The Poet's Oratorium in "Dumy and Dumki "
was dedicated to his wife, -- published at Posen, 1866.
was dedicated to his wife, -- published at Posen, 1866.
Poland - 1881 - Poets and Poetry of Poland
Think ye such poor devices can deceive?
He is a spy -- a base, deceitful spy.
Begone! for by my father's sepulcher
I see a dagger in my path. Begone !
[Exit Heidenric and Herman.
Approach Lutuver. Didst thou see that knight
Who left so suddenly?
Lutuver. I did so, sire,
But 'f all the group I least suspected him
Of treasonable practices. He's silent,
For no one understands his language here;
He keeps aloof from men, because he's sad;
He's sad, because he's poor; so ends that knight.
Mindowe (not heeding him).
I tell thee that my very soul's pulse throbbed,
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? S? OWACKI. 289
And my heart cast with quicker flow my blood,
When that young knight approached Aldona. (Muses. )
Now, by the gods, I do believe 'tis he --
The banished ? awski, here to dog my steps --
What thinkst thou, Lutuver?
Lutuver. Slay him, sire!
If it be he, he's taken from thy path,
If not -- to slay a Teuton is no crime.
Mindowe. Thou counselest zealously. But still, thy words
Fall not upon an ear which thinks them good.
I tell thee that this ? awski is my bane,
A living poison rankling 'fore mine eyes.
Men prate about the virtues of the man.
And if a timorous leaning to the right
From fear to follow where the wrong directs
Be virtue, then is he a paragon.
No wonder we are deadly foes. To me
The brightness which is shed o'er all his deeds
When placed in contact with my smothered hate
Seems as the splendor of the noonday sun
Glancing upon some idol's horrid form,
Making its rude appearance ruder still.
One word of mine, Lutuver, might destroy
This abject snail, who crawling near my hope
Hath scared it off. But I would have him live,
And when he meets his adorable wife,
When in th' excess of 'raptured happiness
Each fiber fills with plenitude of joy
And naught of bliss is left to hope for -- then
At fair Aldona's feet shall he expire,
And the full heart just beating 'gainst her own
Shall yield its living current for revenge.
And she -- his wife -- to whom I knelt in vain,
Who oft has said she courted my dislike,
And wished I'd hate her: -- she shall have her wish.
[Exeunt Mindowe and Lutuver, as the curtain falls.
19
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? 290 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
GARCZYNSKI.
Stephen Garczynski, the imitator and a great per-
sonal friend of Adam Mickiewicz, was gifted with
marked poetical abilities, but a long residence in for-
eign countries had a great influence over them. His
poetry when not considered from a national, artistic
standpoint, possesses unusual merits. His fantasy
being full of feeling, and his imagery of the richest
spirit, are the two greatest characteristics of his poet-
ical creations; but their German mysticism and other
outlines, tinged with foreign literature, are their weak
points. Mickiewicz, in his lectures on Slavonic Liter-
ature, places Garczynski in the front ranks of Polish
poets; but it is doubtful whether he could maintain the
place now, because he died too young to compete for
so high a place on the Polish Parnassus; and yet, as a
poet, he stands high. His beautiful poem "Waclaw's
History " is an extensive philosophical creation, but
founded upon ideas of which he drank deeply while in
Germany. It is a description of an individual life in
many phases and changes of all sorts, all of which
seem to exert a great influence upon his moral condi-
tion; this constitutes about the whole theme of the
poem. Here Garczynski reminds one of Byron's
heroes. It is an unhappy young man for whom the
world has no longer any charms, -- who amidst riches
and amusements, dying from grief, looks for relief and
diversion in learning. We see in him something akin
to "Faust" or "Manfred," but neither the unlimited
desire for knowledge nor passions consumes him. He
does not chase about the world as " Lara " or 4 ' Cor-
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? GARCZYN? SKI. 291
sair,"in search of prey, lust, or booty. He is unhappy
only because he is a Pole; he is unhappy because he
does not see any moral cause for the existence of his
country; because in philosophy only he could find the
apotheosis of the powers which destroyed his country.
Besides that, he wrote war sonnets and lyrics, most of
which are replete with a devoted love to his country.
Garczyn? ski was born in 1806, in Great Poland, re-
ceived his first education at Trzemeszno, and at a
Lyceum at Warsaw; then he attended the University
at Berlin, where having imbibed the philosophical doc-
trines of Hegel he drowned in them the remnants of
the faith of his sires, which he carried away with him
on leaving the home of his youth. Traveling in Italy
in 1829 he met Mickiewicz, the poet, at Rome, and
here were formed between them ties of the closest and
most sincere friendship. Mickiewicz warmed up Gar-
czyn? ski' s faith, and awakened within him the great
inborn powers which up to this time were misdirected.
During the revolution of 1831 he took an active part
in national movements. He was aid-de-camp of Gen-
eral Umin? ski, fought in several battles, and received
a golden cross for bravery and meritorious conduct.
After the unfortunate result of the revolution he went
to Paris, France, and from there to Rome, where he
again met his beloved friend Adam Mickiewicz. In
his company he went to Geneva, Switzerland. His
health beginning to fail he sought relief at Avignon,
where he was taken by Mickiewicz in person. Here,
after a month's illness, he died -- 1833, Mickiewicz
closing his eyes.
Garczynski's works were published in Paris by Mar-
tinet in 1860, in Posen by Mertzbach, and by Brock-
house in Leipsic; also in the " Library of the Polish
Authors "in 1860.
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? 292 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
MILITARY SONNET.
With signal of attack each separate line
Like two black clouds ere bursts the thunder peal
Advance, -- each moment closer yet they steal,
Thirsty for blood, the battle's crimson wine.
With manes outshaken at the second sign
The horses snort, glance proudly, -- bold with ire,
Strike with their hoofs, -- raise dust with sparks of fire,
As though the coming victory they divine.
March! march! the third sign giv'n; what billows rise !
The sea itself is not more tempest-tost
With horse and rider;-- earth in smoke is lost.
A clash of arms ! friends mingle in the host
With foes. Who conquers? from the turmoil fled,
The vanquished leave the victors with the dead!
CONVERSATION.
Come here my girl ; and then she ran to me.
Do you love me? Oh yes, indeed I do.
As mother? -- brother? far more fond and true;
To you a help I ever wish to be.
All that I have, or will have, fain would I
Divide with you and for you make all light.
Ah! when I hear the rustling trees at night,
And windows rattling as the breeze sweeps by,
'Tis dark, and I alone sad vigil keep;
I think you are not with me -- then I weep.
'Tis very wrong, my child, -- it is a sin.
Sin, did you say ? Ah ! that is never true,
For when at morn I do not mention you
In prayer, no heavenly joy do I win
At eve. I think of words you spoke to me,
And to myself give them a meaning strange.
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? GARCZYN? SKI. 293
I weep, but am so happy I would change
That moment -- time into eternity,
And weep forever with a blissful sense
Of happiness most pure and most intense.
'Tis wrong, my child ; -- your thoughts had better rest
On some one else -- more fitting it would seem
God so ordains. Ah ! no ; whene'er I dream
Of Heaven, you are there among the blest.
Once said I to myself that it was wrong,
But sweet and clear as chime of silver bell
Kind voices spoke to me: -- Love! love! 'Tis well.
Long as you have a heart -- Oh love so long ;
And to my soul came joy unknown before,
And doubt can never cloud its sunshine more.
Then I was silent; -- sank the sun and fell
Calm ev'ning dim with shades of coming night.
My heart was timid, but a new delight,
With some strange change about it, wove a spell
When I repeated " it is wrong," I prest
With fervent kiss the maiden's lip and hand;
The rapture, none save lovers understand,
Kindl'd a warmth divine within my breast,
For as our lips in that warm pressure met
A star rose in my sky that ne'er can set.
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? ZALESKI.
294
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? 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.
He is a spy -- a base, deceitful spy.
Begone! for by my father's sepulcher
I see a dagger in my path. Begone !
[Exit Heidenric and Herman.
Approach Lutuver. Didst thou see that knight
Who left so suddenly?
Lutuver. I did so, sire,
But 'f all the group I least suspected him
Of treasonable practices. He's silent,
For no one understands his language here;
He keeps aloof from men, because he's sad;
He's sad, because he's poor; so ends that knight.
Mindowe (not heeding him).
I tell thee that my very soul's pulse throbbed,
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? S? OWACKI. 289
And my heart cast with quicker flow my blood,
When that young knight approached Aldona. (Muses. )
Now, by the gods, I do believe 'tis he --
The banished ? awski, here to dog my steps --
What thinkst thou, Lutuver?
Lutuver. Slay him, sire!
If it be he, he's taken from thy path,
If not -- to slay a Teuton is no crime.
Mindowe. Thou counselest zealously. But still, thy words
Fall not upon an ear which thinks them good.
I tell thee that this ? awski is my bane,
A living poison rankling 'fore mine eyes.
Men prate about the virtues of the man.
And if a timorous leaning to the right
From fear to follow where the wrong directs
Be virtue, then is he a paragon.
No wonder we are deadly foes. To me
The brightness which is shed o'er all his deeds
When placed in contact with my smothered hate
Seems as the splendor of the noonday sun
Glancing upon some idol's horrid form,
Making its rude appearance ruder still.
One word of mine, Lutuver, might destroy
This abject snail, who crawling near my hope
Hath scared it off. But I would have him live,
And when he meets his adorable wife,
When in th' excess of 'raptured happiness
Each fiber fills with plenitude of joy
And naught of bliss is left to hope for -- then
At fair Aldona's feet shall he expire,
And the full heart just beating 'gainst her own
Shall yield its living current for revenge.
And she -- his wife -- to whom I knelt in vain,
Who oft has said she courted my dislike,
And wished I'd hate her: -- she shall have her wish.
[Exeunt Mindowe and Lutuver, as the curtain falls.
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? 290 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
GARCZYNSKI.
Stephen Garczynski, the imitator and a great per-
sonal friend of Adam Mickiewicz, was gifted with
marked poetical abilities, but a long residence in for-
eign countries had a great influence over them. His
poetry when not considered from a national, artistic
standpoint, possesses unusual merits. His fantasy
being full of feeling, and his imagery of the richest
spirit, are the two greatest characteristics of his poet-
ical creations; but their German mysticism and other
outlines, tinged with foreign literature, are their weak
points. Mickiewicz, in his lectures on Slavonic Liter-
ature, places Garczynski in the front ranks of Polish
poets; but it is doubtful whether he could maintain the
place now, because he died too young to compete for
so high a place on the Polish Parnassus; and yet, as a
poet, he stands high. His beautiful poem "Waclaw's
History " is an extensive philosophical creation, but
founded upon ideas of which he drank deeply while in
Germany. It is a description of an individual life in
many phases and changes of all sorts, all of which
seem to exert a great influence upon his moral condi-
tion; this constitutes about the whole theme of the
poem. Here Garczynski reminds one of Byron's
heroes. It is an unhappy young man for whom the
world has no longer any charms, -- who amidst riches
and amusements, dying from grief, looks for relief and
diversion in learning. We see in him something akin
to "Faust" or "Manfred," but neither the unlimited
desire for knowledge nor passions consumes him. He
does not chase about the world as " Lara " or 4 ' Cor-
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? GARCZYN? SKI. 291
sair,"in search of prey, lust, or booty. He is unhappy
only because he is a Pole; he is unhappy because he
does not see any moral cause for the existence of his
country; because in philosophy only he could find the
apotheosis of the powers which destroyed his country.
Besides that, he wrote war sonnets and lyrics, most of
which are replete with a devoted love to his country.
Garczyn? ski was born in 1806, in Great Poland, re-
ceived his first education at Trzemeszno, and at a
Lyceum at Warsaw; then he attended the University
at Berlin, where having imbibed the philosophical doc-
trines of Hegel he drowned in them the remnants of
the faith of his sires, which he carried away with him
on leaving the home of his youth. Traveling in Italy
in 1829 he met Mickiewicz, the poet, at Rome, and
here were formed between them ties of the closest and
most sincere friendship. Mickiewicz warmed up Gar-
czyn? ski' s faith, and awakened within him the great
inborn powers which up to this time were misdirected.
During the revolution of 1831 he took an active part
in national movements. He was aid-de-camp of Gen-
eral Umin? ski, fought in several battles, and received
a golden cross for bravery and meritorious conduct.
After the unfortunate result of the revolution he went
to Paris, France, and from there to Rome, where he
again met his beloved friend Adam Mickiewicz. In
his company he went to Geneva, Switzerland. His
health beginning to fail he sought relief at Avignon,
where he was taken by Mickiewicz in person. Here,
after a month's illness, he died -- 1833, Mickiewicz
closing his eyes.
Garczynski's works were published in Paris by Mar-
tinet in 1860, in Posen by Mertzbach, and by Brock-
house in Leipsic; also in the " Library of the Polish
Authors "in 1860.
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? 292 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
MILITARY SONNET.
With signal of attack each separate line
Like two black clouds ere bursts the thunder peal
Advance, -- each moment closer yet they steal,
Thirsty for blood, the battle's crimson wine.
With manes outshaken at the second sign
The horses snort, glance proudly, -- bold with ire,
Strike with their hoofs, -- raise dust with sparks of fire,
As though the coming victory they divine.
March! march! the third sign giv'n; what billows rise !
The sea itself is not more tempest-tost
With horse and rider;-- earth in smoke is lost.
A clash of arms ! friends mingle in the host
With foes. Who conquers? from the turmoil fled,
The vanquished leave the victors with the dead!
CONVERSATION.
Come here my girl ; and then she ran to me.
Do you love me? Oh yes, indeed I do.
As mother? -- brother? far more fond and true;
To you a help I ever wish to be.
All that I have, or will have, fain would I
Divide with you and for you make all light.
Ah! when I hear the rustling trees at night,
And windows rattling as the breeze sweeps by,
'Tis dark, and I alone sad vigil keep;
I think you are not with me -- then I weep.
'Tis very wrong, my child, -- it is a sin.
Sin, did you say ? Ah ! that is never true,
For when at morn I do not mention you
In prayer, no heavenly joy do I win
At eve. I think of words you spoke to me,
And to myself give them a meaning strange.
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? GARCZYN? SKI. 293
I weep, but am so happy I would change
That moment -- time into eternity,
And weep forever with a blissful sense
Of happiness most pure and most intense.
'Tis wrong, my child ; -- your thoughts had better rest
On some one else -- more fitting it would seem
God so ordains. Ah ! no ; whene'er I dream
Of Heaven, you are there among the blest.
Once said I to myself that it was wrong,
But sweet and clear as chime of silver bell
Kind voices spoke to me: -- Love! love! 'Tis well.
Long as you have a heart -- Oh love so long ;
And to my soul came joy unknown before,
And doubt can never cloud its sunshine more.
Then I was silent; -- sank the sun and fell
Calm ev'ning dim with shades of coming night.
My heart was timid, but a new delight,
With some strange change about it, wove a spell
When I repeated " it is wrong," I prest
With fervent kiss the maiden's lip and hand;
The rapture, none save lovers understand,
Kindl'd a warmth divine within my breast,
For as our lips in that warm pressure met
A star rose in my sky that ne'er can set.
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? ZALESKI.
294
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? 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.
