The
treasures
of the world were here,
But, lacking peace, he slept no more.
But, lacking peace, he slept no more.
Poland - 1881 - Poets and Poetry of Poland
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? 406 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND,
To the field where hosts assemble,
With the wind away!
Let the foe before us tremble --
We shall win the day!
'Mid the ranks of dead and dying
If I chance to fall,
Take thy way, my steed, in flying
Homeward free from thrall!
Hark ! I hear my sisters calling --
Shall we turn my steed?
No! to where the foe is falling
Let us haste with speed!
JOSEPHINE.
If thou shalt ever meet
Spring's sweetest, loveliest rose,
With balmy breezes sweet,
Whose cheek with brightness glows
Like Orion's purest light,
Whose words breathe but delight,
And if she ask with love for me
'Tis Josephine -- be sure 'tis she!
ii.
If like the silent stream,
When flowing without noise,
Or like the moon's sweet beam,
From thoughtless crowds she flies;
To all she knows is kind,
Pure, noble, and refined --
And if she ask with love for me
'Tis Josephine -- be sure 'tis she !
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? WITWICKI.
407
III.
If thou shalt see a tear
Roll down her rosy cheek,
And if she doth appear
With feeling pure to speak;
And in her brightest eye
Thou shalt see modesty,
And if she ask with love for me
'Tis Josephine -- be sure 'tis she !
iv.
If thou shalt ever see
Some orphans or the poor,
Who driven by poverty
Enter her welcome door;
And if her heart doth beat
With sympathy replete,
And if she ask with love for me
'Tis Josephine -- be sure 'tis she!
But if thou e'er of love
To her by chance shalt speak,
And if a tear of sorrow
Do not bedew her cheek;
And not a sigh she give,
Her bosom does not heave,
And if she does not ask for me, .
My Josephine, -- it is not she!
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? 408 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
GOS? AWSKI.
Maurice Gos? awski was born in 1805; a man of the
noblest heart and most exalted mind; not only one of
the greatest Polish poets, but also one of the truest of
Poland's sons. Being concerned in the revolution of
1831, he was never remiss in duty as a soldier, nor
neglected the cause of his country as a patriot. He
was so honest and honorable besides, that he had the
love of the whole country, and when he died we may
truly say that Poland lost not only one of her greatest
poets, but she also lost one of the most high-minded
and honorable of her sons. His death took place in
Stanis? awo? w (Galicia), 1839.
Almost all of his poetry breathes with most devoted
love to his country and a friendly and brotherly attach-
ment to the whole people. He is the author of "Po-
dolian Wedding," " Renegat," "Banco," and many
others. His fugitive pieces are full of great poetic
spirit and pathos.
HAD I THE ROYAL EAGLE'S WING.
"Gdyby or? em byc? . "
Had I the royal eagle's wing
How soon Podolia's air I'd breathe,
And rest beneath that sunny sky
Where all my thoughts and wishes wreathe.
'Tis there I first beheld the light,
There passed by happiest, earliest years ;
'Tis there my father's ashes lay,
Sunned with my smiles, dewed with my tears.
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? GOS? AWSKI. 409
Oh! were I but the regal'bird,
I'd fly to where my steps once trod,
And where my hopes are buried up;
Then change me to an eagle, God!
Oh ! would I were a brilliant star
Whose light illumes Podolia's groves,
That I might gaze throughout the night
On her, the girl my spirit loves !
Then from the silvery clouds I'd send
Unto her eyelids visions bright
As those soft rays which Luna beams
Upon the lakes in summer's night.
To watch with eyes unseen her steps,
To gaze upon her form afar, --
My soul's transported with the thoughts ;
Change me, O heavens, to a star!
Why dream the thought, my bursting soul,
Thy aspirations are in vain; --
Exiled to far and foreign land,
Ne'er shall I see my home again.
Accursed am I ! yon eagle soars,
The star of night rolls glittering on ; --
My home is far, -- my soul is chained,
Tears flow around me, -- hope is gone!
UNCERTAINTY.
Dearest! I keep a secret still --
A holy secret, all my own;
My eyes with tears for sadness fill,
I smile and make my rapture known.
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? 410 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
But darling ! in those eyes of thine
There glistens neither tears nor joy;
I see not there the doom divine
Which shall uplift me or destroy.
Thou hast no need to tell me twice
Of the destruction held in store,
One look from thee will still suffice:
In it are all my hopes -- and more.
My soul 'tis easy to upraise
To that which makes it paradise;
Its only need or wish to gaze
Into the heaven within thine eyes.
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? RAYMUND KORSAK. 411
KAYMUND KOESAK.
Kaymund Korsak was born in 1767, in White Rus-
sia, and was a colonel in the Polish army. As a poet
he is mostly known by his elegant effusions " To Poe-
try," as also by his "Introduction" to the poem of
Kev. Baka on iw Infallible Death. "
He died in Podolia, 17th of November, 1817. His
friend, Bohusz, erected a monument to his memory,
with this inscription: "The memory of a' virtuous man
shall outlive ages. " He distinguished himself in lyric
poetry, especially in the composition of hymns.
ODE TO GOD.
Avaunt! ye empires, powers, kings,
That this too-little earth contains;
My Muse a higher theme now sings,
Heaven's pure regions she attains!
To her, my Muse, the Alpine height
Is as the valley spread below;
From turbulence she taketh flight,
From crash of storms that overthrow.
She speeds aloft on soaring wings,
And loses in aerial realms;
All monuments of earthly things
Before the glory that o'erwhelms.
Thou sovereign of birth and death!
At Thy command, -- supreme, divine, --
Rose suns and stars and worlds beneath,
But never was beginning Thine!
And what our feeble thoughts transcend,
Thou neither yet shalt have an end !
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? 412 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Thou sittest on majestic throne;
Time at Thy word begun its course;
All omnipotence is Thy own;
Of wisdom Thou Thyself a source.
Stern justice rests within Thy hand,
For us Thy mercy still provides.
O Lord of all! whose sole command
Creates, exalts, upholds, divides!
Thou on unaided power dost rest,
Before whose thunder angels quake,
And through the heavens manifest
The might that stills when storms awake.
Thou lightest stars, and dost create
The rocks that hide not from Thy face;
Thou rulest o'er all human fate,
And with Thy presence fillest space.
In the beginning, self sustained,
Thy will itself created Thee,
Thy wisdom in its breadth contained
Of worlds the vast immensity !
Above the chaos spread around,
Mid elements confusion rent,
O'er darkness all unpierced by sound
Thy living breath, Thy touch, wast sent.
Then rose the sun with glowing ray,
And nature saw creation's day!
EXTRACT FROM A RELIGIOUS POEM.
For gifts bestowed since earth I trod,
That to my saddened heart were given,
I thank Thee mostly, O great God!
That but a mortal I am here.
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? GO? RECKI. 413
GOEECKL
Anton Goeecki was a writer of lyric poetry and
fables. The distinguishing marks of Gorecki's fables
are that they are in reality little satires, with a view
of pointing out the weak side of the society in which
he lived, and to correct faults and foibles in a general
way. His ballad "The Doom of the Traitor to His
Country " is truly beautiful. "The Taking of the Pass
of Samo-Siera " is also an uncommon production. All
his fugitive compositions are permeated by genuine wit
and patriotic feeling. As a poet his name will always
occupy a high place in Polish literature.
Go? recki was born in 1787, in the province of Wilno.
His education began at home and in the schools of
Wilno, and later he entered the University of Wilno.
In spite of the Russian government's orders he made his
way through to Warsaw and joined the army. In the
campaign of 1812 he distinguished himself as an officer
in the battle of Smolensk, and received the cross of the
Legion of Honor and participated in all battles. After
napoleon's return he went to Cracow to be healed of
his wounds. He settled in the country with the rank
of captain, and gave himself up to farming pursuits,
literature and poetry. After 1815 he traveled in for-
eign countries, visiting Germany and Italy. Returning,
he settled in Lithuania, and was one of the most active
members of the so-called society of "Ragamuffins,"
but in reality a club of young men of great talent, who
published a newspaper called "The Street News," a
very celebrated institution of its day. After the break-
ing out of the revolution of 1830 Go? recki, being a
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? 414 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
member of the national committee of Wilno, was made
agent, and went to Switzerland, London and Paris,
where, after the end of the revolution, he remained till
after his death. He was in close connections with
Mickiewicz, Zaleski, Witwicki and other distinguished
men, and shared with them the vicissitudes of a life
generally experienced by refugees. He died the 18th
of September, 1861.
His works were published in Paris. "Poetry of a
Lithuanian," 1834; "Fables," 1839; "Seyba," 1837;
"New Collection," 1858; "Another Little Volume,"
1859; and "Miscellaneous," 1861.
DOOM OF THE TRAITOR TO HIS COUNTRY.
" S? mierc? Zdrajcy Ojczyzny. "
The night was dark! The gloomy silence poured
Calmness on Nature's breast, to peace restored;
Then the pale moon arose to view,
And nearer the appointed moments drew
When spirits, on their tireless wings,
Descend beneath the star-beamed glow
To soothe with sleep the sufferings
That mortals know.
Beside the river
Which flows forever,
Whose turgid billows moan unrest,
A stately castle rears its crest.
There a loathsome traitor lies
On gilded bed, that gives no ease,
And waits for sleep to close his eyes,
And bring his guilty bosom peace.
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? GO? RECKI. 415
Now and again the glimmering light
That from the costly lamps outshone
Showed through the shadows of the night
The wealth obtained through crime alone.
With care and labor, year by year,
Of gold he hoarded many a store.
The treasures of the world were here,
But, lacking peace, he slept no more.
The moments fly!
The town clock, striking solemnly,
Tolls twelve -- but yet no blessed sleep
Doth o'er his weary senses creep.
Yes ! from his pillow sleep goes hence
To huts, and lets its blessing fall
O'er those who lived in affluence
Ere for their country they lost all.
But he, his land's degenerate son,
Waits still for sleep to bring relief,
And, trembling like an autumn leaf,
Kemorseful shivers through him run.
Sleepless, he leaves his gilded bed,
Bends o'er the coffers filled with gold,
And thinks to soothe the spirit's dread
With glittering treasures there untold.
Hark! through the heavens a roll of thunder crashes!
The lightnings blaze in ire!
The flickering lights expire!
Backward the door, unhinged, the whirlwind dashes!
Then the pale moon gleams through,
Disclosing to the view
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? 416 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
A stately form, and staid,
In mourning garb arrayed.
A still and somber guest,
With pale hands folded on a bleeding breast.
Beholding that pale form,
The traitor trembles. Whether it is warm
With life he knows not, nor can comprehend.
His hair stands up on end,
And he cries out, " Who tries to frighten me?
Speak, or die instantly ! "
But from the form is heard
In answer not a word.
It only nearer draws, with silent tread,
And sighs instead!
The traitor then, despite his soul's alarms,
Growing more confident, resorts to arms.
The trigger pulls in ire!
The weapon flashes fire!
The bullet, in its eager thirst for blood,
Echoes through the air its thud,
And strikes the apparition -- but it draws
Nearer, with noiseless pace,
A noiselessness that awes,
And stands before the traitor face to face.
The phantom on his trembling shoulder lays
A hand whose chill dismays,
So death-like is its clasp!
His brow is dewed!
He sinks subdued,
Another weapon clutching in his grasp.
Then spoke a voice in gentle tones,
Like brooklet purling o'er the stones,
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? GO? RECKI. 41
As musical as sound of lute,
As sad as winds in church-yard mute.
11 Hold! for the ball is vainly sped.
I live not in this world, but with the dead.
Son, tho' thou wouldst doom me to the grave,
Yet still I live, and am here to save!
I see thy soul with keen remorse oppressed,
And I would win it to eternal rest,
And I forgive. No mother's heart is won
To turn against a son! "
But as she spoke the dwelling rocked,
As by an earthquake shocked.
The shades of night made moan,
And through their shadows thrown
A dark-winged shape appears.
And in an awful voice of thunder says:
" Forgiveness there is none for him who slays!
Who sheds his brother's blood must reap in tears,
Stand up therefor
Before God's judgment evermore
Then ceased the spirit. On the couch he cast
The traitor's lifeless form.
His soul he bore away through clouds and blast;
While moaned the wind, and lightning rent the storm.
TO A LADY LAUGHING AT A STAMMERING POET. "
Within these few lines are forever recorded
Two errors: I stammering, you manners unheeding.
Posterity's judgment will thus be awarded:
My error was nature, your's lack of good breeding.
27
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? 418 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
FABLES.
THE OXEN AND THE SPANIEL. *
About a certain farm there arose a dispute.
A judicial tribunal undertook the suit.
All the oxen belonging to the farm involved
Anxiously regarded the question to be solved:
Who would be their future master? Wishing a report,
They asked the spaniel to please hasten to the court,
To ascertain the facts, if anybody knew.
But the spaniel answered, " Why should that concern you?
'Tis of no consequence to you, respected friends,
Who obtains the farm; for, howe'er the matter ends,
Be it John or Peter, or whatever the name,
You will be commanded to work on, just the same. "
THE BIG SHIP AND A SMALL BOAT.
It so happened once beside a coast,
A small boat, wise in its own conceit,
Lying in port, tied up to a post,
And seeing, far out, the wild waves beat
A large ship, as the storm beset her,
Said: " Shame! that it can swim no better! "
Just then more fiercely the wind up blew;
Lo! the small boat's line was snapped in two;
And helpless against the rock it crashed,
Till into small fragments it was dashed.
THE DROP OF WATER,
" What would it avail for me, one drop alone, to go
Away from my cloud-companions to the earth below?
Uselessly would I perish, and do the earth no good. "
Thus reasoned every drop of the rain brotherhood.
*Written during the Vienna Congress, 1815.
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? GO? RECKI. 419
In consequence of this did a fearful drouth succeed,
Till one of the little drops, perceiving the earth's need,
Said: "Whether I'll help or not, I'll make a sacrifice. "
Sodownto earth she dropped from her cloud-home in the skies.
Then the heavens sent after her to the parching plain
Many more; till, drop by drop, there came a cheering rain
That revived the farmer's fields, and saved him from distress,
And made his heart o'erflow with joy and thankfulness.
'Tis noble to give a good example to others,
And make sacrifices for the good of our brothers.
SPARROWS.
A FABLE.
Old sparrows grouping on a tree,
Very learnedly conversed,
Finding fault with ev'ry bird, whate'er it be.
Hoopoo's tuft-head provoked their gossip first.
The jay, thinking he is pretty, is so vain.
The golden oriole, like the thrush, is plain.
The dove pretends modesty, but when she flies
Her aspiring flight her gentle mien belies.
The cuckoo, most selfish all the birds among,
Slips slyly in other neste her helpless young.
The bullfinch alights upon the highest tree,
Goldfinch thinks his song the finest melody.
And a crazy-head, the wagtail he flies,
As soon as the morning's light begins to rise,
Out to each nook and corner -- everywhere,
With turned-up tail and eager, prying air.
But as these birds themselves were only sparrows,
They at others shot their arrows.
But idlers they through summer sweet,
Who but consumed the farmer's wheat.
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? 420 POETS AND POETRY OB^ POLAND.
BALIN? SKI.
Charles Balin? ski was a poet in every sense of the
word. He looked into the future, and wove it into
pains and disappointments, longings and anticipations
of his own life< In this respect he resembles leaves
which, when crushed, give fragrance they could not do
before being thus destroyed.
His poems, modestly entitled "Writings of Balin? -
ski," are very well known wherever the Polish lan-
guage is spoken. Among them are contained some
compositions pertaining to the first epoch of his life,
when he was expelled to Siberia. These poems are of
remarkable beauty. " Faris, the Bard " occupies the
most prominent place. "The Prayer for a Cross" is
equally distinguished for poetic power. His transla-
tions from Calderon secured for him the first rank
among translators. Other original creations of Ba-
lin? ski, as "The Yoice of the Polish People," "A
Brotherly Word to the Songster of Mohort," "The
Cross-Road," "Penned Up," stand high in poetic
merits. The rhythmical construction of the verse and
the beauty of expression remind one of the painstak-
ing and exactness of classic poets.
A year before his death he sent a part of the poem
entitled "The Sufferings of the Redeemer" to the
library of Ossolinskis. This splendid literary produc-
tion, though incomplete, is written on a more extended
poetic scale, well and happily conceived, and rendered
with great harmony in a truly masterly manner -- a
composition which could inspire its author with a just
pride. He also left, in manuscript, sketches of Polish
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? BALIN? SKI. 421
literature, or rather the development of the national
poetic spirit, including specimens of poetic and prosaic
Polish authors.
Balin? ski was born the 27th of May, 1817, in a vil-
lage near the city of Lublin, While at the Lyceum at
Warsaw, and after the death of Arthur Zawisza, one
of the scholars wrote on the blackboard "Exoviare
nostris ex ossibus ultor. "* On account of this verse
the whole school would have been subjected to the
strictest investigation, but the noble youth (Balin? ski),
wishing the scholars of the Lyceum to go unharmed,
took the blame upon himself, and was imprisoned, but
after a thorough investigation released. However, not
long after that occurrence, he was suspected of partici-
pating in certain patriotic doings, was arrested, im-
prisoned, and finally sent to Siberia, where he re-
mained until 1844, but on the birth of the present
successor to the Russian throne he was released.
While in Siberia Charles lost not only his comely
looks, but also his health. The result of this un-
toward event was that his affianced, after seeing such
marked change in his looks, recanted her promise.
In the year 1848, being threatened with another perse-
cution, he fled into Galicia (Austria), then into the
Duchy of Posen, and at last found a shelter in France,
devoting himself to poetry and literary labors. In
1863 he returned to his native land to take care of his
brother, who was severely wounded, and lay very ill
at Cracow From here he went to Lemberg, and
found generous assistance in his literary pursuits.
The columns of "The Annals of Ossolin? skis' Library 1 '
having been opened to him, he continued his poem
"Life and Death of the Redeemer," but death pre-
* May an avenger arise from our bones.
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? 422 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND-
vented its finishing. He died on the 10th of January,
1864. He was a near relative of Balin? ski the histo-
rian.
His "Writings" were published at Posen, 1849;
"A Few Literary Labors, 1 ' Warsaw, 1846; "Tales for
the People,'' Warsaw, 1846; "Brotherly Word," Lon-
don, 1857; "A Collection of Poetry," 1856; "The
Sufferings of the Redeemer," Lemberg, 1864, etc. etc.
EXILED PRAYER IN THE SPRING
Our Father! Thou hast brought the spring again;
Again Thy hand strews gifts and makes us glad ;
Joyful in rich profusion smiles the plain,
Yet Father, we are sad!
The winter gloom has swiftly winged away,
The heavens above us don their clearest blue;
But with the grass that springs in fresh array
No hopes for us renew.
Earth hears the birds that throng in joyous troops, ,
Reviving dew upon her bosom lies;
Behold the primrose of our hope! it droops --
For lack of dew it dies !
Birds in returning home beyond the sea
Dip wings with tuneful song in ocean's foam ;
But we, poor pilgrims -- when, alas! shall we
Returning find a home?
The new sun lighting up the world to-day
Makes beautiful earth's bosom cold and stark
But for the exiled sheds no cheering ray --
All, all for us is dark!
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? BALIN? SKI. 423
But we, so long as any strength is left,
Will with sad hearts united as in one
Pray with the voice of millions thus bereft,
Give us more sun -- more sun !
WHAT'S THE USE OF DREAMING?
What's the use of our love-dreams
Of plucking roses -- promise beams?
Roses shun our quest;
Now here like the migrating bird
We are on the outpost afterward --
There perchance to rest.
Hearts, cease your dreaming! it is wrong;
Bearing our cross with cheerful song,
As to a dance go;
No more the sword-hilt we shall clasp,
But hands shall say in friendly grasp
God sends joy below.
Pleasure may come to us at last;
Thou knowest, God, the future vast --
What will meet us there;
Thou knowest to whom smiles are dear,
And whose grave in the coming year
Flowers shall make fair.
? 406 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND,
To the field where hosts assemble,
With the wind away!
Let the foe before us tremble --
We shall win the day!
'Mid the ranks of dead and dying
If I chance to fall,
Take thy way, my steed, in flying
Homeward free from thrall!
Hark ! I hear my sisters calling --
Shall we turn my steed?
No! to where the foe is falling
Let us haste with speed!
JOSEPHINE.
If thou shalt ever meet
Spring's sweetest, loveliest rose,
With balmy breezes sweet,
Whose cheek with brightness glows
Like Orion's purest light,
Whose words breathe but delight,
And if she ask with love for me
'Tis Josephine -- be sure 'tis she!
ii.
If like the silent stream,
When flowing without noise,
Or like the moon's sweet beam,
From thoughtless crowds she flies;
To all she knows is kind,
Pure, noble, and refined --
And if she ask with love for me
'Tis Josephine -- be sure 'tis she !
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? WITWICKI.
407
III.
If thou shalt see a tear
Roll down her rosy cheek,
And if she doth appear
With feeling pure to speak;
And in her brightest eye
Thou shalt see modesty,
And if she ask with love for me
'Tis Josephine -- be sure 'tis she !
iv.
If thou shalt ever see
Some orphans or the poor,
Who driven by poverty
Enter her welcome door;
And if her heart doth beat
With sympathy replete,
And if she ask with love for me
'Tis Josephine -- be sure 'tis she!
But if thou e'er of love
To her by chance shalt speak,
And if a tear of sorrow
Do not bedew her cheek;
And not a sigh she give,
Her bosom does not heave,
And if she does not ask for me, .
My Josephine, -- it is not she!
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? 408 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
GOS? AWSKI.
Maurice Gos? awski was born in 1805; a man of the
noblest heart and most exalted mind; not only one of
the greatest Polish poets, but also one of the truest of
Poland's sons. Being concerned in the revolution of
1831, he was never remiss in duty as a soldier, nor
neglected the cause of his country as a patriot. He
was so honest and honorable besides, that he had the
love of the whole country, and when he died we may
truly say that Poland lost not only one of her greatest
poets, but she also lost one of the most high-minded
and honorable of her sons. His death took place in
Stanis? awo? w (Galicia), 1839.
Almost all of his poetry breathes with most devoted
love to his country and a friendly and brotherly attach-
ment to the whole people. He is the author of "Po-
dolian Wedding," " Renegat," "Banco," and many
others. His fugitive pieces are full of great poetic
spirit and pathos.
HAD I THE ROYAL EAGLE'S WING.
"Gdyby or? em byc? . "
Had I the royal eagle's wing
How soon Podolia's air I'd breathe,
And rest beneath that sunny sky
Where all my thoughts and wishes wreathe.
'Tis there I first beheld the light,
There passed by happiest, earliest years ;
'Tis there my father's ashes lay,
Sunned with my smiles, dewed with my tears.
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? GOS? AWSKI. 409
Oh! were I but the regal'bird,
I'd fly to where my steps once trod,
And where my hopes are buried up;
Then change me to an eagle, God!
Oh ! would I were a brilliant star
Whose light illumes Podolia's groves,
That I might gaze throughout the night
On her, the girl my spirit loves !
Then from the silvery clouds I'd send
Unto her eyelids visions bright
As those soft rays which Luna beams
Upon the lakes in summer's night.
To watch with eyes unseen her steps,
To gaze upon her form afar, --
My soul's transported with the thoughts ;
Change me, O heavens, to a star!
Why dream the thought, my bursting soul,
Thy aspirations are in vain; --
Exiled to far and foreign land,
Ne'er shall I see my home again.
Accursed am I ! yon eagle soars,
The star of night rolls glittering on ; --
My home is far, -- my soul is chained,
Tears flow around me, -- hope is gone!
UNCERTAINTY.
Dearest! I keep a secret still --
A holy secret, all my own;
My eyes with tears for sadness fill,
I smile and make my rapture known.
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? 410 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
But darling ! in those eyes of thine
There glistens neither tears nor joy;
I see not there the doom divine
Which shall uplift me or destroy.
Thou hast no need to tell me twice
Of the destruction held in store,
One look from thee will still suffice:
In it are all my hopes -- and more.
My soul 'tis easy to upraise
To that which makes it paradise;
Its only need or wish to gaze
Into the heaven within thine eyes.
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? RAYMUND KORSAK. 411
KAYMUND KOESAK.
Kaymund Korsak was born in 1767, in White Rus-
sia, and was a colonel in the Polish army. As a poet
he is mostly known by his elegant effusions " To Poe-
try," as also by his "Introduction" to the poem of
Kev. Baka on iw Infallible Death. "
He died in Podolia, 17th of November, 1817. His
friend, Bohusz, erected a monument to his memory,
with this inscription: "The memory of a' virtuous man
shall outlive ages. " He distinguished himself in lyric
poetry, especially in the composition of hymns.
ODE TO GOD.
Avaunt! ye empires, powers, kings,
That this too-little earth contains;
My Muse a higher theme now sings,
Heaven's pure regions she attains!
To her, my Muse, the Alpine height
Is as the valley spread below;
From turbulence she taketh flight,
From crash of storms that overthrow.
She speeds aloft on soaring wings,
And loses in aerial realms;
All monuments of earthly things
Before the glory that o'erwhelms.
Thou sovereign of birth and death!
At Thy command, -- supreme, divine, --
Rose suns and stars and worlds beneath,
But never was beginning Thine!
And what our feeble thoughts transcend,
Thou neither yet shalt have an end !
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? 412 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Thou sittest on majestic throne;
Time at Thy word begun its course;
All omnipotence is Thy own;
Of wisdom Thou Thyself a source.
Stern justice rests within Thy hand,
For us Thy mercy still provides.
O Lord of all! whose sole command
Creates, exalts, upholds, divides!
Thou on unaided power dost rest,
Before whose thunder angels quake,
And through the heavens manifest
The might that stills when storms awake.
Thou lightest stars, and dost create
The rocks that hide not from Thy face;
Thou rulest o'er all human fate,
And with Thy presence fillest space.
In the beginning, self sustained,
Thy will itself created Thee,
Thy wisdom in its breadth contained
Of worlds the vast immensity !
Above the chaos spread around,
Mid elements confusion rent,
O'er darkness all unpierced by sound
Thy living breath, Thy touch, wast sent.
Then rose the sun with glowing ray,
And nature saw creation's day!
EXTRACT FROM A RELIGIOUS POEM.
For gifts bestowed since earth I trod,
That to my saddened heart were given,
I thank Thee mostly, O great God!
That but a mortal I am here.
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? GO? RECKI. 413
GOEECKL
Anton Goeecki was a writer of lyric poetry and
fables. The distinguishing marks of Gorecki's fables
are that they are in reality little satires, with a view
of pointing out the weak side of the society in which
he lived, and to correct faults and foibles in a general
way. His ballad "The Doom of the Traitor to His
Country " is truly beautiful. "The Taking of the Pass
of Samo-Siera " is also an uncommon production. All
his fugitive compositions are permeated by genuine wit
and patriotic feeling. As a poet his name will always
occupy a high place in Polish literature.
Go? recki was born in 1787, in the province of Wilno.
His education began at home and in the schools of
Wilno, and later he entered the University of Wilno.
In spite of the Russian government's orders he made his
way through to Warsaw and joined the army. In the
campaign of 1812 he distinguished himself as an officer
in the battle of Smolensk, and received the cross of the
Legion of Honor and participated in all battles. After
napoleon's return he went to Cracow to be healed of
his wounds. He settled in the country with the rank
of captain, and gave himself up to farming pursuits,
literature and poetry. After 1815 he traveled in for-
eign countries, visiting Germany and Italy. Returning,
he settled in Lithuania, and was one of the most active
members of the so-called society of "Ragamuffins,"
but in reality a club of young men of great talent, who
published a newspaper called "The Street News," a
very celebrated institution of its day. After the break-
ing out of the revolution of 1830 Go? recki, being a
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? 414 POETS AND POETEY OF POLAND.
member of the national committee of Wilno, was made
agent, and went to Switzerland, London and Paris,
where, after the end of the revolution, he remained till
after his death. He was in close connections with
Mickiewicz, Zaleski, Witwicki and other distinguished
men, and shared with them the vicissitudes of a life
generally experienced by refugees. He died the 18th
of September, 1861.
His works were published in Paris. "Poetry of a
Lithuanian," 1834; "Fables," 1839; "Seyba," 1837;
"New Collection," 1858; "Another Little Volume,"
1859; and "Miscellaneous," 1861.
DOOM OF THE TRAITOR TO HIS COUNTRY.
" S? mierc? Zdrajcy Ojczyzny. "
The night was dark! The gloomy silence poured
Calmness on Nature's breast, to peace restored;
Then the pale moon arose to view,
And nearer the appointed moments drew
When spirits, on their tireless wings,
Descend beneath the star-beamed glow
To soothe with sleep the sufferings
That mortals know.
Beside the river
Which flows forever,
Whose turgid billows moan unrest,
A stately castle rears its crest.
There a loathsome traitor lies
On gilded bed, that gives no ease,
And waits for sleep to close his eyes,
And bring his guilty bosom peace.
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? GO? RECKI. 415
Now and again the glimmering light
That from the costly lamps outshone
Showed through the shadows of the night
The wealth obtained through crime alone.
With care and labor, year by year,
Of gold he hoarded many a store.
The treasures of the world were here,
But, lacking peace, he slept no more.
The moments fly!
The town clock, striking solemnly,
Tolls twelve -- but yet no blessed sleep
Doth o'er his weary senses creep.
Yes ! from his pillow sleep goes hence
To huts, and lets its blessing fall
O'er those who lived in affluence
Ere for their country they lost all.
But he, his land's degenerate son,
Waits still for sleep to bring relief,
And, trembling like an autumn leaf,
Kemorseful shivers through him run.
Sleepless, he leaves his gilded bed,
Bends o'er the coffers filled with gold,
And thinks to soothe the spirit's dread
With glittering treasures there untold.
Hark! through the heavens a roll of thunder crashes!
The lightnings blaze in ire!
The flickering lights expire!
Backward the door, unhinged, the whirlwind dashes!
Then the pale moon gleams through,
Disclosing to the view
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? 416 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
A stately form, and staid,
In mourning garb arrayed.
A still and somber guest,
With pale hands folded on a bleeding breast.
Beholding that pale form,
The traitor trembles. Whether it is warm
With life he knows not, nor can comprehend.
His hair stands up on end,
And he cries out, " Who tries to frighten me?
Speak, or die instantly ! "
But from the form is heard
In answer not a word.
It only nearer draws, with silent tread,
And sighs instead!
The traitor then, despite his soul's alarms,
Growing more confident, resorts to arms.
The trigger pulls in ire!
The weapon flashes fire!
The bullet, in its eager thirst for blood,
Echoes through the air its thud,
And strikes the apparition -- but it draws
Nearer, with noiseless pace,
A noiselessness that awes,
And stands before the traitor face to face.
The phantom on his trembling shoulder lays
A hand whose chill dismays,
So death-like is its clasp!
His brow is dewed!
He sinks subdued,
Another weapon clutching in his grasp.
Then spoke a voice in gentle tones,
Like brooklet purling o'er the stones,
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? GO? RECKI. 41
As musical as sound of lute,
As sad as winds in church-yard mute.
11 Hold! for the ball is vainly sped.
I live not in this world, but with the dead.
Son, tho' thou wouldst doom me to the grave,
Yet still I live, and am here to save!
I see thy soul with keen remorse oppressed,
And I would win it to eternal rest,
And I forgive. No mother's heart is won
To turn against a son! "
But as she spoke the dwelling rocked,
As by an earthquake shocked.
The shades of night made moan,
And through their shadows thrown
A dark-winged shape appears.
And in an awful voice of thunder says:
" Forgiveness there is none for him who slays!
Who sheds his brother's blood must reap in tears,
Stand up therefor
Before God's judgment evermore
Then ceased the spirit. On the couch he cast
The traitor's lifeless form.
His soul he bore away through clouds and blast;
While moaned the wind, and lightning rent the storm.
TO A LADY LAUGHING AT A STAMMERING POET. "
Within these few lines are forever recorded
Two errors: I stammering, you manners unheeding.
Posterity's judgment will thus be awarded:
My error was nature, your's lack of good breeding.
27
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? 418 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
FABLES.
THE OXEN AND THE SPANIEL. *
About a certain farm there arose a dispute.
A judicial tribunal undertook the suit.
All the oxen belonging to the farm involved
Anxiously regarded the question to be solved:
Who would be their future master? Wishing a report,
They asked the spaniel to please hasten to the court,
To ascertain the facts, if anybody knew.
But the spaniel answered, " Why should that concern you?
'Tis of no consequence to you, respected friends,
Who obtains the farm; for, howe'er the matter ends,
Be it John or Peter, or whatever the name,
You will be commanded to work on, just the same. "
THE BIG SHIP AND A SMALL BOAT.
It so happened once beside a coast,
A small boat, wise in its own conceit,
Lying in port, tied up to a post,
And seeing, far out, the wild waves beat
A large ship, as the storm beset her,
Said: " Shame! that it can swim no better! "
Just then more fiercely the wind up blew;
Lo! the small boat's line was snapped in two;
And helpless against the rock it crashed,
Till into small fragments it was dashed.
THE DROP OF WATER,
" What would it avail for me, one drop alone, to go
Away from my cloud-companions to the earth below?
Uselessly would I perish, and do the earth no good. "
Thus reasoned every drop of the rain brotherhood.
*Written during the Vienna Congress, 1815.
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? GO? RECKI. 419
In consequence of this did a fearful drouth succeed,
Till one of the little drops, perceiving the earth's need,
Said: "Whether I'll help or not, I'll make a sacrifice. "
Sodownto earth she dropped from her cloud-home in the skies.
Then the heavens sent after her to the parching plain
Many more; till, drop by drop, there came a cheering rain
That revived the farmer's fields, and saved him from distress,
And made his heart o'erflow with joy and thankfulness.
'Tis noble to give a good example to others,
And make sacrifices for the good of our brothers.
SPARROWS.
A FABLE.
Old sparrows grouping on a tree,
Very learnedly conversed,
Finding fault with ev'ry bird, whate'er it be.
Hoopoo's tuft-head provoked their gossip first.
The jay, thinking he is pretty, is so vain.
The golden oriole, like the thrush, is plain.
The dove pretends modesty, but when she flies
Her aspiring flight her gentle mien belies.
The cuckoo, most selfish all the birds among,
Slips slyly in other neste her helpless young.
The bullfinch alights upon the highest tree,
Goldfinch thinks his song the finest melody.
And a crazy-head, the wagtail he flies,
As soon as the morning's light begins to rise,
Out to each nook and corner -- everywhere,
With turned-up tail and eager, prying air.
But as these birds themselves were only sparrows,
They at others shot their arrows.
But idlers they through summer sweet,
Who but consumed the farmer's wheat.
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? 420 POETS AND POETRY OB^ POLAND.
BALIN? SKI.
Charles Balin? ski was a poet in every sense of the
word. He looked into the future, and wove it into
pains and disappointments, longings and anticipations
of his own life< In this respect he resembles leaves
which, when crushed, give fragrance they could not do
before being thus destroyed.
His poems, modestly entitled "Writings of Balin? -
ski," are very well known wherever the Polish lan-
guage is spoken. Among them are contained some
compositions pertaining to the first epoch of his life,
when he was expelled to Siberia. These poems are of
remarkable beauty. " Faris, the Bard " occupies the
most prominent place. "The Prayer for a Cross" is
equally distinguished for poetic power. His transla-
tions from Calderon secured for him the first rank
among translators. Other original creations of Ba-
lin? ski, as "The Yoice of the Polish People," "A
Brotherly Word to the Songster of Mohort," "The
Cross-Road," "Penned Up," stand high in poetic
merits. The rhythmical construction of the verse and
the beauty of expression remind one of the painstak-
ing and exactness of classic poets.
A year before his death he sent a part of the poem
entitled "The Sufferings of the Redeemer" to the
library of Ossolinskis. This splendid literary produc-
tion, though incomplete, is written on a more extended
poetic scale, well and happily conceived, and rendered
with great harmony in a truly masterly manner -- a
composition which could inspire its author with a just
pride. He also left, in manuscript, sketches of Polish
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? BALIN? SKI. 421
literature, or rather the development of the national
poetic spirit, including specimens of poetic and prosaic
Polish authors.
Balin? ski was born the 27th of May, 1817, in a vil-
lage near the city of Lublin, While at the Lyceum at
Warsaw, and after the death of Arthur Zawisza, one
of the scholars wrote on the blackboard "Exoviare
nostris ex ossibus ultor. "* On account of this verse
the whole school would have been subjected to the
strictest investigation, but the noble youth (Balin? ski),
wishing the scholars of the Lyceum to go unharmed,
took the blame upon himself, and was imprisoned, but
after a thorough investigation released. However, not
long after that occurrence, he was suspected of partici-
pating in certain patriotic doings, was arrested, im-
prisoned, and finally sent to Siberia, where he re-
mained until 1844, but on the birth of the present
successor to the Russian throne he was released.
While in Siberia Charles lost not only his comely
looks, but also his health. The result of this un-
toward event was that his affianced, after seeing such
marked change in his looks, recanted her promise.
In the year 1848, being threatened with another perse-
cution, he fled into Galicia (Austria), then into the
Duchy of Posen, and at last found a shelter in France,
devoting himself to poetry and literary labors. In
1863 he returned to his native land to take care of his
brother, who was severely wounded, and lay very ill
at Cracow From here he went to Lemberg, and
found generous assistance in his literary pursuits.
The columns of "The Annals of Ossolin? skis' Library 1 '
having been opened to him, he continued his poem
"Life and Death of the Redeemer," but death pre-
* May an avenger arise from our bones.
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? 422 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND-
vented its finishing. He died on the 10th of January,
1864. He was a near relative of Balin? ski the histo-
rian.
His "Writings" were published at Posen, 1849;
"A Few Literary Labors, 1 ' Warsaw, 1846; "Tales for
the People,'' Warsaw, 1846; "Brotherly Word," Lon-
don, 1857; "A Collection of Poetry," 1856; "The
Sufferings of the Redeemer," Lemberg, 1864, etc. etc.
EXILED PRAYER IN THE SPRING
Our Father! Thou hast brought the spring again;
Again Thy hand strews gifts and makes us glad ;
Joyful in rich profusion smiles the plain,
Yet Father, we are sad!
The winter gloom has swiftly winged away,
The heavens above us don their clearest blue;
But with the grass that springs in fresh array
No hopes for us renew.
Earth hears the birds that throng in joyous troops, ,
Reviving dew upon her bosom lies;
Behold the primrose of our hope! it droops --
For lack of dew it dies !
Birds in returning home beyond the sea
Dip wings with tuneful song in ocean's foam ;
But we, poor pilgrims -- when, alas! shall we
Returning find a home?
The new sun lighting up the world to-day
Makes beautiful earth's bosom cold and stark
But for the exiled sheds no cheering ray --
All, all for us is dark!
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? BALIN? SKI. 423
But we, so long as any strength is left,
Will with sad hearts united as in one
Pray with the voice of millions thus bereft,
Give us more sun -- more sun !
WHAT'S THE USE OF DREAMING?
What's the use of our love-dreams
Of plucking roses -- promise beams?
Roses shun our quest;
Now here like the migrating bird
We are on the outpost afterward --
There perchance to rest.
Hearts, cease your dreaming! it is wrong;
Bearing our cross with cheerful song,
As to a dance go;
No more the sword-hilt we shall clasp,
But hands shall say in friendly grasp
God sends joy below.
Pleasure may come to us at last;
Thou knowest, God, the future vast --
What will meet us there;
Thou knowest to whom smiles are dear,
And whose grave in the coming year
Flowers shall make fair.
