time can destroy. 
 Why call we our own^ — it was never; — 
 
 'Tis the soul's own possession, the spirit of love. 
 The thoughts that sublimely transport us. 
 
 * These, these are true bliss ! — Friend, this is no dream, 
 
 I, JEschines ! loved and was happy; 
 'Twas love that refined and enraptured my soul — 
 And that taught me the pleasure of living. 
 
 * Midst twilight sublimest conceptions appear'd. 
 
 Creation I saw in its glory. 
 
no ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 And felt that my pilgrimage led through the world 
 To something far brighter above it. 
 
 ' Woe is me ! for I loved — she is gone — she is gone — 
 
 And the bliss is for ever departed. 
 That dawn'd with such lustre — ^how vainly it dawn'd ! 
 
 How gaily — how swiftly it faded ! 
 
 ' О no ! nought erases the track of the past. 
 
 In the heart it for ever endureth. 
 The sorrow of parting! — That, that too is love! — 
 
 And the heart loses nought of its treasure. 
 
 ' And is not the pang which e'en death leaves behind 
 A germ which hope, bright and eternal. 
 
 Awakes 5 while the known, but the mist-cover'd land^ 
 Gives back all we loved to our mem' 17. 
 
 ' For he who has loved, and loved truly, my friend ! 
 
 Can never, can never be lonely -, 
 The world when she blossom'd, with her is still fill'd. 
 
 Ever present, unchang'd and immortal. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. J 1 I 
 
 ' Alone I tread onward the path of my doom. 
 To its boundary sublime ever tending j 
 
 She led me — she leads me — together we toil, 
 'Tis the bond which not death could dissever. 
 
 ' Thoughts pure and sublime throw a charm over life ! 
 
 And with ecstasy oft I look round me 
 On the fair face of earth, that is smiling with good. 
 
 On the wonderful, glorious creation. 
 
 ' And peaceful I turn from the markstone of death 
 To the visions which hail me immortal j 
 
 And hope lights with glory the dulness of earth. 
 As Aurora the canopied heaven. 
 
 ' 'Tis hope that exalts me far, far above fate. 
 
 And hallows this earthly existence; 
 And the thought, the proud thought I am man, swells 
 my breast 
 
 With gratitude, triumph, and glory. 
 
 * This silent, this mystical gravestone, to me. 
 My friend ! is a pledge and a token. 
 
112 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 That the being which faith has depictured shall dawn 
 As sure as the past is departed. 
 
 ' This grave is the door — the lock'd door of delight — 
 Will it open ? — I hope, and expect it : 
 
 On that side the pris'ner is waiting, who here 
 For a moment was seen — and departed. 
 
 ' О friend ! thou pursuest a false, fleeting good. 
 
 Thou snatchest the joy of a moment. 
 Thou losest the bliss that is sure and sublime. 
 
 And a life that is priceless despisest. 
 
 ' This feeling of gloom, it benightens the earth — 
 Give your hand! — In the bosom of friendship 
 
 Let the world, and let nature be lovely again. 
 For, believe me, the earth is most lovely. 
 
 ' When life was conferr'd, all, all was conferr'd — 
 'Tis the path, 'tis the promise of greatness 5 
 
 And sorrow and joy, they are means to that end — 
 Praise Zeus — О praise the Creator !' 
 
2HUK0VSKY. 11.3 
 
 THE BARD. 
 
 Through the dark wood seest thou thatthorn-crown'd 
 
 heap. 
 That o'er the lingering rivulet seems to restj 
 ^Vhere the still stream glides by, as if in sleep. 
 And scarce a leaf is by the zephyr prest : 
 There hangs a harp — a garland, see ! 
 That heap — it is a minstrel's bed : 
 There are his ashes scattered — 
 Bard ! woe is thee ! 
 
 His soul was lovely — infant purity 
 Dwelt in his heart — a fleeting pilgrim, driven 
 By life's first gales o'er seas of misery. 
 Sighing and longing for death's silent haven — 
 That haven reach' d he speedily ; 
 He sleeps death's sleep^so dark, so dull — 
 His life was short, but sorrowful — 
 Bard ! woe is thee ! 
 
I 14 ZHUKOVSKY. 
 
 He sang the song of friendship loud and sweet — 
 But ah! the friend is gone; — his holy strain 
 Breathed of pure love — 'twas sad^ though exquisite/ 
 For he knew nought of love but love's deep pain ! 
 All slumbers now — all — silently. 
 Young bard ! with thee — thy music's breath 
 Is still — still'd by the frown of death : — 
 Bard ! woe is thee ! 
 
 Here, by this shrine, when the tir'd sun was setting 
 In melancholy brightness, thus he pour'd 
 His farewell hymn, 'Fair world ! thy charms forgetting, 
 ' I leave thee, and for ever ! — I adored 
 ' A wild dream's shade — an ecstasy! 
 ' 'Tis past ! — Thou lyre ! be still — my hand 
 ' Is chill'd — I seek a brighter land : — 
 ' Bard ! woe is thee ! 
 
 ' That wild dream fled — what else is left? — the sky 
 ' O'erclouded — the storm raging — an abyss 
 ' Yawning around — hopes that just smile, and fly 
 * To darkness — solid woes, and shadowy bliss. 
 
ZHUKOVSKY. 1 1 .5 
 
 ' Haven of peace ! for me, for me 
 ' Prepare thy welcome, grave, whose road, 
 ' Though misty, leads to joy's abode! 
 ' Bard ! woe is thee ! ' 
 
 Yes ! he is fled — that magic harp is still. 
 His footstep-traces now are worn away -, 
 And sorrow dwells on stream, and vale, and hill — 
 And silence, save when thoughtless zephyrs play 
 With the dried wreath that carelessly 
 Hangs — or in twilight's feeble ray 
 Some spirit bids the harp-strings say. 
 Bard ! woe is thee ! 
 
Жагатбш» 
 
KARAMSIN. 
 
 RAISSA. 
 
 In the dark night the storm-wind rages. 
 The gray flash trembles in the sky; 
 Rolls from the blackening clouds the thunder. 
 And rattling torrents sweep the wood. 
 
 No signs of life, of living beings. 
 The welcoming roof had shelter'd all. 
 All but one lost and lonely wanderer — 
 Raissa — to the dark night bare. 
 
 Despair was seated in her bosom 3 
 The thunder-tempest moved her notj 
 And even the hurricane's loud howling 
 Scarce drown'd Raissa' s heavy plaints. 
 
120 KARAMSIN. 
 
 Her cheek was like the faded foliage. 
 Her lip — th' unwater'd, withering flow'rj 
 Upon her eye — a veil of darkness. 
 And fearful were her bosom's throbs. 
 
 There hurried from her snowy bosom. 
 Which savage, thorny boughs had torn. 
 Of burning blood a crimson rivulet — 
 It fell upon the green damp ground. 
 
 Above the sea, a granite mountain 
 Raised proudly its gigantic head 3 
 Raissa scaled it, wandering lonely 
 Through clefts and stony pyramids. 
 
 The deep raged furiously — the lightning 
 Frightfully flash'dj — the mountain- waves 
 RoU'd, lifting up their maddening voices 3 
 And the earth trembled as they spoke. 
 
 Raissa look'd around — was silent : 
 But soon her tones of sorrow burst. 
 
KARAMSIN. 1 2 I 
 
 And mingled with the raging tempest — 
 ' Lost — lost for ever ! Woe is me ! 
 
 ' Kronid — Kronid — О cruel lover ! 
 О whither, whither art thou fled ? 
 Why hast thou left thy own Raissa 
 Alone in such a dreadful night ? 
 
 ' Kronid — return — return — forgiveness, 
 Forgetfulness, shall both be thine : 
 No ! — Thou wilt come not to Raissa — 
 Why did I know thee — wherefore love ? 
 
 ' My father and my mother loved me. 
 And fondest love was their return 3 
 My days roll'd by, on downy pinions. 
 Midst harmless sports and joyous thoughts. 
 
 * Thou didst approach me like an angel. 
 And, sighing, these sweet words didst say : 
 ' I love thee — yes ! I love — Raissa ! ' 
 My parents' love I soon forgot. 
 
1 22 KARAMSIN. 
 
 ' Transported, yet with trembling boscrm. 
 And weeping in that dream of bliss. 
 Into thy opening arms I threw me. 
 And gave my heart alone to thee. 
 
 ' On thee reposed and dwelt my spirit, 
 I breathed, I lived for thee alone j 
 The sun in thy sweet smile was beaming. 
 Thou wert my present deity. 
 
 ' Why, when thy bosom beat with rapture. 
 Why died I not — in transports then : 
 Had I not seen thee false and treacherous. 
 How sweet, how blessed 'twere to die. 
 
 ' But ah ! while thus securely dreaming 
 In deepest sleep, another maid 
 Loved and was loved — and I am banished — 
 Banished is thy Raissa now. 
 
 ' I thought I lay upon his bosom — 
 
 I stretch' d my arms t* embrace him there— 
 
KABAM6IN. 123 
 
 I but embraced the heedless breezes — 
 He was already far away. 
 
 ' The dream was fled — and I awoke me— 
 I call'd thee — all was still as death : 
 I sought thee with strain' d eye — but vainly — 
 My friend, my friend was no where found. 
 
 ' I hurried to a mountain -summit, 
 I— hapless-spirited ! Kronid 
 Is fled afar with his Liudmilla ! 
 1Ъеп sank I senseless on the earth. 
 
 * And since that miserable moment 
 My days, my nights in sorrow flow ; 
 I seek thee — every where I call thee — 
 But never hast thou heard my voice. 
 
 ' And now the spirit-worn Raissa 
 Calls on thee for the last, last time^ — 
 For peace has left my soul for ever. — 
 Farewell! and be vrithout me blest!' 
 
 g2 
 
124 KARAMSIX. 
 
 So spoke Raissa — and she threw her 
 
 Into the sea. The thunder roar'd : 
 
 The heavens announced that she had perish'd 
 
 To him that had destroy'd her there. 
 
KARAMSIN. 1,25 
 
 THE HAVEN. 
 
 When the dangerous rocks are past. 
 When the threatening tempests cease, 
 О how sweet to rest at last 
 In a silent port of peace ! 
 
 Though that port may be unknown. 
 Though no chart its name may bear. 
 Brightly beam its lights on one — 
 Blest to find his refuge there. 
 
 There he paints the joyous band — 
 Friends and family — what more? 
 Bliss ! — he cries — thou hallow'd land! 
 And he springs upon the shore. 
 
 Life ! thou art the storm — the rock ! 
 Death ! the friendly port thou art : — 
 Haven from the tempest shock. 
 Welcoming the wanderer's heart. 
 
126 KARAMSIN. 
 
 Yes ! I see from yonder tomb 
 Promised peace and tranquil rest : 
 Death ! my haven ! I shall come. 
 Soothe me on thy mother-breast. 
 
KAEAMSIN. 127 
 
 SONG OF THE GOOD TZAR. 
 
 Pcesnya о dobrom Tzarce. 
 
 Russia had a noble Tzar, 
 Sovereign lionour'd wide and far j 
 He a father's love enjoy' d. 
 He a father's power employ' d. 
 
 And he sought his children's bliss. 
 And their happiness was his : 
 Left for them his golden halls. 
 Left for them his palace walls. 
 
 He, a wanderer for them. 
 
 Left his royal diadem : 
 
 Staff and knapsack all his treasure 3 
 
 Toil and danger all his pleasure. 
 
 Wherefore hath he journey'd forth. 
 From his glorious, sceptred north ? 
 
1 28 KAEAMSIN. 
 
 Flying pridcj and pomp, and power j 
 Suffering heat, and cold, and shower. 
 
 Why ? — because this noble king. 
 Light and truth and bliss might bring. 
 Spread intelligence, and pour 
 Knowledge out on Russia's shore. 
 
 Wherefore would this noble king 
 Light and truth and virtue biing. 
 Spread intelligence, and pour 
 Knowledge out on Russia's shore? 
 
 He would guide by wisdom's ray 
 All his subjects in their way^ 
 And while beams of glory giving. 
 Teach them all the ai-ts of living. 
 
 О thou noble King and Tzar \ 
 Earth ne'er saw so bright a star — 
 Tell me, have ye ever found 
 Such a prince the world around г 
 
KARAMSIN. 1 29 
 
 TO 
 
 Where art thou lingering, tell me, thou fair oner 
 There where the nightingale wakes her soft music. 
 In the night's darkness complaining 
 From the top boughs of the myrtle ? 
 
 There, where in solitude murmurs the streamlet. 
 Gliding along its gi'eeu borders unnoticed. 
 
 Soothing man's turbulent bosom 
 
 Gently to peace and to silence ? 
 
 There, where the rose in its pride and its glory 
 Blushes, bedew' d with the tears of the morning. 
 While with the breezes disporting j 
 Whispering its thoughts to the zephyrs ? 
 
 There, where the sun first illumines the mountain- 
 Heights inaccessible — cloud-fashion'd palace — 
 Where, in the ages departed. 
 Spirits and gods had their dwellings ? 
 
 g5 
 
1 30 KARAMSIN. 
 
 Oft have I heard thy sweet voice gently speaking. 
 Oft on thy throne of bright clouds have I seen thee. 
 
 Stretch 'd out my arms to embrace thee — 
 
 Ah ! — I had seized but a shadow. 
 
KAEAMSIN. 131 
 
 TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Sing in the forest's leafy night. 
 Gentle bird — unnoticed sing^ 
 Sing in Luna's silver light. 
 Tones of sorrow echoing. 
 
 Tell me why my tears are falling 
 Like a rivulet — tell me why 
 Memory, when the past recalling. 
 Blends thee with the days gone by ? 
 Ah ! those hallow'd friends I number. 
 Who upon earth's peaceful breast 
 In death's tomb of silence slumber ! 
 Green moss decks their place of rest. 
 All their turfs, sweet flowers adorn them, 
 I am left alone to mourn them — 
 Still I mourn them — still regret — 
 Therefore like a rivulet 
 Flow my tears — with whom shall I 
 Now thy sweetest strains enjoy ? 
 
132 KARAMSIN. 
 
 Who shall greet the spring with me ? 
 Spring is winter — wanting thee. 
 Now my soul must bow, subdued. 
 Life has no vicissitude > 
 All is dark — my heart is weary — 
 And the world — all waste and dreary. 
 
 Tell me, lovely nightingale. 
 When thy gentle song will fall 
 On my grave? for О its breath 
 Is meet melody for death. 
 
33olsorufeo\j. 
 
DOLGORUKOV. 
 
 THE LEGACY. 
 
 When time's vicissitudes are ended 
 Be this, be this my place of rest; 
 Here let my bones with earth be blended. 
 Till sounds the trumpet of the blest. 
 For here, in common home, are mingled 
 Their dust, whom fame or fortune singled; 
 And those whom fortune — fame pass'd by : 
 All mingled — and all mouldering 3 — folly 
 And wisdom — mirth and melancholy — 
 Slaves — tyrants — all mixt carelessly. 
 
 List ! 'tis the voice of time — Creation's 
 Unmeasured arch repeats the tone 5 
 Look ! even like shadows, mighty nations 
 Are born — flit by us — and are gone I 
 
136 DOLGORUKOV. 
 
 See ! children of a common father. 
 See stranger-crowds, like vapors gather 3 
 Sires — sons — descendants — come and go : 
 Sad history ! Yet even there the spirit 
 Some joys may build — some hopes inherit. 
 And wisdom gather flowers from woe. 
 
 There, like a bee-swarm, round the token 
 Of unveil'd truth, shall sects appear. 
 And evil's poisonous sting be broken 
 In the bright glance of virtue's spear. 
 And none shall ask — What dormitory 
 Was this man's doom — what robes of glory 
 ДУоге he — what garlands crown'd his brow- 
 Was pomp his slave? — Come, now discover 
 The heart, the soul — Delusion 's over — 
 WTiat was his conduct? — Answer now! 
 
 Where stands yon hill-supported tower. 
 By Fili, shall I wake again, 
 Summon'd to meet Almighty Power 
 In judgment — like my fellow men. 
 
DOLGORUKOV. 1 37 
 
 I shall be there — and friends and brothers — 
 Sisters and children — fathers, mothers, — 
 With joy that never shall decay j 
 The soul, substantial blessings beaming, 
 (All here is shadowy and seeming) 
 Drinks bliss — no time can sweep away. 
 
 Friends, on my brow, that rests when weary. 
 
 Erect no proud and pompous pile : 
 
 Your monuments are vain and dreary. 
 
 Their splendour cannot deck the vile. 
 
 A green grave, by no glare attended. 
 
 With other dust and ashes blended, 
 
 О let my dust and ashes licj 
 
 There, as I sleep, time, never sleeping. 
 
 Shall gather ages to his keeping, 
 
 For such is nature's destiny. 
 
 My wife, my children shall inherit 
 All I possess'd — ^'twas mine — 'tis theirs ; 
 For death, that steals the living spirit. 
 Gives all earth's fragments to its heirs. 
 
138 DOLCxORUKOV. 
 
 Send round no circling-briefs of sorrow. 
 No garments of the raven borrow ; 
 'Tis idle charge — 'tis costly pride. 
 Be gay, through rain or frosty weather. 
 Nor gather idle priests together 
 To chaunt my humble graye beside. 
 
 Cry, orphans! — cry, ye poor!— imploring 
 The everlasting God, that He 
 May save me when I sink— adoring — 
 Amidst his boundless mercy-sea. 
 My blessing to my foes be given. 
 Their curses far from me be driven. 
 Nor break upon my hallo w'd bliss j 
 God needs no studied words from mortals, 
 A sigh may enter Heaven's wide portals- 
 He could not err — He taught us this. 
 
 No songs, no elegy — death hearkens 
 To music ne'er though sweet it be : 
 Wben o'er you night's oblivion darkens. 
 Then let oblivion shadow me. 
 
DOLGORUKOV. 139 
 
 No verse will soften Hades' sadness. 
 
 No verse can break on Eden's gladness, 
 
 'Tis all parade, and shifting glare : — 
 
 A stream — where scatter d trees are growing, 
 
 A secret tear — ^in silence flowing — 
 
 No monument as these so fair. 
 
 Such slumber here — their memory flashes 
 
 Across my thoughts.— Hail — Sister ! hail — 
 
 I kiss thy sacred bed of ashes. 
 
 And soon shall share thy mournful tale. 
 
 Thou hast paid thy earthly debts — 'tis ended — 
 
 Thy cradle and thy tomb are blended. 
 
 The circle of thy being run ; 
 
 And now in peace thy history closes. 
 
 And thy still' d, crumbling frame reposes 
 
 Where life's short, feverish play is done. 
 
 I live and toil — my thoughts still follow 
 The idle world : — my cares pursue 
 Dreams and delusions, baseless, hollow. 
 And vanities still false though new. 
 
1 40 DOLGORUKOV. 
 
 Then fly I earthly joys — I find them 
 Leave terror-working stings behind them 
 ' Beware ! beware ! ' experience cries ; 
 Yet ah ! how faint the voice of duty. 
 One smile of yonder flattering beauty 
 Would make me waste even centuries. 
 
BattusPot. 
 
BATIUSHKOV. 
 
 то F. F. KOKOSHKIN, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HIS BRIDE. 
 
 Ah ! the flower is dead — the beauty is departed — 
 
 All is fled we cherished i 
 Love and Friendship, weep ! Weep, Hymen, broken- 
 hearted ! 
 
 Happiness is perished. 
 
 Friendship I thy swift hands, with smiles and joys, 
 array' d her 
 
 In her living glory 3 
 Now, with sighs and tears, those trembling hands 
 have laid her 
 
 In earth's dormitory. 
 
144 BATIUSHKOV. 
 
 Plant the cypress there, the yew's dark umbrage 
 borrow. 
 
 For such shade is meetest j 
 Scatter wreaths, which youth shall dew with tears of 
 sorrow. 
 
 For youth's tears are sweetest. 
 
 All is gloomy round — the gale, while it reposes. 
 
 Drops its tone of gladness : 
 And some shadowy ghost strips all the budding roses — 
 
 'Tis the shrine of sadness. 
 
 Hymen lingers here — pale, fetter'd, chill' d, despairing. 
 
 Bent by grief undying : 
 See his folded arms, bent eyes — his torch, yet flaring. 
 
 On the grave is lying. 
 
BATIUSHKOV. 145 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 Bknt o'er his sabre^ torrents starting 
 From his dim eyes, the bold hussar 
 Thus greets his cherish'd maid, while parting 
 For distant fields of war : 
 
 ' Weep not, my fair one ! О forbear thee ! 
 No anguish can those tears remove j 
 For, by my troth and beard, I swear thee. 
 Time shall not change my love. 
 
 ' That love shall bloom— a deathless blossom. 
 My shield in fight — with sword in hand. 
 And thou, my Lila, in my bosom. 
 
 What shall that sword withstand ? 
 
 ' Weep not, my fair one ! О forbear thee ! 
 Those tears can bid no grief depart 3 
 And were I faithless. Maid! I swear thee. 
 Anguish would tear my heart ! 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
146 BATIUSHKOV. 
 
 ' Then my good steed would sure betray me. 
 And falter in the battle-fray. 
 In peril's hours refuse t' obey me — 
 My stirrup would give way. 
 
 ' The sword, my valour's proudest token. 
 When grasp'd, like rotten wood would break j 
 And I should seek thee, spirit-broken. 
 Death's paleness on my cheek.' 
 
 But the false horseman's steed obey'd him. 
 Gentle and eager still; — his sword. 
 Bright and unbroken, ne'er betray' d him. 
 Though he broke oath and word. 
 
 The tale of love — the tears which shower' d 
 From Lila's eye — were all forgot ; 
 The rose- wreath faded — pale — deflower' d : — 
 Such buds re-blossom not ! 
 
 That maiden's breast of peace he rifles; 
 Then hies him to another's breast; 
 
BATIUSHKOV. 147 
 
 Man's oaths to woman are but — trifles ; 
 And love itself — a jest. 
 
 He serves — secures — and then he slights them 5 
 His vows are change — and treachery; 
 For laughing Cupid's arrow writes them 
 Upon the shifting sea. 
 
 h2 
 
148 BATIUSHKOV. 
 
 THE FRIEND'S SHADOW. 
 
 Sunt aliquid manes; leticm поп omnia finit; 
 Luridaque evictos effugit umbra rogos. 
 
 Propertiu?. 
 
 To Albion's misty isle across the waves I sped me : 
 
 It look'd as if interr'd beneath a leaden sea. 
 
 And gathering round our bark the halcyon's music 
 
 led me. 
 While all the crew rejoiced in their sweet melody. 
 The dancing surge, the evening breezes falling. 
 And through the sails and shrouds those breezes 
 
 whistling thrill. 
 And to the watch the active helmsman calling, 
 Tlie watch, who, midst the roar, sleeps tranquilly and 
 
 still. 
 All seem'd to rock itself to gentle thought j 
 Like an enchanted one, I, from the mast, look'd forth. 
 And through the night and through the mist I sought, 
 I sought the star beloved of my domestic north. 
 
BATIUSHKOV. 149 
 
 Then into memory melted every feeling— 
 
 My soul had sanctified my home of joy and peace. 
 
 And the sea raging, and the zephyrs gently stealing, 
 
 Cover'd my eyelids o'er with self-forgetfulness. 
 
 Then dreams with other dreams were blended. 
 
 And lo! there stood — was it a dream? — the foim 
 
 Of that dear friend who his career had ended 
 
 Nobly, amidst the thundering battle storm. 
 
 He stood upon the mist, and smiled — ^his face. 
 
 Fresh as the morn and bloodless, shining 
 
 Like the young spring in gaiety and grace. 
 
 Even as an angel from high heaven declining: — 
 
 • Comrade of better time ! and is it thou ? 
 
 And is it thou?' I cried, ' thou hero bright! 
 
 Did I not in the fury of the fight 
 
 Attend thee — and when thou hadst fallen below 
 
 Make thy new grave — and on a neighbouring tree 
 
 Write with my sword thy feats of bravery. 
 
 And follow' d thy cold ashes to their bed. 
 
 And hallow' d it with prayers, and with tears watered ? 
 
 Speak, unforgotten one ! speak ! was it a deceit ? 
 
 Is all that 's past a dream — a cheating dream ? 
 
150 BATIUSHKOV. 
 
 A dream that corpse — a dream that grave— that sheet 
 Wrapt round thee — were they not — did they but seemf 
 О but one word ! let that tongue's melody 
 Yet sweetly fall on my transported ear : 
 
 unforgotten one ! stretch out to me 
 
 Thy old right hand of friendship — stretch it here/ 
 
 1 sprung towards him — Oh ! the mists had dimm'd my 
 
 eye — 
 He vanish' d like a shade — a lock of airy smoke — 
 Dispersed in the wide azure of the sky. 
 And I, arousing from my dream, awoke. 
 
 Beneath the wing of stillness all was sleeping j 
 The very winds — the very waves, at rest} 
 And scarce a breath upon the sea was creeping 3 
 The pale moon swam along upon the white cloud's 
 
 breast. 
 But I was troubled — peace had left my soul — 
 I stretch'd my hands tow'rds him, whom I no more 
 
 could see — 
 I called on him — whom I could not control — 
 On thee — belov'd one ! best of friends I on thee ! 
 
BATIUSHKOV. 151 
 
 LOVE IN A BOAT. 
 
 'Tis a calm and silent even, 
 
 Luna rests upon the sea^ 
 See ! the impelling breeze has driven. 
 
 Driven a little bark to me. 
 
 What a lovely child is seated 
 
 At the helm — a trembling child ! 
 ' Thou wilt perish, boy ill-fated ! 
 
 Whelm' d among the surges wild/ 
 
 ' Help me ! help me ! gentle stranger ! 
 
 All my strength, alas ! is gone : 
 Take the helm — conduct the ranger 
 
 To some harbour of thy own.' 
 
 Pity's warmth, that never freezes. 
 Bid me seize the helm: — we sped. 
 
 Wafted by awakening breezes. 
 As by feather'd arrows led. 
 
152 BATIUSHKOV. 
 
 Swiftly, swiftly then we glided 
 By the flowery shores along j 
 
 Reach' d a spot where joy presided. 
 Smiling nymphs, and dance and song. 
 
 Music welcomed us and laughter. 
 Garlands at our feet were thrown; 
 
 Then I look'd my wanderer after— 
 I was left — the bark was gone. 
 
 On the stormy shore I laid me. 
 Careless of the surge's spray; 
 
 Sought the child who had betray' d me. 
 Saw him laugh — and row away. 
 
 Lo ! he beckons — lo ! he urges — 
 Through the noisy waves I fly : 
 
 Off he speeds across the surges. 
 Laughing out with louder joy. 
 
 Wet and weary, I retreated 
 To the scene of revelry: — 
 
BATIUSHKOV. 153 
 
 'Twas a fairy dream that cheated — 
 All was blank obscurity. 
 
 Wanderer ! if that boat should ever 
 Meet thy vision, О be coy ! 
 
 'Tis delusive — trust him never— 
 Cupid is a wicked boy. 
 
 вЬ 
 
154 BATiusHKOv. 
 
 THE PRISONER. 
 
 There, where the swift Rhone's waters flow 
 
 Its verdant banks between 5 
 Where fragrant myrtles bending grow. 
 
 And Rhone reflects their greeny 
 There, ivhere the vineyards deck the hills. 
 
 And o'er the valleys spread. 
 Which golden citrons' fragrance fills. 
 
 And plantains rear their head — 
 
 There stood, as sunk the lord of day. 
 
 Upon the smiling shore. 
 One who long watch' d the waters play. 
 
 And thought his sorrows o'er j 
 A Russian hero — stolen by war. 
 
 The honour of the Don j 
 Divided from his friends afar. 
 
 He wander' d there alone. 
 
BATIUSHKOV. 155 
 
 ' о roll !' he sang, ' ye waters roll — 
 
 Flow in your glory on 3 
 Your waves shall waken on my soul 
 
 The memory of the Don. 
 My days pass by without an aim. 
 
 Amidst life's busy roarj 
 For what is life without its fame. 
 
 Or the bright world ? — 'tis poor. 
 
 ' Now nature wears its spring-tide dress. 
 
 The sun shines splendidly 5 
 All liberty and loveliness — ■ 
 
 О ! why am I not free ? 
 О roll, ye waters ! rage, thou Rhone ! 
 
 And waken, as ye roll. 
 The thoughts of my domestic zone 
 
 Within my troubled soul. 
 
 ' The maidens here are fair and bright, 
 
 Their glance is full of fire ; 
 And their all-graceful smiles of light 
 
 Might satisfy desire. 
 
156 BATIUSHKOV. 
 
 ' But what is love in foreign lands. 
 
 Or joy? — I only know 
 The joy and love that bless our sands. 
 
 Midst forests and midst snow. 
 
 ' Give me my freedom — let me tread 
 
 Once more my country's strand 3 
 With frost and storm all overspread — 
 
 My home — my father-land ! 
 Deep is the snow around my door 5 
 
 But give me my own steed. 
 And day and night, the mountains o'er. 
 
 Me to my home he '11 lead. 
 
 'At home, there 's one who sits and keeps 
 
 The memory of her lovej 
 And often to the window creeps. 
 
 And pours her prayers above. 
 She guards the thoughts of him whose mind 
 
 Guards every thought of her 5 
 She pats the horse I left behind — 
 
 How privileged to be there ! 
 
BATIUSHKOV. 157 
 
 ' о roll, thou Rhone ! ye waters roll — 
 
 Rush in your gloiy on ) 
 Your waves still waken in my soul 
 
 The memory of the Don. 
 Come, winds ! come hither from the north. 
 
 Come, in your freshness, come : 
 And thou bright pole-star blazen forth. 
 
 Memento of my home !' 
 
 So spake the prisoner, as he turn'd 
 
 To Lyons his tired eye. 
 When long in exile's chains he mourn'd 
 
 His hapless destiny. 
 He sang — the Rhone roU'd proudly on. 
 
 The moon oft kiss'd its tidcj 
 And oft on Lyons' turrets shone 
 
 The sun in all his pride. 
 
158 BATIUSHKOV. 
 
 то THE RHINE. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 Here, in the misty days of time departed^ 
 
 The ranks of bards oft tuned their solemn hymn ; 
 Teutonic minstrels sang — gay — eager-hearted— 
 Still'd is their music now — their light is dim. 
 Thy waves roll on — they roll as then — 
 
 Their proud, untired, untroubled way- 
 Eternal is thy coarse — while men. 
 Unlike thy waves — decline — decay. 
 
iHerslakob. 
 
MERSLAKOV. 
 
 ON THE DESTRUCTION OF BABYLON. 
 
 Isaiah xiv. 5—28. 
 
 *Tis over — she exists no more — 
 The terror of the bad and good 
 Is fallen — an awful solitude 
 Spreads all her insolent trophies o'er. 
 Her crumbling ruins are in dust : 
 The Almighty, in his anger just. 
 Has scatter' d all her glories : He — 
 The Lord — ^hath riven the heav^ yoke- 
 He hath th' accursed sceptre broke^ 
 And given his people liberty. 
 
1 62 MERSLAKOV. 
 
 Thus did the Lord — the Lord of might ! 
 His day of wrath for us is pastj 
 The smiter he hath smitten at last. 
 And beam'd on us his smile of light. 
 Joy round his Israel's tents has sped. 
 And grateful Lebanon bows his head. 
 And joins with ours his song of praise: 
 The heavenly cedars from on high 
 Bending — ' And thou art razed,' they cry, 
 ' And we have seen thy dying blaze.' 
 
 Destruction now, in robes of night. 
 
 Hath veil'd thy fading rays in gloom ; 
 
 Strange shadows round thee take their flight. 
 
 As on the storm the surges' foam. 
 
 The empress of a hundred states — 
 
 The city of the thousand gates — 
 
 Her glory in the dust is laid. 
 
 ' ^Vhat ! thou who wert a god in pride, 
 
 ' Is this thy fate — so magnified, 
 
 ' And so defenceless — so decav'd?' 
 
MERSLAKOV. 1 63 
 
 Where is thy pride, thy pageantry ? 
 
 Where is thy glory, humbled thing? 
 
 О bid thy choral voices sing 
 
 The triumphs of thy vanity ! 
 
 No ! all is still — ^for, like a shade. 
 
 The idle tones of flattery fadej 
 
 And music's charms — a shifting play. 
 
 Murd'ress ! how baseless was thy trust ! 
 
 Thy house is night, thy bed the dust. 
 
 Thy covering — crawling worms of clay. 
 
 There was a light from heaven that shone. 
 
 Dazzling all visions with its ray : 
 
 It shone in glory yesterday— 
 
 This morn it glanced — but now 'tis gone. 
 
 Then, thine was an imperial will — 
 
 Now, as the grave, thy voice is still. 
 
 Thou saidst, in insolent pride, ' My throne 
 
 ' I'll build upon the highest star — 
 
 ' Ride on the rolling clouds afar, 
 
 ' And this proud Zion trample down. 
 
1 64 MEESLAKOV. 
 
 ' My car the glorious sky shall sweepj 
 ' My towers the very heavens shall reach, 
 ' Obedience to the gods to teach:' 
 And now — thou art a ruin'd heap. 
 The pilgrim who shall seek thee there. 
 Will only find a wild-beast's lair 
 In a vast desert : he shall stand 
 Trembling before the God of heaven. 
 And pray his sins may be forgiven. 
 And hide his pale cheek in his hand. 
 
 Was this the city that we fear'd. 
 This she whose fetter-bearing hands 
 Enslaved, insulted countless lands, 
 \^Па11е misery in her train appear'd? 
 Who shall resist death's mighty claim ? 
 Who shall oppose the good man's fame? 
 His sons shall watch his gen'rous fires. 
 And he shall live in memory's store. 
 In the wet eyelids of the poor. 
 Until he sleeps where sleep his sires. 
 
MERSLAKOV. 1 65 
 
 Thou 'rt stretch'd upon the battle-plain,| 
 And shame and misery hem thee rounds 
 Indignant voices curse the ground 
 Where thou once rear'dst thy trophies vain. 
 Thou, the destroyer of thy sons ! 
 Thou, thy own people's murderer once ! 
 Now liest beneath th' unwholesome dew — 
 A peaceful grave is now denied thee. 
 The God of vengeance stands beside thee. 
 Thy children's children to pursue. 
 
 Now rise, in all thy fury rise. 
 
 Sprout of the fallen accursed race j 
 
 New threats of slavery I trace — 
 
 Another plague towards us flies. 
 
 No ! God hath said : ' My strength shall wake. 
 
 And in the storm and thunder speak. 
 
 And sweep the daring hordes awayj 
 
 Their towns the tygers' haunts shall be. 
 
 Their lands — the cradle of the sea, 
 
 And all their memory shall decay.' 
 
166 MEESLAKOV. 
 
 He spake — and as He spoke 'twas done ; 
 The mandate of Thy heavenly will 
 To utter. Lord ! is to fulfil ^ 
 For art Thou not th' Almighty One? 
 Thou hast subdued their tyranny. 
 Broken our bonds of slavery -, 
 Hast waved Thy fearful, fiery rod : 
 And who shall check Thy awful hand r 
 Who shall Thy thunderbolt withstand? 
 Who battle with a battling God ? 
 
Votikob, 
 
VOEIKOV. 
 
 то MY FUTURE BRIDE. 
 
 О UNKNOWN being! thou whom long my soul has 
 sought. 
 
 Vision of fancy bright, thou mild and lovely queen ! 
 Thou, vainly, long, pursued by my impatient thought. 
 
 Thou pure divinity unseen ! 
 
 О tell me in what mist thou veil'st thy shadowy form I 
 
 tell me where thy steps have left their wonted 
 
 trace ! 
 For in hope's sunshine hour, and in grief's frowning 
 storm, 
 
 1 feel thou art my resting place. 
 
 VOL. II. I 
 
170 VOEIKOV. 
 
 \^'Ъеп I my civic post, or social circle fill. 
 
 And with th* infirm and poor my narrow portion 
 share. 
 The widows' sorrows soothe, the orphans' murmuring 
 still, 
 I know, sweet spirit ! thou art there. 
 
 When fancy takes her flight beyond terrestrial things. 
 And towers above all space, and leaves behind all 
 time; 
 
 And up to holiest stars of thought's creation springs. 
 Thou art her brightest dream sublime. 
 
 Once, in the moonlight's shade, I saw thee, angel! 
 stand, 
 
 (Bent o'er a marble urn, whose waters gently swell'd) 
 Clad in celestial white, bound with an azure band, 
 
 A heavenly lyre thy fingers held. 
 
 And once, amidst a crowd, bright tears hung on thine 
 eye. 
 Thy head sunk on thy breast, devotion seem'd t' 
 engross 
 
VOEIKOV. 171 
 
 Thy thoughts, and kneeling, thou pray'dst heaven 
 in ecstasy. 
 Pressing the consecrated cross. 
 
 I saw thee, angel-like, through yonder temple glides 
 Scattering thy light around like some ray-crested 
 saint. 
 
 Whispering sweet notes of peace, in the still eventide. 
 To many a pilgrim tired and faint. 
 
 I love to paint thee when thy bounty's generous store 
 Soothes the gray beggar's wants, and comforts the 
 distrest. 
 
 Anoints the sick with oil, provides with bread the poor. 
 And for the houseless finds a rest. 
 
 And ! how blest, to dream that thou may'st yet be 
 mine, 
 A very dove of peace, around my steps to hie. 
 Waking from thy sweet lyre a melody divine. 
 Gay as a summer butterfly. 
 
 i2 
 
172 voEiKOv. 
 
 And when upon the wave, midst twilight's peaceful 
 gleam, 
 
 I launch my little bark, wilt thou sit smiling by. 
 And with thy lovely hand conduct it o'er the stream. 
 
 And rule my blessed destiny j 
 
 And listen to my tale of fond and passionate love : 
 Not, like a ghost, as now, but holding in thy hand 
 
 A golden lamp3 nor e'er seek thy own shrine above. 
 But throw aside thy misty band. 
 
 My guardian spirit, hail! unveil thee in thy bloom. 
 For thou art lovelier far than feeble poet's art^ 
 
 Come in thy virtues now — in all thy glory come. 
 And fill the vacuum of my heart. 
 
МшйЫгЬ. 
 
MURAVIEV. 
 
 то THE GODDESS OF THE NEVA. 
 
 Glide, majestic Neva! glide thee, 
 
 Deck'd with bright and peaceful smiles j 
 
 Palaces are raised beside thee. 
 Midst the shadows of the isles. 
 
 Stormy Russian seas thou bindest 
 
 With the ocean — ^by the grave 
 Of our glorious Tzar thou windest. 
 
 Which thy grateful waters lave. 
 
 And the middle-ocean's surges 
 All thy smiling naiads courts 
 
1 76 MURAVIEV. 
 
 While thy stream to Paros urges. 
 And to Lemnos' classic port. 
 
 Hellas' streams, their glory shaded. 
 See the brightest memories fade 5 
 
 Glassy mirrors — ^how degraded ! 
 Dimmed by Kislar Aga's shade. 
 
 While thy happier face is bearing 
 
 Ever-smiling images. 
 On thy busy banks appearing 
 
 Crowds in gaiety and peace. 
 
 Thames' and Tagus' gathering prizes. 
 Spread their riches o'er thy breast. 
 
 While thy well-known banner rises. 
 Rises proudly o'er the rest. 
 
 In thy baths what beauties bathe them. 
 Goddesses of love and lights 
 
 There Erota loves to swathe them 
 In the brightest robes of night. 
 
MURAVIEV. 1 11 
 
 Cool thy smiling banks at even. 
 
 Cool thy grottos and thy cells. 
 Where, by gentle breezes driven. 
 
 Oft the dancing billow svt^ells. 
 
 Then thou gatherest vapours round thee, 
 
 Veil'st thee in thy twilight dressy 
 Love and Mirth have now unbound thee — 
 
 Yield thee to thy waywardness. 
 
 Thou dost bear the dying over. 
 
 Weary of his earthly dream '5 
 And with awful mists dost cover 
 
 All the bosom of the stream. 
 
 With thy car thou troublest never 
 
 The calm silence of the deep ; 
 Syrens dance around thee ever. 
 
 Laughing o'er thy quiet sleep. 
 
 » The burying-place at Petersburg is on the other side of the 
 Neva. 
 
 i5 
 
1 78 MUEAVIEV. 
 
 Peaceful goddess ! oft the singer 
 
 Sees thee, in his ecstasy. 
 On the rock he loves to linger. 
 
 Sleepless — ^then he meets with thee. 
 
MUEAVIEV. 179 
 
 BOLESLAV, 
 
 KING OF POLAND. 
 
 Fame and glory's feeble embers 
 Fade o'er many a hero brave; 
 
 But the faithful Pole remembers 
 The good prince — King Boleslav. 
 
 True to love, though purple-girded — 
 True to friendship, though a king ; 
 
 In his inner soul there herded 
 Thoughts for ever festering. 
 
 He was happy — but two brothers 
 Saw with dark and secret hate 
 
 Their proud father-land another's— 
 They aspired to rule the state. 
 
 They were loved — the king delighted 
 All his love to pour on themj 
 
1 80 MURA VIEV. 
 
 But a maiden's faith was plighted. 
 And he saw the promised gem. 
 
 As the lily, courted only 
 By the breezes of the wood 5 
 
 So Volhynia's princess lonely. 
 Shrouded her in solitude. 
 
 Sbignei saw — and loved — communion 
 Of affections swiftly grew : 
 
 Tliey were sworn to holy union. 
 Sworn to Hymen's pledges true. 
 
 List! — the trumpets call the forces; 
 
 See the dust clouds on the fields ; 
 Hark! — the impatient neigh of horses- 
 
 ' To the fight!' — and Sbignei yields. 
 
 To the town the monarch drew him. 
 Not in pride of victory з—^ 
 
 Saw the princess — and he threw him 
 Bending at the lady's knee. 
 
ми R A VIE V. 181 
 
 Tears adown her cheeks were flowing. 
 
 And in agony she cried : 
 ' Whither is my Sbignei going ? 
 
 О desert me not — thy bride !* 
 
 Yet two moons had told their story — 
 Sick with love is Boleslav^ 
 
 He forgot his martial glory. 
 And his army true and brave. 
 
 Sbignei now all truce hath broken. 
 His Bohemian troops he calls; 
 
 See his rebel standard-token 
 Marching on Volhynia's walls. 
 
 'Tis in vain — he is forsaken — 
 The Bohemian bands have fledj 
 
 He himself a prisoner taken — 
 But his vizor veils his head. 
 
 See!— the jealous king espies him 
 Sleeping on Volhynia's knee— 
 
182 AIUEAVIEV. 
 
 Draws his dagger and destroys him — 
 *Twas his brother! — 'twas not he! 
 
 Who shall tell the murderer's madness — 
 Who shall paint his deathlike look? 
 
 There he stood, in grief and sadness. 
 Staggering — starting — thunderstruck. 
 
 Fain his steel he would have buried 
 In his tortur'd throbbing breast 3 
 
 But th' attendant courtiers hurried. 
 From his hand that steel to wrest. 
 
 Then he left his kingly palace. 
 
 All he left — except his woe^ 
 To the spot that Calvary hallows. 
 
 Pilgrim-like he vow'd to go. 
 
 Every city where he wander' d 
 
 Heard his crime, and heard his prayers ; 
 O'er his wretched fate he ponder' d. 
 
 Asking pardon even with tears. 
 
MUEAVIEV. 183 
 
 Be lie pardon'd! — his repentance — 
 May it bring his soul relief: 
 
 Mournful is man's earthly sentence. 
 Glory is no shield from grief. 
 
184 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 She bent her head, and the tears that fell 
 Were veil'd as there were shame in tears : 
 
 Her lips were closed, but a low ' farewell' 
 Had glided from those lips of hers. 
 
 The pale moon shone, and she raised her eye. 
 It sparkled in the heavenly ray — 
 
 A smile awoke, and the tear was dry — < 
 And the maiden sped her on her way. 
 
^apntst. 
 
KAPNIST 
 
 ON JULIA'S DEATH. 
 
 The evening darkness shrouds 
 
 The slumbering world in peace. 
 And from her throne of clouds 
 
 Shines Luna through the trees. 
 My thoughts in silence blend. 
 
 But gathered all to thee : 
 Thou moon ! the mourner's friend, 
 
 О come ! and mourn with me. 
 
 Upon her grave I bow. 
 
 The green grave where she lies : 
 О hear my sorrows now. 
 
 And consecrate my sighs ! 
 
188 KAP\4ST. 
 
 This is her ashes* bed — 
 Here her cold relics sleep — 
 
 Where I my tears shall shed 
 While this torn heart can weep. 
 
 О Julia ! never rose 
 
 Had half the charms of thee — 
 
 My comfort — my repose — 
 О ! thou wert all to me. 
 
 But thou art gone — and I 
 
 Must bear life's load of clay — 
 
 And pray — and long to die- 
 Though dying day by day. 
 
 But I must cease to sing. 
 
 My lyre all mute appears — 
 Alas ! its plaintive string 
 
 Is wetted with my tears. 
 О ! misery's song must end — 
 
 My thoughts all fly to thee : — 
 Thou moon ! the mourner's friend, 
 
 О come and mourn with me ! 
 
i^etro\i. 
 
PETROV. 
 
 ON THE 
 
 VICTORY OF THE RUSSIAN OVER THE 
 TURKISH FLEET. 
 
 О TRIUMPH ! О delight ! О time so rich in fame- 
 Unclouded, bright and pure as the sun's mid-day 
 
 flame ! 
 Ruthenia's strength goes forth — see from the sea 
 
 emerge 
 The Typhous of the north — the lightning, in its might. 
 Flashes in dazzling light. 
 And subject is the surge. 
 
 They wander o'er the waves — their eye impatiently 
 Seeks where the Moslem's flag flaunts proudly o'er 
 
 the sea — 
 'Tis there! — 'tis there! exclaim the brave impatient 
 
 crowd — 
 
192 PETROV. 
 
 The sails unfurrd — each soul with rage and courage 
 burns — 
 
 БасЬ to the combat turns— 
 They meet — it thunders loud ! 
 
 I see from ^Etna's rocks a floating army throng : 
 A hero, yet unsung, wafts the proud choir along — 
 The masts, a fir tree wood — the sails, like outspread 
 
 wings. 
 List! to the shoutings — see! the flash — they thun- 
 der near. 
 
 Earthquakes and night are there-— 
 With storms the welkin rings. 
 
 There January speeds — there Svestoslav moves on. 
 And waves and smoke alike are into tempest thrown 3 
 And there the ship that bears the three-times hallow'd 
 
 name'. 
 And Rotislav and Europe, there triumphant ride j 
 
 While the agitated tide 
 
 Is startled with the flame. 
 
 ^ The Trinity. 
 
PETROV. 193 
 
 Eustav,in fire conceal'd, scatters the death-like brand. 
 And earth and heaven are moved, and tremble sea 
 
 and land) 
 And there, a mountain pile, sends round the deeds of 
 
 death. 
 As if Vesuvius' self in combat were engaged — 
 While other mountains raged. 
 And pour'd their flaming breath. 
 
 The roar, the whiz, the hum, in one commingling 
 
 sound. 
 The clouds of smoke that rise, and spread and roll 
 
 around J 
 The Avaves attack the sky in wild and phrenzied dance j 
 The sails are white as snowj and now the sun looks on. 
 Now shrouds him on his throne — 
 And the swift lightnings glance. 
 
 Hard proof of valour this — the spirit's fiery test : 
 Fierce combat — grown more fierce — bear high the 
 burning breast ! 
 VOL. II. к 
 
194 PETEOV. 
 
 See, on the waves there ride two mountains, fiery- 
 bound, 
 iEtna and Hecla, loose on ocean's heaving bed — 
 
 The burning torches spread. 
 
 And ruin stalks around. 
 
 Ocean, and shore, and air, rush backward at the sight. 
 The Greek and Turk stand still, and groan in wild 
 
 affright ', 
 Calm as a rock the Russ is welcoming death with 
 
 death -, 
 But ah ! destruction now blazes its fiery links. 
 And even victory sinks 
 Its heavy weight beneath. 
 
 О frightful tragedy ! — a furnace is the sea — 
 
 The triumph ours — the flames have reach'd the enemy : 
 
 He burns — he dies in smoke — beneath the struggle 
 
 rude 
 The northern heroes sink, with weariness opprest. 
 And ask a moment's rest. 
 As if they were subdued. 
 
PETEOV. 195 
 
 And whence that threatening cloud that hangs upon 
 
 their head? 
 That threatens now to burst — What ! is their leader 
 
 dead? 
 And is he borne away, who all our bosoms warm'd ? 
 He fell — there lies his sword — there lie his shield and 
 helm — 
 
 What sorrows o'erwhelm 
 The conqueror disarm'd ! 
 
 О no ! he wakes again from night — he waves his hand. 
 Beckoning to the brave ranks that, mourning, round 
 
 him stand: 
 ' My brother !' cried he — ' Heaven ! and is my brother 
 
 gone ? — 
 Their sails unfurl— My friends ! О see ! О see ! they 
 fly- 
 
 On — 'Death or vengeance!' cry. 
 On, on to Stambul's throne!* 
 
 He fled — О hero ! peace ! there is no cause for grief. 
 He lives — thy brother lives, and Spiridov, his chief: 
 
 k2 
 
196 PETROV. 
 
 No dolphin saved them there — it was the Almighty 
 
 God, 
 The God who sees thy deeds, thy v^alour who approves. 
 
 And tries the men he loves 
 
 With his afflictive rod. 
 
 The dreadful dream is past — past like a mist away. 
 And dawns, serene and bright, a cloudless victory day : 
 The trump of shadeless joy — the trump of triumph 
 
 speaks 3 
 The hero and his friend are met, and fled their fears ; 
 They kiss each others cheeks. 
 They water them with tears. 
 
 They cried ^ And is our fame, and is our glory stain'd? 
 God is our shield — revenge and victory shall be 
 
 gain'd — 
 We live — and Mahmoud's might a hundred times shall 
 
 fall; 
 We live — the astonish'd world ourhero-deeds shall see. 
 And every victory 
 A burning fleet recall. 
 
PETROV. 1 97 
 
 Whence this unusual glare o'er midnight's ocean 
 
 spread : 
 At what unwonted hour has Phoebus left his bed? 
 No ! they are Russian crowds who struggle with the 
 
 foe, 
 'Tis their accordant torch that flashes through the 
 night. 
 
 Sequana ! see the might 
 Of Stambul sink below. 
 
 The harbour teems with life, an amphitheatre 
 Of sulphurous pitch and smoke, and awful noises there ; 
 The fiends of hell are loose, the sea has oped its caves. 
 Fate rides upon the deep, and laughs amidst the fray. 
 
 Which feeds with human prey 
 
 The monsters of the waves. 
 
 See, like a furnace boils and steams the burning flood, 
 'Tis fiU'd with mortal flesh, 'tis red with mortal blood. 
 Devour' d by raging flames, drunk by the thirsty wave. 
 The clouds seem palpable — a thick and solid mass — 
 
 They sink like stone or brass 
 
 Into their water-grave. 
 
1 98 PETROV. 
 
 Thou ruler of the tomb ! — Dread hour of suifering. 
 
 When all the elements Drop, Muse ! thy feeble 
 
 wing! 
 Hell, with its fiends — and all the fiends that man e'er 
 
 drew 
 There mingled — Silence veil that awful memory o'er ! 
 I see the hero pour 
 The tears of pity too ! 
 
 О Peter ! great in song, as great in glory once. 
 Look from thy throne sublime upon thy Russia's sons : 
 See, how thy fleets have won the palm of victory. 
 And hear the triumph sound, even to the gate of 
 heaven — 
 
 The Turkish strength is riven 
 
 Even in the Turkish sea. 
 
 Thee, Copenhagen saw — the Neptune of the Belt ; 
 NowCherma's humbled sons before thy flag have knelt. 
 The helpless Greeks have fled — thy banner sees their 
 shore. 
 
PETROV. 1 99 
 
 Trembling they look around, while thy dread thunder 
 swells. 
 
 And shakes the Dardanelles, 
 And Smyrna hears its roar. 
 
 Gallicians ! fear ye not the now advancing flame. 
 Recording, as it flies, your own, your country's shame ? 
 In the dark days of old, your valiant fathers trod 
 In the brave steps of Rome, towards lands of southern 
 glowj 
 
 Ye fight with Russians now. 
 
 Beneath the Moslems' rod. 
 
 Where innocence is found — there, there protection 
 
 wakes ; 
 Where Catherine's voice is heard — there truth, there 
 
 justice speaks : 
 A ruler's virtues are the strength and pride of states. 
 And surely ours shall bloom Avhere Catherine's virtues 
 stand. 
 
 О enviable land ! 
 Glory is at our gates. 
 
200 PETROV. 
 
 Soar, eagle ! soar again, spring upward to the height. 
 For yet the Turkish flag is flaunting in the light : 
 In Cherma's port it still erects its insolent head. 
 And thou must pour again thy foes' blood o'er the sea. 
 
 And crush their treachery. 
 
 And wide destruction spread ! 
 
 But fame now summons thee from death to life again. 
 The people's comfort now, their glory to maintain 3 
 The hero's palm is won. — Now turn thee and enhance 
 The hero's triumphs with the patriot's milder fame. 
 
 О Romans ! without shame 
 
 On Duil's spoils we glance. 
 
 We'll consecrate to thee a towering marble dome ! 
 From yonder southern sea, О bring thy trophies home. 
 Bring Scio's trophies home, — those trophies still 
 
 shall be 
 Thy glory, Orlov, thine! — the records of thy deeds. 
 
 When future valour reads 
 
 Astrea's victory ! 
 
PETROV. 20J 
 
 о could my waken'd muse a worthy offering bring, 
 
 О could my grateful lyre a song of glory sing, 
 
 О could I steal from thee the high and towering 
 
 thought. 
 With thy proud name the world, the listening world 
 I'd fill 5 
 
 And Camoens' harp be still. 
 And Gam a be forgot ! 
 
 Thine was a nobler far than Jason's enterprise. 
 Whose name shines like a star in history's glorious 
 
 skies : 
 He bore in triumph home the rich, the golden fleece ; 
 But with thy valour thou, and with thy conquering 
 band. 
 
 Hast saved thy father land. 
 And given to Hellas peace. 
 
 But О ! my tongue is weak to celebrate thy glory. 
 
 Thy valiant deeds shall live in everlasting story. 
 
 For public gratitude thy name will e'er enshrine — 
 
 Who loves his country, who his empress loves, will 
 
 throw 
 
 k5 
 
202 PETROV. 
 
 His garland on thy brow. 
 And watch that fame of thine. 
 
 But when thou humbledst low the Moslem's pride and 
 
 scorn. 
 And badest her crescent sink, her vain and feeble horn. 
 And pass'dst the Belt again, with songs and hymns 
 
 of joy. 
 Who that perceived thy flag, in all its mightiness. 
 What Russian could repress 
 The tears that dimm'd his eye ? 
 
 I see the people rush to welcome thee again. 
 Thy ships, Avith trophies deep, upon the swelling main ; 
 I see the maidens haste, the aged, and the young. 
 The children wave their hands, and to their fathers 
 turn. 
 
 And thousand questions burn 
 
 On their inquiring tongue. 
 
 ' Is this the eagle proud of whom луе have been told. 
 Who led against the Turks the Russian heroes bold. 
 
PETEOV. 203 
 
 And with their warriors' blood the azure ocean dyed ? 
 
 Is this our Orlov — this, with eagle's heart and name^ 
 His foe's reproach and shame. 
 And Russia's strength and pride?' 
 
 О yes ! О yes ! 'tis he— The eagle there appears. 
 And ocean bears him on, as proud of him she bears : 
 And see his brother too, who led to victory, there— 
 And Spirodov, whose praise all ages shall renew. 
 
 And Greig and Ilijn too— 
 
 The heroes — ^without fear. 
 
 But — ^wherefore do I rest — ^what fancies lead me on ? 
 The glorious eagle now to Asia's coasts is flown. 
 O'er streams, and hills, and vales, he takes his course 
 
 sublime. 
 My eye in vain pursues his all-subduing flight. 
 
 О vision of delight ! 
 
 О victory-girded time ! 
 
 ' Orel is the Russian for eagle. Orlov^ inflection of the noun. 
 
204 PETROV. 
 
 And heaven, and earth, and sea have seen our victories 
 
 won. 
 And echo with the deeds that Catherine has done ; 
 The Baltic coasts in vain oppose the march of Paul, 
 Not the vast north alone, but all th' iEgean sea 
 
 Shall own his sovereignty. 
 
 And the whole earthly ball ! 
 
Ш)йио\) 
 
SHATROV. 
 
 то THE ARMY OF THE DON. 
 
 Moskva is stunn'd with the thunder-storm's rattle: 
 See ! for the Don has sprung over its banks, 
 Arm'd 'gainst the foe in fury and battle. 
 
 Crowd to the ranks ! 
 
 Arm for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
 Trump of the Tzar ! which to triumph calls loudly — 
 
 Spirits of Moskva! — ye warriors away! 
 
 Thousand times thousand arrange themselves proudly. 
 
 Ripe for the fray. 
 
 Arm'd for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
208 SHATROV. 
 
 ' Strive against God and our Russia shall no men,' 
 Ataman cried, while he brandish' d his spear, 
 ' Scatter' d like ashes, they perish — our foemen, 
 
 Wbere are they — where?' 
 
 Arm for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
 Fame-circled monarch ! like waterfalls gushing 
 Down from the rocks, see thy children advance 
 On the false foe, in their energy rushing. 
 
 Sabre and lance ! 
 
 Arm'd for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
 Russians shall make them a pathway victorious ; 
 Russians shall conquer from Neva to Rhine j 
 Armies shall fly at their enterprise glorious j 
 
 Triumph is thine. 
 
 Arm'd for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
sHATROv. 209 
 
 Russia! О fear not! no foe shall assemble 
 
 Neai' thee — they shrink from the cross-flag ador'd. 
 
 Lo ! at thy slings and thy sabres they tremble — 
 
 Ready thy sword ! 
 
 Arm'd for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
 Yes ! let thy enemy rage — let him hector — 
 Strong though he be, he shall fly from the field. 
 Is not the mother of God our protector — 
 
 Michael our shield? 
 
 Arm'd for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
 Ready! — to horse! — for the cannon shouts call our 
 Heroes to struggle for hopes so sublime ! 
 God himself smiles on the high deeds of valour! — 
 Children, tis time ! 
 
 Arm for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight I 
 
210 SHATROV. 
 
 Rush on the Franks — as pyramids steady — 
 Say, shall they enter the heart of our land? 
 No ! for our heroes are gathering all ready 3 
 
 Firmly they stand, 
 
 Arm'd for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
 See ! for our legions are wildly advancing, 
 Bonaparte flies from the Sons of the Don 5 
 Dull is the fame that so brightly was glancing — 
 
 France is o'erthrown. 
 
 Arm for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
 Arrows like hailstones are clattering around us. 
 Sabres and spear-heads shine bright in the breeze. 
 And the swift bullets seem whispering — they sound as 
 
 Swarming of bees. 
 
 Arm'd for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
SHATROV. 211 
 
 Three hundred thousand twice reckon'd oppose them 
 
 Vainly to Russia — 'tis glory to see 
 
 How a small band of Cossaks overthrows them — 
 
 Look how they flee. 
 
 Arm for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
 Cannons and muskets abandon'd — and duty 
 Forgotten — for death and for terror are nigh — 
 Willingly yield they their knapsacks and booty;, 
 
 Only to fly. 
 
 Arm for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
 See how the raven is crouching, affrighted. 
 Where the proud eagle has built its own home^ 
 Russia hath left them alarm'd and benighted — 
 
 Russia their tomb. 
 
 Arm'd for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
212 . SHATROV. 
 
 So is the generous struggle rewarded ; 
 
 So do the insolent enemy bleed 3 
 
 So is the palace-crown'd, liberty-guarded 
 
 Capital freed. 
 
 Arm for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
 Thanks to the Highest One ! honour and glory — 
 
 He has conducted us — saved is the throne ! 
 
 Praise to the Tzar — and may garlands grow o'er ye^ 
 
 Sons of the Don ! 
 
 Arm'd for the right. 
 
 Strong in the fight ! 
 
VntetrtiQk^. 
 
V^SEMSKY. 
 
 TO MY THREE ABSENT FRIENDS, 
 ZH. B. AND S. 
 
 My brothers! whither scatter'd now? 
 What fate — what cruel fate could sever 
 Hands — souls — fast-bound — divided never ? 
 But ye are fled — and fled for ever. 
 And I am left alone with woe ! 
 
 The sigh I heave in silence here. 
 The careless zephyr bears awayj 
 'Tis lost in twilight's darkening ray— 
 'Tis veil'd in night — it fades in day — 
 It ne'er will reach your listening ear. 
 
216 V.ESEMSKY. 
 
 Perchance even now, while round me roll 
 Dark storms and misty clouds — even now. 
 Pain's icy sweat upon his brow. 
 One calls upon his friend — and oh ! 
 Death's wintry curtain wraps his soul. 
 
 Then sleep in peace, thou spirit blest ! 
 My spirit seems to cling to thee ; 
 From sorrow — to felicity 
 Wafted — thy bark has pass'd the sea 
 Of storms — in joy's calm port to rest. 
 
 How long shall absence' misery last ? 
 When, when shall dawn the hour of meeting ? 
 Shall ne'er again the blessed greeting 
 Of social bliss return ? — How fleeting 
 Its rapture — 'Tis for ever past ! 
 
 Cold — cold — I feel my heart 3 — delight 
 Can kindle ne'er its fire again — 
 My tears flow forth — they flow in vainj 
 My smiles — no light those smiles retain j 
 For what awaked it sinks in night. 
 
V.ESEMSKY. 2 1 7 
 
 Time was — how blessed to recall 
 That time — when our hauds garlanded 
 The fairest wreaths of roses redj 
 And in youth's spring the chorus led 
 To heaven — the source, the end of all. 
 
 Time was — but like a dream it fled ! 
 The hymn — 'tis now a funeral dirge -, 
 The garland — 'tis affliction's scourge j 
 The dance — its memories now emerge 
 Like ghosts, that wander midst the dead. 
 
 And now the plaint ascends ! — Appear, 
 Appear, delightful hours, anew ! 
 Spirit of youth, so fond, so true. 
 Awake ! — Suns, once so bright, so few. 
 Shine — let illusion's mockery cheer ! 
 
 But see ! the darkness creeps away — 
 The clouds disperse— the storm is gone — 
 Thy smile returns not — blessed one ! — 
 The mountains see the morning dawn — 
 To me, alas ! there dawns no day. 
 
 VOL. II. L 
 
218 V^JSEMSKY. 
 
 To N. N. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OP HIS SON. 
 
 As in the mid-day sun the flower 
 
 Looks brightest, and then bends its head. 
 
 So fell thy son — ^how short his hour 
 Of bliss — how rapidly he fled ! 
 
 Yet o'er his cradle— o'er his tomb. 
 An everlasting daylight shone j 
 
 A promise of bright days to come — 
 Why came he — only to be gone ? 
 
 As mounts the incense to the skies, 
 
 A towering cloud — with cold, pale cheek 
 
 Thou saw' St him to his Maker rise. 
 And his own blessed country seek. 
 
 He gave to thee his last, last sigh. 
 Ere yet he heaved his latest breath J 
 
ViESEMSKY. 219 
 
 He turn'd to thee his dying eye. 
 Ere it was mantled o'er by death. 
 
 Thou hadst indulged the sweetest dream 
 Which hope e'er built, or time decay'd; 
 
 And in the future's distant beam 
 Thy son a friend, a brother made. 
 
 The hours of youth's delightful reign. 
 And rapture's early, spring-tide joy j 
 
 Thou in his smiles hadst shared again. 
 And in thy boy wert twice a boy. 
 
 That vision is departed — Sleep 
 
 Soon leaves the weary, mortal eye : 
 
 Go — with his funeral cypress — weep 5 
 Thy spirit's peace is slumbering nigh. 
 
 With thine my mingling tears I '11 bring — 
 Their bitterness he cannot knowj — 
 
 The morning-rose I '11 o'er him fling — 
 He was a rose of morning too. 
 
 ь2 
 
220 V^SEMSKY. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 The waves of Seine have seen the banner. 
 The eagle-banner, floating high ; 
 
 There do the winds of glory fan her. 
 While flap her pinions to the sky. 
 
 Hers was a night of globm — but morning 
 Has dawn'd on her triumphant flight j 
 
 And now, all fear and weakness scorning. 
 She soars to liberty and light. 
 
ilttlonotj. 
 
MILONOV. 
 
 THE FALL OF THE LEAF. 
 
 Th' autumnal winds had stripp'd the field 
 
 Of all its foliage^ all its green ; 
 The winter's harbinger had still' d 
 
 That soul of song which cheer' d the scene ; 
 
 With visage pale, and tottering gait. 
 As one who hears his parting knell, 
 
 I saw a youth disconsolate; — 
 
 He came to breathe his last farewell. 
 
 ' Thou grove ! how dark thy gloom to me. 
 Thy glories riven by autumn's breath -. 
 
224 MiLONOv. 
 
 In every falling leaf I see 
 
 A threatening messenger of death. 
 
 ' О iEsculapins ! in my ear 
 
 Thy melancholy warnings chime : 
 
 Fond youth ! bethink thee, thou art here 
 A wanderer — for the last — last time. 
 
 ' Thy spring will winter's gloom o'ershade. 
 Ere yet the fields are white with snow> 
 
 Ere yet the latest flow'rets fade. 
 Thou in thy grave wilt sleep below. 
 
 ' I hear a hollow murmuring. 
 
 The cold wind rolling o'er the plain- 
 Alas ! the brightest days of spring 
 
 How swift, how sorrowful, how vain ! 
 
 ' О wave, ye dancing boughs, О wave I 
 Perchance to-morrow's dawn may see 
 
 My mother weeping on my grave — 
 Then consecrate my memory. 
 
MILONOV. 225 
 
 ' I see, with loose, dishevell'd hair. 
 
 Covering her snowy bosom, come 
 The angel of my childhood there. 
 
 To dew with tears my early tomb. 
 
 * Then in the autumn's silent eve. 
 
 With fluttering wing, and gentlest tread. 
 
 My spirit its calm bed shall leave. 
 And hover o'er the mourner's head.' 
 
 Then he was silent — faint and slow 
 
 His steps retraced 3 — he came no more: 
 
 The last leaf trembled on the bough — 
 And his last pang of grief was o'er. 
 
 Beneath the aged oaks he sleeps j — 
 
 The angel of his childhood there 
 No watch around his tombstone keeps. 
 
 But when the evening stars appear. 
 
226 MILONOV. 
 
 The woodman, to his cottage bound. 
 Close to that grave is wont to tread ; 
 
 But his rude footsteps, echo'd round. 
 Break not the silence of the dead. 
 
Mtxshtkob. 
 
MERSL.EKOV. 
 
 DUETT. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Thus the weeping shepherd spoke, 
 AVhile his heart with anguish broke. 
 To the maiden of his bosom : 
 It can never be ! 
 
 I shall see thee smile no more ; 
 Thou art rich, and I am poor : 
 Leave me — be serene and happy — 
 To my misery ! 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Then the youthful shepherdess 
 Heaved a sigh for his distress. 
 Gently utter'd, calm and sorrowing. 
 It can never be ? 
 
230 MERSL^KOV. 
 
 Thou art mine — for ever mine; 
 What though poverty be thine ? 
 They who have love's fount of riches 
 Know no poverty ! 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 I am of unhonour'd line. 
 And the world alone — is mine : 
 How the proud, and how the noble 
 Will thy choice reprove ! 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Slander is their joy — they know 
 Nothing of affection's glow : 
 Ancestry and pride I seek not — 
 But I seek thy love ! 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Smiles and joy thy steps await:— 
 Misery is at my gate : 
 Tears are bitter — but most bitter 
 Tears of penitence ! 
 
MERSLiEKOV. 23 1 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Un partaken pleasure cloys. 
 But divided woes are joys ; 
 Where our common tears are mingled 
 Grief will fly from thence ! 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Corn-flowers and forget-me-not. 
 And narcissus, ne'er I sought 3 
 Now I'll seek the sweetest floAv'rets 
 For my smiling fair ! 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Strange a shepherd's life to me. 
 Yet a shepherdess I'll Ьез 
 Though my father's rich, I'll braid thee 
 Garlands for thy hair ! 
 
 Thou hast made life's burthen lighter. 
 Every star and flower is brighter j 
 Now with thine my heart is blended. 
 Every thought and breath ! 
 
232 MERSL^KOV. 
 
 Tears and sorrow, if they come. 
 Shall not wear the garb of gloom -, 
 Life with thee is crown'd with beauty- 
 Beautiful is death ! 
 
ЖЬоЫпв'к^. 
 
KHOVANSKY. 
 
 Ya vechor v lugaJch gulyala. 
 
 Through the silent evening hourSj 
 Musing on my cares, I roved j 
 And amused me gathering flowers. 
 Forming vt^reaths for him I loved. 
 
 Pensively I wander' d round. 
 Till the sun had left the plain; 
 Many and many a flower I found. 
 But one flower I sought in vain. 
 
 Through the solitary even 
 Every where that flower I sought ; 
 'Tis a flower as blue as heaven — 
 'Twas in vain — I found it not. 
 
236 KHOVANSKY. 
 
 Mournful I was homeward going. 
 When — a gentle rivulet nigh, 
 I espied that flow' ret growing — 
 Which I pluck'd in ecstasy. 
 
 Sweet Forget-me-not ! elated. 
 Tears express 'd my bursting thought. 
 And I sigh'd, and I repeated, 
 О my friend ! Forget-me-not ! 
 
 Gold and glare to me are dim — 
 He is dearer far than they 5 
 They can add no charm to him — 
 * Maid! I love thee!' charmer, say! 
 
Sattonal ^ongs. 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 Ne golubushka v 'chtstom polce vorlcuet , 
 
 O'er the meadow not a turtle speeds or flutters. 
 And the twilight no dew-drops scatters over : 
 In her chamber a young maiden her griefs utters. 
 As she thinks, drown'd in tears, of her lover : 
 Her bright eyes with bursting sorrow are loaded. 
 Her heart with disappointment has been goaded. 
 
 ' My beloved! my beloved! my heart's master!' 
 She cried, in her agony overflowing : 
 Her sighs thicken' d — her tears they hurried faster- 
 ' О some viper my bosom must be gnawing. 
 
240 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 Some poison must my life-blood be congealing! — 
 No ! thy absence creates this bitter feeling. 
 
 ' 'Tis no traitor, 'tis no false one who has left me. 
 No vile-minded, no polluted, no cold-hearted — 
 How sad was the moment which bereft me — 
 How bitter my sorrow when we parted ! 
 AVhen I lost thee all was darkness about me; 
 Life and death are indifferent without thee. 
 
 ' 'Twas not violence fetter'd our affection j 
 
 'Twas thy prudence, 'twas thy virtue, that enchain'd 
 
 me — 
 In thy bosom love and friendship found protection. 
 And the heart that was worthy of me gain'd me : 
 We are pledged not — we are sworn not — for brighter 
 Is the chain of sweet sympathy — and tighter. 
 
 ' Tlien return thee, my beloved ! and forget not 
 Thou controllest all my joy and all my sorrow j— 
 Think of me, my heart's confidence ! and let not 
 My thoughts any gloomier shadows borrow : 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 241 
 
 'Tis for thee — 'tis for thee alone — that I grieve me- 
 Come again, thou sweet spirit ! to relieve me.' 
 
 The versification of the above song is so singular, and at first 
 sight involved, that I doubted if I ought to preserve it. It is not 
 without harmony, and, when the accent is caught, it will, I imagine, 
 be deemed musical. 
 
 V» _ _ \J 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
242 IJATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Osen blcednaya v polyakh. 
 
 Autumn's robes are on the mead. 
 Colder blow the breezes cold ; 
 Sadness fills the shepherd's foldj 
 And the cheerful birds are fled. 
 All are fled — ye swains, draw near. 
 All your store of gladness bring : 
 Shepherds — shepherdesses — hear ! 
 Gather round me while I sing. 
 Come — the shadowy thatch is o'er ye- 
 Listen to my jealous story. 
 
 Daphne, wandering, chanced to look 
 Towards the wood, and saw, alone. 
 Sporting, his beloved one. 
 Leaning on her pastoral crook; 
 Her light morning garments on— 
 On her hand a ^ATeath she held. 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 243 
 
 Playing with the early sun. 
 In the forest and the field: 
 O, it was a moment meet 
 For a lover's heart to beat ! 
 
 Forward she — he sought the wood 
 
 Swiftly — not less swift she flew — 
 
 Harder beat his bosom true — 
 
 He was left in solitude. 
 
 Like a rein-deer she is gone. 
 
 Buried in the thickest shade. 
 
 ' Heaven — and faithless, treacherous one ! 
 
 ' Do I dream? — No ! — cruel maid ! 
 
 ' Some heart' s-robber waits thee there — 
 
 * Wretched man! — deceitful fair!' 
 
 But he reach' d the wood at last. 
 And he hears the rustling boughs. 
 Hides him midst the leaves, and vows 
 That his eagle eye shall blast 
 All her joy — her shame unveil: 
 Then he put the boughs aside, 
 
 m2 
 
'^44 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 But, as tutor' d to conceal. 
 They rebound, dissatisfied 3 
 And he stands, a senseless thing. 
 When he heard his maiden sing: — 
 
 (Gods of heaven ! and fiends of hell ! 
 Ye, who e'er a heart conferr'd — 
 Ye, who e'er of passion heard — 
 Thunder were less terrible.) 
 ' Come,' she said, ' О come, my dear ! 
 Come, thou brightest, sweetest, best I 
 Sport thee with this garland here. 
 Sleep upon my welcoming breast j 
 Dwell, my joy, my pride, with me. 
 And my heart shall dwell with thee.' 
 
 ' Vile deceiver ! — fallen to this !* 
 And the forest echo'd round 
 Laughter, and the gentler sound 
 Of the love-conferring kiss. 
 Through the circling boughs he tears. 
 And, with fury-flashing eyes. 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 245 
 
 Met his maiden pale with fears. 
 And — upon her hand espies 
 A sweet bird that she caress'd. 
 And was fondling in her breast. 
 
 Canst thou, canst thou then forg^e 
 He who dared to doubt thy truth ? 
 ' No ! forgiveness, erring youth ! 
 Ne'er with doubting love can live.* 
 So she spoke — his heart was broken, 
 Veil'd in grief and sunk in shame j 
 Tears, repentance' bitter token. 
 Fell, but could not quench the flame : 
 So — for love the victory wins — 
 She forgave him all his sins. 
 
-46 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 III. 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 Noisy nightingale! be still, 
 Hear'st thou not the sweeter thrill 
 
 Of my Mary, 
 
 Of my fairy. 
 From the cottage? through the treeS;, 
 Born on breath of western breeze. 
 
 As the skylark from her height. 
 Midst the dews of opening light. 
 
 Sweetly singeth; 
 
 Joy upspringeth 
 From the heart that song to hear — 
 So I love thy voice, my dear ! 
 
 Turn I towards the window- seat — 
 Give me one soft glance, my sweet ! 
 
 Kind is Mary, 
 
 Kind my fairy. 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 247 
 
 Joyous as a summer's day 
 In the mildest smile of May. 
 
 Then her heart its folds unveils, " 
 And she sings its secret tales : 
 
 Gently flowing. 
 
 Mildly glowing, 
 О how sweetly falls the strain ! 
 О how fascinating then ! 
 
 When upon her harpsichord 
 Music leads the mournful word, 
 
 And the spirit 
 
 Sighs to hear it. 
 Led by her in willing chain — 
 Who was ever like her then ? 
 
 Who? — two Marys cannot be. 
 Mary! life's sweet witchery! 
 
 Mary! bless me. 
 
 And caress me : 
 Kings might envy, for thou art, 
 Mary I thou, my heart of heart. 
 
248 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 Peace! — she sighs — thou window fly 
 Open — let me drink her sigh : 
 
 Glowing, blushing. 
 
 Thither rushing. 
 Could I steal one rapturous kiss — 
 Sing, sweet bird ! thy song of bliss. 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 249 
 
 IV. 
 
 Akh ! kahi na tzvcett ne Morost. 
 
 If the frost nipp'd the flowrets no more, 
 If in winter the flowrets would bloom. 
 If the woes of my spirit were o'er. 
 My spirit should cast off its gloom : 
 I would sit with my sorrow no longer, 
 O'erwatching the dew-covered field. 
 I said to my father already. 
 Already I said to my taper i, 
 * Nay ! marry me not, О my father ! 
 О marry me not to a proud one ! 
 О seek not for high piles of riches, 
 
 seek not for palaces fair, 
 
 'Tis man, not his palace we dwell in, 
 'Tis comfort, not riches, we need ! ' 
 
 1 hurried across the young grass. 
 
 Taper burning before a saint. 
 
 m5 
 
250 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 I threw off my sable fur cloak, 
 
 Lest its rustling perchance might betray me, 
 
 Lest its buttons of metal might tinkle — 
 
 Afraid my stepfather would hear me. 
 
 And say, * she is there/ to his son — 
 
 To his son — who is doom'd for my liusband. 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 251 
 
 V. 
 
 Akh! как toshno тпсв toshnenko. 
 
 HOW gloomy has been to me 
 The year that speeds away. 
 
 But gloomier than all the rest to ine 
 Gloomier than all — to-day ! 
 
 1 must forget my meat and drink. 
 And of my lover think. 
 
 I must no longer idly sleep. 
 
 But counsel seek, and keep. 
 
 Counsel — counsel must 1 seek. 
 
 And seek it from my lover. 
 
 Let us, let us now, my hope. 
 
 Let us live in lovej 
 
 Live in love, while time runs over, 
 
 Were it but a year. 
 
 And that year will then appear 
 
 Like a little day. 
 
252 NATIONAL SOXGS. 
 
 Fain, my love, I'd live with thee. 
 
 But the wicked ones^ 
 
 Even our next door neighbours watcli 
 
 With a never- weary eye ; 
 
 Every step they watch. 
 
 And to father and to mother 
 
 Tell most lying tales j 
 
 Such as that the youthful maiden 
 
 Woke at early hour. 
 
 Woke at early hour to watch her. 
 
 Watch her youthful friend; 
 
 And she stood upon the threshold 
 
 And her kerchief waved. 
 
 Truly, she did wave her kerchief 
 
 To invite her friend. 
 
 Turn again, my hopes ! come hither. 
 
 Hither to my soul ! 
 
 О thou com'st not! — tell me wherefore. 
 
 Wherefore art thou hidden ? 
 
 Yes ! they call thee, thou my treasure 1 
 
 Thou wilt marry thee. 
 
 When thou hastenest to the altar,. 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 253 
 
 Say farewell ! to me. 
 
 Take away my woe and sorrow 
 
 From the luckless maid. 
 
 Bind her woe, and bind her sorrow 
 
 To thy horse's mane. 
 
 Scatter all the maiden's sorrow 
 
 O'er the flowerless field j 
 
 Spring there from the maiden's sorrow. 
 
 Fairest grass and turf! 
 
 Grass and turf from maiden's soгroлv, 
 
 And the sweetest flowers ; 
 
 All the flowers are brightly red — 
 
 One more bright than all — 
 
 One — ^yes, one is far more bright — 
 
 О the bright red flower ! 
 
 Many and many a friend I love. 
 
 One far more than allj 
 
 One is dearer than the rest — 
 
 Loved one of my soul ! 
 
254 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Тг vosnoi, vosnoi zkavoronochik. 
 
 Sing, О sing again, lovely lark of mine. 
 Sitting there alone amidst the green of May ! 
 
 In the prison- tower the lad sits mournfully. 
 To his father writes — ^to his mother writes : 
 Thus he Avrote — and these — these were the very 
 
 words : 
 * О good father mine — thou beloved sir ! 
 О good mother mine — thou beloved dame ! 
 Ransom me, I pray — ransom the good lad. 
 He is your beloved — is your only son ! ' 
 Father — mother — both — both refused to hear. 
 Cursed their hapless race — cursed their hapless seed : 
 ' Never did a thief our honest name disgiace — 
 Highwayman or thief never stain'd the name.' 
 
 Sing, О sing again, lovely lark of mine. 
 Sitting there alone in the green of May ! 
 
NATIONAL SONOS. 2j5 
 
 Fiom the prison-tower thus the prisoner wrote. 
 Thus the prisoner wrote to his beloved maid : 
 ' О thou soul of mine ! О thou lovely maid ! 
 Truest love of mine — sweetest love of mine ! 
 Save — О save, I pray — save the prison'd lad!' 
 Swiftly, then, exclaira'd that beloved maid : 
 ' Come, attendant ! come — come my faithful nurse — 
 Servant faithful — you that long have faithful been. 
 Bring the golden key — bring the key with speed — 
 Ope the treasure chests — open them in haste ^ 
 Golden treasures bring — bring them straight to me : 
 Ransom him, I say — ransom the good lad. 
 He is my beloved — of my heart beloved.' 
 
 Sing, О sing again, lovely lark of mine. 
 Sitting there alone amidst the green of May ! 
 
256 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Na boskhodz krasna solmshka. 
 
 When the lovely sun is mounting high. 
 
 And the bright moon leaves the morning sky,- 
 
 When no falcon floats upon the air. 
 
 By the river's side a youth is seen — 
 
 Ah ! he totters — slowly moving there. 
 
 His faint eye glides o'er the gardens green, 
 
 A\Tiile he holds sad converse with woe and care : 
 
 Then the little birds awake and greet 
 
 Bridegroom and bride, in raptures sweet 
 
 They flap their wings in ecstasy : 
 
 My turtle! — all — yes ! all but thou. 
 
 Who slumberest in thy chamber now. 
 
 Nor sighest — nor sendst a thought to me — 
 
 No ! I am banish'd from her dreams — 
 
 My memory now no longer gleams 
 
 In her heart — my soul's bright hours are o'er — 
 
 Nadesha will be mine no more ! 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 257 
 
 From her chamber then the maiden sped. 
 And grief was on her cheeks distrest; 
 And her eyes with sorrow's tears were red. 
 Her arms hung down — she is not dead. 
 For no arrow has transfix'd her breast. 
 And no venomous snake has poison'd her: 
 He would speak — but he луаз forced to hear : 
 ' Now fare thee well, thou loving one ! 
 My soul! — my father's best loved son! 
 Last eve I \vas affianced — 
 Oh ! and the guests to-morrow come : 
 They will lead me to God's holy shrine. 
 Call me another's — wretched doom ! 
 Another's but for ever thine.' 
 
258 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Akh! daleche V chistom jjolce. 
 
 Alas ! on that plane, distant meadow towers 
 
 A little tree, whose branches raise them high. 
 
 And neath those branches grows the emerald grass. 
 
 And o'er the grass full many a floweret blooms. 
 
 There many a floweret blooms as blue as heav'n. 
 
 And on those flowerets was a carpet spread. 
 
 And on that carpet sat two brothers lone. 
 
 Two lonely brothers, link'd in strongest love : 
 
 The elder brother waked the cymbal's voice. 
 
 To which the younger's sweetest hymns were join'd 
 
 ' Two sons, our mother gave us to the world. 
 
 Our father like two falcons rear'd his boys ; 
 
 He rear'd and fed us — yet he taught us nought — 
 
 But rear'd us on this wide and foreign land : 
 
 A wide and foreign land — the town unknown j 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 259 
 
 Wide foreign land — dry even without the wind — 
 Dry without wind, and chilly without frost. 
 Our mother deem'd we never should get free. 
 But we have freed us in this happy hour. 
 And now, О mother! thou wilt find us not.' 
 
260 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Тг dusha moya. 
 
 ' О THOU soul of mine. 
 Gentle maid divine ! 
 Thou who didst possess 
 All this heart of mine. 
 Sit not, my love's light ! 
 Watching through the night : 
 Waxen taper now 
 Burn no more, I pray, . 
 Wait me now no more 
 Till the break of day ! 
 All our hope is over. 
 And betrothed thy lover , 
 And I came to ask 
 For thy last farewell. 
 And my gratitude 
 For past love to tell.' 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 261 
 
 Hardly had lie spoken. 
 Hardly had he said — 
 Sobbing — spirit-broken — 
 Wept the lovely maid : 
 Melting into tears. 
 Trembling in her fears. 
 Firmly yet she cried : 
 * Give me, treacherous thing. 
 Give my golden ring : 
 Take the knife of steel 
 Which thou once hadst given. 
 Let its blade be driven 
 To my heart — and feel 
 How it burnt for thee. 
 While thou murderedst me ! ' 
 
 ' Weep not, gentle maid ! 
 Weep no more, I pray; 
 I shall often come. 
 Come from day to day : 
 I shall love thee more — 
 Better — than before.' 
 
262 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 But she wept again. 
 Lovely maid ! — she wept; 
 And her tearful eye 
 On the traitor kept. 
 Never is the sun 
 Brighter than in June : 
 Love can never see 
 Twice its burning noon. 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 263 
 
 X. 
 
 Perestan stonatce Kukushechka. 
 
 Listen yet a while, thou cuckoo deai! 
 Call not, call not thou so sadly there! 
 For лvithout thy notes my heart is torn, 
 Sicken'd, and dejected, and forlorn ! 
 For the sun his lovely face has shrouded, 
 Fi owning sits he in his palace clouded. 
 And the lovely maid is full of grieC 
 And that grief will never find an end — 
 Never find an end — for how can she. 
 How can she forget her bosom's friend? 
 Not an hour — not even a moment — he. 
 He is present at the dawn of day. 
 At the nightfall — eve — and morning's ray 
 О he left the lovely maiden — he 
 Left the maiden for a little week — 
 For a week — but six months sped away — 
 Six long months — 'twas an eternity. 
 
264 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Chernovrovoi, ckernoslazoi. 
 
 Hazel- eyebrow' d, hazel-eyed. 
 
 Thou audacious boy, 
 
 "Why hast thou bewitch'd my heart, 
 
 And to grief betray' d ? 
 
 Can the summer sun be cold. 
 
 Can the light be shade. 
 
 Can the heart exist on earth 
 
 Uninspired by love ? 
 
 Does the sunshine cease to smile 
 
 When the floweret fades ? 
 
 Is the heart untouch' d by 1ол^ 
 
 ^Mien the heart is sad ? 
 
 'Tis no lawless love that dwells 
 In my inner heart : 
 I will fly and seek my mate. 
 Like the bird in spring. 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 2 60 
 
 I will show him all his gifts. 
 
 Every kerchief sent 5 
 
 He shall see those kerchiefs steam 
 
 With my burning tears ! 
 
 On thy bosom dry them, dry 
 
 Those hot, burning tears j 
 
 Or commingle them with thine. 
 
 They will sweeter flow. 
 
 Hear ! on the damp hedge a noise. 
 
 Snow-clouds on the field — 
 
 Stormy winds are gathering round, 
 
 Broken is the way. 
 
 Tarry in thy little cage, 
 
 О thou gentle bird. 
 
 Thou canst open not with tears 
 
 Yonder prison, dear ! 
 
 Tell to thy affianced now 
 
 Some old tale of joy. 
 
 Never alone should a lovely maid 
 Wander across the field j 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
266 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 Never the maiden's wandering eye 
 
 Should the handsome swains pursue: 
 
 Never the maid should dare to love, 
 
 To love the handsome swain : 
 
 But the maid should watch her tender heart 
 
 With ever-present care. 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 267 
 
 XII. 
 
 Poverkh dubchika. 
 
 On an oak there sate 
 A turtle with his mate — 
 There in amorous meeting 
 One another greeting. 
 Each with flapping wing 
 All its joy repeating. 
 Swift a vulture sprung. 
 Eagle-eyed and young. 
 And he bore away 
 That poor turtle gray — 
 That poor turtle gray. 
 With his ruby feet. 
 On the oak-tree wood 
 Spilt the turtle's blood : 
 All the plumage soft 
 O'er the meadow driven ^ 
 All his down aloft 
 Borne by winds of heaven. 
 
268 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 how desolate 
 
 Sat the mourning mate; 
 How she groan'd and sigh'd 
 While her turtle died. 
 ' Weep not — Avliy complain. 
 Little turtle^ love ?' 
 Said the vulture then 
 To the widow'd dove, 
 ' O'er the azure sea 
 
 1 will bring to thee 
 Floclis of turtles, where 
 Thou shalt choose thy dear. 
 Choose thy lover sweet. 
 Choose the brightest, best. 
 With a fair gray breast. 
 And with ruby feet.' 
 
 ' Fly not, murderous bird ! 
 O'er the azure sea !' 
 Thus the dove луаз heard 
 Answering mournfully : 
 ' Bring no flocks to rae 
 O'er the azure sea; 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 269 
 
 Can their presence be 
 Comfort to my breast ? 
 Will they bring to me 
 The father of my nest ?' 
 
270 NATIONAL SONGS. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Тг prohodisK dorogaja. 
 
 Ah ! thou hurriest by the convent. 
 
 My beloved one ! 
 Ah ! the convent where the vrretched monk 
 
 Lives despairing. 
 'Twas by force he was conducted here. 
 
 And devoted ! 
 О remove this hood, my dearest one, 
 
 remove it ! 
 
 Take away this frock, my fairest one, 
 
 1 beseech thee. 
 
 Lay thy soft — О lay thy snowy hand 
 
 On my bosom J 
 Feel my heart — ^how my throbbing heart 
 
 Beats and trembles 
 
NATIONAL SONGS. 271 
 
 With the flowing blood entangled. 
 
 Deeply sighing ! 
 From thy countenance of gladness 
 
 Tears of sorrow 
 Drop ! Come, contemplate with pity 
 
 My fate's darkness ; 
 I will ask not for forgiveness 
 
 Of my errors. 
 But that thou mayst love me — love me, 
 
 Thouj my angel ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
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