No More Learning

The story of her beauty, like a breeze
That bears perfume, spread through the provinces, --
Spread o'er the land ; and many a raptured youth
Laid at her feet the vows of love and truth.
They saw her, and were lost: a single glance
Of that bright, lovely, laughing countenance
Won all the soul. No wonder; -- the control
Of wit and beauty ever wins the soul.
And was she faultless ? No ! one little sin --
For she was human -- one alone crept in ;
One little fault or error, which -- Heaven knows --
Was a dust-atom on a scarlet rose.
What could this little dangerous error be?
Time and the maiden never could agree.
She knew not wherefore years should be divided
In days and nights and hours, -- and years derided:
She thought that time, to please a maiden's whim,
Mighty tarry: -- little knew the maid of him.
She deem'd her smile should stop the hurrying day,
When in delights and feasts it sped away;
And the wing'd hours in their swift flight restrain,
And to a rock time's slippery spirit chain.
E'en thus she lived, and dreams like these employ'd
The shifting moments which those dreams enjoy'd.
Her dawn was noon, -- time's dawn her middle night,-
Always too late ; her place, though noblest, might
Remain unfill'd. At table she first came
When all was over; and 'twas just the same
E'en when a new piece charm'd the theater;
At the last act's last scene she would appear
Nor at the church, O mortal sin! before
The careful beadle closed the sacred door.
She was her parents' hope, her parents' bliss,
So no reproaches smote the maid for this.
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? FASTLDIAXA. 1 i ,
Yet there is pleasure, -- so the record says, --
Sweet pleasure in these lingerings, these delays:
And none of her admirers loved her less, --
Many and noble, -- for her tardiness.
But one was privileged o'er the rest, -- and he
Was the young Wojewod of Kujavy;
He bore Guzdawa's arms. (And those who bear
These old insignia, Paprocki* supposes
Were long distinguished for their length of noses,
Their large, bright eyes, their crisp and curly hair.
Unwearied in all enterprise, in war
Supremely valiant, -- rather superstitious, --
Amorous as born beneath love's famous star. )
Indeed our Wojewodzicf was ambitious
To be a true Guzdawa ; and the youth,
In size, form, virtues, was their heir, in truth.
His life was stainless, and 'twas decorated
With all the gems of talent. Happy fated,
He won the lady's promise to be his.
And parents' blessings crown'd the promised bliss.
Then his brains swam in joy. and rapture threw
Her sunshine on the moments as they flew.
Four weeks before the paschal feast began
The nuptial preparations. Mad desire
Made days and hours and moments as they ran
Linger like years, whose lingering footsteps tire:
But hope, and meditations, and soft sighs
Relieved their tardy passage, as he brought
Her paramount wit, her gentle voice, to thought:
The million graces playing round her eyes.
And her white hands, 'bove all, so purely fair,
Xo ivory with their brightness could compare.
* A famous heraldist of old time.
f Wojewodzie, son of the Wojewod; and so Sedzie, son of the judge;
Chnronz? yc, son of the ensign ; -- ic is here synonymous with the
Russian icicz, or vich, or citch.
12
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? 178 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
A thousand and a thousand times he said,
"She is indeed the sweetest, loveliest maid! "
And then a thought, -- sad thought, -- would oft intrude ;
" She's so forgetful, though so fair and good !
'Tis surely not her fault, but time's; who may,
And no doubt does, mistake the time of day.
But let us wed, -- this weakness shall be check'd;
'Tis a slight fault, and easy to correct.
Watches and clocks shall hang on every wall,
And silver hammers all the hours recall;
Hours, minutes, seconds, -- monitors like these
Will chase the maid's obliviousness with ease. "
So was he satisfied, -- and his doubts were gone.
The marriage contract sign'd, and all was done:
And the church doors were open'd for the pair;
Gorgeous and great was the assemblage there.
The bridegroom sallied forth from his abode,
And no unhappy omen stopp'd his road:
He came with friends and relatives who wore
Their sable furs -- adorn'd, as well became
Men who did honor to so proud a name,
With dazzling gold and sunny scarlet o'er.
The chronicle describes the gay parade,
And well-plann'd order of the cavalcade.
Twelve trumpeters in Flemish garments clad,
Which many a splendid decoration had.
And, as the Wojewodzie long had headed
His father's hussar troops, a numerous band
Of spearmen the procession next preceded;
Upon their shoulders wings of eagles flapp'd
And quivers full of silver arrows rattled
Behind them as they forward moved embattled;
Round each a leopard skin was loosely wrapp'd,
Its claws and tusks were fasten'd on the breast.
The standards revel'd with the winds, and prancing
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? FASTIDIANA. 179
Their richly saddled steeds appear'd advancing,
Their riders all in martial sternness drest. *
Then came a troop of Tartars, -- such as sate
With the lord's household, or watch'd round his gate;
And each his bows and arrows bore,
And a wide-flowing mantle wore,
Bending his proud and sprightly Bachmatf o'er.
Next thirty youthful squires led thirty steeds
To decorate the scene ; -- their race proceeds
From most renown'd Arabia, and the shore
Of the Euphrates, -- whence to Poland's plains
Transferr'd their fame, their ancient fame, remains;
So proud, so ardent, that the wearied hand
Of their tired rider could restrain no more
Their noble spirits to his mute command.
They toss'd their hoofs in air; -- the golden bit
Was cover'd o'er with foam ; -- their nostrils broad
As if with glowing sparks of fire were lit:
Proud were their trappings, as the knights who rode;
The saddles were all set in turquoises,
And the rich housings swept the very ground :
Pearls were profusely scatter'd o'er the dress;
A target at the saddle hung ; and near
A truncheon and a crooked scimitar;
Rubies and sapphires sparkled all around,
With smaragds, topazes, whose lights and dyes
Blinded the eyes.
Next came a troop of friends, sedate but gay ;
Their silk and velvet garments fill'd the way,
Bound with resplendent girdles; and they held
Their battle-axes, -- for their rank was high ;
Then six proud, dappled steeds the car impell'd,
Where sat the bridegroom in his ecstasy,
* This description, though rather grotesque, is a correct delinea-
tion of the costume of the old Polish hussars,
f Bachmat ; -- a Tartar horse.
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? 180 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Eight golden columns bore a canopy
Of richest velvet, and the youth was clad
In most superb brocade; his under vest
Of crimson, which a row of buttons had
Of sapphires and of rubies of the East.
There was a clasp, whose glorious brightness never
Could be described -- so I shall not endeavor:
It was a carbuncle so large that kings -
Might envy, -- brighter than the sun which flings
His glories o'er the noon. Upon his head
High plumes above a splendid bonnet spread.
Two noble youths sate by him: one the son
Of the Wyszogro? d pennon-bearer; one
Grod's wealthy heir; but both of brilliant eyes,
And gay in humor; and their heads were bare. *
Next a long train of squires and knights appear,
With their attendants in rich liveries;
Each wore a splendid scarf with garments meet.
The cavalcade was closed by a long suite
Of six-horsed heavy-laden coaches, which
Bore presents for the bride, superb and rich.
Beautiful pearls from Uria, ear-rings, gems,
Bracelets, and jewels fit for diadems,
And fit a lady's eyes to please : nor were
The richest clocks and watches absent there.
While thus the sun toward the church was bent,
His busied father stay'd at home, intent
On the approaching festival. He stored
With giant goblets the capacious board,
With plates of silver and with cups of gold ;
Emboss'd tureens, and rich-carved bowls, to hold
Medals of ancient days, -- the cups and vases,
Gilded and rich, had their appointed places.
* It was an old custom with the Poles to shave their heads.
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? FASTTDIANA. 181
From distant forests, wagons brought vast stores
Of their wild tenants, deer and fawns and boars.
Game without number, -- which six master-eooks
Who bore their German caps, prepared with all
The due formalities of cookery books.
Mincemeats and spices; -- but I'll not recall
These long details. The noblest thing they did
Was to erect a mighty pyramid
Of almonds crusted o'er with sugar. Can
Aught in the art exceed a Marcipan? *
A curiously-constructed lynx portray'd
The escutcheons of the bridegroon and the maid,
Gordowa's and Rogala's: and a brand
Of Cupid's fire they held in either hand.
The table was weigh'd down by luxuries rare,
And all the neighboring men of rank were there;
Prelates and senators; our Truchses vow'd
To give the act its due solemnity,
And went to Skirniewic with a crowd
Of friends and of dependants, but to see
The venerable primate, and entreat
That he w T ould honor his poor house, and be
The officiating minister, as meet.
So the guests came at last. You wish to know
How they were housed; -- I cannot tell you how.
The dwelling had four rooms and one saloon;
(A splendid mansion, then! ) the guests were driven
To rather closish quarters; but 'twas soon
Arranged. One chamber to the primate given;
The others where they could repose their head;
And all slept soundly, though they had no bed.
Then dawn'd the happy moment. At eleven
* Marcipan. A large round cake adorned with various emblem-
atical figures. It is still used by the peasantry at wedding festivals.
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? 182 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
'Twas fix'd the nuptial pledges should be given
Before the sacred altar. Parents, friends,
Were seated in the church ; the clergy led
The primate, with his mitre on his head,
His pastoral staiF in hand, -- who now ascends
His throne. The tapers are enkindled. Where,
Where is the bride? -- They wait an hour, -- they sent
To ask what cause, what luckless accident
Delay'd her. Lo! he comes! -- the messenger
Begs for a short delay. One stocking she,
The lady had got on, and speedily
Would finish with the other. Well! they wait; --
Time lingers, lingers still. The clock strikes Three;
They send again. 'Twas strange she should forget
The hour, she said; -- but she would braid her hair,
And in a very twinkling would be there.
One hour, -- and yet another, -- five o'clock,
When other heralds at her chamber knock;
She just was fixing on her robes a wreath,
And would come instantly. The well-bred sun
Linger'd; but as his patience soon was done
Be sank the occidental hills beneath. t
But love had made the bridegroom angry, while
Hunger attack'd the guests ; their empty skins
Began to be rebellious; 'tis a vile
Peace-breaker, that said hunger; -- they had thought
Of the rich feast; some little, and some nought
Had taken ; so they suffer'd for their sins.
Oh, had they but some bread and sausage brought!
At last the ladies yawn'd; a senator
Open'd his gasping mouth from ear to ear;
The primate was observed to whiten, -- then
The bridegroom rose, and to the castle fled,
Entreating on his knees the lingering maid
To hasten, though undress'd: " Just tarry; when
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? FASTIDIANA. 183
I've tied this bow," the lady said, " I'll come, --
I'll come indeed. "
He hasten'd back, -- he heard
A blending of strange sounds which struck him dumb;
He enter'd; -- first the primate's form appear'd
Sunk in the canon's arms; -- he look'd around;
Knights, senators, were stretch'd upon the ground,
Two palatines, three barons, -- vanquish'd all
By heat and hunger; tears of anguish fall
Down the parental cheeks; -- his love turn'd cold,
" Ere thou art dress'd," he said, " I shall grow old;
And if to-day thou trifle thus, to-morrow " --
He said no more; but sprung with silent sorrow
Into his car, and fled. Such haste was wrong;
But young men's passions are perverse and strong.
His hurry did no good; -- and those who marry
Should ne'er fall out with things that make them tarry.
Yet a few hours, -- even though impatient, -- he
Had been rewarded. 'Twas exactly three,
Three in the morning, when the lovely lady
Dress'd for the altar -- all adorn'd and ready.
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? 184 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
DMOCHOWSKI.
Francis Xavier Dmochowski was born in the year
1762, in the province of Podlasie. He attended the
school of the fathers Piiars, and in 1778 joined the
order, and was employed as teacher in Radom, ? omz? a,
and Warsaw. He then lived with Ko? lontaj, through
whose influence he obtained a parsonage at Ko? o.
Dmochowski was very active during the great Diet,
and published "The Official Gazette " up to the 1st of
November, 1794. Having left Poland to travel in for-
eign countries he did not return till 1800, when he was
married to an estimable lady, Isabella Mikorska, and
they published during the following five years a liter-
ary review. He translated Homer's "Iliad," Milton's
"Paradise Lost," and Virgil's "iEneid," as also let-
ters and satires of Horace. His funeral oration on the
death of Archbishop Krasicki is one of the finest efforts
of the kind. He died in 1808.
In the year 1826 the miscellaneous writings of
Dmochowski were published at Warsaw in two vol-
umes. Dmochowski has rendered great services to
Polish literature, and in fact he was counted among
the most distinguished writers of the day. His verse
is very smooth and harmonious, and we may justly
add that he greatly contributed toward the spread of
literary knowledge among the masses. He lived long
enough to see several editions of his works, which
serves as a proof of his popularity as a writer of those
days, for he has indeed left an indelible impression
upon the pages of Polish literature. During his whole
life Dmochowski endeavored to be useful in the cause
of literature and. national advancement.
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? DMOCHOWSKI. 185
CRACOW'S ENVIRONS.
Dear to my heart is every spot of earth
On Poland's bosom, where her sons had birth.
For me, on Cracow's fair surroundings fall
A charm, which makes them loveliest of all !
At every turn, where'er the footstep strays,
So many souvenirs arrest the gaze;
So many records of the past which tell
Of Poland's day of glory ere she fell.
CASTLE OF OYCOW.
Ye who have wandered thro' each foreign land
Have marked the Seine and Tiber's silver course,
And raised the eye to Alpine summits grand,
Should ye not blush to seek for beauty's source
In other countries than your own? Behold
Where scenes as beautiful arrest the eyes
In Oycow's groves and forests manifold --
Its river's flow, its rocks that grandly rise !
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? 186 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
MINASOWICZ.
Joseph Dionisius Minasowicz (b. 1798, d. 1849).
In this distinguished litterateur we find two talents com-
bined, which are considered as diametrically opposite
to each other, to wit, Law and Poetry -- a combination
of a similar kind is seldom found in one and the same
individual. While a professor in the University of
Warsaw he was a learned expounder of the history of
the Roman and commercial law, and then again he
appears before the world as an elegant poet and a
translator of Schiller's works, which difficult task he
accomplished most successfully. Many of his fugitive
pieces are written with peculiar correctness of style and
elegance of expression. All of his works were pub-
lished at Leipsic, 1844. Mr. Minasowicz was a man
of refinement, generous disposition, and a profound
scholar.
THE MAIDEN AND THE ROSE.
I the strong resemblance see
Between a blooming rose and thee;
Yet when the charms of both I view
My fancy gives the wreath to you.
The rose its loveliness displays
At most a few short passing days,
Then fades -- as I behold it now,
And it will shortly die. Whilst thou,
The theme of my poetic strain,
Unchanged forever shalt remain !
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? MINASOWICZ. 187
WHAT YOU ARE.
(written when a lad. )
The flower stays in the same place
And hardly moves at all.
Waits for the rain to wet its face,
Till wind the dust makes fall.
But who is blessed with legs can flee,
Swiftly and with power
Can run; so, O God, I thank Thee
I am not a flower.
And animals have legs also,
As our dog has -- our Tray;
But they such converse must forego
As folk may use alway.
Between a goose and sheep tell me
How converse could be brought?
Impossible! I thank Thee, God,
An animal I'm not.
No animal -- a man am I,
Language can hear and heed --
Can send my happy prayer on high,
And also I can read.
My elders know in great degree,
And in a few years' span
I'll be like them. God, I thank Thee
That I was born a man!
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? 188 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
FELIN? SKI.
Aloizy Felsin? ki, the celebrated translator of De-
lille, left after him a historical drama entitled " Barbara
Radziwi? ," the appearance of which awakened a desire
in all the poets of that time to study history. This
famous drama was rendered with such great adherence
to historical truth, such consummate knowledge of man-
ners, customs, and traditions, that it created the great-
est admiration in the public mind. Felin? ski was a poet
who was capable of infusing into his Tragedy of Bar-
bara more nationality than any of his contemporaries.
On that account Barbara Radziwi? will ever remain a
lasting monument of Polish literature. He was also the
author of a "Dissertation on Orthography," In his epoch
Felin? ski was considered as the brightest literary star.
Felin? ski was born in 1771, at Luck, in the province
of Volhynia. He went to school in Dombrowice, estab-
lished by the Order of Piiars, and in 1790 became an
intimate friend of Thaddeus Czacki, the great friend of
learning. In the revolution of Kos? ciuszko he was that
chieftain's aid. After the war he spent some time in
Germany, and on his return to Poland he settled in the
village of Osow, where he resided till 1815. In that
year he came to Warsaw, where he was called to the
professorship of literature. In 1819 he became the
director of the Lyceum of Krzemieniec, as also the
professor of literature. He died in 1820.
POLISH NATIONAL HYMN.
"BOZ? E COS? POLSKE? . "
Lord, thou hast to Poland lent thy might,
And with a Father's strong, protecting hand
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? FELIN? SKI. 189
Hast given fame and all its glory bright,
And through long ages saved our fatherland.
We chant at thy altars our humble strain,
O Lord, make the land of our love free again !
Thou who in Nature's deepest gloom inspired
The strife to save the holy cause from shame,
The world's esteem for our brave deeds desired,
And filled it with our glory and our fame.
We chant at thy altars our humble strain,
O Lord, make the land of our love free again !
Renew, O Lord, we pray, her old renown!
Make rich her soil,-- life to her fields convey,
With happiness and peace our future crown;
O angry God, grant us this boon we pray!
We chant at thy altars our humble strain,
O Lord, make the land of our love free again!
Not long our freedom has been lost, but flows
In rivers, blood which heroes' hearts outpour;
How bitter, then, the sufferings of those
Whose liberty is lost forevermore!
We chant at thy altars our humble strain,
O Lord, make the land of our love free again !
O gracious Lord! whose mighty hand doth hold
The scales of justice o'er world's rulers vain,
Crush out unholy aims of tyrants bold
And hope awake in our poor souls again.
We chant at thy altars our humble strain,
O Lord, make the land of our love free again!
Thou, holy Lord ! thy wond'rous might we praise,
Oh may it freedom's blissful sun restore,
On Polish soil the tower of peace upraise
Which foes shall tremble and recoil before!
We chant at thy altars our humble strain,
O Lord, make the land of our love free again!
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? 190 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
Lord ! who rules o'er all the wide world hath,
At thy command we raised from dust may be;
If in the future we deserve thy wrath
Turn us to dust -- but let that dust be free !
We chant at thy altars our humble strain,
Lord, make the land of our love free again!
FROM THE TRAGEDY OF BARBARA RADZIWI? .
Isabella, Sister op Sigismund Augustus, to Boratyn? ski.
Yes, she has all my friendship, I glory in that truth,
She was a most beloved companion of my youth ;
When I felt life a burden and fainted 'neath its weight,
She was the first to show me life's joys were also great.
When the czar with all the power of the East and North
To blot out the Polish Nation drew his dread sword forth,
Her sire hastening to his post at the army's head,
To Lithuania's frontiers whence his duty led,
To risk the doubtful issue of a battle, all knew
Must be fierce and final, in my presence bade adieu
To Sigismund, the king, and these were the words he said:
" 'Tis Victory or Death, freely shall my blood be shed
For thee and for my country a grateful offering,
And thou shalt soon behold me a conqueror, my king,
Or thou wilt never see me outside the land of souls,
My lips shall never tell thee of the defeat of Poles;
But let my only daughter, this favor I would crave --
With no one to protect her, -- her mother in the grave, --
When her father, too, is lost, a father find in thee. "
Alas! the dreadful stroke, which he seemed then to foresee
Fell heavily upon him, that warrior true and tried,
He went, he fought with valor, he conquered, and he died.
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? KROPLXSKI. 191
KEOPINSKI
Louis Kropixski is placed in the first rank of Polish
poets principally because of his authorship of the trag-
edy "Ludgarda," the incidents of which were founded
upon fiction instead of historical truth. Yet it is so
well written that it was compared with Barbara Radzi-
wi? of Felin? ski. It contains indeed many beautiful
passages, but. on the whole, it reminds one that it is
an imitation of French tragedies. At this present
time, aside from fine poetic verses, it has no value.
In its own time, however, it caused a great sensation
on account of its powerful dramatic effect.
He is also the author of a novel, "Julia and
Adolph. or Extraordinary Love of Two Young People
on the Bank of the River Dniester. " In this novel it
was the purpose of the author to show that the Polish
language was capable of equal harmony and expres-
sions of the most delicate shades" of feeling with any
French production of a similar kind. He also com-
posed many beautiful fugitive pieces.
Kropiiiski was born in Lithuania in 1767. During
the reign of Stanislaus Augustus he entered the mili-
tary service, and as a lieutenant-colonel participated in
the battle of Maciejowice in 1794, and received in that
memorable battle thirteen wounds. After that event
he went to Italy, and as a true connoisseur he collected
many valuable works of art. and brought them to Po-
land. On his return he acted as secretary of war. In
1812 he was named general of brigade, and soon after
advanced to the rank of a general of division. After
the end of the war he married, and gave himself up
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? 192 POETS AND POETRY OF POLAND.
entirely to domestic life. He was honored with the
friendship of Thaddeus Czacki, and made inspector of
schools and colleges. He was also a distinguished
member of the ' ' Society of the Friends of Learning "
in Warsaw. Ten years before his death he became
blind, and died in 1844. His "Ludgarda," written in
1809, was brought out on the stage in 1816. It was
translated into German by Melish and Pol de Pollen-
burg (brother of the poet Yincent Pol). Goethe gave
a flattering opinion of ' ' Ludgarda. " All of Kropinski's
writings were published at Lemberg in 1844.
HUMAN LIFE.
As by eternal decree,
Four seasons in the year there be,
So has a man --
Four seasons in life's span.
In the spring,
Fearless and rejoicing --
We bask in youth's glad beam ;
Our eagle souls are like the birds:
We sing, we soar, we fly,
Ever loftier and more high --
And in this joyful career,
Sweeping through life on rapid wing,
At errors of our sires we sneer --
But into the same traps we spring!
For youth has many a trap and net,
Crags and lures its path beset.
In summer, too, it still is pleasant.
With beams divine,
When the bloom is most bountiful,
The moon does shine --
? ? 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
? KROPIN? SKI. 193
Far o'er,
We soar --
But not so fleet
During the heat:
Begin we then the shade to prize,
Within whose depths experience lies.
In autumn,
Less bright the fields of green become --
Leaves grow sere, and fall here and thither,
And with them our hopes begin to wither.
No longer gaily do we sing;
And tears at times bedim the eye.
Still later -- 'though the sun shines high,
And upon its rays at times
Sends a breath of balmy climes ;
That breath reminds us of the spring,
But ah, it is no more the same thing!
The memory of those vanished days
Whispers: " We ne'er will come again! "
This thought a poignant torture has:
No longer we do soar and sweep,
But oft, alas! in silence weep.
But even that season chimes
With pleasantness at times.
It is a sort of " talking matters over,"
The Past, and what future time does cover;
Chatting with friends, prospects and aims,
This or that, the heart most dearly claims.
At last the winter reigns,
Nature is held in frosty chains,
And the white grass-plots
Glisten with diamond dots,
As if to amuse children.
13
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-06-10 17:13 GMT / http://hdl. handle.