w
przygrywa
wspaniale
O ich minionych i bojach i chwale:
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
O ich minionych i bojach i chwale:
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
Poland - 1881 - Poets and Poetry of Poland
org/access_use#pd
? ZALESKI. 295
ZALESKI.
Joseph Bohdan Zaleski, at first the worshiper and
a scholar of Brodzin? ski, and whom he also tried to
imitate, at least in the external construction of his
verse, became in the end an original poet in the true
sense of the word. Ukraine, the province of his na-
tivity, is almost the sole theme of his song. It is from
her heroic deeds that he takes all his subjects, and from
her natural wealth all the embellishments and charms
of his poetry. Naturalness, feeling, and grandeur of
imagery constitute the inborn music of his song. Za-
leski is one of the greatest lyric poets; he possesses an
unusual gift of poetic vision of every thought and
every feeling, which he skilfully shapes, tunes, and
transforms at his will. The unrest of the soul, touch-
ing meditations, and the clothing of his thoughts with
peculiarly deep mystery, are the chief characteristics
of his creations. Occasionally he rises above the
bounds of the natural world and soars in the ideal;
then again he descends into the inflate qualities of
nature, and surrounding himself with the light of
reality he seems to remain with himself only in
thoughtfulness and longing as if awakened from a
temporary illusion or a broken spell. His manner of
writing is solely his own, bearing the stamp of an
incomparable artist. Liveliness of imagery, sincerity
of feeling, and the outward form of expression, are
blended in him in delightful harmony, so that it is
difficult to determine whether he is a greater poet or a
greater musical artist.
Zaleski was born on the 14th of February, 1802, at
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? 296 POETS AKD POETEY OF POLAND.
a place called Bohaterka, in Ukraine. His youth was
spent on the steppes (prairies) amidst the people of
that region. He attended school in the city of Human?
from 1815 to 1819. Human? is situated within but a
short distance from the most beautiful garden in Europe,
from which the poet Trembecki drew his inspiration
when he wrote his famous poem " Sofiowka. " The
garden is so named, and one would not go much amiss
to infer that the resplendent beauties of the garden
might have first awakened Zaleski' s poetic genius. It
is not an unpleasant fact for the editor of this work to
here record that he, too, rubbed his back against the
walls of that famous institution, and remembers well
the severity of its rules. He knows not whether the
institution is still in existence, but at the time when he
was a student there the professors' chairs were filled
by the most learned and ablest men of the order of
Basilians.
In 1820 Zaleski went with Severyn Goszczyn? ski to
Switzerland, and thence to the University of Warsaw.
Later he was a private teacher with a Mr. Go? rski and
the son of General Shembeck, until 1830. In that
year he left Poland and went to Paris, then to Italy.
Returning to Paris he filled the office of the Superin-
tendent of the Polish School at Batignolle, where we
believe he still resides.
His work "Poetry" was published by Edward
Ie? owicki in 1841; "Dumy and Dumki," published by
Raczyn? ski in Posen; "Poetry," at St. Petersburg in
1851. The Poet's Oratorium in "Dumy and Dumki "
was dedicated to his wife, -- published at Posen, 1866.
No nation had a sweeter and more feeling poet than
Zaleski -- not even excepting Petrarch.
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? ZALESKI, 297
THE POET'S SONO.
When Spring unfolds her foliage green,
And birds their songs begin to breathe,
My strain, like theirs, is free from care;
I fly above,-- descend beneath!
I fly and haunt the vanished past,
'Mid tempests' low and wavering moan; --
I gaze upon the regions vast,
And listen to the whirlwind's tone!
I feel the world's bright aspect 'round,
From flowers sweet I take my life;
I list to angels' prfising sound,
And soon forget all earthly strife.
And if my heart at times complains,
In spite of all its earthly joys,
I try to soothe its bitter pains,
As children do with pleasing toys.
If for a while my bosom beats,
Arid trembles, filled with pain and fear,
My mind to Heaven then retreats,
And there dispels each bitter tear.
Thus then I pass away my time,
In joy my moments quickly glide;
Not fond of solving mysteries,
I smile at human thoughtless pride.
But when I end life's short career,
And bid this world a last adieu,
Another world again will cheer
The heart that seldom sorrow knew.
Although the body pass from hence,
The soul immortal shall not die;
A few remaining thoughts on earth
May tell I soared beyond the sky.
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? 298 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
'TIS DIFFERENT WITH US.
"U nas inaczej. "
'Tis sad, brethren, sad, beyond the Danube's tide,
Moist are our eyes, but our feelings we must hide;
Irksome is the world, the people weary me;
How strange 'mid bustling crowds look all things I see !
Here the Kozak's * spirit must pleasureless roam ;
'Tis so different all from our own loved home!
'Tis different with us! ah, the Polish land
Is our mighty queen -- 'tis a Slavonic band ;
At a sign from her, brethren, death we will dare,
And ever we'll dream of Ukraine the fair.
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our loved home !
'Tis different with us! blithe and buoyant instead,
Away with mounds sepulchral whose shadows outspread ;
The eagle eye desires ev'ry thing to see,
Bathing in wild grasses contented and free !
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our loved home!
'Tis different with us! 'neath the dark blue skies
O'erhanging Ukraine plaintive songs arise
From many sweet singers wand'ring far and near;
O God, their sad strains ever deafen the ear!
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our loved home!
*See annotations to Malczewski. We can only add here that
the word " Kozak" applies figuratively especially to those w 7 ho were
born in Ukraine ; hence when one says he comes from " Kozaczyzna,"
it means that he comes from the land of the " Kozaks," that is to say,
from " Ukraine. " Here the poet, though a nobleman calls himself a
Kozak, being born and brought up in Ukraine.
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? ZALESKI. 299
U NAS INACZEJ.
(Bohdana Zaleskiego. )
Smutnoz tu -- smutno, bracia, za Dunajem,
I w oczach mokro, bo sercami tajem;
Ludzie nas nudza? -- i s? wiat ca? y nudzi;
Cudzo -- och pusto -- s? ro? d s? wiata i ludzi!
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej Och! Ojczyzna Lasza,
To wszech s? owian? ska i kro? lowa nasza,
Bracia, zginiemy za nia? . , kiedy skinie,
Ale s? nic? be? dziem o swej Ukrainie.
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej ! I bujnie i mi? o,
Hej ! nie zaste? puj na drodze mogi? o !
Nie s? ciel sie? cieniem! niech sokole oko
Ka? pie w burzanach lubo a szeroko!
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej ! Po nad Ukraina? ,
Wskros? okolica? jarza? ca? sie? , sina? ,
Boz? e s? piewaki cia? gna? w w ro? z? ne strony;
Az w uszach klaszcze, taki gwar zma? cony!
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
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? 300 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
'Tis different with us ! what I've secretly planned,
Or in Duma sing, my horse can understand;
He neighs in his way; of his tabun* thinks he?
Ah, he and I are twins, both yearning to be free!
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our own loved home!
'Tis different with us! sad notes e'er are sung,
Because 'tis sepulchral, and the graves among;
They breathe the spirit of our great sires and praise
Glories and victories of their olden days !
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our own loved home !
'Tis different with us ! far more glad and gay,
Lively beats the heart; pour out no wine I pray!
Intoxication seems the air itself to fill ;
When I wish to carouse I shall with a will!
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our own loved home!
'Tis different with us! love and longing here
As two strands of the thread of this life appear.
With tears, O God, I entreat a boon of Thee,
That in Heaven Thou'll give Ukraine to me !
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our own loved home!
* A herd of wild horses.
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? ZALESKI. 301
U nas inaczej Co zas? piewam w dumie,
Co w g? owie knowam -- brat kon? mo? j rozumie ;
Rzy po swojemu: -- czy tabun pamie? ta?
Och! za wolnos? cia? , te? sknimy bliz? nie? ta!
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej ! Wcia? z? nuta z? a? oby,
Bo namogilna, bo pomie? dzy groby
Ku duchom ojco?
w przygrywa wspaniale
O ich minionych i bojach i chwale:
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej ! Jakos? lz? ej weselej,
Krew gra burzliwiej : -- oj wina mi nie lej !
Samem powietrzem po pianemu z? yje? ;
A kiedy hulam -- to na ? eb, na szyje? !
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej ! Mi? os? c? i te? sknota,
To jak dwie prza? dki naszego z? ywota.
Bozez mo? j, Boz? e! ? zami modle? Ciebie!
Jak umre? , daj mi Ukraine? -- w niebie!
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
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? 302 POETS AND POETRY OE POLAND.
TO MY GUITAR. .
Thou dear companion of my spring,
My soul confides its grief to thee ; ?
Let the sad plainings of each string
Drown all my sighs melodiously.
And let thy murmurs, joined with mine,
A soothing as of dreams impart,
While from these walls at day's decline,
Their notes rebounding thrill my heart.
Sweetly intoxicate each sense,
Chase from my eyes this mist of pain; -- ?
From earth's cold desert bear me hence,
My only solace! on thy strain.
Through all my sad and vanished years
Few happy hours to me were known ;
Hope's longing only joined to fears
And disappointment were my own.
One moment comes, -- another goes,
My years like autumn leaves grow dry;-
When will this pilgrim journey close --
This exile and an end draw nigh?
I do not dread Eternity;
Death in my soul awakes no fear : --
There wait the golden days for me,
Which I have sought so vainly here.
Companion of my life's sad spring,
My soul confides it's grief to thee; --
Let the low plaining from thy string
Drown all my sighs melodiously.
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? JACHOWICZ. 303
JACHOWICZ
Stanislaus Jachowicz was burn at Dziko? w, in Ga-
licia. lTtli of April. 1796. His father (who was a
plenipotentiary of Count Tarnowski | died when Stan-
islaus was but a child; but his pious mother took great
eare in his education. The boy exhibited excellent
qualities of heart and mind from his very childhood;
no punishment was ever resorted to in bringing up the
lad: an appeal from the mother to her son's heart
sufficed in every instance. He went to the gymnasium
at Stanis? awo? w, where he was always the first among
the scholars in learning and deportment, and afterward
attended the Faculty of Philosophy in the University
of Lemberg from 1815 to 1818. The celebrated Pro-
fessor Maas prized him very highly, and corresponded
with him. In the latter part of 1818 he went to War-
saw, where he entered in an official capacity the depart-
ment of Procurator-General of the Kingdom of Poland.
It was here that he became acquainted with the poet
Brodzin? ski. But the duties of an official life had no
charms for him; the bent of his mind led him alto-
gether in a different direction: he soon gave himself up
to the occupation of a private teacher. His first fables
were published at P? ock in 1824. Five of his smaller
works passed through two editions; one passed through
three, and his tables through six. different editions.
Then came the publication of " Thoughts in Kegard
How to Gain a Correct Knowledge of the Foundations of
the Polish Language " -- ATarsaw, 1828. Jachowicz left
in manuscript ** Sketches of Polish History. " in verse;
also a spelling-book, copiously ill ustrated with wood-cuts.
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? 304 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
All who knew lachowicz personally testify to the
nobleness of his nature, and to his great friendship of
children; and so long as the little rising generation will
speak the language of their grandmothers they will
carry his name to the remotest posterity. His fables
and proverbs can be found in almost every house in
Poland. The last edition of his works was published
in Warsaw in four volumes -- 1848. Besides these he
published a new collection entitled c ' A Hundred New
Stories " -- Warsaw, 1853. The substance of his fables
is an invention adapted for the understanding and the
necessities of children. In these little stories we find
the children's world dramatized; their subjects do not
touch the concerns of grown people, or any intricate-
relations of life; they simply concern the relations of
children, their little adventures, contacts, and relations
with their parents, society, etc. The author endeavors
to imbue the little folks with virtues of religion and
pleasing shadings of their every-day situations. He
pursues their little shortcomings and their little foibles
in the same good-natured way and degree of childish-
ness; the form, too, in which they are written possesses
also its peculiarly interesting manner. Jachowicz
understood that the essence of a fable is not an alle-
gory, but an example, and that allegorical examples
are not practical for children; for a child there is no
better example than to show it the doings of another
child. Jachowicz also comprehended the truth that the
heroes of his stories were not animals or trees, but
children. His manner of telling things is so easy and
lucid that every child can understand him without any
trouble, although sometimes he moralizes too long.
He died in Warsaw the 24th of December, 1857.
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? Jachowicz. 305
SUNSET.
The sun went down, with it one more day has passed away; --
The church-bell heralded its death through the twilight grey;
To-morrow, at the same time and hour, with bell-tones clear,
Another day shall disappear;
And after that a third, and so
Our whole life day by day shall go
An old man thought, -- up and down he paced with feeble tread.
What does the old man mutter ? the thoughtless children said.
The Old Man.
Gaily with your pastimes you amuse yourselves to-day,
But your life is fleeting imperceptibly away.
See you the sunset, children fair?
Only look! see over there:
The clouds with red and gold inwrought,^-
Their play a moment was forgot.
And while they looked with earnestness
The old man spoke of sinfulness
, Repentance and a saving grace,
How swiftly day to day gives place ;
And of the vanities of earth,
They understood not then its worth.
In riper years alone their might
The sunset shone upon their sight.
They thought of what the old man said many years ago,
And finer feelings filled their hearts all with a holy glow.
The world's snares deceived them no more,
Love of wealth and glory was o'er;
Flown away as if with the wind,
And if for earthly joys they pined
The old man's sunset crossed their mind.
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? 306 POETS AKD POETKY OF POLAND.
THE LITTLE ORPHAN.
Mother! but speak, dispel my dread, --
'Tis your own daughter, hear her plea;
I kneel and weep beside your bed, --
Awake and say a word to me!
Mother! the hands my lips have pressed
Are cold as ice. Oh, for God's sake
No longer in this coffin rest;
Open your eyes, mother, awake !
I cannot think you will not rise,
They say you will waken never;
mamma dear, open your eyes,
Don't you love me well as ever?
Arise, arise, from that white bed,
It looks as if it were a tomb,
And press me to your breast instead,
My heart will break within this gloom!
Ah, you keep still, my mother dear,
You wish me all alone to stay;
Must I be left an orphan here,
Torn from my mother's arms for aye?
1 have never been away from you,
Oh, may I never, never be ;
But to the grave let me go, too,
Can you seek Heaven without me?
You are so good, mother, I plead
That you will look on me with love,
And with the good Lord intercede
To join us in his home above!
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? JACHOWICZ. 307
MOTHER'S WARNING.
My son, said a mother, if you would be my delight,
From thy soul's depths love truth and right;
Teach your heart to loathe deeply every form of wrong,
Shun evil when alone as when 'mid a watchful throng.
The youth promised his mother, and in his eye shone clear
The light of truth -- she knew that his promise was sincere.
In a few days thereafter it happened on his way
The youth passed a neighbor's garden filled with blossoms
gay
Just at that time of summer when fragrant buds disclose
In its charming beauty the queen of flowers, the rose,
To reach and pluck the fairest the eager youth essayed,
When something whispered him of the promise he had
made.
His hand dropped -- he paused to think -- he listened to the
voice,
A future life of right or wrong waited on his choice.
But another voice said: what does one rose signify?
The owner will forgive it, no harm therein can lie,
If you leave them as they are their hours of bloom are few;
Reach and pluck one, you shall take a sweet rose home with
you.
No one will reprove you; there are plenty, take your choice;
And he almost believed for a time that evil voice.
Your promise to your mother, -- 'twas his heart's voice he heard,
He who is good and honest will never break his word.
He resisted the temptation, the flowers untouched remained,
He heard his mother's warning, and a victory was gained !
THE LITTLE JEWESS.
A little Jewish girl, pale and thin, in humble guise,
Was walking, with her hands covering her eyes,
When a lady from her window marked her feeble tread,
And sent her maid to her with a piece of bread.
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? 308 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Thus having done her duty she felt much happiness.
What is more pleasant than easing the distress
Of the poor orphan? But out of breath the maid came back.
"Do you know," she said, "my mistress dear, -- alack!
That is a Jewish girl; -- who e'er thought to help a Jew? ' 1
The good lady was offended. " Shame on you!
She is poor, and therefore she deserves our aid," she said;
" Go forthwith, I bid you, give to her the bread.
She is a fellow creature; -- the creeds don't signify; --
The sun shines upon us all, -- impartially. "
THE WIDOW'S MITE.
A money-box was fastened up in a public place,
And many with indiff'rence as they passed apace
Read "Offering for the Poor;" thereon they turned away
Without putting in a penny for many a day.
It stood quite empty, till at last
A poor woman dropped her mite, a penny, as she passed.
Next, seeing her, a rich man stopped,
Who some ducats dropped.
The less wealthy, moved by the sight, added to the store
Each a florin more.
Another one, who had seen the widow give her mite,
Dropped a dollar bright.
Whence comes this liberality, -- this golden shower?
'Tis the example of the good. It is virtue's power
That brings the penny shining gold.
Perhaps to this hour time had rolled,
And the money-box, now burdened, remained empty quite
Had not the poor and humble widow given her mite.
Good example works wonders for the right'
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? KORZENIOWSKI.
? ZALESKI. 295
ZALESKI.
Joseph Bohdan Zaleski, at first the worshiper and
a scholar of Brodzin? ski, and whom he also tried to
imitate, at least in the external construction of his
verse, became in the end an original poet in the true
sense of the word. Ukraine, the province of his na-
tivity, is almost the sole theme of his song. It is from
her heroic deeds that he takes all his subjects, and from
her natural wealth all the embellishments and charms
of his poetry. Naturalness, feeling, and grandeur of
imagery constitute the inborn music of his song. Za-
leski is one of the greatest lyric poets; he possesses an
unusual gift of poetic vision of every thought and
every feeling, which he skilfully shapes, tunes, and
transforms at his will. The unrest of the soul, touch-
ing meditations, and the clothing of his thoughts with
peculiarly deep mystery, are the chief characteristics
of his creations. Occasionally he rises above the
bounds of the natural world and soars in the ideal;
then again he descends into the inflate qualities of
nature, and surrounding himself with the light of
reality he seems to remain with himself only in
thoughtfulness and longing as if awakened from a
temporary illusion or a broken spell. His manner of
writing is solely his own, bearing the stamp of an
incomparable artist. Liveliness of imagery, sincerity
of feeling, and the outward form of expression, are
blended in him in delightful harmony, so that it is
difficult to determine whether he is a greater poet or a
greater musical artist.
Zaleski was born on the 14th of February, 1802, at
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? 296 POETS AKD POETEY OF POLAND.
a place called Bohaterka, in Ukraine. His youth was
spent on the steppes (prairies) amidst the people of
that region. He attended school in the city of Human?
from 1815 to 1819. Human? is situated within but a
short distance from the most beautiful garden in Europe,
from which the poet Trembecki drew his inspiration
when he wrote his famous poem " Sofiowka. " The
garden is so named, and one would not go much amiss
to infer that the resplendent beauties of the garden
might have first awakened Zaleski' s poetic genius. It
is not an unpleasant fact for the editor of this work to
here record that he, too, rubbed his back against the
walls of that famous institution, and remembers well
the severity of its rules. He knows not whether the
institution is still in existence, but at the time when he
was a student there the professors' chairs were filled
by the most learned and ablest men of the order of
Basilians.
In 1820 Zaleski went with Severyn Goszczyn? ski to
Switzerland, and thence to the University of Warsaw.
Later he was a private teacher with a Mr. Go? rski and
the son of General Shembeck, until 1830. In that
year he left Poland and went to Paris, then to Italy.
Returning to Paris he filled the office of the Superin-
tendent of the Polish School at Batignolle, where we
believe he still resides.
His work "Poetry" was published by Edward
Ie? owicki in 1841; "Dumy and Dumki," published by
Raczyn? ski in Posen; "Poetry," at St. Petersburg in
1851. The Poet's Oratorium in "Dumy and Dumki "
was dedicated to his wife, -- published at Posen, 1866.
No nation had a sweeter and more feeling poet than
Zaleski -- not even excepting Petrarch.
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? ZALESKI, 297
THE POET'S SONO.
When Spring unfolds her foliage green,
And birds their songs begin to breathe,
My strain, like theirs, is free from care;
I fly above,-- descend beneath!
I fly and haunt the vanished past,
'Mid tempests' low and wavering moan; --
I gaze upon the regions vast,
And listen to the whirlwind's tone!
I feel the world's bright aspect 'round,
From flowers sweet I take my life;
I list to angels' prfising sound,
And soon forget all earthly strife.
And if my heart at times complains,
In spite of all its earthly joys,
I try to soothe its bitter pains,
As children do with pleasing toys.
If for a while my bosom beats,
Arid trembles, filled with pain and fear,
My mind to Heaven then retreats,
And there dispels each bitter tear.
Thus then I pass away my time,
In joy my moments quickly glide;
Not fond of solving mysteries,
I smile at human thoughtless pride.
But when I end life's short career,
And bid this world a last adieu,
Another world again will cheer
The heart that seldom sorrow knew.
Although the body pass from hence,
The soul immortal shall not die;
A few remaining thoughts on earth
May tell I soared beyond the sky.
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? 298 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
'TIS DIFFERENT WITH US.
"U nas inaczej. "
'Tis sad, brethren, sad, beyond the Danube's tide,
Moist are our eyes, but our feelings we must hide;
Irksome is the world, the people weary me;
How strange 'mid bustling crowds look all things I see !
Here the Kozak's * spirit must pleasureless roam ;
'Tis so different all from our own loved home!
'Tis different with us! ah, the Polish land
Is our mighty queen -- 'tis a Slavonic band ;
At a sign from her, brethren, death we will dare,
And ever we'll dream of Ukraine the fair.
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our loved home !
'Tis different with us! blithe and buoyant instead,
Away with mounds sepulchral whose shadows outspread ;
The eagle eye desires ev'ry thing to see,
Bathing in wild grasses contented and free !
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our loved home!
'Tis different with us! 'neath the dark blue skies
O'erhanging Ukraine plaintive songs arise
From many sweet singers wand'ring far and near;
O God, their sad strains ever deafen the ear!
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our loved home!
*See annotations to Malczewski. We can only add here that
the word " Kozak" applies figuratively especially to those w 7 ho were
born in Ukraine ; hence when one says he comes from " Kozaczyzna,"
it means that he comes from the land of the " Kozaks," that is to say,
from " Ukraine. " Here the poet, though a nobleman calls himself a
Kozak, being born and brought up in Ukraine.
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? ZALESKI. 299
U NAS INACZEJ.
(Bohdana Zaleskiego. )
Smutnoz tu -- smutno, bracia, za Dunajem,
I w oczach mokro, bo sercami tajem;
Ludzie nas nudza? -- i s? wiat ca? y nudzi;
Cudzo -- och pusto -- s? ro? d s? wiata i ludzi!
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej Och! Ojczyzna Lasza,
To wszech s? owian? ska i kro? lowa nasza,
Bracia, zginiemy za nia? . , kiedy skinie,
Ale s? nic? be? dziem o swej Ukrainie.
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej ! I bujnie i mi? o,
Hej ! nie zaste? puj na drodze mogi? o !
Nie s? ciel sie? cieniem! niech sokole oko
Ka? pie w burzanach lubo a szeroko!
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej ! Po nad Ukraina? ,
Wskros? okolica? jarza? ca? sie? , sina? ,
Boz? e s? piewaki cia? gna? w w ro? z? ne strony;
Az w uszach klaszcze, taki gwar zma? cony!
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
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? 300 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
'Tis different with us ! what I've secretly planned,
Or in Duma sing, my horse can understand;
He neighs in his way; of his tabun* thinks he?
Ah, he and I are twins, both yearning to be free!
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our own loved home!
'Tis different with us! sad notes e'er are sung,
Because 'tis sepulchral, and the graves among;
They breathe the spirit of our great sires and praise
Glories and victories of their olden days !
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our own loved home !
'Tis different with us ! far more glad and gay,
Lively beats the heart; pour out no wine I pray!
Intoxication seems the air itself to fill ;
When I wish to carouse I shall with a will!
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our own loved home!
'Tis different with us! love and longing here
As two strands of the thread of this life appear.
With tears, O God, I entreat a boon of Thee,
That in Heaven Thou'll give Ukraine to me !
Here the Kozak's spirit must pleasureless roam;
'Tis so different all from our own loved home!
* A herd of wild horses.
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? ZALESKI. 301
U nas inaczej Co zas? piewam w dumie,
Co w g? owie knowam -- brat kon? mo? j rozumie ;
Rzy po swojemu: -- czy tabun pamie? ta?
Och! za wolnos? cia? , te? sknimy bliz? nie? ta!
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej ! Wcia? z? nuta z? a? oby,
Bo namogilna, bo pomie? dzy groby
Ku duchom ojco?
w przygrywa wspaniale
O ich minionych i bojach i chwale:
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej ! Jakos? lz? ej weselej,
Krew gra burzliwiej : -- oj wina mi nie lej !
Samem powietrzem po pianemu z? yje? ;
A kiedy hulam -- to na ? eb, na szyje? !
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
U nas inaczej ! Mi? os? c? i te? sknota,
To jak dwie prza? dki naszego z? ywota.
Bozez mo? j, Boz? e! ? zami modle? Ciebie!
Jak umre? , daj mi Ukraine? -- w niebie!
Nie ma bo rady dla duszy kozaczej ;
U nas inaczej -- inaczej -- inaczej !
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? 302 POETS AND POETRY OE POLAND.
TO MY GUITAR. .
Thou dear companion of my spring,
My soul confides its grief to thee ; ?
Let the sad plainings of each string
Drown all my sighs melodiously.
And let thy murmurs, joined with mine,
A soothing as of dreams impart,
While from these walls at day's decline,
Their notes rebounding thrill my heart.
Sweetly intoxicate each sense,
Chase from my eyes this mist of pain; -- ?
From earth's cold desert bear me hence,
My only solace! on thy strain.
Through all my sad and vanished years
Few happy hours to me were known ;
Hope's longing only joined to fears
And disappointment were my own.
One moment comes, -- another goes,
My years like autumn leaves grow dry;-
When will this pilgrim journey close --
This exile and an end draw nigh?
I do not dread Eternity;
Death in my soul awakes no fear : --
There wait the golden days for me,
Which I have sought so vainly here.
Companion of my life's sad spring,
My soul confides it's grief to thee; --
Let the low plaining from thy string
Drown all my sighs melodiously.
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? JACHOWICZ. 303
JACHOWICZ
Stanislaus Jachowicz was burn at Dziko? w, in Ga-
licia. lTtli of April. 1796. His father (who was a
plenipotentiary of Count Tarnowski | died when Stan-
islaus was but a child; but his pious mother took great
eare in his education. The boy exhibited excellent
qualities of heart and mind from his very childhood;
no punishment was ever resorted to in bringing up the
lad: an appeal from the mother to her son's heart
sufficed in every instance. He went to the gymnasium
at Stanis? awo? w, where he was always the first among
the scholars in learning and deportment, and afterward
attended the Faculty of Philosophy in the University
of Lemberg from 1815 to 1818. The celebrated Pro-
fessor Maas prized him very highly, and corresponded
with him. In the latter part of 1818 he went to War-
saw, where he entered in an official capacity the depart-
ment of Procurator-General of the Kingdom of Poland.
It was here that he became acquainted with the poet
Brodzin? ski. But the duties of an official life had no
charms for him; the bent of his mind led him alto-
gether in a different direction: he soon gave himself up
to the occupation of a private teacher. His first fables
were published at P? ock in 1824. Five of his smaller
works passed through two editions; one passed through
three, and his tables through six. different editions.
Then came the publication of " Thoughts in Kegard
How to Gain a Correct Knowledge of the Foundations of
the Polish Language " -- ATarsaw, 1828. Jachowicz left
in manuscript ** Sketches of Polish History. " in verse;
also a spelling-book, copiously ill ustrated with wood-cuts.
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? 304 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
All who knew lachowicz personally testify to the
nobleness of his nature, and to his great friendship of
children; and so long as the little rising generation will
speak the language of their grandmothers they will
carry his name to the remotest posterity. His fables
and proverbs can be found in almost every house in
Poland. The last edition of his works was published
in Warsaw in four volumes -- 1848. Besides these he
published a new collection entitled c ' A Hundred New
Stories " -- Warsaw, 1853. The substance of his fables
is an invention adapted for the understanding and the
necessities of children. In these little stories we find
the children's world dramatized; their subjects do not
touch the concerns of grown people, or any intricate-
relations of life; they simply concern the relations of
children, their little adventures, contacts, and relations
with their parents, society, etc. The author endeavors
to imbue the little folks with virtues of religion and
pleasing shadings of their every-day situations. He
pursues their little shortcomings and their little foibles
in the same good-natured way and degree of childish-
ness; the form, too, in which they are written possesses
also its peculiarly interesting manner. Jachowicz
understood that the essence of a fable is not an alle-
gory, but an example, and that allegorical examples
are not practical for children; for a child there is no
better example than to show it the doings of another
child. Jachowicz also comprehended the truth that the
heroes of his stories were not animals or trees, but
children. His manner of telling things is so easy and
lucid that every child can understand him without any
trouble, although sometimes he moralizes too long.
He died in Warsaw the 24th of December, 1857.
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? Jachowicz. 305
SUNSET.
The sun went down, with it one more day has passed away; --
The church-bell heralded its death through the twilight grey;
To-morrow, at the same time and hour, with bell-tones clear,
Another day shall disappear;
And after that a third, and so
Our whole life day by day shall go
An old man thought, -- up and down he paced with feeble tread.
What does the old man mutter ? the thoughtless children said.
The Old Man.
Gaily with your pastimes you amuse yourselves to-day,
But your life is fleeting imperceptibly away.
See you the sunset, children fair?
Only look! see over there:
The clouds with red and gold inwrought,^-
Their play a moment was forgot.
And while they looked with earnestness
The old man spoke of sinfulness
, Repentance and a saving grace,
How swiftly day to day gives place ;
And of the vanities of earth,
They understood not then its worth.
In riper years alone their might
The sunset shone upon their sight.
They thought of what the old man said many years ago,
And finer feelings filled their hearts all with a holy glow.
The world's snares deceived them no more,
Love of wealth and glory was o'er;
Flown away as if with the wind,
And if for earthly joys they pined
The old man's sunset crossed their mind.
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? 306 POETS AKD POETKY OF POLAND.
THE LITTLE ORPHAN.
Mother! but speak, dispel my dread, --
'Tis your own daughter, hear her plea;
I kneel and weep beside your bed, --
Awake and say a word to me!
Mother! the hands my lips have pressed
Are cold as ice. Oh, for God's sake
No longer in this coffin rest;
Open your eyes, mother, awake !
I cannot think you will not rise,
They say you will waken never;
mamma dear, open your eyes,
Don't you love me well as ever?
Arise, arise, from that white bed,
It looks as if it were a tomb,
And press me to your breast instead,
My heart will break within this gloom!
Ah, you keep still, my mother dear,
You wish me all alone to stay;
Must I be left an orphan here,
Torn from my mother's arms for aye?
1 have never been away from you,
Oh, may I never, never be ;
But to the grave let me go, too,
Can you seek Heaven without me?
You are so good, mother, I plead
That you will look on me with love,
And with the good Lord intercede
To join us in his home above!
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? JACHOWICZ. 307
MOTHER'S WARNING.
My son, said a mother, if you would be my delight,
From thy soul's depths love truth and right;
Teach your heart to loathe deeply every form of wrong,
Shun evil when alone as when 'mid a watchful throng.
The youth promised his mother, and in his eye shone clear
The light of truth -- she knew that his promise was sincere.
In a few days thereafter it happened on his way
The youth passed a neighbor's garden filled with blossoms
gay
Just at that time of summer when fragrant buds disclose
In its charming beauty the queen of flowers, the rose,
To reach and pluck the fairest the eager youth essayed,
When something whispered him of the promise he had
made.
His hand dropped -- he paused to think -- he listened to the
voice,
A future life of right or wrong waited on his choice.
But another voice said: what does one rose signify?
The owner will forgive it, no harm therein can lie,
If you leave them as they are their hours of bloom are few;
Reach and pluck one, you shall take a sweet rose home with
you.
No one will reprove you; there are plenty, take your choice;
And he almost believed for a time that evil voice.
Your promise to your mother, -- 'twas his heart's voice he heard,
He who is good and honest will never break his word.
He resisted the temptation, the flowers untouched remained,
He heard his mother's warning, and a victory was gained !
THE LITTLE JEWESS.
A little Jewish girl, pale and thin, in humble guise,
Was walking, with her hands covering her eyes,
When a lady from her window marked her feeble tread,
And sent her maid to her with a piece of bread.
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? 308 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Thus having done her duty she felt much happiness.
What is more pleasant than easing the distress
Of the poor orphan? But out of breath the maid came back.
"Do you know," she said, "my mistress dear, -- alack!
That is a Jewish girl; -- who e'er thought to help a Jew? ' 1
The good lady was offended. " Shame on you!
She is poor, and therefore she deserves our aid," she said;
" Go forthwith, I bid you, give to her the bread.
She is a fellow creature; -- the creeds don't signify; --
The sun shines upon us all, -- impartially. "
THE WIDOW'S MITE.
A money-box was fastened up in a public place,
And many with indiff'rence as they passed apace
Read "Offering for the Poor;" thereon they turned away
Without putting in a penny for many a day.
It stood quite empty, till at last
A poor woman dropped her mite, a penny, as she passed.
Next, seeing her, a rich man stopped,
Who some ducats dropped.
The less wealthy, moved by the sight, added to the store
Each a florin more.
Another one, who had seen the widow give her mite,
Dropped a dollar bright.
Whence comes this liberality, -- this golden shower?
'Tis the example of the good. It is virtue's power
That brings the penny shining gold.
Perhaps to this hour time had rolled,
And the money-box, now burdened, remained empty quite
Had not the poor and humble widow given her mite.
Good example works wonders for the right'
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? KORZENIOWSKI.
