*
Bywaj mi zdrowy, kraju kochany!
Bywaj mi zdrowy, kraju kochany!
Poland - 1881 - Poets and Poetry of Poland
Ye live as one, and hence
Ever the self-same power has o'er ye all control,
Like Armida's palm whose leaves seemed separate elements
While the whole tree was nourished by one accursed soul.
But when the fierce and furious hail-storms strike the tree,
Or when venomous insects poison it with their bane,
In what sharp suffering each separate branch must be
For others and itself. . . . I desire not friendship's pain !
For what, then, shall I wish, on this New Year just begun?
Some lovely by-place -- bed of oak -- where sweet peace
descends,
From whence I could see never the brightness of the sun,
Hear the laugh of enemies, or see the tears of friends?
There until the world should end, and after that to stay
In sleep which all my senses against all power should bind,
Dreaming as I dreamt my golden youthful years away,
Love the world -- wish it well -- but away from human-
kind.
TO M .
"Precz z oczu moich -- pos? ucham od razu. "
Hence from my sight! -- I'll obey at once.
Hence from my heart ! -- I hear and understand.
But hence from memory? Nay, I answer, nay!
Our hearts won't listen to this last command!
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? 216 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
As the dim shadows that precede the night
In deepening circles widen far and near,
So when your image passes from my sight
It leaves behind a mem'ry all too dear.
In every place -- wherever we became
As one in joy and sorrow that bereft --
I will forever be by you the same,
For there a portion of my soul is left.
>>
When pensively within some lonely room
You sit and touch your harp's melodious string,
You will, remembering, sigh in twilight's gloom
" I sang for him this song which now I sing. "
Or when beside the chess-board -- as }^ou stand
In danger of a checkmate -- you will say,
" Thus stood the pieces underneath my hand
When ended our last game -- that happy day! "
When in the quiet pauses at the ball
You, sitting, wait for music to begin,
A vacant place beside you will recall
How once I used to sit by you therein.
When on the page that tells how fate's decree
Parts happy lovers, you shall bend your eyes;
You'll close the volume, sighing wearily.
'Tis but -the record of our love likewise.
But if the author after weary years
Shall bid the current of their lives reblend,
You'll sit in darkness, whispering through your tears,
" Why does not thus our story find an end? "
When night's pale lightning darts with fitful flash
O'er the old pear tree, rustling withered leaves
The while, the screech-owl strikes your window-sash,
You'll think it is my baffled soul that grieves.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? MICKIEWICZ. 217
In every place -- in all remembered ways
Where we have shared together bliss or dole --
Still will I haunt you through the lonely days.
For there I left a portion of my soul.
(From the " Improvisation. ")
A MOMENT AND A SPARKLE.
What is my life?
Ah ! but a moment short as a sigh !
What is my feeling?
Ah ! but a sparkle soon to die !
Whence comes the little man that plays such mighty part?
From a sparkle!
What'll be the time that'll crush my thoughts and my heart?
But a moment!
And those thunders that shall to morrow roar
To-day what are they? But a sparkle!
What are the world's events of years, and my lore?
But a moment !
What was He then when in his bosom held this world?
But a sparkle !
What'll be the time when all will crash and be hurled
Into the abyss of forgetfulness?
But a moment!
(From the "Ancestors. ")
She is fair as a spirit of light
That floats in the ether on high,
And her eye beams as kindly and bright,
As the sun in the azure-tinged sky.
The lips of her lover join hers
Like the meeting of flame with flame,
And as sweet as the voice of two lutes,
Which one harmony weds the same.
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? 218 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
(From u Faris. ")
No palms are seen with their green hair,
Nor white-crested desert tents are there;
But his brow is shaded by the sky-
That flingeth aloft its canopy;
The mighty rocks lay now at rest,
And the stars move slowly on heaven's breast.
(From the same. )
My Arab steed is black --
Black as the tempest cloud that flies
Across the dark and mutt'ring skies,
And leaves a gloomy track.
His hoofs are shod with lightning's glare,
I give the winds his flowing mane,
And spur him smoking o'er the plain,
And none from earth or heaven dare,
My path to chase in vain.
And as my barb like lightning flies,
I gaze upon the moonlit skies,
And see the stars with golden eyes,
Look down upon the plain.
FATHER'S RETURN. (A BALLAD. )
(Powro? t Taty. )
Go, children, all of you together,
To the pillar upon the hill,
And there before the miraculous picture
Kneel and pray with a fervent will.
Father returns not. Mornings and evenings
I await him in tears, and fret.
The streams are swollen, the wild beasts prowling,
And the woods with robbers beset.
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? MICKIEWICZ. 219
The children heard, and they ran together
To the pillar upon the hill;
And there before the miraculous picture
Knelt and prayed with a fervent will.
" Hear us, O Lord! Our father is absent,
Our father so tender and dear.
Protect him from all besetting danger!
Guide him home to us safely here! "
They kiss the earth in the name of the Father,
Again in the name of the Son.
Be praised the name of the Trinity holy,
And forever their will be done.
Then they said Our Father, the Ave and Credo,
The Commandments and Rosary too;
And after these prayers were all repeated,
A book from their pockets they drew.
And the Litany and the Holy "Mother
They sang while the eldest led --
" O Holy Mother," implored the children,
"Be thy sheltering arms outspread! "
Soon they heard the sound of wheels approaching,
And the foremost wagon espied.
Then jumped the children with joy together.
" Our father is coming! " they cried.
The father leaped down, his glad tears flowing,
Among them without delay.
"And how are you all, my dearest children?
Were you lonesome with me away?
"And is mother well -- your aunt and the servants?
Here are grapes in the basket, boys. "
Then the children jumped in their joy around him,
Till the air was rent with their noise.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 220 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
" Start on," the merchant said to the servants,
" With the children I will follow on; "
But while he spoke the robbers surround them,
A dozen, with sabers drawn.
Long beards had they, and curly moustache,
And soiled the clothes they wore,
Sharp knives in their belts and swords beside them,
While clubs in their hands they bore.
Then shrieked the children in fear and trembling,
And close to their father clung,
While helpless and pale in his consternation,
His hands he imploringly wrung.
" Take all I have! " he cried; "take my earnings,
But let us depart with life.
Make not of these little children orphans,
Or a widow of my young wife. 1 '
But the gang, who have neither heard nor heeded,
Their search for the booty begin.
"Money! " they cry, and swinging their truncheons,
They threaten with curses and din.
Then a voice is heard from the robber captain,
" Hold! hold! with your plundering here! '. '
And releasing the father and frightened children,
He bids them go without fear.
To the merchant then the robber responded:
" No thanks -- for I freely declare
A broken head you had hardly escaped with,
Were it not for the children's prayer.
" Your thanks belong to the children only;
To them alone your life you owe.
Now listen, while I relate to you briefly
How it came to happen, and go.
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? MICKIEWICZ. 221
" I and my comrades had long heard rumors
Of a merchant coming this way;
And here in the woods that skirt the pillar
We were lying in wait to-day.
"And lying in wait behind the bushes,
The children at prayer I heard.
Though I listened at first with laugh derisive,
Soon to pity my heart was stirred.
" I listened, and thoughts of my home came to me;
From its purpose my heart was won.
I too have a wife who awaits my coming,
And with her is my little son.
" Merchant, depart -- to the woods I hasten --
And children, come sometimes here,
And kneeling together beside this pillar
Give me a prayer and a tear! "
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 222 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
CHILDE HAROLD'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE
LAND.
(FROM LORD BYRON. )
Adieu, adieu! my native shore'
Fades o'er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight:
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native land -- good night !
ii.
A few short hours and he will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall:
My dog howls at the gate.
in.
Come hither, hither, my little page,
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
Or tremble at the gale?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
Our ship is swift and strong;
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along.
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? MICKIEWICZ. 223
POZ? EGNANIE CHILDE HAROLDA.
(Z LORDA BYRONA. )
T? o? maczy? Adam Mickiewicz.
*
Bywaj mi zdrowy, kraju kochany!
Juz w mglistej nikniesz pomroce;
S? wisne? ? y wiatry, szumja? ba? wany
I morskie ptactwo swiegoce.
Dalej za s? on? cem gdzie jasna? g? owe?
W zachodnie pogra? z? a piany --
Tym czasem s? on? ce bywaj mi zdrowe
Bywa] zdro? w kraju kochany!
u.
Za kilka godzin rozane zorze
Promien? mi b? ys? nie jasnemi:
Obacze? niebo, obacze? morze
Lecz niezobacze? mej ziemi.
Zamek, na kto? rym brzmia? o wesele,
Wieczna z? a? oba pokryje;
Na wa? ach dzikie poros? nie ziele
U wro? t pies wierny za wyje.
iii.
Po? jdz? tu mo? j paz? iu-paz? iu mo? j mi? y,
Co znacza? te ? zy i z? ale?
Czyli cie? wichro? w zda? sane sza? y,
Czy morskie le? kaja? fale?
Rozwesel oko, rozjas? nij czo? o!
W dobrym okre? cie, w pogode? --
Lotny nasz soko? ? nie tak weso? o
lak my polecim przez wode? .
* Translated by Adam Mickiewicz.
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? 224 * POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
IV.
" Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind;
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
Am sorrowful in mind;
For I have from my father gone,
A mother whom I love,
And have no friends save these alone,
But thee -- and One above.
v.
"My father bless'd me fervently,
Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again. "
Enough, enough, my little lad,
Such tears become thine eye;
If I thy guileless bosom had,
Mine own would not be dry.
vi.
Gome hither, hither, my stanch yeoman,
Why dost thou look so pale?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman?
Or shiver at the gale?
" Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;
But thinking on an absent wife
Will blanch a faithful cheek.
" My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,
Along the bordering lake,
And when they on their father call,
What answer shall she make? " --
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? MICKIEWICZ. 225
IV.
" Niech fala szumi, niech wicher g? uszy,
Niedbam pogoda czy s? ota:
Te ? zy wyciska z g? e? bi mej duszy
Nie bojaz? n? ale te? sknota.
Bo tam mo? j stary ojciec zostanie,
Tam matka zostanie droga,
Tam wszyscy moi pro? cz ciebie, panie
Pro? cz ciebie tylko i Boga.
Ojciec spokojnie mie? b? ogos? awi? ,
Nie p? acze an? i narzeka;
Lecz matka kto? ra? m we ? zach zostawi? ,
Z jaka? z? te? sknota? naz czeka? 1 '
Dos? c? . dos? c? , mo? j paziu! te ? zy dziecinne
Z? renicy twojej przystoja? ;
Gdybym mia? ro? wnie serce niewinne,
Widzia? bys? we ? zach i moja? .
vi.
Po? jdz? tu mo? j giermku, giermku mo? j m? ody!
Ska? d ci ta blados? c? na twarzy?
Czy rozhukanej le? kasz sie? wody,
Czyli francuzkich korsarzy?
"O nie Haroldzie! niedbam o z? ycie,
Niedbam o loso? w igrzyska:
Alem zostawi? zone? i dziecie?
To mi ? zy z oczu wyciska.
VII.
Zona na kon? cu twojego sio? a,
W zielonej mieszka da? browie;
Gdy dziecie? z p? aczem ojca zawo? a
Coz? mu nieszcze? sna odpowie? "
15
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? 226 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Enough, enough, my yeoman good,
Thy grief let none gainsay;
But I, who am of lighter mood,
Will laugh to flee away.
VIII.
For who would trust the seeming sighs
Of wife or paramour?
Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes
We late saw streaming o'er.
For pleasures past I do not grieve,
Nor perils gathering near;
My greatest grief is that I leave
No thing that claims a tear.
ix.
And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea;
But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
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 !
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust.
Ever the self-same power has o'er ye all control,
Like Armida's palm whose leaves seemed separate elements
While the whole tree was nourished by one accursed soul.
But when the fierce and furious hail-storms strike the tree,
Or when venomous insects poison it with their bane,
In what sharp suffering each separate branch must be
For others and itself. . . . I desire not friendship's pain !
For what, then, shall I wish, on this New Year just begun?
Some lovely by-place -- bed of oak -- where sweet peace
descends,
From whence I could see never the brightness of the sun,
Hear the laugh of enemies, or see the tears of friends?
There until the world should end, and after that to stay
In sleep which all my senses against all power should bind,
Dreaming as I dreamt my golden youthful years away,
Love the world -- wish it well -- but away from human-
kind.
TO M .
"Precz z oczu moich -- pos? ucham od razu. "
Hence from my sight! -- I'll obey at once.
Hence from my heart ! -- I hear and understand.
But hence from memory? Nay, I answer, nay!
Our hearts won't listen to this last command!
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 216 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
As the dim shadows that precede the night
In deepening circles widen far and near,
So when your image passes from my sight
It leaves behind a mem'ry all too dear.
In every place -- wherever we became
As one in joy and sorrow that bereft --
I will forever be by you the same,
For there a portion of my soul is left.
>>
When pensively within some lonely room
You sit and touch your harp's melodious string,
You will, remembering, sigh in twilight's gloom
" I sang for him this song which now I sing. "
Or when beside the chess-board -- as }^ou stand
In danger of a checkmate -- you will say,
" Thus stood the pieces underneath my hand
When ended our last game -- that happy day! "
When in the quiet pauses at the ball
You, sitting, wait for music to begin,
A vacant place beside you will recall
How once I used to sit by you therein.
When on the page that tells how fate's decree
Parts happy lovers, you shall bend your eyes;
You'll close the volume, sighing wearily.
'Tis but -the record of our love likewise.
But if the author after weary years
Shall bid the current of their lives reblend,
You'll sit in darkness, whispering through your tears,
" Why does not thus our story find an end? "
When night's pale lightning darts with fitful flash
O'er the old pear tree, rustling withered leaves
The while, the screech-owl strikes your window-sash,
You'll think it is my baffled soul that grieves.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? MICKIEWICZ. 217
In every place -- in all remembered ways
Where we have shared together bliss or dole --
Still will I haunt you through the lonely days.
For there I left a portion of my soul.
(From the " Improvisation. ")
A MOMENT AND A SPARKLE.
What is my life?
Ah ! but a moment short as a sigh !
What is my feeling?
Ah ! but a sparkle soon to die !
Whence comes the little man that plays such mighty part?
From a sparkle!
What'll be the time that'll crush my thoughts and my heart?
But a moment!
And those thunders that shall to morrow roar
To-day what are they? But a sparkle!
What are the world's events of years, and my lore?
But a moment !
What was He then when in his bosom held this world?
But a sparkle !
What'll be the time when all will crash and be hurled
Into the abyss of forgetfulness?
But a moment!
(From the "Ancestors. ")
She is fair as a spirit of light
That floats in the ether on high,
And her eye beams as kindly and bright,
As the sun in the azure-tinged sky.
The lips of her lover join hers
Like the meeting of flame with flame,
And as sweet as the voice of two lutes,
Which one harmony weds the same.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 218 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
(From u Faris. ")
No palms are seen with their green hair,
Nor white-crested desert tents are there;
But his brow is shaded by the sky-
That flingeth aloft its canopy;
The mighty rocks lay now at rest,
And the stars move slowly on heaven's breast.
(From the same. )
My Arab steed is black --
Black as the tempest cloud that flies
Across the dark and mutt'ring skies,
And leaves a gloomy track.
His hoofs are shod with lightning's glare,
I give the winds his flowing mane,
And spur him smoking o'er the plain,
And none from earth or heaven dare,
My path to chase in vain.
And as my barb like lightning flies,
I gaze upon the moonlit skies,
And see the stars with golden eyes,
Look down upon the plain.
FATHER'S RETURN. (A BALLAD. )
(Powro? t Taty. )
Go, children, all of you together,
To the pillar upon the hill,
And there before the miraculous picture
Kneel and pray with a fervent will.
Father returns not. Mornings and evenings
I await him in tears, and fret.
The streams are swollen, the wild beasts prowling,
And the woods with robbers beset.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? MICKIEWICZ. 219
The children heard, and they ran together
To the pillar upon the hill;
And there before the miraculous picture
Knelt and prayed with a fervent will.
" Hear us, O Lord! Our father is absent,
Our father so tender and dear.
Protect him from all besetting danger!
Guide him home to us safely here! "
They kiss the earth in the name of the Father,
Again in the name of the Son.
Be praised the name of the Trinity holy,
And forever their will be done.
Then they said Our Father, the Ave and Credo,
The Commandments and Rosary too;
And after these prayers were all repeated,
A book from their pockets they drew.
And the Litany and the Holy "Mother
They sang while the eldest led --
" O Holy Mother," implored the children,
"Be thy sheltering arms outspread! "
Soon they heard the sound of wheels approaching,
And the foremost wagon espied.
Then jumped the children with joy together.
" Our father is coming! " they cried.
The father leaped down, his glad tears flowing,
Among them without delay.
"And how are you all, my dearest children?
Were you lonesome with me away?
"And is mother well -- your aunt and the servants?
Here are grapes in the basket, boys. "
Then the children jumped in their joy around him,
Till the air was rent with their noise.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 220 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
" Start on," the merchant said to the servants,
" With the children I will follow on; "
But while he spoke the robbers surround them,
A dozen, with sabers drawn.
Long beards had they, and curly moustache,
And soiled the clothes they wore,
Sharp knives in their belts and swords beside them,
While clubs in their hands they bore.
Then shrieked the children in fear and trembling,
And close to their father clung,
While helpless and pale in his consternation,
His hands he imploringly wrung.
" Take all I have! " he cried; "take my earnings,
But let us depart with life.
Make not of these little children orphans,
Or a widow of my young wife. 1 '
But the gang, who have neither heard nor heeded,
Their search for the booty begin.
"Money! " they cry, and swinging their truncheons,
They threaten with curses and din.
Then a voice is heard from the robber captain,
" Hold! hold! with your plundering here! '. '
And releasing the father and frightened children,
He bids them go without fear.
To the merchant then the robber responded:
" No thanks -- for I freely declare
A broken head you had hardly escaped with,
Were it not for the children's prayer.
" Your thanks belong to the children only;
To them alone your life you owe.
Now listen, while I relate to you briefly
How it came to happen, and go.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? MICKIEWICZ. 221
" I and my comrades had long heard rumors
Of a merchant coming this way;
And here in the woods that skirt the pillar
We were lying in wait to-day.
"And lying in wait behind the bushes,
The children at prayer I heard.
Though I listened at first with laugh derisive,
Soon to pity my heart was stirred.
" I listened, and thoughts of my home came to me;
From its purpose my heart was won.
I too have a wife who awaits my coming,
And with her is my little son.
" Merchant, depart -- to the woods I hasten --
And children, come sometimes here,
And kneeling together beside this pillar
Give me a prayer and a tear! "
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 222 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
CHILDE HAROLD'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE
LAND.
(FROM LORD BYRON. )
Adieu, adieu! my native shore'
Fades o'er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight:
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native land -- good night !
ii.
A few short hours and he will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall:
My dog howls at the gate.
in.
Come hither, hither, my little page,
Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage,
Or tremble at the gale?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye;
Our ship is swift and strong;
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
More merrily along.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? MICKIEWICZ. 223
POZ? EGNANIE CHILDE HAROLDA.
(Z LORDA BYRONA. )
T? o? maczy? Adam Mickiewicz.
*
Bywaj mi zdrowy, kraju kochany!
Juz w mglistej nikniesz pomroce;
S? wisne? ? y wiatry, szumja? ba? wany
I morskie ptactwo swiegoce.
Dalej za s? on? cem gdzie jasna? g? owe?
W zachodnie pogra? z? a piany --
Tym czasem s? on? ce bywaj mi zdrowe
Bywa] zdro? w kraju kochany!
u.
Za kilka godzin rozane zorze
Promien? mi b? ys? nie jasnemi:
Obacze? niebo, obacze? morze
Lecz niezobacze? mej ziemi.
Zamek, na kto? rym brzmia? o wesele,
Wieczna z? a? oba pokryje;
Na wa? ach dzikie poros? nie ziele
U wro? t pies wierny za wyje.
iii.
Po? jdz? tu mo? j paz? iu-paz? iu mo? j mi? y,
Co znacza? te ? zy i z? ale?
Czyli cie? wichro? w zda? sane sza? y,
Czy morskie le? kaja? fale?
Rozwesel oko, rozjas? nij czo? o!
W dobrym okre? cie, w pogode? --
Lotny nasz soko? ? nie tak weso? o
lak my polecim przez wode? .
* Translated by Adam Mickiewicz.
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? 224 * POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
IV.
" Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
I fear not wave nor wind;
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
Am sorrowful in mind;
For I have from my father gone,
A mother whom I love,
And have no friends save these alone,
But thee -- and One above.
v.
"My father bless'd me fervently,
Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
Till I come back again. "
Enough, enough, my little lad,
Such tears become thine eye;
If I thy guileless bosom had,
Mine own would not be dry.
vi.
Gome hither, hither, my stanch yeoman,
Why dost thou look so pale?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman?
Or shiver at the gale?
" Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?
Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;
But thinking on an absent wife
Will blanch a faithful cheek.
" My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,
Along the bordering lake,
And when they on their father call,
What answer shall she make? " --
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? MICKIEWICZ. 225
IV.
" Niech fala szumi, niech wicher g? uszy,
Niedbam pogoda czy s? ota:
Te ? zy wyciska z g? e? bi mej duszy
Nie bojaz? n? ale te? sknota.
Bo tam mo? j stary ojciec zostanie,
Tam matka zostanie droga,
Tam wszyscy moi pro? cz ciebie, panie
Pro? cz ciebie tylko i Boga.
Ojciec spokojnie mie? b? ogos? awi? ,
Nie p? acze an? i narzeka;
Lecz matka kto? ra? m we ? zach zostawi? ,
Z jaka? z? te? sknota? naz czeka? 1 '
Dos? c? . dos? c? , mo? j paziu! te ? zy dziecinne
Z? renicy twojej przystoja? ;
Gdybym mia? ro? wnie serce niewinne,
Widzia? bys? we ? zach i moja? .
vi.
Po? jdz? tu mo? j giermku, giermku mo? j m? ody!
Ska? d ci ta blados? c? na twarzy?
Czy rozhukanej le? kasz sie? wody,
Czyli francuzkich korsarzy?
"O nie Haroldzie! niedbam o z? ycie,
Niedbam o loso? w igrzyska:
Alem zostawi? zone? i dziecie?
To mi ? zy z oczu wyciska.
VII.
Zona na kon? cu twojego sio? a,
W zielonej mieszka da? browie;
Gdy dziecie? z p? aczem ojca zawo? a
Coz? mu nieszcze? sna odpowie? "
15
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd
? 226 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Enough, enough, my yeoman good,
Thy grief let none gainsay;
But I, who am of lighter mood,
Will laugh to flee away.
VIII.
For who would trust the seeming sighs
Of wife or paramour?
Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes
We late saw streaming o'er.
For pleasures past I do not grieve,
Nor perils gathering near;
My greatest grief is that I leave
No thing that claims a tear.
ix.
And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea;
But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
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 !
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc. ark:/13960/t04x6gz3d Public Domain / http://www. hathitrust.
