Do you not hear my shrieks of
harrowing
anguish?
Krasinski - The Undivine Comedy
.
.
.
Yes, I remember now ! Such was the news ;
Such the presentiments which stirred the world,
Then given up to violence and woe.
And we, the Poles, knew well the Messenger, —
The Angel of the si)here of politics, —
Who from the stormy waves of earth's events
Was destined to bring peace, and reunite
The nationalities, could only be
Our holy Poland ; for that martyr's cross
'Had borne such woe, been bathed in such pure blood,
As might redeem this upper, earthly Hell.
Yes, I believed that having endured till death.
My People would unfurl their wings, and seize
The sword of miracle, thus to achieve
The works of life.
XVIII.
How many times Alas ! perhaps too soon,
I've seen in dreams the God of Resurrection !
No wounds, no blood upon His body now!
The form might seem another Christ, and yet
'Tis the same Christ in His eternal glory.
476
THE LAST.
His Face shines like the sun ; whiter than snow
His robe floats round Him in his heavenly course;
And in the dawn of worlds new-born to life
He bathes His unnailed Hands, transfigured now 1
XIX.
Behind the Man-God, slowly, very slowly,
In dazzling beauty, with no trace of death,
My Poland, my beloved Poland, moves !
She stops upon the threshold of the Sion
Promised to all the Peoples upon earth,
And from the sacred heights her voice resounds
So far the assembled nations clearly hear.
Or high, or low, or in the depths of space:
"To me ! to me, fraternal races, come !
Finished the latest fight of the final strife;
The snares of treason, webs of woven lies,
Are all destroyed, and hate is buried with them ;
Come, mount with me into the realm of Peace ! "
The chorus of all nations then responds :
" Glory and Benediction be to thee,
Poland ! for though truly all have suffered, .
Thy tortures were far fiercer than our own 1
Through deep enormity of that injustice
Ever accumulating on thy head,
Tiiou hast held constantly the enemy
Under the lightnings of the living God !
During the anguish of thy martyrdom,
Thou drew'st into thy heart a stronger life
Than that of thine oppressors, and thy sacrifice
Hath saved us all ! To thee'be Benediction ! Glory
XX.
Oh, often during dark autumnal nights
My mother's voice, perhaps some ancestor's,
Will break the grave, and come to me to speak
Of the unknown, the future upon earth;
And with the mystic tones strange visions throng !
The chant of triumph from the manly breasts
Of myriads of men then peals through space ;
1 see the victors pass in countless ranks ;
THE LAST.
477
I see the figures, white and luminous,
Of sisters, brothers, freed from slavery ;
A dazzling star glitters upon each brow :
The star of immortality !
Though without wings.
They float through air as if full-winged they were ;
Though without crowns, they sparkle as full-crowned !
And I move onward in the midst of them,
Feeling myself within an unknown Heaven, —
Unknown, and yet foreseen, anticipated !
XXI.
Ah ! who can tell? Perhaps the prophecies,
Given me in dreams, are all accomplished now
O'er Poland's grave, and I alone, the corpse,
May still be missing 'midst her risen sons?
Ah ! through these bars, these walls which shut me in,
Closely as coffin-planks close round the dead,
My spirit finds the light, and darts afor.
Traversing Time and Space ! I see, not dream !
There ! there are myriads of stars and flowers !
The world regenerated celebrates
Its holy marriage with young liberty !
Over the summits of the clustering Alps,
Along the ridges of Carpathian crests.
The same Aurora kindles all the heavens !
And all the Peoples surging tranquilly.
Mingling and blending waves innumerable.
Form but one mighty ocean over which
Breathes once again the si)irit of our God !
XXII.
Electric shivers shudder through my breast ;
Each nerve is trembling, tingling every vein.
As harps vibrate when touched by master-hands !
Each drop of blood grows resonant within me ;
I feel so light, as if I had no body;
These ponderous chains no longer weigh me down ;
A beatific air envelops me,
And fills my being. 1 elude the grasp
41
478 THE LAST.
Of my dread foe,' return to life immortal.
My very dungeon walls become transparent !
XXIII.
Clairvoyant vision has been. givenjTi. e !
Clearly I see the country which surrounds me;
My second sight each moment penetrates
Farther and wider, deeper into depths.
As waves still rise behind the nearer waves,
Spaces unveil beyond the nearer space ;
Horizons spread, unroll, and disappear !
And far beyond this snow, these gloomy clouds,
Behold the Blue, — the azure vault of Heaven !
The spring is blooming in the west ; beyond
This Moscovy, this hell of snow and ice,
I see the verdure of my native soil !
Thousands of flags unfurled are floating wide
Above a crowd of limitless extent !
It is a Diet as in days of old,
Assembled in the open alFof Heaven!
On that great Plain how happy are my Brothers !
How brilliant in the sun's warm golden light !
I see, I feel them with my eager looks ;
Should I advance a step, I'd touch them with my hands !
Nothing again can ever make me suffer !
Oh, let me look at them ! again ! again !
Gaze on them till my heart is satisfied !
XXIV.
The Diet opens, — they deliberate !
That living ])lain, covered with human heads.
Is by a single impulse tossed and swayed.
Like grain-fields when the wind breathes over them.
Above the sea of heads rise everywhere
Innumerable rows of arms, which point
All towards the North — as if in mute command.
A glorious troop of horsemen now detach
Them from the throng, and journey toward the North.
My brothers they, of Lithuania, Poland !
The assembly of the nation disappears,
Left far behind ; and I can only sec
THE LAST. 479
The troop of horsemen cleaving boundless space !
How rapid is their course ! Like lightning, they \.
Cross hills and valleys, flying toward the North !
Angels of my release, my heart salutes you !
Our national colors, scarlet, white, adorn
Your vestments ; sabres glitter in your hands
Like battle lightnings ! Proudly ye cleave the air,
Eagles of God. Triumphantly ye pass
These frozen steppes of cruel Moscovy,
Where nor the Czar, nor any other Satan
Can e'er again against your might prevail !
My Brothers seek me ! My white eagles fly !
XXV.
On these vast plains, what temples numberless
And infamous, rise for the Czar-god's worship !
What forts of stone, with human blood cemented !
What gloomy prisons meet you on your way !
I see you pause at every grated door,
Dismount, and, by some supernatural power,
Compel the jailers to descend with you
To subterranean cells below all light !
My God ! I hear the joyous cry of life
Re-echoing through the sepulchres of death,
While shadowy ghosts, victims of Moscovy,
Return to light of day, rescued by you !
The Breath of God urges you on anew \
On, Brothers, on ! . . .
XXVI.
During the light of day, the gloom of night.
My eye pursues your ceaseless, rapid course !
What rapture ! Brothers ! You have already passed
Through the Black lands ; enter my boundless plains
Of snow ! Does not earth wear another face?
This is the realm of cold, of ice, of frost,
Of exiled misery, of eternal death !
O Heaven ! Our scarlet banner warms the very snow !
The rays which scatter from your dazzling brows
Clothe this ice-desert in resplendent light !
Haste ! Haste ! My Brothers ! faster fly to me !
4So THE LAST.
They urge their steeds, — they gallop proudly on !
How beautiful — robed in our national hues!
Aid me, my Lord ! or else my heart will burst !
XXVII.
They come ! They see this fortress Moscovite !
Yes, yes, they see ! They turn their horses' heads !
They rush along the trench — like lightning leap it !
Soon they will come to break these bolts and bars !
A moment more, — the twinkling of an eye, —
Poland will enter in my cell to give
Me back the life I offered, lost for her !
Be praised, O God, that even evil ends I
I shall not die alone and in despair !
Be glorified, my God !
XXVIII.
What is it, O my Brothers? Why thus rein
Your steeds so suddenly? Ah ! you have met
A tribe nomadic,* stop to question it.
Oh, come to me ! you've but a step to make !
Waste not your time with those poor savages !
They only seek for moss beneath the snow ;
'Tis all they know ; they have no higher care !
Sometimes a Moscovite may join their ranks;
But trust him not; he is more brute than they,
For they at least are simple, frank of heart.
Why do you stop and talk with that wild horde?
My Brothers ! O my Brothers !
XXIX.
The air is calm and still ; I hear each word.
My Brothers ask : " Within these gloomy walls,
Are any Poles condemned to punishment
Because their conscience would not let them kneel
To worship the God-Czar? "
I hear the answer one among them makes :
** Here only suffers crime ! Robbers and thieves,
* There are still in Siberia remnants of the indigenous tribes, such as
the Toungouses, the Ostiaks, the Samoyedes, etc.
THE LAST. 481
Assassins, parricides, fill all these cells. "
O lie ! O lie ! believe it not, clear Brothers !
Again the voices of my countrymen
Resound across these desolate wastes of snow :
" Not for such victims came we here to search
Your prisons. Poland holy is, she seeks
Alone the martyrs in her sacred cause !
Let vile assassins rot in Russian dungeons !
God only can absolve them in the sky ;
On this earth Poland has no pardon for them. "
XXX.
God ! . . . My Brothers 1 . . . Wait ! one moment
wait 1
Turn not in haste your bridles to avoid
This place accursed ! , Alas ! for centuries
I've waited for you here! This hope alpiie
Has given strength to bear protracted torments !
And now the power of the Moscovites
Is broken ; they are forced to ope our cells ;
The ages of our torture are all o'er;
And you at last are here 1 What rapturous joy !
Why do you pause? . . . You are so very near me;
Can you not hear me, Brothers, when I cry ?
1 am no murderer ! No parricide !
I have not killed my father, nor my mother !
I'm no assassin, but the constant foe
Of him who is the assassin of us all !
Look ! this way look ! I stretch my arms toward you !
Great God ! in pity turn their eyes on me !
To me ! To me ! Here ! Here ! this is my cell !
I strive to reach you, — this chain holds me back 1
Oh, wait one moment ! Let me try again !
With my thin hands I strive to wrench my fetters !
Strain every nerve to break them if I can !
Blood covers them ! Alas ! they do not yield !
Do you not hear my shrieks of harrowing anguish?
Stop in tlie name of God 1 One moment stay 1 . . .
I'll try again to break away this chain !
O grant me but one single second more 1
******
41*
482 THE LAST.
O hour of bliss! . . . Of utmost agony! . . .
My God, they turn away ! they spur their steeds !
Do you not hear me, O my countrymen,
My Brothers, and my only friends on earth ?
See ! I am here ! buried within this vault!
Return ! Return ! I supplicate ! Return !
* * 5); :)i >); :(:
My senses reel ! A fog envelops all !
It drifts between my consciousness and me !
My eyes no longer pierce the walls . . .
XXXI.
God ! My God ! Again I hear a sound, —
The galloping of horses o'er the snow, —
Crackling of ice under their iron hoofs!
Do they return to find a Brother here ? . . .
Farther and farther — ever less distinct —
Diminishing with every step from me —
Forever and forever die away
The blessed footfalls o'er the waste of snow !
Now I hear nothing more !
They have forsaken me !
******
Is it a wretched dream? No, it is truth !
They have been here ! My Brothers have been here !
They have abandoned me ! left me to die
In the midst of murderers and parricides,
In the hour of Resurrection |
XXXII.
Do I not hear the neigh of horses still?
1 am deceived, and there may yet be time!
But I am chained within my coffin's vault!
Can I not wrench the clamp? tear it awav
From these damp walls? break but one single link?
On ! on ! my breast ! Forward, my skeleton arms !
All that is man within me strive ! On ! on !
Ah ! that is well ! flow fast, my crimson blood !
Perhaps there yet is time ! Aid me, O God !
n* * 'F SP 5|C ^ 5jC
THE LAST. '•^__:_l . ; 483
Ah ! useless efforts ! I am growing Aveak,
My sight is reeling and my blood flows fast,
My chains clash without brealciRg ! No one comes !
No one in all the world will ^t/^r "come to aid me !
Silence and immobility return
To float forever o'er this dark, still hell !
Where are you? Where? . . . Ah ! can it really be,
They have been here, my Brothers have been here,
And have abandoned me, — left me to rot
With felons, murderers, and parricides.
In the very hour of national Resurrection !
XXXIII.
Are you my. Brothers ? . . . No ! My exeeutioners !
You've robbed me of my poor remains of life !
But who can say ? . . . Perhaps in younger days
I did indeed commit some dreadful crime;
Murdered my father, mother, brother, sister,
And now have quite forgot it in this grave?
Bat they, my Brothers, knew it all too well,
And so have left me in perdition's gulf!
Nay, none of those were crimes by me committed ;
We'll seek some other possible offense !
Who is it driving daggers in my head ?
Who rakes my brains with talons, pincers, hooks?
Nothing is left me but to drag myself
Over these stones, and gnash and grind my teeth
As grinds my chain into my naked bones !
What horror grapples thus my inmost being?
I know ! I understand ! I feel it now !
My senses leave me ! I am growing mad !
XXXIV.
Where am I ? . . . In my cell ? . . . Yes . . . the same
lamp
Casts the same sickly light . . . round the dim flame.
Naught save the eternal Dark of the Sepulchre !
Here the same sleepless bed, . . . and nothing, nothing
more I
And Thou ! Where art Thoii, God? I do not know !
484 THE LAST.
I look . . . but cannot find Thee in this gloom !
I only know I must die here alone;
Die like a dog ! Nay, it may be, far worse !
To whom do I owe thanks in this blank world?
I've lived, and I must die, in the Czar's House 1 —
Other protection I have never known !
God ! Must I hate all I once loved and trusted ?
My will no longer o'er my body rules.
My eyelids press my eyes so heavily !
XXXV.
Remember, God, after such earthly woes,
I do not wish to keep my soul alive
For other, it may be, eternal pangs !
There is no love within, without, this world;
But irony immense as immensity !
God is no Father 1 Nor the angels. Brothers !
On earth, in Heaven, the same deceptions rule !
God ! I renounce my immortality !
What can it do but change my present grief
Into another woe ! And I am tired ! . . .
I've had enough of anguish, misery !
Give me annihilation ; for I seek
Deliverance ! Forget me, my Creator !
After long years, which were for me a hell,
Hearken the only prayer I breathe at death :
Let me not go where universal life
Blazes with glory !
Let my soul lose itself
Without a trace in Thy eternity.
As they have lost all memory of me !
Alas ! in Poland they will never know
The horrors of this living sepulchre,
My agonies, deserted by my Brothers,
That no fraternal clasp e'er came to press
My dying hand, bid me a last Farewell !
xxxvi.
Poland ! . . . What, Poland risen from the grave ?
Oh, is it true, my God? My country now
No longer waits death still enchained, like me?
THE LAST. 485
Father ! Pardon all a child's despair,
Who, wrung to sudden madness, dared blaspheme !
It was not love of self inflamed my soul ;
No, I loved Thee and Poland ! Pardon, my God !
She lives on earth ; as Thou dost in the skies !
And with her name and Thine upon the lips
So soon to be forever mute — I die !
Holy Thy will ! Holy my long captivity !
Holy the horrors of my lonely death, —
Since as I die, my fathers' land is free !
XXXVII.
1 thank Thee, that in vision I have seen
My happy country, Lord ! I give Thee thanks,
That Thou hast shown me those who serve her cause I
Thou deignest to permit I here should close
The endless vaults of Polish cemeteries !
Tliai I . should be-tlie/^i:/ of Polish corpses
Buried alive in dungeons of the Czars 1
I bless Tliee, Lord ! Alas ! I cannot rise !
This skeleton body has no strength to kneel 1
But my heart kneels ! I fold my trembling hands
In symbol of Thy Cross upon my breast 1
On which side is the sky? It is so dark,
So long since I came here, I cannot tell.
Ha ! sudden inspiration wakes my heart !
I must pray, pray, pray ever for my Poland !
XXXVIII.
Since Thou hast to thy martyr given, O Lord,
The sceptre of true power, aid her to conquer that
Which has been still invincible on earth !
That which no Rulers ever have accomplished.
Nor emperors, nor kings, nor nobles, nor
The middle classes, nor the various Peoples, —
All tyrants differing only in their names.
But the same despots when possessed of power, —
Lord, let Thy martyr conquer it for all !
Floating aloft on archangelic wings,
Above the temptations and the snares of pride.
Above the abysses which corrupt our times, —
486 THE LAST.
Yes, I remember now ! Such was the news ;
Such the presentiments which stirred the world,
Then given up to violence and woe.
And we, the Poles, knew well the Messenger, —
The Angel of the si)here of politics, —
Who from the stormy waves of earth's events
Was destined to bring peace, and reunite
The nationalities, could only be
Our holy Poland ; for that martyr's cross
'Had borne such woe, been bathed in such pure blood,
As might redeem this upper, earthly Hell.
Yes, I believed that having endured till death.
My People would unfurl their wings, and seize
The sword of miracle, thus to achieve
The works of life.
XVIII.
How many times Alas ! perhaps too soon,
I've seen in dreams the God of Resurrection !
No wounds, no blood upon His body now!
The form might seem another Christ, and yet
'Tis the same Christ in His eternal glory.
476
THE LAST.
His Face shines like the sun ; whiter than snow
His robe floats round Him in his heavenly course;
And in the dawn of worlds new-born to life
He bathes His unnailed Hands, transfigured now 1
XIX.
Behind the Man-God, slowly, very slowly,
In dazzling beauty, with no trace of death,
My Poland, my beloved Poland, moves !
She stops upon the threshold of the Sion
Promised to all the Peoples upon earth,
And from the sacred heights her voice resounds
So far the assembled nations clearly hear.
Or high, or low, or in the depths of space:
"To me ! to me, fraternal races, come !
Finished the latest fight of the final strife;
The snares of treason, webs of woven lies,
Are all destroyed, and hate is buried with them ;
Come, mount with me into the realm of Peace ! "
The chorus of all nations then responds :
" Glory and Benediction be to thee,
Poland ! for though truly all have suffered, .
Thy tortures were far fiercer than our own 1
Through deep enormity of that injustice
Ever accumulating on thy head,
Tiiou hast held constantly the enemy
Under the lightnings of the living God !
During the anguish of thy martyrdom,
Thou drew'st into thy heart a stronger life
Than that of thine oppressors, and thy sacrifice
Hath saved us all ! To thee'be Benediction ! Glory
XX.
Oh, often during dark autumnal nights
My mother's voice, perhaps some ancestor's,
Will break the grave, and come to me to speak
Of the unknown, the future upon earth;
And with the mystic tones strange visions throng !
The chant of triumph from the manly breasts
Of myriads of men then peals through space ;
1 see the victors pass in countless ranks ;
THE LAST.
477
I see the figures, white and luminous,
Of sisters, brothers, freed from slavery ;
A dazzling star glitters upon each brow :
The star of immortality !
Though without wings.
They float through air as if full-winged they were ;
Though without crowns, they sparkle as full-crowned !
And I move onward in the midst of them,
Feeling myself within an unknown Heaven, —
Unknown, and yet foreseen, anticipated !
XXI.
Ah ! who can tell? Perhaps the prophecies,
Given me in dreams, are all accomplished now
O'er Poland's grave, and I alone, the corpse,
May still be missing 'midst her risen sons?
Ah ! through these bars, these walls which shut me in,
Closely as coffin-planks close round the dead,
My spirit finds the light, and darts afor.
Traversing Time and Space ! I see, not dream !
There ! there are myriads of stars and flowers !
The world regenerated celebrates
Its holy marriage with young liberty !
Over the summits of the clustering Alps,
Along the ridges of Carpathian crests.
The same Aurora kindles all the heavens !
And all the Peoples surging tranquilly.
Mingling and blending waves innumerable.
Form but one mighty ocean over which
Breathes once again the si)irit of our God !
XXII.
Electric shivers shudder through my breast ;
Each nerve is trembling, tingling every vein.
As harps vibrate when touched by master-hands !
Each drop of blood grows resonant within me ;
I feel so light, as if I had no body;
These ponderous chains no longer weigh me down ;
A beatific air envelops me,
And fills my being. 1 elude the grasp
41
478 THE LAST.
Of my dread foe,' return to life immortal.
My very dungeon walls become transparent !
XXIII.
Clairvoyant vision has been. givenjTi. e !
Clearly I see the country which surrounds me;
My second sight each moment penetrates
Farther and wider, deeper into depths.
As waves still rise behind the nearer waves,
Spaces unveil beyond the nearer space ;
Horizons spread, unroll, and disappear !
And far beyond this snow, these gloomy clouds,
Behold the Blue, — the azure vault of Heaven !
The spring is blooming in the west ; beyond
This Moscovy, this hell of snow and ice,
I see the verdure of my native soil !
Thousands of flags unfurled are floating wide
Above a crowd of limitless extent !
It is a Diet as in days of old,
Assembled in the open alFof Heaven!
On that great Plain how happy are my Brothers !
How brilliant in the sun's warm golden light !
I see, I feel them with my eager looks ;
Should I advance a step, I'd touch them with my hands !
Nothing again can ever make me suffer !
Oh, let me look at them ! again ! again !
Gaze on them till my heart is satisfied !
XXIV.
The Diet opens, — they deliberate !
That living ])lain, covered with human heads.
Is by a single impulse tossed and swayed.
Like grain-fields when the wind breathes over them.
Above the sea of heads rise everywhere
Innumerable rows of arms, which point
All towards the North — as if in mute command.
A glorious troop of horsemen now detach
Them from the throng, and journey toward the North.
My brothers they, of Lithuania, Poland !
The assembly of the nation disappears,
Left far behind ; and I can only sec
THE LAST. 479
The troop of horsemen cleaving boundless space !
How rapid is their course ! Like lightning, they \.
Cross hills and valleys, flying toward the North !
Angels of my release, my heart salutes you !
Our national colors, scarlet, white, adorn
Your vestments ; sabres glitter in your hands
Like battle lightnings ! Proudly ye cleave the air,
Eagles of God. Triumphantly ye pass
These frozen steppes of cruel Moscovy,
Where nor the Czar, nor any other Satan
Can e'er again against your might prevail !
My Brothers seek me ! My white eagles fly !
XXV.
On these vast plains, what temples numberless
And infamous, rise for the Czar-god's worship !
What forts of stone, with human blood cemented !
What gloomy prisons meet you on your way !
I see you pause at every grated door,
Dismount, and, by some supernatural power,
Compel the jailers to descend with you
To subterranean cells below all light !
My God ! I hear the joyous cry of life
Re-echoing through the sepulchres of death,
While shadowy ghosts, victims of Moscovy,
Return to light of day, rescued by you !
The Breath of God urges you on anew \
On, Brothers, on ! . . .
XXVI.
During the light of day, the gloom of night.
My eye pursues your ceaseless, rapid course !
What rapture ! Brothers ! You have already passed
Through the Black lands ; enter my boundless plains
Of snow ! Does not earth wear another face?
This is the realm of cold, of ice, of frost,
Of exiled misery, of eternal death !
O Heaven ! Our scarlet banner warms the very snow !
The rays which scatter from your dazzling brows
Clothe this ice-desert in resplendent light !
Haste ! Haste ! My Brothers ! faster fly to me !
4So THE LAST.
They urge their steeds, — they gallop proudly on !
How beautiful — robed in our national hues!
Aid me, my Lord ! or else my heart will burst !
XXVII.
They come ! They see this fortress Moscovite !
Yes, yes, they see ! They turn their horses' heads !
They rush along the trench — like lightning leap it !
Soon they will come to break these bolts and bars !
A moment more, — the twinkling of an eye, —
Poland will enter in my cell to give
Me back the life I offered, lost for her !
Be praised, O God, that even evil ends I
I shall not die alone and in despair !
Be glorified, my God !
XXVIII.
What is it, O my Brothers? Why thus rein
Your steeds so suddenly? Ah ! you have met
A tribe nomadic,* stop to question it.
Oh, come to me ! you've but a step to make !
Waste not your time with those poor savages !
They only seek for moss beneath the snow ;
'Tis all they know ; they have no higher care !
Sometimes a Moscovite may join their ranks;
But trust him not; he is more brute than they,
For they at least are simple, frank of heart.
Why do you stop and talk with that wild horde?
My Brothers ! O my Brothers !
XXIX.
The air is calm and still ; I hear each word.
My Brothers ask : " Within these gloomy walls,
Are any Poles condemned to punishment
Because their conscience would not let them kneel
To worship the God-Czar? "
I hear the answer one among them makes :
** Here only suffers crime ! Robbers and thieves,
* There are still in Siberia remnants of the indigenous tribes, such as
the Toungouses, the Ostiaks, the Samoyedes, etc.
THE LAST. 481
Assassins, parricides, fill all these cells. "
O lie ! O lie ! believe it not, clear Brothers !
Again the voices of my countrymen
Resound across these desolate wastes of snow :
" Not for such victims came we here to search
Your prisons. Poland holy is, she seeks
Alone the martyrs in her sacred cause !
Let vile assassins rot in Russian dungeons !
God only can absolve them in the sky ;
On this earth Poland has no pardon for them. "
XXX.
God ! . . . My Brothers 1 . . . Wait ! one moment
wait 1
Turn not in haste your bridles to avoid
This place accursed ! , Alas ! for centuries
I've waited for you here! This hope alpiie
Has given strength to bear protracted torments !
And now the power of the Moscovites
Is broken ; they are forced to ope our cells ;
The ages of our torture are all o'er;
And you at last are here 1 What rapturous joy !
Why do you pause? . . . You are so very near me;
Can you not hear me, Brothers, when I cry ?
1 am no murderer ! No parricide !
I have not killed my father, nor my mother !
I'm no assassin, but the constant foe
Of him who is the assassin of us all !
Look ! this way look ! I stretch my arms toward you !
Great God ! in pity turn their eyes on me !
To me ! To me ! Here ! Here ! this is my cell !
I strive to reach you, — this chain holds me back 1
Oh, wait one moment ! Let me try again !
With my thin hands I strive to wrench my fetters !
Strain every nerve to break them if I can !
Blood covers them ! Alas ! they do not yield !
Do you not hear my shrieks of harrowing anguish?
Stop in tlie name of God 1 One moment stay 1 . . .
I'll try again to break away this chain !
O grant me but one single second more 1
******
41*
482 THE LAST.
O hour of bliss! . . . Of utmost agony! . . .
My God, they turn away ! they spur their steeds !
Do you not hear me, O my countrymen,
My Brothers, and my only friends on earth ?
See ! I am here ! buried within this vault!
Return ! Return ! I supplicate ! Return !
* * 5); :)i >); :(:
My senses reel ! A fog envelops all !
It drifts between my consciousness and me !
My eyes no longer pierce the walls . . .
XXXI.
God ! My God ! Again I hear a sound, —
The galloping of horses o'er the snow, —
Crackling of ice under their iron hoofs!
Do they return to find a Brother here ? . . .
Farther and farther — ever less distinct —
Diminishing with every step from me —
Forever and forever die away
The blessed footfalls o'er the waste of snow !
Now I hear nothing more !
They have forsaken me !
******
Is it a wretched dream? No, it is truth !
They have been here ! My Brothers have been here !
They have abandoned me ! left me to die
In the midst of murderers and parricides,
In the hour of Resurrection |
XXXII.
Do I not hear the neigh of horses still?
1 am deceived, and there may yet be time!
But I am chained within my coffin's vault!
Can I not wrench the clamp? tear it awav
From these damp walls? break but one single link?
On ! on ! my breast ! Forward, my skeleton arms !
All that is man within me strive ! On ! on !
Ah ! that is well ! flow fast, my crimson blood !
Perhaps there yet is time ! Aid me, O God !
n* * 'F SP 5|C ^ 5jC
THE LAST. '•^__:_l . ; 483
Ah ! useless efforts ! I am growing Aveak,
My sight is reeling and my blood flows fast,
My chains clash without brealciRg ! No one comes !
No one in all the world will ^t/^r "come to aid me !
Silence and immobility return
To float forever o'er this dark, still hell !
Where are you? Where? . . . Ah ! can it really be,
They have been here, my Brothers have been here,
And have abandoned me, — left me to rot
With felons, murderers, and parricides.
In the very hour of national Resurrection !
XXXIII.
Are you my. Brothers ? . . . No ! My exeeutioners !
You've robbed me of my poor remains of life !
But who can say ? . . . Perhaps in younger days
I did indeed commit some dreadful crime;
Murdered my father, mother, brother, sister,
And now have quite forgot it in this grave?
Bat they, my Brothers, knew it all too well,
And so have left me in perdition's gulf!
Nay, none of those were crimes by me committed ;
We'll seek some other possible offense !
Who is it driving daggers in my head ?
Who rakes my brains with talons, pincers, hooks?
Nothing is left me but to drag myself
Over these stones, and gnash and grind my teeth
As grinds my chain into my naked bones !
What horror grapples thus my inmost being?
I know ! I understand ! I feel it now !
My senses leave me ! I am growing mad !
XXXIV.
Where am I ? . . . In my cell ? . . . Yes . . . the same
lamp
Casts the same sickly light . . . round the dim flame.
Naught save the eternal Dark of the Sepulchre !
Here the same sleepless bed, . . . and nothing, nothing
more I
And Thou ! Where art Thoii, God? I do not know !
484 THE LAST.
I look . . . but cannot find Thee in this gloom !
I only know I must die here alone;
Die like a dog ! Nay, it may be, far worse !
To whom do I owe thanks in this blank world?
I've lived, and I must die, in the Czar's House 1 —
Other protection I have never known !
God ! Must I hate all I once loved and trusted ?
My will no longer o'er my body rules.
My eyelids press my eyes so heavily !
XXXV.
Remember, God, after such earthly woes,
I do not wish to keep my soul alive
For other, it may be, eternal pangs !
There is no love within, without, this world;
But irony immense as immensity !
God is no Father 1 Nor the angels. Brothers !
On earth, in Heaven, the same deceptions rule !
God ! I renounce my immortality !
What can it do but change my present grief
Into another woe ! And I am tired ! . . .
I've had enough of anguish, misery !
Give me annihilation ; for I seek
Deliverance ! Forget me, my Creator !
After long years, which were for me a hell,
Hearken the only prayer I breathe at death :
Let me not go where universal life
Blazes with glory !
Let my soul lose itself
Without a trace in Thy eternity.
As they have lost all memory of me !
Alas ! in Poland they will never know
The horrors of this living sepulchre,
My agonies, deserted by my Brothers,
That no fraternal clasp e'er came to press
My dying hand, bid me a last Farewell !
xxxvi.
Poland ! . . . What, Poland risen from the grave ?
Oh, is it true, my God? My country now
No longer waits death still enchained, like me?
THE LAST. 485
Father ! Pardon all a child's despair,
Who, wrung to sudden madness, dared blaspheme !
It was not love of self inflamed my soul ;
No, I loved Thee and Poland ! Pardon, my God !
She lives on earth ; as Thou dost in the skies !
And with her name and Thine upon the lips
So soon to be forever mute — I die !
Holy Thy will ! Holy my long captivity !
Holy the horrors of my lonely death, —
Since as I die, my fathers' land is free !
XXXVII.
1 thank Thee, that in vision I have seen
My happy country, Lord ! I give Thee thanks,
That Thou hast shown me those who serve her cause I
Thou deignest to permit I here should close
The endless vaults of Polish cemeteries !
Tliai I . should be-tlie/^i:/ of Polish corpses
Buried alive in dungeons of the Czars 1
I bless Tliee, Lord ! Alas ! I cannot rise !
This skeleton body has no strength to kneel 1
But my heart kneels ! I fold my trembling hands
In symbol of Thy Cross upon my breast 1
On which side is the sky? It is so dark,
So long since I came here, I cannot tell.
Ha ! sudden inspiration wakes my heart !
I must pray, pray, pray ever for my Poland !
XXXVIII.
Since Thou hast to thy martyr given, O Lord,
The sceptre of true power, aid her to conquer that
Which has been still invincible on earth !
That which no Rulers ever have accomplished.
Nor emperors, nor kings, nor nobles, nor
The middle classes, nor the various Peoples, —
All tyrants differing only in their names.
But the same despots when possessed of power, —
Lord, let Thy martyr conquer it for all !
Floating aloft on archangelic wings,
Above the temptations and the snares of pride.
Above the abysses which corrupt our times, —
486 THE LAST.
