No More Learning

Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Till fed by stranger's hands;
But long ere I come back again
He'd tear me where he stands.
x.
With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine;
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.
Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves!
And when you fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts and ye caves!
My native land -- good night !
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? MICKIEWICZ. 227
Dos? c? , dos? c? mo? j giermku ! s? uszna twa z? a? os? c? ;
la choc? tej ganic? niemoge? .
Mniejsza? mam czu? os? c? , czy wie? ksza? sta? os? c? :
S? mieja? c sie? puszczam sie? w droge? !
Kochanki, zony p? acz mie? niewzruszy --
Bo nim zabtys? nie poranek,
Z b? e? kitnych oczu te ? zy osuszy
Nowy ma? z? , nowy kochanek --
Niez? al mi ziemi gdziem m? odos? c? strawi? ,
Nie straszne podro? z? e wodne;
Z? a? uje? tylko z? em niezostawi?
Nic coby by? o ? ez godne.
ix.
Teraz po s? wiecie b? a? dze? szerokim,
I pe? dze? z? ycie tu? acze;
Czego? z? mam p? akac? zakim i po? kim
Kiedy nikt pomnie nie p? acze? --
Pies chyba tylko zawyje z rana,
Nim obca? karmiony re? ka? ,
Kiedys? swojego dawnego pana
Ws? ciek? a? powita paszcze? ka? .
Iuz? okre? t piersia? kraje g? e? bine? ,
I z? agle na wiatr rozwina? ? ;
Niedbam ku jakim brzegom pop? yne?
Bylebym nazad niep? yna? ? ,
Gdy mnie twe jasne znudza? kryszta? y,
Ogromna modra p? asczyzno,
Powitam lasy, pustynie, ska? y --
Ba? dz? zdrowa luba Ojczyzno!
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? 228 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
BRODZIN? SKI.
Casimir Brodzin? ski is one of the poets who appeared
on the stage at the outset of this period. He cast his
searching eye upon the just expiring century and felt
in his heart the voice calling for a new state of things.
His elaborate ideas, combined with deep reflections,
he transferred into a charming world of poesy. He
argued the whole thing out, and gave his feelings a
tangible and poetic form. His talent was not of the
flashy kind, but rather retiring and modest, resembling
the light of the morning star casting upon the world its
soft, sad, and longing rays; but this light was not seen
nor understood by all; he shared the common lot of all
creative minds, and of those who wished to implant new
ideas into the popular heart. The public admired him;
men of letters appreciated him for his artistic skill;
it was acknowledged that his dissertations were full of
rendition; but the masses were deaf to Brodzinski's
voice, -- it failed to make any impression on their
minds. In a short time he was as it were completely
forsaken by them, and he became as a target to be fired
upon by the youth of Poland. A mistaken and ill-
advised impression was spread that in his works were
concealed dangerous elements. Thrust aside, found
fault with, he was almost forgotten. But the revolu-
tion of 1830 lifted him up at once. Heaven granted
him a gift of looking far into the future. Brodzinski's
poetic genius did not lift him into the empyrean spheres;
it did not carry him beyond the limits of the occasion;
but every one can see that his feelings are not con-
strained; that honesty of purpose and a yearning feeling
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? BRODZIN? SKI. 229
knocks gently at the heart of others. His prepon-
derant ability was in his inquiring mind, which carefully
reveals the unknown road, working cautiously around,
consulting his own judgment, and profiting by the
experience of others. Being well acquainted with
German literature, he preferred to look there for
examples to cultivate his own talent; but above all,
w r hile fathoming the popular songs and the character-
istics of the Slavonian peoples to . correctly delineate
the national spirit of Slavonian poetry seemed to be
his chief aim. But this innovation caused in those days
great opposition, especially among the votaries of
Laharpe and Boileau, who considered themselves as
infallible judges of every unfolding talent. Brod-
zin? ski suffered patiently all sorts of personal taunts,
and while forgetting himself he did not cease defending
the cause. He published a highly interesting disser-
tation on Classicism and Romanticism, which was
printed at Warsaw. This dissertation proved to be
a species of watch-word for a subsequent stormy literary
war, which gave the contending parties two separate
names, to wit: Classicists and Romanticists. Brod-
zin? ski very modestly put himself on the neutral
ground, and would not participate in this polemic
struggle; but by occasional publication of his poetical
compositions in the ',' Review,' 1 and finally by pub-
lishing them in a volume (1821-2), 'subdued all
prejudiced minds, and favorably inclined them toward
his innovations in the literature of his country, at the
same time opening a way to a complete reform, not
only in the art of writing itself, but also in the concep-
tions necessary to the innovation. These innovations
and conceptions were taken up by another genius, and
very soon after put into practice.
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? 230 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
Brodzinski's poetical compositions breathed like the
gentle breezes of the wind, which seemed to send into
the popular heart a new life; it was a genuine national
breath, awakening in poetry pure native feeling and
turning attention to the land of our birth -- its inher-
ent qualities and its beauties; he chose for his images
simple and more accessible objects, -- rural life and
scenery, and beautifully painted their simplicity, their
innocence and charms.
Thus is his "Wies? aw " planned. It is like the first
flowers in the spring, which are not the prettiest in
outward appearance, -- but then one of these is the
violet, and who plucked the first violet in our litera-
ture was the first to welcome the spiritual spring of the
nation. "Wies? aw " is the most beautiful pastoral, -- the
most charming rural epopee, -- and after its publication
it created a sensation such as no other poem ever created
before. The youth of the country could repeat it by
heart, and even to this day the poem is known and
loved by all classes. It was welcomed at its first appear-
ance as a harbinger of a bright star of future poetry
which was to rise over the whole Polish nation. This
"Wies? aw," singing forth with the accompaniment of
a country fiddler, the Cracovian dancers, the bride-men,
the para-nymphs, came out with charms unknown
before. If Brodzin? ski had not written anything else
but that, it alone would have contributed greatly to the
Polish literature, and would have placed him in the
first ranks of Polish poets. He iufused into his poetry
all the gentleness of his nature, his feeling, and his
sincerity.
Brodzin? ski was born on the 8th of March, 1791, in
Galicia. In consequence of the early death of his
mother, and neglected by his stepmother, he grew up
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? BRODZIN? SKI. 231
amidst rural people and rural scenes. Later he was
sent to school at Lipnice. He finished the gymnasium
at Tarno? w, from where he ran away with his brother
Andrew, and enlisted in the artillery in 1809. He
served in the campaign of 1812, and the year after
was wounded at the battle of Leipsic, and finally
taken prisoner by the Prussians. In 1814 he was
released, and returning to Warsaw he left the military
service, and gave himself up to learning.
At that time
(1818) he wrote his dissertation "Of Classicism and
Romanticism," which called out, as before mentioned,
the celebrated literary war. Laboring on the commit-
tee of the department of the interior he, at the same
time, gave private lessons in Polish literature. In
1821 he taught at the Lyceum, and the succeeding year
was called to a professorship at the University of War-
saw. His failing health compelled him to seek milder
climes, and in 1826 he left for Italy, visiting Switzer-
land and France. Returning again to his country he
continued in his usual labors till 1829. In the follow-
ing year he published "The Latin Elegies" of John
Kochanowski. Falling sick again he went to the Bo-
hemian waters, and died at Dresden on the 10th day of
October, 1835.
The first collection of his poems, in two volumes,
was published at Warsaw, 1821. Afterward "The
Miscellaneous Writings," containing critical and ses-
thetical dissertations was also published at Warsaw,
1830. A complete edition of his works was published
in ten volumes at Wilno, 1842-4. Besides that the
translation of the tragedy of "Raynouard," Warsaw,
1819; "Latin Elegies," Warsaw, 1830; "Of Litera-
ture," in Turowski' s Library, at Sanok, 1856.
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? 232 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
THE FATHER AND HIS SON.
My son, give me my spade and plow --
To labor is our lot,
And though a lonely being now,
I'll guard our little cot.
Within the valley of thy birth
Lies armor we will raise;
'Tis hid within our native earth;
Awaiting better days.
And when I see thee draw once more
Thy father's conquering sword,
I'll dream our night of slavery is o'er,
And freedom is restored.
And oh, my son, weep not for me;
These aged hands can toil
For our support -- but 'tis for thee
To guard our native soil.
My hope on God and thee depends,
? And God will me reward;
My corn will grow to feed the friends
Whose swords our freedom guard.
See where yon trees their branches wave,
And shroud the church in gloom,
There, sooner than become a slave,
Thy aire will find a tomb.
And if returned from foes o'ercome,
To me be tear-drops given;
If not, thy arms must share my tomb,
And seek thy sire in heaven.
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? BRODZIN? SKI. 233
THE OLD MAN.
Young Man. Old man, tell me where to get bread.
Old Man. In early morning leave your bed,
And as the way is long and steep,
'Tis best the ploughshare's path to keep.
It will be somewhat wearisome,
But thereby health and peace will come.
Young Man. Where are your recreations here?
Old Man. No road through six days brings them near ;
Through six days to your work attend ;
To make a home your mind must bend,
And boldly then when earned your pelf
On Sunday you enjoy yourself.
Young Man. Where are your schools and teachers here?
Old Man. Schools and wise teachers both are near;
But you'll lose time to go and ask, --
Be giddy-headed with the task.
But for beginners, full of worth,
Are charts of sky and charts of earth;
And there is, too, Dame Nature's book,
That children learn from as they look.
People there are who lose or gain,
Whose hearts are full of joy or pain;
And they each other teach in turn,
With pluck and spirit go and learn.
Search without idleness; refrain
From asking oft. The way is plain.
Young Man. Tell me where can I find a friend .
Old Man. That great boon none but Fate can send;
With golden nets he is not caught,
With skill nor flattery is bought.
He who has found, indeed, a friend.
Whose heart with his through life may blend,
Blessed is he beyond compare!
For as the body needs the air
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? 234 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
E'en so the true heart needs a friend, --
He who will a few words extend,
If they be kindly and sincere,
Though why, may not to you appear.
Time passes, and day follows day,
Year after year will slip away;
But still your heart will yearn for him,
He reigns o'er you in silence dim.
Will all your hidden troubles guess
In fancied luck or hopelessness.
Your friend rejoices or he grieves,
If your devotion he receives.
To state a truth there consequent
To your voice let your heart be lent,
Exclaiming; I a friend have found.
Young Man. Tell me where pleasure does abound?
Old Man. 'Tis long since from it I have heard,
Others can tell you scarce a word.
Something of it I knew in youth,
Its mother was good health and truth.
Innocence it had for a wife,
Possessed goods many of this life;
Except with children it is found
'Tis vanished now from sight and sound.
Young Man. Pray tell me where's Virtue now.
Old Man. It's lying ill and very low.
It prays for all most fervently,
Its own reward it used to be,
Quietly breathing its pure breath,
But now it weeps as if for death,
And terrible is its distress!
Young Man. Where then can I find happiness?
Old Man. In this direction it lies not,
By every one the way is sought,
But ah ! no one knows happiness,
And so, I think, all will confess;
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? BRODZIN? SKI. 235
In search of it they still must roam.
You have left it in your sire's home;
Only in God you'll find it now,
Speak gently -- teach your heart to bow.
Seek peace in many a noble task,
And last of all your conscience ask,
And that will the whole story tell.
Young M> an. Where does Faith about here dwell?
Old Man. If from your mother you learned not
By children you can best be taught.
The straightest path to it would be, --
Not to inquire of men you see,
Who happy seem, nor those world-wise,
Seek if in love for all it lies
In loving deeds and kindly thought,
And when all else has come to naught
It will, when troubles fast succeed,
Itself into your succor speed,
And to its home in safety lead.
SLANDER.
Unlucky he who stands in slander's power !
Though great, -- for worms a lion may devour.
FRIENDSHIP.
Like the morning sunbeam's shade,
Friendship with the evil made
Lessens every hour with time ;
As the shade of evening lengthens
Friendship with the virtuous strengthens,
Till the sun sinks down sublime.
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? 236 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
WIES? AW. *
Old Stanis? aw came from his chamber-door,
His wife upon his arm, -- two bags he bore;
Whence thrice a hundred florins he told o'er,
And said, " Take these, my Wies? aw, and depart;
And bring a pair of steeds from Cracow's mart; --
A well- matched pair. -- My son was slain in fight,
And grief and grievous age o'erpower me quite:
I've none to trust but thee, the prop, the stay
Of my old house. When I have pass'd away
Be thou its head; -- and if (Heaven grant the prayer! )
My daughter e'er should win thy love, thy care, --
Twelve years -- rare beauty -- thou mayst wait; -- -my tongue
Must not betray my heart; -- but thou art young. "
"Yes! yes! " cried Bronis? awa, "'tis for thee
I watch and train the maiden tenderly. "
(She smoothed Bronika's cheeks while this she said;
And deeply blushed the young and simple maid. )
" I have no sweeter thoughts for her; -- and this
Were the full spring-tide of a mother's bliss;
0! I was twice a mother. God above!
Can I weep out the memory of her love?
The fifth fruit scarce had blossom'd; -- she was reft,
And not a solitary vestige left.
Twelve wintry winds have stripped the forest tree,
And still her visions haunt that memory.
When war had ravaged Poland, -- when its brands
Fired our low cots, and razed our smiling lands, --
When even the forests perish'd in the blaze,
And terror like a whirlwind met the gaze,
As if all heaven were frowning; -- overturn'd
* Pronounced Vies? av.
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? BRODZIN? SKI. 237
Our houses; rooted up, and tore, and burn'd
Our sheltering woods; -- 'twas as if judgment-day
Had gather'd all its terrors o'er our way.
Midst sobs and sighs and shrieks and wailings loud,
Through the wild tempest of the fiery cloud,
Our peasants rush'd to save us; while the foe
Fed upon plunder, scattering fear and woe.
Our father's cottage in the smoke-clouds fell, --
And that beloved child, -- O horrible!
That sweet, soft maiden disappears; -- no trace
Was left; -- 'twas all a bare and blazing place: --
I sought her through the villages and woods:
There was no voice in all their solitudes.
No! she was lost forever! as a stone
Into th' unfathom'd trackless ocean thrown;
And I found nought but silence. Year by year
The harvest maidens wreath'd with flowers appear, --
But she appears not; -- Oh! she is not there.
Heaven's will shall be Heaven's praise. -- I fix'd on thee,
My son, her representative to be.
Thou wert an orphan, and of old 'twas said,
That he who housed a homeless orphan's head
Should ne'er want comfort; -- and perchance my child
May yet have found a home, -- and 'neath the mild
And holy smile of a maternal eye
May dwell with other children joyously.
So have I train'd thee, -- so have I fulfill'd
A mother's duties, -- and my grief was still'd
With thoughts that mercy should for mercy pay;
For Heaven's rewards flit o'er our earthly way
In strange and wandering light. Perchance the mound
Lies on her head o'er the dark grave profound,
While her freed spirit in the realms of rest .
Sits dove-like on the Heavenly Mother's* breast;
* The Virgin Mary.
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? 238 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
And thence by prayers and tears on our abode
Sends down the smiles of angels and of God. "
She could no more; -- her cheeks were drench'd in tears,-
Tears, -- the prompt eloquence of hopes and fears;
Her daughter's heart seem'd bursting. Tears deny
Their soothing influence to man's sterner eye.
So Stanis? aw, whose soul was full as hers,
Cried, " God in heaven directs weak man's affairs, --
God, whose all-penetrating sight can rend
The curtains of all time and space; -- a friend
And ever-present Father. None too mean
For his regards; -- he rules o'er all unseen.
Let grief give way to pious confidence !
Provide for Wies? aw now, and speed him hence,
And give him counsel and thy blessing; -- youth
Is ever hasty. Boy ! some pledge of truth
Thou'lt bring to thy betroth'd. " -- In reverence meet
He bow'd, and then embraced the old man's feet;
Then pass'd the threshold, grateful to high Heaven,
Who to the orphan such kind friends had given.
Sweet evening with its twilight bathed the earth,
And lo! the gladdening sounds of village mirth
Fell upon Wies? aw's ear, as home he rode
Upon his new-bought steeds, -- the shouts were loud,
And gay the music;-- swift the horses speed:
He saw the bride-maids sporting in the mead,
All crown'd with myrtle garlands. Youths around
Stamp'd their steel heels upon the echoing ground,*
Then sprung to greet the stranger. First of all
The Starost f spoke: " Tis well to claim, and call
A stranger, friend: from Proszow welcome thou;
*To stamp with the feet is the accompaniment of the Cracowiak
dance.
\ The head of the wedding festival.
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