"
When night's pale lightning darts with fitful flash
O'er the old pear tree, rustling withered leaves
The while, the screech-owl strikes your window-sash,
You'll think it is my baffled soul that grieves.
When night's pale lightning darts with fitful flash
O'er the old pear tree, rustling withered leaves
The while, the screech-owl strikes your window-sash,
You'll think it is my baffled soul that grieves.
Poland - 1881 - Poets and Poetry of Poland
org/access_use#pd
? MICKIEWICZ. 209
young Polish poet of great genius. In 1831 lie left
Rome and journeyed through Switzerland to Paris,
from whence, in company of Anton Go? recki, the poet,
he left for Dresden, and visited the Grand Duchy of
Posen. In the same year he returned to Dresden,
where he wrote his " Pan Tadeusz. " In the following
year he went to Geneva, where he composed the third
part of "The Ancestors. " It is from this place that
Mickiewicz took his friend Garczynski to Avignon,
where he closed his eyes in eternal sleep. He was so
overcome by his friend's death that he thought of going
to America and seek seclusion; but his friends dis-
suaded him from the idea, and he returned with them
to Paris. He shortly married Miss Celina Szymanowska,
a lady of great worth and many accomplishments.
This interesting event occurred in 1834. From this
time hence he became a husband and a father of a
family, but he never again touched the strings of his
lute, -- at least his countrymen never heard its sounds.
In 1839 he was called to the professorship of Ancient
Literature at Lussanne, which in about a year he left
to accept a professorship of Slavonian Literature at the
College de France, in Paris, where he lectured for
about four years.
It was here and about this time that he became
acquainted with a certain Andrew Towian? ski, who
pretended to possess extraordinary powers of clairvoy-
ance, and who by strong magnetic powers exerted a
great influence over the poet, but fortunately it was but
for a short spell. In the early part of 1855 he lost his
wife, and in June was commissioned by the French
Government to proceed to Constantinople in order to
investigate the condition of the Slavonic races under
the Turkish Government. Armand Levy, a Hebrew,
14
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 210 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
and Henry Shiz? alski accompanied him on this mission.
After arriving at their destination they visited the camp
of Sadyk Pasha (Michael Czaykowski), but incon-
venient life and the prevailing cholera laid the poet on
his dying bed, from which he arose only to be
taken to his last resting place. His death occurred the
28th of November, 1855, in the presence of his two
faithful companions and friends, S? uz? alski and Levy.
The mortal remains of the greatest poet were taken to
Paris and buried in the cemetery of Montmorency.
Through the endeavors and influence of Dr. Matecki,
of Posen, a monument was erected to the immortal
poet in 1859, executed by the artistic chisel of Stanis-
laus Oleszczysn? ki, the Polish sculptor.
There are many editions of his works issued at
different times and at different places, such as Wilno,
Moscow, Warsaw, St. Petersburg, Paris, Posen, Leip-
zig, Wadowice, Thorne, etc. The most complete edition
of Adam Mickiewicz' s works has been published in
several volumes by his children in Paris -- 1869.
PRIMROSE.
(Pierwiosnek. )
Scarce had the happy lark begun
To sing of Spring with joyous burst,
When oped the primrose to the sun --
The golden petaled blossoms first.
I.
'Tis yet too soon, my little flower,
The north wind waits with chilly breath ;
Still capped by snow the mountains tower,
And wet the meadows lie beneath.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? MICKIEWICZ. 211
Hide yet awhile thy golden light,
Hide yet beneath thy mother's wing,
Ere chilly frosts that pierce and blight,
Unto thy fragile petals cling.
Primrose.
Like butterflies our moments are,
They pass, and death is all our gain ;
One April hour is sweeter far
Than all December's gloomy reign.
Dost seek a gift to give the gods?
Thy friend or thy beloved one?
Then weave a wreath wherein there nods
My blossoms -- fairer there are none.
I.
'Mid common grass within the wood,
Beloved flower, thou hast grown,
So simple -- few have understood
What gives the prestige all thy own.
Thou hast no hues of morning star,
Nor tulip's gaudy turban'd crest --
Nor clothed art thou as lilies are --
Nor in the rose's splendor drest.
When in a wreath thy colors blend,
When comes thy sweet confiding sense
That friends ; ? and more beloved than friend,
Shall give thee kindly preference?
Primrose.
With pleasure friends my buds will greet,
They see Spring's angel in my face;
For friendship dwells not in the heat,
But loves with me the shady place.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 212 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Whether of Marion, beloved one,
Worthy I am -- can't tell before? .
If she but looks this bud upon,
I'll get a tear -- if nothing more! .
ODE TO YOUTH.
(Oda do M? odos? ci. )
Without soul-life but skeletons are we --
On me, Youth, bestow thy wings!
To soar about this hopeless world,
Into the regions fair to see,
Where mind-created imagery
Strews flowers with fancy's dew impearled,
Arraying hope anew in life's imaginings.
Let him bowed down by weight of years,
With brow that bears time's furrowing touch,
See only of the world as much
As to his dull, dim sight appears!
O Youth ! above this level send
The sunny glances of thine eye,
And penetrate from end to end
Humanity's immensity.
Now look below where the eternal mists unfold
The dark expanse that chaos does o'erwhelm ;
The earth behold!
Look where above its waters dead
A shell-clad reptile lifts its head,
Who is himself both ship and steersman at the helm,
Chasing the smaller elemental fry;
Once he ascends, then down again he sinks --
The waves cling not to him, and from their clasps he shrinks;
Then as a bubble bursts -- collapsing suddenly.
None of his life knew aught, and neither is he missed --
It was an Egotist!
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? MICKIEWICZ. 213
O Youth ! the nectared wine of life for thee
Is only sweet to taste when shared by others;
As heavenly joy unites the heart, and we
Are drawn by chords of love more closely to our brothers.
Together then unite, my friends!
The joy of one alike on all attends --
In union strong, and wise in frenzy's heat,
In one all our purpose blends.
And happy he who fails to win a name
If by the sacrifice of self he seat
Another on the topmost round of fame. |
Unite for nobler ends!
Though perilously steep the path,
And violence with weakness guard the gate,
Let violence contend alone with wrath,
With weakness youth may strive, and striving conquer fate!
He who in childhood crushed the hydra's head,
Will later on strike the centaurs down,
Will wrest from hell its dead;
Then soaring up, win laurels for his crown !
Will strain his gaze beyond all human sight,
Crush barriers that reason cannot shake.
O Youth! thy course is as the eagle's flight,
Thy strength like thunderbolts that round him break!
Then shoulder to shoulder linked, as by one common chain,
This earthly globe we will surround,
And in one focus drawn of thought profound
One purpose and one end maintain!
Earth! move from thy foundations old,
To the progression of our thought,
And breaking through the crust that time has wrought,
Let germs of greener years unfold!
As in the region of chaotic night,
- Where warring elements contended,
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? 214 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
'Mid whirlwind's roar and torrent's thundering call,
To the " Be thou" of God's creating might,
A living world sprung up, and over all
Illuming stars ascended!
So darkness in the realm-soul prevails,
The elements of will are still at war;
But love's breath of living fire
Behold the spent life unveils!
Through which youth's heart conceiving shall aspire,
Joined by eternal bonds forever more!
The icy clod revivifies,
With light prejudice disappears,
Arise, O star of freedom, rise !
The morning of Redemption's near!
NEW YEAR'S WISHES.
The old year is dead, and from its ashes blossoms bright
New Phcenix, spreading wings o'er the heavens far and near;
Full of hopes and wishes, earth salutes it with delight.
What should I for myself desire on this glad New Year?
Say, happy moments! . . . I know these lightning flashes
swift,
When they the heavens open and gild the wide earth o'er,
We wait t'he assumption till the weary eyes we lift
Are darkened by a night sadder than e'er known before.
Say, 'tis love I wish ! . . . that youthful frenzy full of bliss
Bears one to spheres platonie -- to joys divine I know.
Till the strong and gay are hurled down pain's profound
Hurled from the seventh heaven upon the rocks below.
I have dreamed and I have pined. I soared and then I fell.
Of a peerless rose I dreamed, and to gather it I thought,
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? MICKIEWICZ. 215
When I awoke. Then vanished the rose with dream's bright
spell --
Thorns in my breast alone were left -- Love I desire not!
Shall I ask for friendship? . . . that fair goddess who on earth
Youth creates? Ah! who is there who would not friend-
ship crave?
She is first to give imagination's daughter birth.
Ever to the uttermost she seeks its life to save.
Friends, how happy are ye all ! Ye live as one, and hence
Ever the self-same power has o'er ye all control,
Like Armida's palm whose leaves seemed separate elements
While the whole tree was nourished by one accursed soul.
But when the fierce and furious hail-storms strike the tree,
Or when venomous insects poison it with their bane,
In what sharp suffering each separate branch must be
For others and itself. . . . I desire not friendship's pain !
For what, then, shall I wish, on this New Year just begun?
Some lovely by-place -- bed of oak -- where sweet peace
descends,
From whence I could see never the brightness of the sun,
Hear the laugh of enemies, or see the tears of friends?
There until the world should end, and after that to stay
In sleep which all my senses against all power should bind,
Dreaming as I dreamt my golden youthful years away,
Love the world -- wish it well -- but away from human-
kind.
TO M .
"Precz z oczu moich -- pos? ucham od razu. "
Hence from my sight! -- I'll obey at once.
Hence from my heart ! -- I hear and understand.
But hence from memory? Nay, I answer, nay!
Our hearts won't listen to this last command!
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? 216 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
As the dim shadows that precede the night
In deepening circles widen far and near,
So when your image passes from my sight
It leaves behind a mem'ry all too dear.
In every place -- wherever we became
As one in joy and sorrow that bereft --
I will forever be by you the same,
For there a portion of my soul is left.
>>
When pensively within some lonely room
You sit and touch your harp's melodious string,
You will, remembering, sigh in twilight's gloom
" I sang for him this song which now I sing. "
Or when beside the chess-board -- as }^ou stand
In danger of a checkmate -- you will say,
" Thus stood the pieces underneath my hand
When ended our last game -- that happy day! "
When in the quiet pauses at the ball
You, sitting, wait for music to begin,
A vacant place beside you will recall
How once I used to sit by you therein.
When on the page that tells how fate's decree
Parts happy lovers, you shall bend your eyes;
You'll close the volume, sighing wearily.
'Tis but -the record of our love likewise.
But if the author after weary years
Shall bid the current of their lives reblend,
You'll sit in darkness, whispering through your tears,
" Why does not thus our story find an end?
"
When night's pale lightning darts with fitful flash
O'er the old pear tree, rustling withered leaves
The while, the screech-owl strikes your window-sash,
You'll think it is my baffled soul that grieves.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? MICKIEWICZ. 217
In every place -- in all remembered ways
Where we have shared together bliss or dole --
Still will I haunt you through the lonely days.
For there I left a portion of my soul.
(From the " Improvisation. ")
A MOMENT AND A SPARKLE.
What is my life?
Ah ! but a moment short as a sigh !
What is my feeling?
Ah ! but a sparkle soon to die !
Whence comes the little man that plays such mighty part?
From a sparkle!
What'll be the time that'll crush my thoughts and my heart?
But a moment!
And those thunders that shall to morrow roar
To-day what are they? But a sparkle!
What are the world's events of years, and my lore?
But a moment !
What was He then when in his bosom held this world?
But a sparkle !
What'll be the time when all will crash and be hurled
Into the abyss of forgetfulness?
But a moment!
(From the "Ancestors. ")
She is fair as a spirit of light
That floats in the ether on high,
And her eye beams as kindly and bright,
As the sun in the azure-tinged sky.
The lips of her lover join hers
Like the meeting of flame with flame,
And as sweet as the voice of two lutes,
Which one harmony weds the same.
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? 218 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
(From u Faris. ")
No palms are seen with their green hair,
Nor white-crested desert tents are there;
But his brow is shaded by the sky-
That flingeth aloft its canopy;
The mighty rocks lay now at rest,
And the stars move slowly on heaven's breast.
(From the same. )
My Arab steed is black --
Black as the tempest cloud that flies
Across the dark and mutt'ring skies,
And leaves a gloomy track.
His hoofs are shod with lightning's glare,
I give the winds his flowing mane,
And spur him smoking o'er the plain,
And none from earth or heaven dare,
My path to chase in vain.
And as my barb like lightning flies,
I gaze upon the moonlit skies,
And see the stars with golden eyes,
Look down upon the plain.
FATHER'S RETURN. (A BALLAD. )
(Powro? t Taty. )
Go, children, all of you together,
To the pillar upon the hill,
And there before the miraculous picture
Kneel and pray with a fervent will.
Father returns not. Mornings and evenings
I await him in tears, and fret.
The streams are swollen, the wild beasts prowling,
And the woods with robbers beset.
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? MICKIEWICZ. 219
The children heard, and they ran together
To the pillar upon the hill;
And there before the miraculous picture
Knelt and prayed with a fervent will.
" Hear us, O Lord! Our father is absent,
Our father so tender and dear.
Protect him from all besetting danger!
Guide him home to us safely here! "
They kiss the earth in the name of the Father,
Again in the name of the Son.
Be praised the name of the Trinity holy,
And forever their will be done.
Then they said Our Father, the Ave and Credo,
The Commandments and Rosary too;
And after these prayers were all repeated,
A book from their pockets they drew.
And the Litany and the Holy "Mother
They sang while the eldest led --
" O Holy Mother," implored the children,
"Be thy sheltering arms outspread! "
Soon they heard the sound of wheels approaching,
And the foremost wagon espied.
Then jumped the children with joy together.
" Our father is coming! " they cried.
The father leaped down, his glad tears flowing,
Among them without delay.
"And how are you all, my dearest children?
Were you lonesome with me away?
"And is mother well -- your aunt and the servants?
Here are grapes in the basket, boys. "
Then the children jumped in their joy around him,
Till the air was rent with their noise.
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? 220 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
" Start on," the merchant said to the servants,
" With the children I will follow on; "
But while he spoke the robbers surround them,
A dozen, with sabers drawn.
Long beards had they, and curly moustache,
And soiled the clothes they wore,
Sharp knives in their belts and swords beside them,
While clubs in their hands they bore.
Then shrieked the children in fear and trembling,
And close to their father clung,
While helpless and pale in his consternation,
His hands he imploringly wrung.
" Take all I have! " he cried; "take my earnings,
But let us depart with life.
Make not of these little children orphans,
Or a widow of my young wife. 1 '
But the gang, who have neither heard nor heeded,
Their search for the booty begin.
"Money! " they cry, and swinging their truncheons,
They threaten with curses and din.
Then a voice is heard from the robber captain,
" Hold! hold! with your plundering here! '. '
And releasing the father and frightened children,
He bids them go without fear.
To the merchant then the robber responded:
" No thanks -- for I freely declare
A broken head you had hardly escaped with,
Were it not for the children's prayer.
" Your thanks belong to the children only;
To them alone your life you owe.
Now listen, while I relate to you briefly
How it came to happen, and go.
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? MICKIEWICZ. 221
" I and my comrades had long heard rumors
Of a merchant coming this way;
And here in the woods that skirt the pillar
We were lying in wait to-day.
"And lying in wait behind the bushes,
The children at prayer I heard.
Though I listened at first with laugh derisive,
Soon to pity my heart was stirred.
" I listened, and thoughts of my home came to me;
From its purpose my heart was won.
I too have a wife who awaits my coming,
And with her is my little son.
" Merchant, depart -- to the woods I hasten --
And children, come sometimes here,
And kneeling together beside this pillar
Give me a prayer and a tear! "
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? 222 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
CHILDE HAROLD'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE
LAND.
(FROM LORD BYRON. )
Adieu, adieu! my native shore'
Fades o'er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight:
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native land -- good night !
ii.
A few short hours and he will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall:
My dog howls at the gate.
in.
Come hither, hither, my little page,
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
Or tremble at the gale?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
Our ship is swift and strong;
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along.
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? MICKIEWICZ. 223
POZ? EGNANIE CHILDE HAROLDA.
(Z LORDA BYRONA. )
T? o? maczy? Adam Mickiewicz. *
Bywaj mi zdrowy, kraju kochany!
Juz w mglistej nikniesz pomroce;
S? wisne? ? y wiatry, szumja? ba? wany
I morskie ptactwo swiegoce.
Dalej za s? on? cem gdzie jasna? g? owe?
W zachodnie pogra? z? a piany --
Tym czasem s? on? ce bywaj mi zdrowe
Bywa] zdro? w kraju kochany!
u.
Za kilka godzin rozane zorze
Promien? mi b? ys? nie jasnemi:
Obacze? niebo, obacze? morze
Lecz niezobacze? mej ziemi.
Zamek, na kto? rym brzmia? o wesele,
Wieczna z? a? oba pokryje;
Na wa? ach dzikie poros? nie ziele
U wro? t pies wierny za wyje.
iii.
Po? jdz?
? MICKIEWICZ. 209
young Polish poet of great genius. In 1831 lie left
Rome and journeyed through Switzerland to Paris,
from whence, in company of Anton Go? recki, the poet,
he left for Dresden, and visited the Grand Duchy of
Posen. In the same year he returned to Dresden,
where he wrote his " Pan Tadeusz. " In the following
year he went to Geneva, where he composed the third
part of "The Ancestors. " It is from this place that
Mickiewicz took his friend Garczynski to Avignon,
where he closed his eyes in eternal sleep. He was so
overcome by his friend's death that he thought of going
to America and seek seclusion; but his friends dis-
suaded him from the idea, and he returned with them
to Paris. He shortly married Miss Celina Szymanowska,
a lady of great worth and many accomplishments.
This interesting event occurred in 1834. From this
time hence he became a husband and a father of a
family, but he never again touched the strings of his
lute, -- at least his countrymen never heard its sounds.
In 1839 he was called to the professorship of Ancient
Literature at Lussanne, which in about a year he left
to accept a professorship of Slavonian Literature at the
College de France, in Paris, where he lectured for
about four years.
It was here and about this time that he became
acquainted with a certain Andrew Towian? ski, who
pretended to possess extraordinary powers of clairvoy-
ance, and who by strong magnetic powers exerted a
great influence over the poet, but fortunately it was but
for a short spell. In the early part of 1855 he lost his
wife, and in June was commissioned by the French
Government to proceed to Constantinople in order to
investigate the condition of the Slavonic races under
the Turkish Government. Armand Levy, a Hebrew,
14
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 210 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
and Henry Shiz? alski accompanied him on this mission.
After arriving at their destination they visited the camp
of Sadyk Pasha (Michael Czaykowski), but incon-
venient life and the prevailing cholera laid the poet on
his dying bed, from which he arose only to be
taken to his last resting place. His death occurred the
28th of November, 1855, in the presence of his two
faithful companions and friends, S? uz? alski and Levy.
The mortal remains of the greatest poet were taken to
Paris and buried in the cemetery of Montmorency.
Through the endeavors and influence of Dr. Matecki,
of Posen, a monument was erected to the immortal
poet in 1859, executed by the artistic chisel of Stanis-
laus Oleszczysn? ki, the Polish sculptor.
There are many editions of his works issued at
different times and at different places, such as Wilno,
Moscow, Warsaw, St. Petersburg, Paris, Posen, Leip-
zig, Wadowice, Thorne, etc. The most complete edition
of Adam Mickiewicz' s works has been published in
several volumes by his children in Paris -- 1869.
PRIMROSE.
(Pierwiosnek. )
Scarce had the happy lark begun
To sing of Spring with joyous burst,
When oped the primrose to the sun --
The golden petaled blossoms first.
I.
'Tis yet too soon, my little flower,
The north wind waits with chilly breath ;
Still capped by snow the mountains tower,
And wet the meadows lie beneath.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? MICKIEWICZ. 211
Hide yet awhile thy golden light,
Hide yet beneath thy mother's wing,
Ere chilly frosts that pierce and blight,
Unto thy fragile petals cling.
Primrose.
Like butterflies our moments are,
They pass, and death is all our gain ;
One April hour is sweeter far
Than all December's gloomy reign.
Dost seek a gift to give the gods?
Thy friend or thy beloved one?
Then weave a wreath wherein there nods
My blossoms -- fairer there are none.
I.
'Mid common grass within the wood,
Beloved flower, thou hast grown,
So simple -- few have understood
What gives the prestige all thy own.
Thou hast no hues of morning star,
Nor tulip's gaudy turban'd crest --
Nor clothed art thou as lilies are --
Nor in the rose's splendor drest.
When in a wreath thy colors blend,
When comes thy sweet confiding sense
That friends ; ? and more beloved than friend,
Shall give thee kindly preference?
Primrose.
With pleasure friends my buds will greet,
They see Spring's angel in my face;
For friendship dwells not in the heat,
But loves with me the shady place.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 212 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Whether of Marion, beloved one,
Worthy I am -- can't tell before? .
If she but looks this bud upon,
I'll get a tear -- if nothing more! .
ODE TO YOUTH.
(Oda do M? odos? ci. )
Without soul-life but skeletons are we --
On me, Youth, bestow thy wings!
To soar about this hopeless world,
Into the regions fair to see,
Where mind-created imagery
Strews flowers with fancy's dew impearled,
Arraying hope anew in life's imaginings.
Let him bowed down by weight of years,
With brow that bears time's furrowing touch,
See only of the world as much
As to his dull, dim sight appears!
O Youth ! above this level send
The sunny glances of thine eye,
And penetrate from end to end
Humanity's immensity.
Now look below where the eternal mists unfold
The dark expanse that chaos does o'erwhelm ;
The earth behold!
Look where above its waters dead
A shell-clad reptile lifts its head,
Who is himself both ship and steersman at the helm,
Chasing the smaller elemental fry;
Once he ascends, then down again he sinks --
The waves cling not to him, and from their clasps he shrinks;
Then as a bubble bursts -- collapsing suddenly.
None of his life knew aught, and neither is he missed --
It was an Egotist!
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? MICKIEWICZ. 213
O Youth ! the nectared wine of life for thee
Is only sweet to taste when shared by others;
As heavenly joy unites the heart, and we
Are drawn by chords of love more closely to our brothers.
Together then unite, my friends!
The joy of one alike on all attends --
In union strong, and wise in frenzy's heat,
In one all our purpose blends.
And happy he who fails to win a name
If by the sacrifice of self he seat
Another on the topmost round of fame. |
Unite for nobler ends!
Though perilously steep the path,
And violence with weakness guard the gate,
Let violence contend alone with wrath,
With weakness youth may strive, and striving conquer fate!
He who in childhood crushed the hydra's head,
Will later on strike the centaurs down,
Will wrest from hell its dead;
Then soaring up, win laurels for his crown !
Will strain his gaze beyond all human sight,
Crush barriers that reason cannot shake.
O Youth! thy course is as the eagle's flight,
Thy strength like thunderbolts that round him break!
Then shoulder to shoulder linked, as by one common chain,
This earthly globe we will surround,
And in one focus drawn of thought profound
One purpose and one end maintain!
Earth! move from thy foundations old,
To the progression of our thought,
And breaking through the crust that time has wrought,
Let germs of greener years unfold!
As in the region of chaotic night,
- Where warring elements contended,
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? 214 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
'Mid whirlwind's roar and torrent's thundering call,
To the " Be thou" of God's creating might,
A living world sprung up, and over all
Illuming stars ascended!
So darkness in the realm-soul prevails,
The elements of will are still at war;
But love's breath of living fire
Behold the spent life unveils!
Through which youth's heart conceiving shall aspire,
Joined by eternal bonds forever more!
The icy clod revivifies,
With light prejudice disappears,
Arise, O star of freedom, rise !
The morning of Redemption's near!
NEW YEAR'S WISHES.
The old year is dead, and from its ashes blossoms bright
New Phcenix, spreading wings o'er the heavens far and near;
Full of hopes and wishes, earth salutes it with delight.
What should I for myself desire on this glad New Year?
Say, happy moments! . . . I know these lightning flashes
swift,
When they the heavens open and gild the wide earth o'er,
We wait t'he assumption till the weary eyes we lift
Are darkened by a night sadder than e'er known before.
Say, 'tis love I wish ! . . . that youthful frenzy full of bliss
Bears one to spheres platonie -- to joys divine I know.
Till the strong and gay are hurled down pain's profound
Hurled from the seventh heaven upon the rocks below.
I have dreamed and I have pined. I soared and then I fell.
Of a peerless rose I dreamed, and to gather it I thought,
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? MICKIEWICZ. 215
When I awoke. Then vanished the rose with dream's bright
spell --
Thorns in my breast alone were left -- Love I desire not!
Shall I ask for friendship? . . . that fair goddess who on earth
Youth creates? Ah! who is there who would not friend-
ship crave?
She is first to give imagination's daughter birth.
Ever to the uttermost she seeks its life to save.
Friends, how happy are ye all ! Ye live as one, and hence
Ever the self-same power has o'er ye all control,
Like Armida's palm whose leaves seemed separate elements
While the whole tree was nourished by one accursed soul.
But when the fierce and furious hail-storms strike the tree,
Or when venomous insects poison it with their bane,
In what sharp suffering each separate branch must be
For others and itself. . . . I desire not friendship's pain !
For what, then, shall I wish, on this New Year just begun?
Some lovely by-place -- bed of oak -- where sweet peace
descends,
From whence I could see never the brightness of the sun,
Hear the laugh of enemies, or see the tears of friends?
There until the world should end, and after that to stay
In sleep which all my senses against all power should bind,
Dreaming as I dreamt my golden youthful years away,
Love the world -- wish it well -- but away from human-
kind.
TO M .
"Precz z oczu moich -- pos? ucham od razu. "
Hence from my sight! -- I'll obey at once.
Hence from my heart ! -- I hear and understand.
But hence from memory? Nay, I answer, nay!
Our hearts won't listen to this last command!
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? 216 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
As the dim shadows that precede the night
In deepening circles widen far and near,
So when your image passes from my sight
It leaves behind a mem'ry all too dear.
In every place -- wherever we became
As one in joy and sorrow that bereft --
I will forever be by you the same,
For there a portion of my soul is left.
>>
When pensively within some lonely room
You sit and touch your harp's melodious string,
You will, remembering, sigh in twilight's gloom
" I sang for him this song which now I sing. "
Or when beside the chess-board -- as }^ou stand
In danger of a checkmate -- you will say,
" Thus stood the pieces underneath my hand
When ended our last game -- that happy day! "
When in the quiet pauses at the ball
You, sitting, wait for music to begin,
A vacant place beside you will recall
How once I used to sit by you therein.
When on the page that tells how fate's decree
Parts happy lovers, you shall bend your eyes;
You'll close the volume, sighing wearily.
'Tis but -the record of our love likewise.
But if the author after weary years
Shall bid the current of their lives reblend,
You'll sit in darkness, whispering through your tears,
" Why does not thus our story find an end?
"
When night's pale lightning darts with fitful flash
O'er the old pear tree, rustling withered leaves
The while, the screech-owl strikes your window-sash,
You'll think it is my baffled soul that grieves.
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? MICKIEWICZ. 217
In every place -- in all remembered ways
Where we have shared together bliss or dole --
Still will I haunt you through the lonely days.
For there I left a portion of my soul.
(From the " Improvisation. ")
A MOMENT AND A SPARKLE.
What is my life?
Ah ! but a moment short as a sigh !
What is my feeling?
Ah ! but a sparkle soon to die !
Whence comes the little man that plays such mighty part?
From a sparkle!
What'll be the time that'll crush my thoughts and my heart?
But a moment!
And those thunders that shall to morrow roar
To-day what are they? But a sparkle!
What are the world's events of years, and my lore?
But a moment !
What was He then when in his bosom held this world?
But a sparkle !
What'll be the time when all will crash and be hurled
Into the abyss of forgetfulness?
But a moment!
(From the "Ancestors. ")
She is fair as a spirit of light
That floats in the ether on high,
And her eye beams as kindly and bright,
As the sun in the azure-tinged sky.
The lips of her lover join hers
Like the meeting of flame with flame,
And as sweet as the voice of two lutes,
Which one harmony weds the same.
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? 218 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
(From u Faris. ")
No palms are seen with their green hair,
Nor white-crested desert tents are there;
But his brow is shaded by the sky-
That flingeth aloft its canopy;
The mighty rocks lay now at rest,
And the stars move slowly on heaven's breast.
(From the same. )
My Arab steed is black --
Black as the tempest cloud that flies
Across the dark and mutt'ring skies,
And leaves a gloomy track.
His hoofs are shod with lightning's glare,
I give the winds his flowing mane,
And spur him smoking o'er the plain,
And none from earth or heaven dare,
My path to chase in vain.
And as my barb like lightning flies,
I gaze upon the moonlit skies,
And see the stars with golden eyes,
Look down upon the plain.
FATHER'S RETURN. (A BALLAD. )
(Powro? t Taty. )
Go, children, all of you together,
To the pillar upon the hill,
And there before the miraculous picture
Kneel and pray with a fervent will.
Father returns not. Mornings and evenings
I await him in tears, and fret.
The streams are swollen, the wild beasts prowling,
And the woods with robbers beset.
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? MICKIEWICZ. 219
The children heard, and they ran together
To the pillar upon the hill;
And there before the miraculous picture
Knelt and prayed with a fervent will.
" Hear us, O Lord! Our father is absent,
Our father so tender and dear.
Protect him from all besetting danger!
Guide him home to us safely here! "
They kiss the earth in the name of the Father,
Again in the name of the Son.
Be praised the name of the Trinity holy,
And forever their will be done.
Then they said Our Father, the Ave and Credo,
The Commandments and Rosary too;
And after these prayers were all repeated,
A book from their pockets they drew.
And the Litany and the Holy "Mother
They sang while the eldest led --
" O Holy Mother," implored the children,
"Be thy sheltering arms outspread! "
Soon they heard the sound of wheels approaching,
And the foremost wagon espied.
Then jumped the children with joy together.
" Our father is coming! " they cried.
The father leaped down, his glad tears flowing,
Among them without delay.
"And how are you all, my dearest children?
Were you lonesome with me away?
"And is mother well -- your aunt and the servants?
Here are grapes in the basket, boys. "
Then the children jumped in their joy around him,
Till the air was rent with their noise.
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? 220 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
" Start on," the merchant said to the servants,
" With the children I will follow on; "
But while he spoke the robbers surround them,
A dozen, with sabers drawn.
Long beards had they, and curly moustache,
And soiled the clothes they wore,
Sharp knives in their belts and swords beside them,
While clubs in their hands they bore.
Then shrieked the children in fear and trembling,
And close to their father clung,
While helpless and pale in his consternation,
His hands he imploringly wrung.
" Take all I have! " he cried; "take my earnings,
But let us depart with life.
Make not of these little children orphans,
Or a widow of my young wife. 1 '
But the gang, who have neither heard nor heeded,
Their search for the booty begin.
"Money! " they cry, and swinging their truncheons,
They threaten with curses and din.
Then a voice is heard from the robber captain,
" Hold! hold! with your plundering here! '. '
And releasing the father and frightened children,
He bids them go without fear.
To the merchant then the robber responded:
" No thanks -- for I freely declare
A broken head you had hardly escaped with,
Were it not for the children's prayer.
" Your thanks belong to the children only;
To them alone your life you owe.
Now listen, while I relate to you briefly
How it came to happen, and go.
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? MICKIEWICZ. 221
" I and my comrades had long heard rumors
Of a merchant coming this way;
And here in the woods that skirt the pillar
We were lying in wait to-day.
"And lying in wait behind the bushes,
The children at prayer I heard.
Though I listened at first with laugh derisive,
Soon to pity my heart was stirred.
" I listened, and thoughts of my home came to me;
From its purpose my heart was won.
I too have a wife who awaits my coming,
And with her is my little son.
" Merchant, depart -- to the woods I hasten --
And children, come sometimes here,
And kneeling together beside this pillar
Give me a prayer and a tear! "
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? 222 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
CHILDE HAROLD'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE
LAND.
(FROM LORD BYRON. )
Adieu, adieu! my native shore'
Fades o'er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight:
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native land -- good night !
ii.
A few short hours and he will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall:
My dog howls at the gate.
in.
Come hither, hither, my little page,
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
Or tremble at the gale?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
Our ship is swift and strong;
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along.
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? MICKIEWICZ. 223
POZ? EGNANIE CHILDE HAROLDA.
(Z LORDA BYRONA. )
T? o? maczy? Adam Mickiewicz. *
Bywaj mi zdrowy, kraju kochany!
Juz w mglistej nikniesz pomroce;
S? wisne? ? y wiatry, szumja? ba? wany
I morskie ptactwo swiegoce.
Dalej za s? on? cem gdzie jasna? g? owe?
W zachodnie pogra? z? a piany --
Tym czasem s? on? ce bywaj mi zdrowe
Bywa] zdro? w kraju kochany!
u.
Za kilka godzin rozane zorze
Promien? mi b? ys? nie jasnemi:
Obacze? niebo, obacze? morze
Lecz niezobacze? mej ziemi.
Zamek, na kto? rym brzmia? o wesele,
Wieczna z? a? oba pokryje;
Na wa? ach dzikie poros? nie ziele
U wro? t pies wierny za wyje.
iii.
Po? jdz?
