No More Learning

Upon the lonely, rocky shore
An old man walketh to and fro,
His head is bent 'neath tresses hoar,
His heart is heavy with its woe.
With eyes uplifted to the sky
And gray locks to the breezes tossed,
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? WASILEWSKI. 817
He calls his children. None reply
To him; they are forever lost!
O lonely is the castle old,
And lonelier still his aged breast,
For life is drear to him, and cold,
Spent thus from those he loveth . best.
Upon their names he fondly calls;
For them he weeps, alas! in vain;
Brave children ! to their father's halls
They never more return again !
MEMORY'S TEAR.
Do you know the tear, lady, -- the sweetest tear on earth,
Which remembrance e'er forces from the heart into view,
Which one pours out in silence or deeply hides at birth,
For memory of native land or friends tried and true,
Which tenderness must shed be we bashful or severe,
'Tis the tear above all others -- it is memory's tear.
Do you know the reveries, -- the meditations sad
Which carry us at will to the future or the past?
Do you know the power that makes that sorrow glad,
As your thoughts flow backward or coming time forecast?
Like the faithful ivy-green winding the ruins 'round
'Mid thoughts of future time and past these memories' dreams
are found.
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? 318 POETS AND POETRY OE POLAND.
JASKOWSKI.
John Nepomucen Jaskowski. We regret that we
cannot furnish to our readers anything definite about
this poet's life. We only know that he was an elegant
writer of ballads, elegies, and dithyrambics. One of
his ballads, which is given below, is a specimen of the
naturalness of his style; as to its application to our
own times, the reader may form his own conception.
A TALE.
One Sunday, at eventide,
The old village church beside,
An old man stood and slowly tolled the bell,
When a man, young and unknown,
With grey dust all his clothes o'erblown,
In wonder list'ning to the solemn knell,
Paused to bashfully inquire:
" From this village, ags? d sire,
Who takes thus solemnly his last adieu? "
" Though the circumstance is sad,
Since you are curious, lad,
Listen, and I'll tell the tale to you.
" There lived with us, years ago,
In this village, you must know,
A peasant. Wealth he'd honestly acquired;
His board was amply spread,
Never lacking salt nor bread;
He was happy, much beloved, and admired.
" In the household three there were:
His good wife and himself, sir,
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? JAS? KO WSKI. 319
Were two; an only son made up the three, --
A bright, rosy, cheerful lad,
He was always finely clad,
As wealthy farmers' sons are wont to be.
" One eve the father came
From a house of noble name,
And said to his wife, as deeply he sighed:
1 My God ! what a change is this
From the mansion's stateliness;
A peasant's hut is pitiful beside.
" 'A commoner among those
Of whom each one something knows,
Am I here. It does nothing signify.
God has given us a son;
Why, then, may he not be one,
I ask you, of the nobles, great and high.
" ' For two oxen we can sell. --
He shall go to school, learn well;
And who can say what he may be in time?
He might even get a place
At the manor, by his grace,
Or to a preacher's office he might climb. '
"And they did accordingly;
But they erred most terribly,
For happiness from farm life may outgrow.
Learning in itself is good,
But whoever seeks it should
Seek it not from pride, sir. Is that not so?
" Every year more and more
Lessened still the farmer's store;
The grain went, and the stock its number lacked.
While the son in learning grew
His false pride was growing too,
And this was for his parents a sad fact.
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? 320 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
" So year after year was gone,
And no one, as time went on,
Saw him in his old home ; and they began
'Round to whisper, on the sly,
That he in a city nigh
Was playing the role of a gentleman.
" No priest; on the other side,
He was vain and puffed with pride,
Ashamed that his father's clothes homespun were.
God sends on him judgment dire
Who regards with scorn his sire. --
Is't not so? -- What's the matter with you, sir?
" In the meantime, as they say,
Through the window and doorway
Into the cottage did poverty stare;
Taking wings, the riches flew,
While the old folks older grew,
And no assistance came from anywhere.
" Though the old man's fertile field
In his youth gave ample yield,
Through it since had the tares and cockles crept.
So his need was often great,
And, bewailing the sad fate
Of himself and son, oft the poor man wept.
" Till, unhappy, tired, and worn,
With affliction overborne,
He fell in the field, prostrate, by his plow, --
He fell, never more to rise;
There were none to close his eyes ; --
Why is this, young man? You are weeping now!
" But the tale is not yet told.
There was left the mother old, --
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? JAS? KO WSKI. 321
Yes, she remained, entirely bereft,
Woe to ev'ry one thus thrown
On the dreary world alone,
And greatest woe when a woman is left.
" She requested one to write
To her son of her sad plight:
' My son, your vain and empty dreams release.
Have respect for my gray hair!
The estate requires your care;
Come, and you will find competence and peace. '
" Vainly were her prayers consigned,
'Twas like preaching to the wind!
The poor old mother quit her native spot.
Old and penniless from home
She departed, thence to roam,
A wanderer, 'mong people she knew not.
" So this morn, at break of day,
Dead they found her, as she lay
On her native heath, with her home in view.
And it is for pity's sake
The bells this requiem make. --
For God's sake, sir, what is amiss with you? 11
As the tale closed the young man,
With expression wild, began,
While from his eyes the tears were flowing fast:
" The sole murderer am I
Of my parents; dead they lie
As lies my happiness while time shall last.
" Much I fancied, and I dreamed, --
Vain and empty visions beamed ; --
But the wind scattered them, and now I see, --
Having wakened to the truth, --
In the home of my lost youth
Utter desolation! Have pity on me!
21
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? 322 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
" In this village, on this day,
Full amends for all I'll pay, --
Repent in sackcloth, with ashes on my head!
I will eat the humble crust,
And will murmur not; 'tis just. --
Say, but say that my mother is not dead! "
Falling prostrate on the ground,
From the depths of grief profound
Rained bitter tears from suffering so great.
The old man withdrew apace,
In his hands he hid his face,
Saying "Alas! it is too late! too late! "
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? ZAN. 323
ZAN.
Thomas Zan was one of the most exemplary and
high-minded young men who attended the University
of Wilno, 1820-3. After great political catastrophes
there always follows in our literature a review of his-
torical elements, social as well as literary. That very
thing occurred in the century preceding this and in the
first two decades of the present century. People
began to reflect upon the past, not only the nearest to
them, but also into the more remote periods of their
existence as a nation. The result of these reflections
was that all over the nation there began to form scien-
tific and literary societies. The learned and the littera-
teurs commenced establishing small circles, and though
they were scattered they worked together in the com-
mon cause of enlightenment. Thus, in this modest and
quiet manner, little societies were formed in Warsaw,
in Russia-Poland, in Lithuania, Ukraine, Podolia, Vol-
hynia, and in Lemberg (Galicia), and thus the progress
of knowledge spreading throughout the Polish nation
gave a great impetus and prestige to these associations.
For these there were extraneous causes, such as the
general movement in European literature, which about
this time, having shaken off the classic robes, began to
assume in the writings of several poets and writers
altogether a different direction. Another cause of the
impending change was the mental movement in the
universities. In Germany especially this feeling of
enthusiasm was created a few years before in order to
incite young men to join the ranks against Napoleon I,
and it was then, for the first time in the annals of the
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? 324 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
world, that young men became political factors or ex-
ponents. This spirit was brought home from the
French wars, and was spread almost over all universi-
ties of Europe; hence since that time there grew a sort
of self-reliance, independence, and we may say sponta-
neous manner and ways which the young men marked
out for themselves -- a thing which in the preceding
ages had never occurred. This being begotten during
French wars was continued after their cessation.
This spirit of self-reliance took hold of the Polish
youth also, and was very palpable in the Kingdom of
Poland, in Russia-Poland, and formed a powerful bond
among the Polish youths in several prominent points.
Young men came there to stay at least a year to ac-
quire further knowledge, to be examined, and to receive
degrees of learning. The most important of these
places was the University of Wilno. Here, at the
head of all young men, was Thomas Zan, a young man
of rare virtues and the noblest qualities of the heart
and mind, his pure morals and extraordinary mental
capacities, and his eloquence, and withal being very
gentle and urbane in his manners, he attached to him-
self all the youths; he imparted lessons of wisdom and
general light to all around him. In this select circle
were established literary labors in almost all branches.
Some were studying natural sciences, some philosophy,
others again were deeply engaged in historical lore,
and those who possessed a talent for poetry composed
songs, verses on all subjects, tales, and moral essays.
From this famous circle came almost all celebrated
Polish authors, and it was from this circle appeared, as
it were, the patriarch of our epoch, Adam Mickiewicz.
In the galaxy of prominently unfolding talent
around him Zan perceived especially the extraordinary
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? ZAN. 825
poetic genius in Mickiewicz. . An intimate and most
affectionate friendship sprang up between them. Be-
ing two years older than Adam, Zan, in a most deli-
cate and affectionate manner, assumed a careful guid-
ance over the future poet, stimulating him all the
while by the noblest examples from history, and by his
own ideas, reflections and suggestions. These efforts,
still further stimulated by a patriotic love of country,
burning within the breast of both, had the desired
effect, and Mickiewicz's poetic powers burst forth with
a resplendent luster.
Thomas Zan was born on the 21st of December,
1796, in the neighborhood of Min? sk. Shortly after the
taking of Praga by storm by the Russian army, his
father, Charles, then the mayor of Radoszkowice, was
compelled to conceal himself, while his mother had to
flee her home and seek protection at the homestead of
her husband's brother, called Miasota, where she
brought Thomas into the world. He was educated at
Min? sk and Mo? odeczno. After finishing his collegiate
education he went, in 1815, to Wilno, where, at the
university, he pursued the study of natural sciences,
and where in a short time he obtained a degree of
master of arts. During a judicial inquiry against cer-
tain young men of the University, brought about by
Senator Kowosielcow, he was arrested in 1823, impris-
oned, and condemned in 1824 to be exiled; the order
was executed, and he was sent to Orenburg, in Russia,
where he devoted himself to the study of natural sci-
ences, and, by the order of Governor Perovski, estab-
lished a museum. In 1826, through the influence and
protection of Perovski, he obtained a position of libra-
rian in the mining corps at St. Petersburg. In the
year 1841 he returned to Lithuania, settled in a country
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? 326 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
village called Kochaczyri, in White Russia, and died
there the 7th of July, 1855.
Zan translated into the Polish language Washington
Irving' s "Life of Columbus," and published in the
Russian language "The Geographical Researches" of
travels in the Ural mountains and the steppes of
Kirghiz. He also wrote fugitive verses which were
published in different periodicals at Wilno. The most
noted of Zan's literary compositions is "The Kitten,"
a tale in two parts.
We could get only a few of Zan's
"Triolets," part of which Mickiewicz has included in
his poem "The Piper. "
TRIOLETS.
For whom do you wreathe the nuptial wreath
Of roses, lilies, and thyme?
Whose radiant brow shall lie beneath
The blossoms wreathed in this nuptial wreath,
Woven in Love's warm clime?
Tears and blushes from them outbreathe.
For whom do you weave the nuptial wreath
Of roses, lilies, and thyme.
You can only bestow the wreath on one
Of roses, lilies, and thyme.
And what though another's heart be won?
You can only bestow the wreath on one,
Can only give tears to the heart undone
That will throb to your marriage chime
When the wreath is given to the happier one
Of roses, lilies, and thyme.
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? Zan. 327
Tell me why did I fear
When my eyes beheld thee first?
Why so cowardly appear?
Tell me why did I fear?
No tyrant wert thou, dear,
Yet I, shrinking, feared the worst.
Tell me why did I fear
When my eyes beheld thee first?
in.
We can love but once in life,
Once only and sincerely;
And but once feel Love's sweet strife;
We can love but once in life.
No words with wisdom rife
Can change the matter; clearly
We can love but once in life,
Once only, and sincerely.
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? 328 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
GASZYN? SKI.
Constantine Gaszyn? ski has not left any great poems
behind him, but in all his effusions there is a soul --
and with that he won the hearts of all his readers.
The chief quality of his composition is feeling. Of
those poetic effusions where he did not imitate anyone,
but let his heart take its natural inclination, we can
truly say that they are beautiful, and will never cease
to appeal to the finest feelings of our nature. Amidst
the changes of his life many a song flowed sponta-
neously from his heart. Some of his first compositions
remind us by their sweetness of Stephen Witwicki, and
are noted for their beautiful rhythmical form, "Three
Inspirations," "Soldier's Death," "Black Dress,"
"Death of General Sowin? ski," and "The National
Air," will always reach the national feeling and be
repeated by all; indeed, they have already become
national songs. Albert Sowin? ski, and even Chopin,
composed airs to them. They coursed throughout the
whole nation, and the generation of those days held
them as household songs. Who is there among the
Poles who does not know "When by the Shores of
Your Beloved Land" and "Usque ad finem"? The
Polish youth committed them to memory and sung
them throughout the realm.
To the better poems of Gaszyn? ski belong "Idyls of
Youth," "Cards and Card-players," "A Satire,"
"Horse Races," etc. His translations from Beranger
and Heine are splendid, and are all distinguished by
polished and correct language. Sigismund Krasin? ski
had so high an opinion of Gaszynski's rhythmical
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? GASZYN? SKI. 329
knowledge that he would not publish anything before
first reading the manuscript to him. Besides those ele-
gant poems he also wrote romances, tales and memoirs.
After the revolution of 1863 he grasped his pen once
more, but only with a feeble hand. He composed,
however, several songs.
Gaszyn? ski was born in 1809 at leziorno, not far from
Kadom, and received his education at the Lyceum and
the University of Warsaw, and in the company of many
distinguished litterateurs often visited the salons of
Vincent Krasin? ski. From the year 1828 to 1830 he
edited with Zien? kowicz "A Keview for the Fair Sex. "
With the outbreak of the revolution of 1831 he joined
the national ranks, and was through the whole cam-
paign; and after the downfall of the cause, with the
rank of first lieutenant, he emigrated with others into
foreign countries. The poet's health requiring south-
ern climate, he chose Provence as the place of his resi-
dence, and settled at Aix, where he passed many years, ,
leaving the place only to meet his attached friend, the
poet Sigismund Krasin? ski, or to make occasional visits
to Italy.
The museums and the collections of arts at Aix en-
gaged most of his time. In 1852 he traveled exten-
sively through Italy, and his letters from that country
to a friend in Cracow formed a separate volume, which
was published at Leipzig in 1853. Speaking the French
language as well as the Polish, he, soon after he came
to reside at Aix, began to publish his literary labors in
the "Gazette du Midi" and u Le Memorial d' Aix,"
and after a few years became the chief editor of the
last named.
Being broken down in health, and suffering other
strokes of ill fortune, he died on the 8th of October,
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? 330 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
1866, surrounded by many of his distinguished Polish
friends, as also by the first citizens of Aix, who truly
appreciated his genius and had the highest respect for
him personally as a high-minded and honorable man.
The first collection of his works was published in
Paris, 1833, entitled "Songs of a Polish Pilgrim;"
"Mr. Desiderius," also in Paris, 1846; "Other Me-
moirs," 1847; "A Chat Among the Olden-time Poles,"
1851; "Idyl of Youth," 1855; " Horse Races at War-
saw," Paris, 1856; "Poems," Paris, 1856; "A Collec-
tion of Poems pro bono Publico," 1858; "Card-play-
ing and Card-players," Paris, 1858; translation of
Krasinski's poem into French, "Before Daybreak;"
"The Last," and " Resurecturis," Paris, 1862. He is
also the author of many works and dissertations writ-
ten originally by him in the French language, the most
noted of which is "The Monograph," " Les Cabinets
de Tableaux Artistiques de la Yille d' Aix. " He left in
the manuscript ' ' Sigismund Krasin? ski and My Inter-
course with Him," but those interesting memoirs can-
not be published until a certain time after his death.
SHAKSPEARE (A SONNET).
Thou eagle! who with mind's audacious aim
Hast touched the stars where none have reached before*
And left us grand memorials in thy lore,
Hast known man's heart, as Phidias knew his frame.
Not Dante-like wert thou -- he reached for fame,
And gave his youth thoughts mysteries to explore.
Not like Byron, who roved from shore to shore,
To rest at last where Grecian stars outflame.
Thou stoodst alone, and from the wells of thought,
As Moses from the rock set waters free
Whose currents flow into eternity,
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? GASZYN? SKI. 331
In thine own heart gigantic voices wrought
Echoes to reach with most harmonious note
The wondering ear of ages far remote.
"O'
WHEN BY THE SHORES OF YOUR BELOVED LAND.
(Gdy na wybrzez? ach twoiej Ojczyzny. )
When by the shores of your beloved land
You chance to see a shattered vessel fill,
Wrecked by the pilot's lack of judging skill --
Through shallow waters driven at his command --
Give it, oh ! give it at least a tear,
For thus is hapless Poland imaged here.
If you should chance upon an orphan child,
Alike of home and mother's love bereft,
Who, mourning in a foreign land, is left
To wait the hope's return that once beguiled,
Look in his tearful face, and you will see
Of Poland's sons a hapless refugee.
And if your glance should ever chance to rest
On some high mountain of volcanic fire
Whose flames through smoke and lava floods aspire,
Sent up from heat eternal in its breast,
Think then, 'Tis thus the ardent flames upstart
From love of country in the Polish heart.
And should your thoughts to other countries wend,
And find a people that are glad and free,
A land of plenty and fertility
O'er which no bloody scepter shall extend,
O ! raise your hands and supplicate in prayer
That Poland too such happiness may share!
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? 332 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
THE YOUNG WARRIOR AND THE SWALLOW.
A gallant } 7 oung warrior in far foreign land,
By strangers surrounded, misfortune oppressed,
Unable his sad, bitter thoughts to command
Of his country so dear, he by sad fate distressed,
Beheld from the West a wee swallow flying,
And said, with expression of great pain and care:
You surely flew over where Poland is lying --
What message or news do you bring me from there?
Perhaps it so happened you rested a spell,
And built 'neath the eaves of my cottage your nest,
Near by where the waters of Pilica fell ;
Where groves are sweet and vales full of rest --
There where my good mother each day sheddeth tears,
And fondles the thought of my speedy return
With hopes rising high -- chased away oft by fears.
What news from my mother so dear can I learn?
Perhaps, too, you rested on Vistula's shore,
Where my lonely heart ever calls me to fly;
Where happiest bliss I first gathered in store,
And heaven I beheld in a sweet angel's eye.
Ah ! does my beloved one think of me ever,
When the winds gently from the Easter-land come?
Does she send me her longing sighs ! Alas ! never !
What news do you bring me from my beloved one?
And my comrades, alas! who with me did go
To fight for our freedom in same rank and file
At the bayonet's point -- do they press to the foe?
And I here, alas! lying idle the while.
Are they living? or who of my friends was it said
Are folded away in the cold, cruel tomb?
It may be, perchance, all are perished and dead.
What news can you bring me of friends from my home?
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? GASZYN? SKI. 333
Perhaps 'midst my household with voice of command
The cruel foe rules my dear kindred to-night,
While fond mother's weeping and prayers they withstand,
For savage hearts now -- not a feeling of right.
Here I change me to joy -- from joy back to pain,
When stories so varied, uncertain I hear.
0, swallow! pray tell of my country again.
What news do you bring me of Poland so dear?
ENVY.
A refugee within a stranger land,
I marked, while mingling with the proud and grand,
The rare profusion in their homes displayed;
I saw the riches which surrounded them,
But envied not this wealth of gold and gem --
It was far other wealth for which I prayed.
I have known those who with a thrilling word
Could sway the thousand answering hearts that stirred.
Crowds knelt before them, moved to joy or bliss, .
Though such may be a mighty power to wield,
My mind aspired not to so wide a field.
I did not crave the glory like to this.
I knew two lovers once whose pulses beat
To one harmonious tone of love complete;
Whose blended lives a flower-like fragrance wrought.
Yet though I lived and moved through crowds alone,
I envied not the joy they made their own.
It was another type of love I sought.
Once o'er the sea a sailor boy returned
From a long voyage, while his bosom yearned
For kindred welcome, and his eyes grew dim;
When 'mid the throng appeared his mother's face,
And tears were mingled in a fond embrace.
Ah! then it was I felt -- I envied him!
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? 334 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
BOGUS? AWSKI.
The subject of this short biographical sketch was
the son of a very distinguished dramatic writer of that
name, and was born in 1805. As a writer he possesses
great talent in the delineation of comedy, and it places
him in the foremost ranks of dramatic authors. He
served in the Polish army, and since 1833 has become
a successful dramatic artist.
His comedies were published in three volumes at
Warsaw in 1854, entitled "Original Comedies. " Among
the most noted of these are " My Relations," " Craco-
vians and Mountaineers," "The Lioness of Warsaw,"
and "She Hates Him. " All these comedies were re-
ceived with great applause. We give one of his lyrics.
SHE ONLY LAUGHED.
Once a little girl and a little boy
Played gaily together on the same lawn,
They sang the same song in their childish joy, --
John with Halina, Halina with John.
Johnny plucked tryony red, to entwine
Mid her bright golden hair with boyish craft,
And when back from the well they saw it shine,
She and Johnny laughed, -- she and Johnny laughed.
In harvest time, so encouraged was he,
Like flashes of lightning his sickle fell,
When he was with her it was plain to see,
Though the sweat ran down, he could work right well.
To the church together they used to go
On each Sunday and every holiday;
Halina looked merrily to and fro,
But Johnny looked into her eyes alway.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/loc.