No More Learning

The wolf did not start from his savage lair
To devour goats, and pigs to snare ;
And not till brother in strife with brother
Begun to wrong and wound each other
Was there example harmful in the least
Set before the misguided beast.
It chanced, when hard times fell, the state
Its scanty funds to aggregate
Called council ; with care that nothing should pass
Except in justice to each class
Of animals: -- asses, the goats, and sheep,
That the apportioned tax should keep
Of equal weight, 'mong the high and the low,
And the state burdens ordered so
That each could easily render his share,
The lowly and the millionaire.
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? 96 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
With preparation and dignity great
The worthy councillors of state
A meeting called to settle as they could
These matters for the public good.
The elephant was first to speak, -- said he:
"Citizen animals, most worthy!
Oxen, goats, asses, and mules, and hares, ?
Distinguished by the name each bears,
That matters to all should be without wrong,
To the meek sheep or lion strong,
I propose to you in all sincerity,
Without favor or asperity:
Let each one who thinks that in small or great
He has broken the laws of state
Contribute a mark to the treasury;
From this a great auxiliary
Will our country gain, while at the same time
You must reflect, all sorts of crime
In our country's bounds, from west to east,
From north to south, will be decreased. 1 '
" That perhaps might do," said the crafty fox,
Bowing most humbly to the flocks ;
A good-natured grin on his countenance spread
And wagging his yellow tail, said :
" Greater the income, in my opinion,
If young and old of this dominion
Were allowed to apprise their good degrees,
And pay a florin for each of these;
My fame for judgment I'll stake in this way,
A larger sum we could display,
Which would be with the utmost promptness paid,
And never any trouble made.
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? NARUSZEWICZ. 97
Because, may it please your reverence,
They'd rather pay than evidence
Transgression of the law's just scope,
Your honor sees the point -- I hope. "
WHO IS FOOLISH ?
He is foolish who, possessing neither strength nor heart,
With vain empty boasts acts an idle swaggerer's part.
Who with proud assumption wondrous learning will pretend,
And seek to teach a language he does not comprehend.
Or he who marries not as befits his own estate,
For to fret or be fretted will surely be his fate.
Who seeks fortune in cards, profit in a bone, nor knows
Ever that which comes easily as easily goes.
He is foolish who through craft to defraud others tries,
And seeks credit for that purpose in honesty's guise.
He is foolish who drinks when his toes are out, and lives
Beyond his income, taking all while he nothing gives.
A simpleton is he who's by trifles filled with fears,
And he who readily believes each little thing he hears.
The rich who buy on credit and let their money rust;
Foolish is the merchant who'll an idle spendthrift trust.
He is foolish who weekly his losses will bemoan,
Or weds an old woman for the money she may own.
Foolish he who with affairs of state will interfere,
Unfit to aid or council he muddles what was clear.
Who boldly of his creditor asks a loan, although
He has failed to pay a debt contracted long ago.
He is foolish who alone on paper projects makes,
Who leaves unfinished ever the tasks he undertakes.
Who's familiar with unequals shows his lack of sense,
Or who farms from a book or from school gets eloquence,
Who only speaks truth when there's no falsehood at command,
Who amusement seeks with that he does not understand,
Who pays much attention to the talk of common folk,
7
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? 98 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Who allows a little jest his anger to provoke.
Who -- but there! my paper's out, and some perhaps will say
I am making my remarks in a fault-finding way.
Pray excuse me, sirs, if I have said too much ; at times
A subject has been borne too far by my erratic rhymes.
Poets, and musicians, too, upon extremes will touch,
Often one will play too long, the other say too much.
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? KNIAZN? IN. 99
KNIAZNIN.
Fkancis Dyonisius Rntaznin was a poet whose
writings are characterized by pleasantness, suavity, and
purity of the heart. His vivid conceptions, combined with
great feeling, eminently qualified him for a lyric poet.
He does not soar very high, nor is he carried by sudden
flights of imagination, but whenever he follows his own
inspiration he charms the reader with his wonderful
simplicity. In that respect he may be considered as
equal, if not superior, to Karpin? ski, since his poetry
strikes more deeply into the heart and is richer in
colors and imagery. He wrote with great feeling and
expression.
Among his works we can mention " To a Citizen,"
" Ode on the Centennial Celebration of John Sobieski's
Yictory over the Turks at Vienna, " "To Grace,"
"Rosemary," etc. The construction of Kniaznin's
verse is peculiar to himself; concise in expression, the
selection of soft syllables and natural expression of
thought make his verses very harmonious and grateful
to the ear.
Kniaznin was born in 1750, and was brought up and
educated by the Jesuits; in fact he joined the society,
but after the abolition of the order in 1773 he again be-
came a civilian, and labored assiduously in the great
library of Za? uski. After that he became a secretary
to Prince Czartoryiski at Pu? awy, a hospitable place,
which in those days was in reality a shelter for learned
men. The changeful events of those years, and an un-
happy love, darkened his existence and produced de-
mentia. He died in 1807.
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? 100 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
His complete works were published in Warsaw
1828, and at Leipsic 1835.
A REVERIE.
The goddess of darkness, and silence, and dreams,
Hath spread her black wings o'er a slumbering world,
Care holdeth no longer his empire o'er man
But deep in oblivion's abyss has been hurled.
Majestic the moon riseth up in the sky,
With her maidens of honor, the stars, in her train,
The earth is in solitude gloomy arrayed,
And in silence profound reigns o'er hamlet and plain.
Such a lesson as this once could light up my soul,
And forgetting the troubles and cares of the earth
My mind on the wings of conception would fly,
And give to a thousand imaginings birth.
I hovered in joy o'er the gay land of dreams,
Gave to gladness a smile, and to sadness a tear,
And buoyed in safety on silver-winged hope,
Never let thoughts of the future with bliss interfere.
There fiery and bold as the eagle of Jove
My young spirit roved through the paths of the sky,
I gave to the wind all devices of love,
Smiled at languishing simpers, and laughed at a sigh.
But love stole within my cold heart and there placed
An image of her whose cold hardness I mourn ;
I loved her -- I thought that the world was but her --
I loved -- but alas! was not loved in return.
To-day e'en the ghost of my once blessed hours
Has sank in the earth, and departed from view,
And the flowers of love, to which wishes gave birth,
Have my sighs for their air, and my tears for their dew.
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? KNIAZN? IN. 101
For another has plucked the red rose from the stem,
And the beautiful flower in his bosom will bloom,
Whilst I, like a spirit from heaven cast out,
Am sentenced to Erebus, sorrow, and gloom.
ETERNITY.
Holy Eternity! Thou w T ork of wonder!
In thy belief all virtuous hearts concur ;
Those that have in thee hopeful confidence
Paint thee in tints of rare magnificence !
While others trembling for themselves in fear
Would with doubt's gloom thy sacred light obscure.
The earth and fathomless sea
Are worthy of God's dignity,
And thou wilt forever with them endure! -
Time, in its broken and unbroken flight,
Going we perceive not how and whither,
Is only a small branch from thee grown hither,
Unfolding till it with thee unite.
RELIGION.
Religion, thou blessed and holy name!
Thy sovereignty and thy power how great!
How many virtues rare within thee wait
For hearts that can thy presence truly claim.
How happy on this earth the man may be
Whose eyes thy truth and glory can perceive;
A guard thou art for all that will believe,
A shield from sin for those that cling to thee.
In trouble, consolation lies in thee ;
Thou bindest man to God with holy chain,
Misfortune linked with hope forgets its pain !
Thou bind'st the Present with Eternity.
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? 102 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
MORAWSKI.
Feancis Morawski differs from other poets in this
respect: that he was named " A Soldier Poet. " Sub-
sequently we see his easy and unrestrained wit soaring
in his fugitive verses, but with such happy turns and
skill, and above all such humor, which in our literature
is exceptional and rare, and belongs neither to the
classic nor romantic school, that we may say he stands
by himself. Morawski's mind was very flexible, he
being a frequenter hot only at camp-societies, but also
a welcome visitor of fashionable salons, giving him an
opportunity to acquire that ease and pleasing mien
which never forsook him even to the last moments of
his life.
When he was twenty he belonged to the classic
school. Between twenty and thirty he waged a liter-
ary war with the so-called romantic school, and
although his letters and satires were only in manu-
script, they circulated freely and had a great repute, as
indeed they were very forcible and witty.
In the fourth decade of his life we see him writing
ballads and romances; in the fifth he is the translator
of "Andromache," and then he finishes his poetic
career by " A Yisit Into the Neighborhood," and a
poem, "The Home of My Grandfather. " They were
indeed all true Polish pictures, -- replete with, and full
of, old-time diction, simplicity of language, and faithful
delineations of historical figures. And thus Morawski,
commencing only as a soldier poet, subsequently goes
through other periods, and with a flexibility peculiar
to himself, -- everything new that came into repute in
the literary world.
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? MORAWSKI. 103
He was born in 1785 in the Great Duchy of Posen,
and received a careful education at Leszno. He after-
ward attended a law school at Frankfurt, and subse-
quently at Kalish. In the year 1806 he served in the
National army and participated in the great wars of
Napoleon, and reached the rank of the chief of staff.
His eulogy, delivered at the funeral ceremony of Prince
Joseph Poniatowski, 23d of December, 1813, was a
splendid effort of oratory. During the existence of
the Duchy of Warsaw he served in the Polish army,
and in 1819 obtained the rank of brigadier-general.
During his sojourn at Warsaw he frequently visited
General Vincent Krasin? ski, whose house was the as-
semblage of distinguished men representing literature.
After the year 1831, having suffered imprisonment at
Wo? ogda, in Russia, he retired to Posen, and settled in
a village called Lubonia, where he wrote poetry, prin-
cipally for a literary publication called "The Friend
of the People," issued at Leszno. He died in 1861.
His works were published at Breslau; then a col-
lection of poetry in 1841; at Leszno in 1851, and St.
Petersburg in 1855. His son published his Fables at
Posen in 1862; Five Poems of Lord Byron at Leszno
in 1853.
A sketch of his life, written by L. Siemien? ski in
the . Polish Review, was published at Cracow in 1866.
GIERMEK. *
Once in Poland's land deep sadness
Filled the people ev'rywhere,
For the Swede with war's fierce madness
Conquered all and none would spare.
* Squire or shield-bearer.
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? 104 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
In the lindens' shadows dreary,
Strayed the army's broken band;
By the camp-fires dumb and weary
Mused the warriors of the land.
When a bard with white hair flowing,
Came the shattered ranks among;
Well they knew those accents glowing,
As he touched his lute and sung:
Olden themes can tell a story
Charming every heart and ear;
Olden tales of valor's glory,
Ev'ry patriot loves to hear.
Once we stood a lofty tower,
And a shield firm-fixed and strong
To repel the foreign power
Moved to work our people wrong.
On the foes of other nations
Fast our Polish arrows poured ;
Sang we Freedom's exultations
And the peace that we adored.
Clash of armies fierce contending,
Anguished moans and trumpets swell,
With pursuits wild thunders blending,
Formed the hymns we knew full well.
Ev'ning's light serene and solemn
Sets Petrolia's fields aglow;
Comes the army's stately column,
Unappalled to meet the foe.
Wagons, caissons, onward sweeping,
Shake the ground with thundrous pace,
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? MORAWSKI. 105
Rich the field for Death's grim reaping,
As the threatening armies face.
On one side in spotless glory
Faith's bright banner fluttered high
O'er brave youths and hetman hoary
For the right prepared to die.
Mad with passion's wild commotion
On the other side arrayed,
Raging like a troubled ocean,
Tartar rabble's ranks displayed.
Sank the sun in blood, as warning
Every one that strife is near;
Carnage dire begins when morning
In the flushed East shall appear.
Now the Polish chief, attended
By trained bearer of his shield,
When the first dusk has descended
Mounts resolved to scan the field.
Now the foes' dark camp surveying.
Rides he numbering fires alight, --
Hears their buzz, their horses' neighing,
And in thought has caused their flight.
Chief restrain thy soaring fancies
Tartars fight with desperate zeal ;
Swift and changeful war's wild chances,
Hark ! those sounds raised peal on peal.
'Tis the Tartars' rabble forces,
All the camp is now alarmed;
Cries the chief : "Quick! to your horses! "
Ghief, -- shield-bearer, -- all are armed.
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? 106 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Through the darkness dense prevailing,
Through tumultuous rising sound,
'Mid the ranks they rush assailing
The fixed rabble that surround.
Now the young shield-bearer breaking,
From his youth merged fire and life;
In his arm while still unshaking,
Brave-souled hetman led the strife.
Hear they coming in the distance,
Polish warriors! glorious bands!
But too late is their assistance;
Destined they for Tartars' hands.
Youth is taken! -- hetman taken!
'Mid a savage shout prolonged;
Stubborn Khan with anger shaken
Views the captives he has wronged.
With a fierce revenge that never
Boil'd with greater malice, he
Soon decrees the two forever
Shackled foot to foot shall be.
To the skies above them shining,
Lifted they their tear-dimmed eyes;
Yet why sing I their repining
Reveries sad and hopeless sighs?
He who never had to languish
In fell slavery's chains can know
All a captive's bitter anguish,
In the power of ruthless foe.
Who in grief vain and despairing,
Has bedewed his food with tears,
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? MORAWSKI. 107
'Midst a savage rabble bearing
Pain untold, long suffering years.
For a time in mournful dreaming
Sat the bard, depressed and mute;
With the silent tears down streaming,
Then resumed his song and lute.
Soon the hetman gray is sleeping,
Hushed to rest as 'mid his own;
But the youth a watch is keeping,
Wrapped in dreams of home alone.
Full of grief and pain, no sighing
Or embittered tear relieves;
On the ground beside him lying
He a glittering axe perceives.
Trembling, dreaming, thinking, yearning,
Filled with purpose high he stands,
Noble fire within him burning,
Grasps the axe with vigorous hands!
On his iron shackles gazing,
Firm, unfaltering aim he takes
At his foot; -- the axe upraising --
Severed 'tis -- the chief awakes !
Cries the youth : thy people need thee,
Slumbering guards the way leave clear.
Conquer Khan, for I have freed thee,
Joyfully I will perish here.
Rose the chief, -- the youth confided
To God's care while tears flowed fast,
Blest him, from the dungeon glided
And the slumbering sentry past.
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? 108 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Suddenly the guards awaken !
Find no prisoner but the youth,
To the Khan the news is taken,
Hastened he to prove its truth.
Scarce believing what was told him,
In the youth's bold eyes he gazed,
Doubting though he did behold him,
Strove to read him -- sore amazed.
Virtue conquers Hate's fell power;
Cure the youth -- 'tis my command,
Said the Khan, -- and with rich dower
Send him to his native land.
Now before the court -- all wearing
Radiant robes of royal sheen,
Comes the youth with grateful bearing,
Walking two famed knights between.
With a crutch his form sustaining,
Now the beauteous youth appears,
Wonder in their bosoms reigning,
All the court is moved to tears.
Comes the youth deep homage showing
To the king placed on his throne,
Who a famous sword bestowing
Named him knight, while thro' his own
Circle came the hetman hoary
With a golden foot, and turned
To the youth. " Distinctive glory,"
Said the king, " you've richly earned.
" This your coat-of-arms for wearing,
All in mem'ry of your deeds;
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? MORAWSKI. 109
Full of virtue, full of daring. "
Then the martyred youth he leads
'Mid the people's shouts up pealing
To the blest altar of the Lord;
And before it humbly kneeling,
There he fervently implored
That success might e'er attend them;
Prays he to the God of heaven
That more heroes he will send them
For their country's glory given.
Then the bard no longer raising
His free song, -- his lute has stilled,
While his eyes are deeply gazing
In the hearts his song has thrilled.
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? KARPIN? SKIE MONUMENT AT KO? OMYIA (GALICIA).
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? KAKPLN? SKI. Ill
KARPIN? SKI.
Francis Karpin? ski is one of those few who, during
the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, deserve the name of
true poets. He differs from the old classical Polish
poets in this, that they were artistic and followed cer-
tain rules of composition with much strictness, but
Karpin? ski, too sincere to bend that way, chooses no
especial system, but sings like a bird, he breathes what
he has in his soul, and spreads the feelings of his heart
right before us. In his Thyrses and Corydons we can
plainly see the rustics of Polish villages with small no-
bility in the background.
Karpin ski's songs breathe the elegiac, rustic spirit,
remote from overstrung cares sings and fondlings and
erratic reveries. He sang with a sincere feeling, de-
scribing his emotions almost with a childlike simplicity
-- though every thought seems combined with feeling,
and every feeling is represented by a corresponding
pen image. All his original poetry bears a stamp of
sadness. Some of these songs can fairly compare with
the most beautiful compositions of Goethe. It is al-
most impossible to find anything equal to them as re-
gards delicacy of feeling and expression. With the
most beautiful of these we may include the idyl "Lau-
ra and Philon. " His religious songs hit exactly the
heart of the popular feeling. They are simple and art-
less, and always worthy of their subject. Among these
we can mention "The Morning Hymn," u All of Our
Daily Doings," " During the Labor in the Field," etc.
All these songs are destined to remain forever on the
lips of the people.
As a political poet Karpin? ski has no significance,
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? 112 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
for he never took active part in the troublous move-
ments during the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, al-
though he wrote a few threns, consecrating them to the
cause of his country, one of them on ' ' The 3d of May,
1791," and another "The Lament of a Sarmatian
Over the Grave of Stanislaus Augustus, the Last
Polish King from the House of Jagellons. " His song
stopped with the sad fate of his country, and he him-
self said that he laid down his lute on the grave of
Sigismund.
Karpin? ski excels in sad themes and grave subjects.
"The Duma of Ludgarda" is a fine specimen of the
kind.
He was born in 1741, and commenced his education
at Lemberg (Leopol or Lwo? w), then for a short time
he was engaged in law practice, but he soon became
tired of it and traveled in foreign countries. He re-
mained in Vienna for about one and a half years, de-
voting himself to studies. Returning to his own coun-
try he for some time followed farming, and then he
became an inmate of Prince Czartoryiski's family, and
finally held the office of Secretary of the Interior
under King Stanislaus Augustus. Retiring from the
office the king persuaded him to accept the tutorship
of young Prince Radziwi? , but after a lapse of a year
he left the lucrative place and took in rentage the vil-
lage of Kros? niak and again engaged in farming.
In the year 1807 he went to Warsaw, but soon quit
the capital and returned once more to the peace and
quiet of a country life, where he passed the remainder
of his days in seclusion. Being a single man he left
his property to his relatives. He died in 1825. He
was called the poet of the heart.
His works were published at Warsaw in 1792, 1806,
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? KARPIN? SKI. 113
and 1830, in Breslau 1826, in Leipsic 1836, and by Tu-
rowski, in Cracow, 1862.
Besides these his comedy, "The Rent," came out
in 1782; the tragedy, "Boleslas III," Warsaw 1790,
and " The Memoirs of the Times From 1741 to 1822,"
published by Moraczewski, Posen 1844, and Lemberg
1849. Anton Kornilowicz wrote "Life and Writings
of Karpin? ski," Wilno 1827.
MORNING HYMN.
"Kiedy ranne wstaja? zorze. "
When the morning stars are rising,
Earth and sea thy glories praising,
Join all nature's voice in singing,
Praise to thee, Oh God, we're bringing !
Man on whom thou'st poured rich treasure,
Endless bounties without measure,
By Thy power redeemed, life given,
Why not praise Thee, God of heaven!
When at morn I first awaken,
On my lips Thy name is taken,
And I call on God profoundly,
Then I seek Him all around me!
Yesternight were many taken,
To the sleep that ne'er shall waken,
While our ling' ring breath is given --
For Thy praise, great God in heaven!
EVENING HYMN.
Through the past day our behavior,
With mercy accept just Savior,
And when we sink to dreamful sleep,
May praise of Thee our visions keep.
8
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? 114 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
As Thy eyes are turned upon us,
Day and night are looking on us,
Where feeble and weary mortals,
Wait for help from out Thy portals.
Turn away the dark night's terror,
Save us Lord from shafts of error,
Judge and Guardian in Thy keeping,
Have us waking, have us sleeping.
YEARNINGS IN THE SPRING.
Full many times the sun has come and gone
And favored the day with light ;
But from my life all sunshine has withdrawn
Why must I ever walk in night?
The grain is shooting up so fresh, so . fair,
Almost the heads begin to show ;
So verdant are the wide fields ev'rywhere,
Why does my precious wheat not grow?
Within the grove sweet sings the nightingale,
Echoes the grove its melody;
Gaily the birds sing in the woodland and vale,
But my bird does not sing for me !
Many flowers have sprung from the moist ground,
After a reviving shower;
Bright tinted are the meadows all around,
Oh ! why springs for me no flower ?
How long, O Spring! shall I beseech in vain?
Disconsolate I sigh and yearn ;
While my sad tears have bathed the earth in rain,
For this, a harvest rich return.
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? KARPIN? SKI. 115
PEACE THAT VIRTUE BRINGS.
Whoever paints virtue sad, has seen
But little of her charms serene;
E'er pleasantly she smiles nor sighs,
Nor turns aside her lovely eyes.
Naught can the deeps of her calmness stir,
Fortune, misfortune, are alike to her.
In vain mishaps to work her ill
Their poisonous darts make sharper still;
She meets them as the steadfast rock
Receives unmoved the sea wave's shock
Or as the fire that burns with ardent glow
In gold's bright semblance more and more will grow.
His country Socrates loved well,
And for its cause drank poison fell,
Nor felt a fear, but strong and brave
To friends beside him counsel gave;
Anitus grumbled in amaze to see
E'en death could not annoy that spirit free.
Why runs he with distracted air?
Why sadly weeps and tears his hair?
He grieves because that has been done
For which no help is 'neath the sun.
Let him a hundred years lament, 'tis vain ;
A farthing's worth it helps not to complain.
The chain in ages past begun,
Wrought from the world's swift changes, none;
Can it undo save He whose hand
Linked it together as He planned?
Why grieve then for what is or for what was,
Since all is ruled by just, eternal laws?