the
twilight
of the dewy morn
Calls me to plough, and to thy music thee.
Calls me to plough, and to thy music thee.
Poland - 1881 - Poets and Poetry of Poland
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? 70 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
SONG.
"Widzia? em cie z okieneczka. "
I saw thee from ray casement high,
And watch'd thy speaking countenance;
With silent step thou glidest by,
And didst not cast a hurried glance
Upon my mean abode nor me.
Then misery smote me, -- but for heaven
I should have fallen scathed and dead.
I blame thee not, -- thou art forgiven;
I yet may hear thy gentle tread,
When evening shall o'ermantle thee.
The evening came, -- then mantling night;
I waited till the full moon tower'd
High in the heaven. My longing sight
Perceived thee not; the damp mists lower'd^
In vain I sought thee anxiously.
Didst thou upon some privileged leaf
My name record, and to the wind
Commit it, -- bid it charm my grief,
Bear some sweet influence to my mind
And set me from despairing free?
Where are the strains of music now,
The song, the dance, that morn and eve
We heard around my house, -- when low
And sweet thy voice was wont to heave
Soft sighs and gentle thoughts for me ?
'Tis past, 'tis past, and in my heart
Is sorrow, silence in my ear;
The vain world's wonted smiles depart;
Joy and the springtide of the year,
Fond youth ! are scatter'd speedily.
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? ZIMOROWICZ. 71
Thou hast not said farewell! no sleep
Shall close my mourning eye, -- the night
Is gloomy now. Go, minstrel, weep!
For I shall weep; and sorrow's blight
That scathes my heart shall visit thee.
SIELANKA.
Zephyr ! that gently o'er Ukraine art flying,
Go and salute my Maryna for me;
Whisper her tenderly, soothingly sighing
" Lo ! he has sent these soft accents to thee ! "
Why dost thou dwell, my maiden so lonely?
Why dost thou dwell in so gloomy a spot?
Think of the palace of Leopol* -- only
Think, my fair maid! though thou visit it not.
There in thy tower is a window, where seated
Often thou sheddest a smile on thy swain,
There have my sighs oft an audience entreated;
Maiden, that window invites thee again.
Lady! the thought of thy absence has shaded
Even the flow'rets with sorrow and gloom;
All the bright roses and lilies are faded,
And my gay orchard is stripp'd of its bloom.
Come, my fair maid, with thy beautiful blushes,
Shine o'er our turrets, -- oh, come for awhile !
Smile on us, lady; oh, smile, though Red Russia's
Twice-castled towers may deserve not thy smile.
Lo! it expects thee, its lionsf await thee,
Watching like sentinels fix'd on the height:
* Leopol is the capital of Red Russia, Roxolania, now Austrian
Gallicia.
f Lions-- The arms of Leopol.
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? 72 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
Sleepless and eager to welcome and greet thee
When thy fair vision shall dawn on their sight.
Haste, maiden, haste ! scatter blessings around thee,
Laughter and wit are waiting thee here;
Courtesies, feastings and smiles, shall be found thee,
Wanderings and wassails to honor thee, dear !
Here we have centered the graces and pleasures;
Come thou, bright lady ! inherit them now.
Here Nature pours out her charms and her treasures,
Nothing is wanted, oh, nothing but thou.
SIELANKA.
"Rozyna mi w taneczku pomaran? cze da? a. "
Rosina, while dancing, an orange convey'd,
And promised the garland that circled her head;
I gave her my hand and with love and desire
The orange was turn'd to a ball of bright fire.
It burnt like a coal from the furnace, and made
Its way to my heart, while it fever'd my head.
Rosina, my flame ! that fair orange of gold
Has kindled a passion which may not be told.
I have learnt what love is ; not Venus the fair,
But the whelp of a lioness fierce in her lair;
She- tiger of Caucasus nurtured to scorn
The hearts that are broken, and souls that are torn.
SIELANKA.
"Roxolanki Ukochane
Przez usta wasze ro? z? ane. "
Maid of Roxolania fair!
By your lips of roses swear,
Why your lyre's sublimest tone
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? ZIMOROWICZ. 73
Sings the graceful Thelegdon ?
'Tis that noblest passion's praise,
Merits, aye! the noblest lays.
Light of love whose kindling stream
Shines like morning's dewy beam;
Not so bright the dawn which shakes
Splendent ringlets when she wakes.
Not so rich her lips of red,
When their balmy breath they spread;
Not so glorious is her eye,
Burning in its richest dye ;
Not so modest when her face
Shadows all its blushing grace.
Yet if heaven's thick-scattered light
Seeks to be more pure, more bright,
'Tis from her their rays they'll take;
Goddess of the frozen lake,
Genii of the wintry snow,
Warm ye in her beauty's glow.
Not the immeasurable sea,
Not the tides' profundity,
Not the ceaseless years that sweep,
Not the murmurs of the deep,
Shall outlive that maiden pure,--
Shall beyond her fame endure.
Joyous hours again renew,
Songs of praise and rapture, too.
Maid of Eoxolania, praise,
Praise the fair one in your lays.
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? 74 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND.
GAWIN? SKI.
John Gawin? ski, one of the foremost of Polish
bards, who for ease and harmonious flow of language
can be put by the side of Szymonowicz and Zimoro-
wicz. Of his poetical compositions which deserve
especial notice we can mention " The Mournful
Threns," " Pastorals," and " Epitaphs "; as also " The
Epigrams" on different subjects, "The New Pasto-
rals," 44 The Polish Yenus," " Fortune or Luck," and
" Idyls of Mopsus. "
In the poetry of Gawin? ski the reader can discover
true pictures of life wrought with great skill and
marked by pleasing simplicity and excellence of lan-
guage.
Gawin? ski was born in Cracow at the commence-
ment of the seventeenth century. After finishing his
education at Cracow,in order to still further improve him-
self he lived at the court of young Ferdinand Charles,
although during the stormy reign of John Casimir he
studied law. He was compelled to grasp the sword,
and fought against the Cossacks in Ukraine. The time
of his death is uncertain.
PASTORAL (SIELANKA).
In the fair fields of Rzecznio? w a glade
Was circled by a forest's budding shade ;
There Amaryllis lay, her flocks she kept,
While in the spreading shrubs in peace they slept.
There mid the branches of ancient tree
Damet and Myrtil sat and skillfully
Waked the reed's music, told the pleasing dream
Of love and courtship's joys; -- and this their theme :
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? GAWIN? SKI. 75
Damet.
Gay o'er the meadows wends the songful bee,
From flower to flower swift glancing sportively,
Robbing their hidden sweets; yet if decay
Wither the flower, she turns and speeds away.
I am a bee, but seek the sweets whose taste
Is fresh and fragrant, spring-begotten chaste: --
Sweet Amaryllis! my fair rose thou art;
But know, no wither'd rose can charm the heart.
Myetil.
A snow-white turtle on a fountain's side
Bends o'er the mirror stream with joy and pride;
He pecks his plumes, and in the water clear
Washes his silvery feathers; fluttering there
He sees another dove, and nods and coos,
And flaps his wings. Poor turtledove ! amuse
Thyself with the delusion, the deceit!
Thyself thou dost bewray, thyself dost cheat.
Love has its flatteries, -- has its treacheries, too,
And we're pursued when fancying we pursue.
Damet.
Silently swim the ducks upon the lake,
Silently, in the absence of the drake.
He comes! he comes! the welcoming strains begin;
Round him they crowd, and what a joyous din!
Man is the temple's prop, the temple's base,
On which is raised the pile of woman's grace.
Without him Nature is a shatter'd whole,
A lifeless life, a clod without a soul.
Myrtil.
From the deep waters Venus has its birth,
And reigns the queen of ocean and of earth.
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? 76 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Charm'd by her influence even the fishes stray
Wandering enamor'd round her witching way,
Each fed by love and mastered by desire,
Even in the wave glows passion's busy fire.
How should I struggle 'gainst the flame when thou
Art the bright Venus that inspires me now!
Damet.
The night bird sings upon the hazel tree,
The wind sweeps by, the leaves dance murmuringly.
She speaks, -- the nightingale his strains gives't o'er.
The leaves are still, the rude wind speaks no more.
Myrtil.
Fair is the rose when laughing in its bud,
Fair o'er the plain towers the tall cedar wood.
She comes! the cedars and the rose are dull;
Even Lebanon bows, though proud and beautiful.
Damet.
The moon obeys the sun, and every star . . . .
Pays homage to the moon; the twilight far
Leads in and out the shifting days ; and so
I dwell with thee, my fair! where'er thou go.
Myrtil.
On the proud world the sun delighted beams,
Piercing the blue depth of the rolling streams.
So would I bathe me in thy azure eyes,
And drown me in thy heart's deep mysteries.
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? GAWIN? SKI. 77
'Twas thus the shepherds sung. The sky above
Looked smiling on their strains of eloquent love;
And Amaryllis, from the blooming thorn
Tore a white sprig their temples to adorn:
And from that hour t' enjoy their simple airs
She often came, and mixed her flocks with theirs.
BONES ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.
Traveler, our bones are bleaching on the ground,
And yet unburied. Pity not our doom.
Ours is a grave of glory, shrouded round
In virtue, and the vault of heaven our tomb.
SOLDIER SLAIN.
I fought, my land, for thee! for thee I fell;
On, not beneath, the turf I rest my head.
Witness, my country, that I loved thee well;
Living, I served thee, and I guard thee dead.
THE PLOUGHMAN AND THE LARK.
Sweet lark !
the twilight of the dewy morn
Calls me to plough, and to thy music thee.
Blessings be with us ! on thy notes be borne
Success: -- I toil. I sow for thee and me.
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? ELIZABETH DRUZ? BACKA.
78
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? DRUZ? BACKA. 79
DRUZ? BACKA.
Elizabeth Druz? backa sprung from a very respecta-
ble family of Kowalski, and occupies an important
rank in Polish literature; in fact, she must be con-
sidered as the first Polish poetess. Possessing a true
poetic feeling of the heart, she placed herself at once
in the first poetic rank of those days. She was able to
get rid of the literary contamination of that age, and
wrote in pure Polish.
Among her poems deserving especial notice are,
"The Christian History of the Princess Elefantina,"
" The Life of David," "The Praise of Forests," " The
Penance of Mary Magdalen," "The Four Seasons,"
etc. etc. Madam Druz? backa possessed an inborn
talent for poetry, but the defective taste of the age
taints some of her compositions; still, there is much
wit and beauty in her poetic productions. She was not
a learned woman, and spoke but her own native tongue,
but born with a natural inclination for writing poetry,
she exhibits great vigor of conception of thought, live-
liness of imagination, and originality in her creations.
The buoyant fancy and strong feeling united with piety
devoid of fanaticism were the chief traits of Druz? -
backa.
She was born in 1687, and passed her younger days
with Madam Sieniawska, Castelane of Cracow, where
she married and became acquainted with the highest
circles of Polish society. Her husband being one of
the king's officials she lived in Great Poland. After
the death of her husband she entered the convent of
Lady Bernardines, at Tarno? w, but was not initiated in-
to the order. She died in 1754.
6
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? 80 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
SPRING.
O golden season in childlike disguise,
Gay Spring ! so gratefully we feel thy smile
We needs must overlook thy vagaries
Whether thy winds blow cold or warmly wile ;
Or thou with childlike freedom dost presume
To fright with snow the flowers that earliest bloom.
But shouldst thou frighten thou wilt do no harm,
Neither with freezing cold nor sultry glare ;
Thou pleasant season! adding to each charm
An understanding with the sun and air.
Thou knowest when to warm and when to cool,
And age refreshed grows young beneath thy rule.
Thou hast the power to unbind the earth
From frosty chains and give her liberty --
A loving child to her who gave thee birth,
Her fetters fall from her when touched by thee.
And through the warmth that in thy bosom stirs
The icy grasp is loosed at length from hers.
When passes winter's dark, tyrannic sway,
From thee the earth fresh inspiration draws
Thou openest warm thoroughfares each day
Where frozen clod and hardened debris thaws.
When thy soft breath goes forth upon the Earth, ?
Life conquers death in all renewing birth.
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? SARBIEWSKI. 81
SARBIEWSKI.
Mathew Casimir Sarbiewski, who gained much
fame as a Polish lyrist in Latin, was born in 1595. He
was especially admired for his correctness of expres-
sion and the beauty of poetic turns. He was called
the Polish. Horace in an age when the knowledge of
the Latin tongue was considered as the highest accom-
plishment/ He was so perfect in the handling of
Latin that he outstripped all other Latin poets; his
poetic flight was one of an eagle, and no one has ap-
proached Horace nearer than he.
Sarbiewski entered the Society of Jesuits in 1613,
and lectured in the college of Wilno on the rules of
oratory. He then went to Pome, where he became
very famous, and where he was crowned with a poetic
wreath by Urban VII. Returning to Poland Sigis-
mund III named him a court-preacher to his son
Laclislaus IV and chose him as his personal companion
and friend.
Sarbiewski was quite an artist on the harp, and
sang well. "With these he amused and cheered the
king, and also interested him with his instructive con-
versation. Inseparable from the king he traveled with
him not only through Poland, but also into foreign
countries. He died April 2, 1640. During his life-
time he formed many intimate friendships with the
literary men of his time, and Dr. Watts translated and
imitated many of Sarbiewski's lyrics.
Sarbiewski's works were published in many places,
such as Cologne, Wilno, Antwerp, Cracow, Paris, Bres-
lau, and London. Louis Kondratowicz, an eminent
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? [If
82 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Polish poet and scholar, is the translator of Sarbiew-
ski's Latin poems into Polish.
TO THE CICADA.
Thou, whose voice in the grove's silence is heard aloft,
While thou drinkest the tear-drops of the heavenly dews,
Thy sweet music, Cicada,
In thine ecstasy pouring forth.
Come! come! summer on light wheels is advancing fast,
While the hastening suns move, be they hail'd but chid
For their tarrying too < long,
When the frosts of the winter flee.
As days dawn in their joy so they depart in haste;
So flee, speedily flee; speedily speeds our bliss.
Too short are its abidings ; --
But grief lingeringly dwells with man.
TO THE POLISH AND LITHUANIAN KNIGHTS.
Poles! O let no foreign customs throw their
Scandal among you. Teach religious duties,
Laws of your country, virtues of your fathers,
Teach to your children.
Sacred your temples, -- your tribunals, justice;
Peace, truth, and love dwell midst you, omnipresent;
All that is vile and all that is unholy,
Drive from your country!
Walls screen not crime, and punishment will force its
Way through the towers and through the thrice-bound portals,
Smiting the vicious. Thunderbolts but wait to
Burst on the vile one.
Painted deceit, tyrannical ambition;
Wealth-seeking lust, and luxury's excesses
Chase them far from you; let them never hold a
Throne in your bosom.
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? SARBIEWSKI. 83
Poverty gives to man unwonted vigor,
Teaches him patience 'neath the weight of suffering,
Arms him with courage ; but the stolen armour
Wearies, though golden.
Whether your lot be war or peace, ye Poles !
Still be united, for united brothers
Stand like a temple on a hundred pillars,
Firmly supported.
So midst the rocks the sailor in his prudence
Looks to the stars ; and so the friendly anchor
Steadies the vessel on the heaving ocean, --
Steadies it surely.
So does the bond that binds the social fabric
Strengthen; while strife and mighty fraud and rancour
Overthrow cities, threatening desolation
E'en to the mightiest.
TO LIBERTY.
Queen of brave nations : -- Liberty !
What land thy favorite seat shall be?
What land more suited to thy reign
Than Poland's fertile, charming plain?
Daughter of council and of bliss
The mother and the nurse of peace;
Thou, sought midst many dangers round,
Midst more than many dangers found;
Higher than thrones thy throne we see.
Majestic more than majesty;
Thou mistress of our country's fame,
Now stop thy course, -- thy smile we claim.
Arrest thy cloud-encircled car,
And linger where thy votaries are!
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? 84 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND,
0, see upon thy Vistula
Lithuania's sons in long array,
The Lechan and Littavian ranks
Like sea-waves gathering on its banks;
No servile crowds we bring to thee,
But heirs of ancient bravery :
Sons of the North, whose blood remains
As pure as in their fathers' veins;
Untaught from faith and truth to swerve,
Train'd by the laws their king to serve,
They spurn a stranger's stern commands,
And love their land o'er other lands !
And is there ought so purely bright
As when in truth and virtue's light
Impartial Freedom deigns to shed
Her joys on prince and people's head?
Then the unfettered man disdains
Sloth's soul-debilitating chains,
And Genius, like a conqueror, flies
On to the goal and claims the prize.
No foreign calls our ranks can move;
We but obey the chief we love,
And follow where his footsteps lead,
To freedom's goal and victory's meed;
As o'er Carpathia's hoary height
Our sires achieved a glorious fight;
And on the widespread field of Thrace
Our fathers found their triumph-place;
And when our flags waved smiling o'er
The Bosphorus and the Baltic shore.
And proud Teutonia, bearing all
Her Asian spoils, was forced to fall
Before those iron columns we
Had rear'd to mark our sovereignty;
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? SARBIEWSKI. 85
Those mighty trophies of the brave,
The unconquerable Boles? aw;
And by the Borysthene's side,
And by the Volga's current wide.
And past the Alexandrian's shrines
And to those dark Lapponian mines,
Where the fierce North wind has its birth:
We trod the far Danubian earth.
Saw old Bootes freeze his waves,
And dug for the Meotians, graves.
Are we degenerate? Shall the fame
Of our own fathers blast our name ?
Smile on our prayers, O Liberty !
And let the world thy dwelling be.
Urban* and Ferdinand combine,
O Wladislaw, their powers with thine.
And the world calls thee to confer
Her laurels on the conqueror, --
Thou, Sigismund's illustrious son,
Thou of the blood of Jagellon.
O what can darken, what delay
The glory of our future day?
Hail Wladislaw! thou hope of man,
Fav'rite of God, our Poland's van.
All hail ! our warrior senate cries.
All hail ! a people's voice replies.
A thousand lances shine around,
All hills and vales and woods resound
The song of joy. And raised above
His watery throne, his praise and love
* Urban VIII, who distinguished Sarbiewski by very marked at-
tentions, and when they parted hung around his neck a golden cross
to which a miniature of his Holiness was attached.
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? 86 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Old Vistula shouts forth ; -- their brow-
Proudly the Crapack mountains bow-
In homage.
Say what projects vast
Struggling in thy great soul hast?
For such a soul unceasing teems
With mighty thoughts and glorious dreams,
And still springs forward to the praise
Of distant deeds and future days:
Nor sloth nor luxury shall impede
That opening fame, that dawning deed;
Or quiet wisdom to o'erthrow
The dark designings of the foe,
Or splendid daring -- swift and bold,
Sweeping like surges uncontroll'd,
The heir-loom of thy sires of old.
Thus did the Jagellons, they spread
Their praise, their glory and their dread --
Envied, admired, and fear'd -- the son
Soon made the father's fame his own:
And envy's wing could not pursue
A flight so high and glorious, too;
The ambitious son outshone the sire,
As glory's mark ascended higher.
Till to our thought no hopes remain
Their fame and glory to maintain.
This is our noblest heritage, --
A name, bequeathed from age to age.
For thee, from centuries afar
A mingled wreath of peace and war,
Have generations waited, -- now,
Wear the proud trophy on thy brow:
Make all thy father's victories thine,
With these thy gentle virtues twine ;
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? SARBIEWSKI. 87
Success shall show thee fairer, -- woe
Shall bid thy roots yet deeper grow.
Such are Sarmatia's prayers. Her prayers
Up to the heavens an angel bears ;
On vows no chance shall e'er repeal
Eternity has set her seal.
A THOUGHT.
(From Saphics.
? 70 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
SONG.
"Widzia? em cie z okieneczka. "
I saw thee from ray casement high,
And watch'd thy speaking countenance;
With silent step thou glidest by,
And didst not cast a hurried glance
Upon my mean abode nor me.
Then misery smote me, -- but for heaven
I should have fallen scathed and dead.
I blame thee not, -- thou art forgiven;
I yet may hear thy gentle tread,
When evening shall o'ermantle thee.
The evening came, -- then mantling night;
I waited till the full moon tower'd
High in the heaven. My longing sight
Perceived thee not; the damp mists lower'd^
In vain I sought thee anxiously.
Didst thou upon some privileged leaf
My name record, and to the wind
Commit it, -- bid it charm my grief,
Bear some sweet influence to my mind
And set me from despairing free?
Where are the strains of music now,
The song, the dance, that morn and eve
We heard around my house, -- when low
And sweet thy voice was wont to heave
Soft sighs and gentle thoughts for me ?
'Tis past, 'tis past, and in my heart
Is sorrow, silence in my ear;
The vain world's wonted smiles depart;
Joy and the springtide of the year,
Fond youth ! are scatter'd speedily.
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? ZIMOROWICZ. 71
Thou hast not said farewell! no sleep
Shall close my mourning eye, -- the night
Is gloomy now. Go, minstrel, weep!
For I shall weep; and sorrow's blight
That scathes my heart shall visit thee.
SIELANKA.
Zephyr ! that gently o'er Ukraine art flying,
Go and salute my Maryna for me;
Whisper her tenderly, soothingly sighing
" Lo ! he has sent these soft accents to thee ! "
Why dost thou dwell, my maiden so lonely?
Why dost thou dwell in so gloomy a spot?
Think of the palace of Leopol* -- only
Think, my fair maid! though thou visit it not.
There in thy tower is a window, where seated
Often thou sheddest a smile on thy swain,
There have my sighs oft an audience entreated;
Maiden, that window invites thee again.
Lady! the thought of thy absence has shaded
Even the flow'rets with sorrow and gloom;
All the bright roses and lilies are faded,
And my gay orchard is stripp'd of its bloom.
Come, my fair maid, with thy beautiful blushes,
Shine o'er our turrets, -- oh, come for awhile !
Smile on us, lady; oh, smile, though Red Russia's
Twice-castled towers may deserve not thy smile.
Lo! it expects thee, its lionsf await thee,
Watching like sentinels fix'd on the height:
* Leopol is the capital of Red Russia, Roxolania, now Austrian
Gallicia.
f Lions-- The arms of Leopol.
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? 72 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
Sleepless and eager to welcome and greet thee
When thy fair vision shall dawn on their sight.
Haste, maiden, haste ! scatter blessings around thee,
Laughter and wit are waiting thee here;
Courtesies, feastings and smiles, shall be found thee,
Wanderings and wassails to honor thee, dear !
Here we have centered the graces and pleasures;
Come thou, bright lady ! inherit them now.
Here Nature pours out her charms and her treasures,
Nothing is wanted, oh, nothing but thou.
SIELANKA.
"Rozyna mi w taneczku pomaran? cze da? a. "
Rosina, while dancing, an orange convey'd,
And promised the garland that circled her head;
I gave her my hand and with love and desire
The orange was turn'd to a ball of bright fire.
It burnt like a coal from the furnace, and made
Its way to my heart, while it fever'd my head.
Rosina, my flame ! that fair orange of gold
Has kindled a passion which may not be told.
I have learnt what love is ; not Venus the fair,
But the whelp of a lioness fierce in her lair;
She- tiger of Caucasus nurtured to scorn
The hearts that are broken, and souls that are torn.
SIELANKA.
"Roxolanki Ukochane
Przez usta wasze ro? z? ane. "
Maid of Roxolania fair!
By your lips of roses swear,
Why your lyre's sublimest tone
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? ZIMOROWICZ. 73
Sings the graceful Thelegdon ?
'Tis that noblest passion's praise,
Merits, aye! the noblest lays.
Light of love whose kindling stream
Shines like morning's dewy beam;
Not so bright the dawn which shakes
Splendent ringlets when she wakes.
Not so rich her lips of red,
When their balmy breath they spread;
Not so glorious is her eye,
Burning in its richest dye ;
Not so modest when her face
Shadows all its blushing grace.
Yet if heaven's thick-scattered light
Seeks to be more pure, more bright,
'Tis from her their rays they'll take;
Goddess of the frozen lake,
Genii of the wintry snow,
Warm ye in her beauty's glow.
Not the immeasurable sea,
Not the tides' profundity,
Not the ceaseless years that sweep,
Not the murmurs of the deep,
Shall outlive that maiden pure,--
Shall beyond her fame endure.
Joyous hours again renew,
Songs of praise and rapture, too.
Maid of Eoxolania, praise,
Praise the fair one in your lays.
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? 74 POETS AND POETKY OF POLAND.
GAWIN? SKI.
John Gawin? ski, one of the foremost of Polish
bards, who for ease and harmonious flow of language
can be put by the side of Szymonowicz and Zimoro-
wicz. Of his poetical compositions which deserve
especial notice we can mention " The Mournful
Threns," " Pastorals," and " Epitaphs "; as also " The
Epigrams" on different subjects, "The New Pasto-
rals," 44 The Polish Yenus," " Fortune or Luck," and
" Idyls of Mopsus. "
In the poetry of Gawin? ski the reader can discover
true pictures of life wrought with great skill and
marked by pleasing simplicity and excellence of lan-
guage.
Gawin? ski was born in Cracow at the commence-
ment of the seventeenth century. After finishing his
education at Cracow,in order to still further improve him-
self he lived at the court of young Ferdinand Charles,
although during the stormy reign of John Casimir he
studied law. He was compelled to grasp the sword,
and fought against the Cossacks in Ukraine. The time
of his death is uncertain.
PASTORAL (SIELANKA).
In the fair fields of Rzecznio? w a glade
Was circled by a forest's budding shade ;
There Amaryllis lay, her flocks she kept,
While in the spreading shrubs in peace they slept.
There mid the branches of ancient tree
Damet and Myrtil sat and skillfully
Waked the reed's music, told the pleasing dream
Of love and courtship's joys; -- and this their theme :
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? GAWIN? SKI. 75
Damet.
Gay o'er the meadows wends the songful bee,
From flower to flower swift glancing sportively,
Robbing their hidden sweets; yet if decay
Wither the flower, she turns and speeds away.
I am a bee, but seek the sweets whose taste
Is fresh and fragrant, spring-begotten chaste: --
Sweet Amaryllis! my fair rose thou art;
But know, no wither'd rose can charm the heart.
Myetil.
A snow-white turtle on a fountain's side
Bends o'er the mirror stream with joy and pride;
He pecks his plumes, and in the water clear
Washes his silvery feathers; fluttering there
He sees another dove, and nods and coos,
And flaps his wings. Poor turtledove ! amuse
Thyself with the delusion, the deceit!
Thyself thou dost bewray, thyself dost cheat.
Love has its flatteries, -- has its treacheries, too,
And we're pursued when fancying we pursue.
Damet.
Silently swim the ducks upon the lake,
Silently, in the absence of the drake.
He comes! he comes! the welcoming strains begin;
Round him they crowd, and what a joyous din!
Man is the temple's prop, the temple's base,
On which is raised the pile of woman's grace.
Without him Nature is a shatter'd whole,
A lifeless life, a clod without a soul.
Myrtil.
From the deep waters Venus has its birth,
And reigns the queen of ocean and of earth.
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? 76 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Charm'd by her influence even the fishes stray
Wandering enamor'd round her witching way,
Each fed by love and mastered by desire,
Even in the wave glows passion's busy fire.
How should I struggle 'gainst the flame when thou
Art the bright Venus that inspires me now!
Damet.
The night bird sings upon the hazel tree,
The wind sweeps by, the leaves dance murmuringly.
She speaks, -- the nightingale his strains gives't o'er.
The leaves are still, the rude wind speaks no more.
Myrtil.
Fair is the rose when laughing in its bud,
Fair o'er the plain towers the tall cedar wood.
She comes! the cedars and the rose are dull;
Even Lebanon bows, though proud and beautiful.
Damet.
The moon obeys the sun, and every star . . . .
Pays homage to the moon; the twilight far
Leads in and out the shifting days ; and so
I dwell with thee, my fair! where'er thou go.
Myrtil.
On the proud world the sun delighted beams,
Piercing the blue depth of the rolling streams.
So would I bathe me in thy azure eyes,
And drown me in thy heart's deep mysteries.
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? GAWIN? SKI. 77
'Twas thus the shepherds sung. The sky above
Looked smiling on their strains of eloquent love;
And Amaryllis, from the blooming thorn
Tore a white sprig their temples to adorn:
And from that hour t' enjoy their simple airs
She often came, and mixed her flocks with theirs.
BONES ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.
Traveler, our bones are bleaching on the ground,
And yet unburied. Pity not our doom.
Ours is a grave of glory, shrouded round
In virtue, and the vault of heaven our tomb.
SOLDIER SLAIN.
I fought, my land, for thee! for thee I fell;
On, not beneath, the turf I rest my head.
Witness, my country, that I loved thee well;
Living, I served thee, and I guard thee dead.
THE PLOUGHMAN AND THE LARK.
Sweet lark !
the twilight of the dewy morn
Calls me to plough, and to thy music thee.
Blessings be with us ! on thy notes be borne
Success: -- I toil. I sow for thee and me.
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? ELIZABETH DRUZ? BACKA.
78
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? DRUZ? BACKA. 79
DRUZ? BACKA.
Elizabeth Druz? backa sprung from a very respecta-
ble family of Kowalski, and occupies an important
rank in Polish literature; in fact, she must be con-
sidered as the first Polish poetess. Possessing a true
poetic feeling of the heart, she placed herself at once
in the first poetic rank of those days. She was able to
get rid of the literary contamination of that age, and
wrote in pure Polish.
Among her poems deserving especial notice are,
"The Christian History of the Princess Elefantina,"
" The Life of David," "The Praise of Forests," " The
Penance of Mary Magdalen," "The Four Seasons,"
etc. etc. Madam Druz? backa possessed an inborn
talent for poetry, but the defective taste of the age
taints some of her compositions; still, there is much
wit and beauty in her poetic productions. She was not
a learned woman, and spoke but her own native tongue,
but born with a natural inclination for writing poetry,
she exhibits great vigor of conception of thought, live-
liness of imagination, and originality in her creations.
The buoyant fancy and strong feeling united with piety
devoid of fanaticism were the chief traits of Druz? -
backa.
She was born in 1687, and passed her younger days
with Madam Sieniawska, Castelane of Cracow, where
she married and became acquainted with the highest
circles of Polish society. Her husband being one of
the king's officials she lived in Great Poland. After
the death of her husband she entered the convent of
Lady Bernardines, at Tarno? w, but was not initiated in-
to the order. She died in 1754.
6
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? 80 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
SPRING.
O golden season in childlike disguise,
Gay Spring ! so gratefully we feel thy smile
We needs must overlook thy vagaries
Whether thy winds blow cold or warmly wile ;
Or thou with childlike freedom dost presume
To fright with snow the flowers that earliest bloom.
But shouldst thou frighten thou wilt do no harm,
Neither with freezing cold nor sultry glare ;
Thou pleasant season! adding to each charm
An understanding with the sun and air.
Thou knowest when to warm and when to cool,
And age refreshed grows young beneath thy rule.
Thou hast the power to unbind the earth
From frosty chains and give her liberty --
A loving child to her who gave thee birth,
Her fetters fall from her when touched by thee.
And through the warmth that in thy bosom stirs
The icy grasp is loosed at length from hers.
When passes winter's dark, tyrannic sway,
From thee the earth fresh inspiration draws
Thou openest warm thoroughfares each day
Where frozen clod and hardened debris thaws.
When thy soft breath goes forth upon the Earth, ?
Life conquers death in all renewing birth.
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? SARBIEWSKI. 81
SARBIEWSKI.
Mathew Casimir Sarbiewski, who gained much
fame as a Polish lyrist in Latin, was born in 1595. He
was especially admired for his correctness of expres-
sion and the beauty of poetic turns. He was called
the Polish. Horace in an age when the knowledge of
the Latin tongue was considered as the highest accom-
plishment/ He was so perfect in the handling of
Latin that he outstripped all other Latin poets; his
poetic flight was one of an eagle, and no one has ap-
proached Horace nearer than he.
Sarbiewski entered the Society of Jesuits in 1613,
and lectured in the college of Wilno on the rules of
oratory. He then went to Pome, where he became
very famous, and where he was crowned with a poetic
wreath by Urban VII. Returning to Poland Sigis-
mund III named him a court-preacher to his son
Laclislaus IV and chose him as his personal companion
and friend.
Sarbiewski was quite an artist on the harp, and
sang well. "With these he amused and cheered the
king, and also interested him with his instructive con-
versation. Inseparable from the king he traveled with
him not only through Poland, but also into foreign
countries. He died April 2, 1640. During his life-
time he formed many intimate friendships with the
literary men of his time, and Dr. Watts translated and
imitated many of Sarbiewski's lyrics.
Sarbiewski's works were published in many places,
such as Cologne, Wilno, Antwerp, Cracow, Paris, Bres-
lau, and London. Louis Kondratowicz, an eminent
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? [If
82 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Polish poet and scholar, is the translator of Sarbiew-
ski's Latin poems into Polish.
TO THE CICADA.
Thou, whose voice in the grove's silence is heard aloft,
While thou drinkest the tear-drops of the heavenly dews,
Thy sweet music, Cicada,
In thine ecstasy pouring forth.
Come! come! summer on light wheels is advancing fast,
While the hastening suns move, be they hail'd but chid
For their tarrying too < long,
When the frosts of the winter flee.
As days dawn in their joy so they depart in haste;
So flee, speedily flee; speedily speeds our bliss.
Too short are its abidings ; --
But grief lingeringly dwells with man.
TO THE POLISH AND LITHUANIAN KNIGHTS.
Poles! O let no foreign customs throw their
Scandal among you. Teach religious duties,
Laws of your country, virtues of your fathers,
Teach to your children.
Sacred your temples, -- your tribunals, justice;
Peace, truth, and love dwell midst you, omnipresent;
All that is vile and all that is unholy,
Drive from your country!
Walls screen not crime, and punishment will force its
Way through the towers and through the thrice-bound portals,
Smiting the vicious. Thunderbolts but wait to
Burst on the vile one.
Painted deceit, tyrannical ambition;
Wealth-seeking lust, and luxury's excesses
Chase them far from you; let them never hold a
Throne in your bosom.
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? SARBIEWSKI. 83
Poverty gives to man unwonted vigor,
Teaches him patience 'neath the weight of suffering,
Arms him with courage ; but the stolen armour
Wearies, though golden.
Whether your lot be war or peace, ye Poles !
Still be united, for united brothers
Stand like a temple on a hundred pillars,
Firmly supported.
So midst the rocks the sailor in his prudence
Looks to the stars ; and so the friendly anchor
Steadies the vessel on the heaving ocean, --
Steadies it surely.
So does the bond that binds the social fabric
Strengthen; while strife and mighty fraud and rancour
Overthrow cities, threatening desolation
E'en to the mightiest.
TO LIBERTY.
Queen of brave nations : -- Liberty !
What land thy favorite seat shall be?
What land more suited to thy reign
Than Poland's fertile, charming plain?
Daughter of council and of bliss
The mother and the nurse of peace;
Thou, sought midst many dangers round,
Midst more than many dangers found;
Higher than thrones thy throne we see.
Majestic more than majesty;
Thou mistress of our country's fame,
Now stop thy course, -- thy smile we claim.
Arrest thy cloud-encircled car,
And linger where thy votaries are!
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? 84 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND,
0, see upon thy Vistula
Lithuania's sons in long array,
The Lechan and Littavian ranks
Like sea-waves gathering on its banks;
No servile crowds we bring to thee,
But heirs of ancient bravery :
Sons of the North, whose blood remains
As pure as in their fathers' veins;
Untaught from faith and truth to swerve,
Train'd by the laws their king to serve,
They spurn a stranger's stern commands,
And love their land o'er other lands !
And is there ought so purely bright
As when in truth and virtue's light
Impartial Freedom deigns to shed
Her joys on prince and people's head?
Then the unfettered man disdains
Sloth's soul-debilitating chains,
And Genius, like a conqueror, flies
On to the goal and claims the prize.
No foreign calls our ranks can move;
We but obey the chief we love,
And follow where his footsteps lead,
To freedom's goal and victory's meed;
As o'er Carpathia's hoary height
Our sires achieved a glorious fight;
And on the widespread field of Thrace
Our fathers found their triumph-place;
And when our flags waved smiling o'er
The Bosphorus and the Baltic shore.
And proud Teutonia, bearing all
Her Asian spoils, was forced to fall
Before those iron columns we
Had rear'd to mark our sovereignty;
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? SARBIEWSKI. 85
Those mighty trophies of the brave,
The unconquerable Boles? aw;
And by the Borysthene's side,
And by the Volga's current wide.
And past the Alexandrian's shrines
And to those dark Lapponian mines,
Where the fierce North wind has its birth:
We trod the far Danubian earth.
Saw old Bootes freeze his waves,
And dug for the Meotians, graves.
Are we degenerate? Shall the fame
Of our own fathers blast our name ?
Smile on our prayers, O Liberty !
And let the world thy dwelling be.
Urban* and Ferdinand combine,
O Wladislaw, their powers with thine.
And the world calls thee to confer
Her laurels on the conqueror, --
Thou, Sigismund's illustrious son,
Thou of the blood of Jagellon.
O what can darken, what delay
The glory of our future day?
Hail Wladislaw! thou hope of man,
Fav'rite of God, our Poland's van.
All hail ! our warrior senate cries.
All hail ! a people's voice replies.
A thousand lances shine around,
All hills and vales and woods resound
The song of joy. And raised above
His watery throne, his praise and love
* Urban VIII, who distinguished Sarbiewski by very marked at-
tentions, and when they parted hung around his neck a golden cross
to which a miniature of his Holiness was attached.
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? 86 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Old Vistula shouts forth ; -- their brow-
Proudly the Crapack mountains bow-
In homage.
Say what projects vast
Struggling in thy great soul hast?
For such a soul unceasing teems
With mighty thoughts and glorious dreams,
And still springs forward to the praise
Of distant deeds and future days:
Nor sloth nor luxury shall impede
That opening fame, that dawning deed;
Or quiet wisdom to o'erthrow
The dark designings of the foe,
Or splendid daring -- swift and bold,
Sweeping like surges uncontroll'd,
The heir-loom of thy sires of old.
Thus did the Jagellons, they spread
Their praise, their glory and their dread --
Envied, admired, and fear'd -- the son
Soon made the father's fame his own:
And envy's wing could not pursue
A flight so high and glorious, too;
The ambitious son outshone the sire,
As glory's mark ascended higher.
Till to our thought no hopes remain
Their fame and glory to maintain.
This is our noblest heritage, --
A name, bequeathed from age to age.
For thee, from centuries afar
A mingled wreath of peace and war,
Have generations waited, -- now,
Wear the proud trophy on thy brow:
Make all thy father's victories thine,
With these thy gentle virtues twine ;
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? SARBIEWSKI. 87
Success shall show thee fairer, -- woe
Shall bid thy roots yet deeper grow.
Such are Sarmatia's prayers. Her prayers
Up to the heavens an angel bears ;
On vows no chance shall e'er repeal
Eternity has set her seal.
A THOUGHT.
(From Saphics.
